Read Online The Code of Happiness by David J. Margolis - Free Book Online Page B

it all, the contemplative words, the well-adjusted
attitude to his life's downward spiral lay an old man's seething
resentment. Recalling the encounter, Jamie could hardly blame
him.
    The guard has no such attachments. For him the up
shot was a chance to build something new and a job—and no one was
killed.
    “Where did the people go?” Jamie asks.
    “Somewhere, family, homes, wherever,” says the
security guard. He shrugs, “What can you do?”
    Jamie thanks him, bothered and unable to expunge the
strange guilt he should have known, that taking a real interest in
another human being remained a distant realization for him. He had
spent years seeing people as facsimiles and was in danger of
passing through life uninvolved. Or was he? The appearance of the
code begged to differ. If only he could be a hundred percent sure
it wasn't the Feds. He would have to make contact but the very
thought paralyzed. If he took his lead from Beanoe he'd find the
confidence that comes with standing up for himself and saying he
hasn't done anything wrong. Let it seep into his spirit. Done
nothing wrong. Walk out of his front door the next morning head up,
not looking over his shoulder. Beanoe. Sometimes bullshit works. If
the FBI had grievance they would approach. He'd go to the obvious
first, Ray and Po. Booms ring out. Jamie slips on a mask. He'd
picked up a new one at the mart.
     
    *****
     
    Winter crispness promises the new. Pale blue skies, a
cold air pinching the bridge of his nose. There's confidence in his
step. Time to move beyond the spin of Ray.
     
    He tells Po he doesn't want to be the man who breaks
promises. It's met with an apathetic dropping of her jaw. He
doesn't care if she thinks it's a lie. All peas in the same pod
now. He approaches their troublesome servers with his own black box
of magic tricks. He reassures her it's a sophisticated firewall
allowing him to peek at those snooping without detection—should, of
course, anyone be snooping. He doesn't tell her it also allows him
to pilfer data. Handyman Ray, whacko with the frizzy white hair
brings him peanut butter cookies. Conversation is kept to a
minimum. Hours he tells them, their equipment is old, patience is
needed. And if they don't mind, he has to hack their system. Ray
though, pokes. He always has to poke.
    “Doesn't it carry a jail sentence?”
    “Proprietary software, isn't it?”
    Ray nods.
    “ And I have your approval,” states
Jamie.
     
    It's all fake smiles between them as they go about
their business. Ray and Po give the illusion of work to do in their
white lab coats. No pressure Jamie, fix if you can, leave when
you want . He runs a diagnostic. After three different tests no
errors are found. Unusual but it is weirdo central. He laments
he'll be there for hours after all, a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Worse, time will get the better of him and he'll be forced to make
small talk, at the least he's pulling data to analyze at home
without their knowledge.
     
    More tea and peanut butter cookies, more chances to
converse. It's a dance between them. Ray sits with Jamie sipping
from fine bone china waiting for him to ask pertinent questions.
Ray's deliberate in a delicate reveal of skin burns on his forearm,
and Jamie's polite enough to ask with his eyes.
    “Nasty accident when I was a kid,” says Ray.
    Jamie won't fall for this ploy and pretends to
concentrate on the screen. On prior visits he wanted to know more
about this man, but now he struggles, however the anger from his
last visit last and the irritant thoughts before this current
encounter dissipate in Ray's presence. Jamie couldn't tell if it
was he or Ray who was the difference, a question to be answered,
how do we ever tell who is affecting whom?
    “The affectus transfigurantes, ” says Jamie,
“are you able to do it?”
    “Generate,” replies Ray, “No.”
    “Po?”
    “No. No one you've met here can.” Ray can tell what
Jamie's going to ask next and beats him to it with an