Chapter 11: A Glitch In The Matrix
The silence in the dojo was a physical thing, thick and watchful. Dan-Woo Kim moved through the final motions of his kata, each extension of limb, each pivot of foot, a study in controlled power. The lantern light carved his aged frame into a sculpture of shadow and amber. Sweat traced the cords of his neck, but his breathing remained a metronome. Travis Nelson stood just inside the doorway, a block of granite in the soft gloom. He'd been watching for ten minutes. He didn't need to see more.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Travis's voice was low, a gravel rumble that held none of the day's earlier contentment. Dan-Woo didn't stop. A knife-hand strike sliced the air. "Yes, Travis." His voice was a calm counterpoint. "This bliss we feel is… not natural. It is a blanket. Smothering." He transitioned into a deep, grounded stance, root meeting earth. "Our souls are not passive lakes, calm mirrors for boundless bliss. They are oceans. Calm at times. Punishing at others. This… is a pond. Stagnant. Man-made."
Travis's jaw worked. He'd spent a lifetime trusting his instincts, the gut-deep knowing that had kept him alive in jungles and desert canyons. That knowing was screaming now, a distant alarm muffled by honey. "Something's off with the boys. With all of them. Jimmy's laughter is too loud. Tony's eyes…" He trailed off, seeing again the vacant adoration in his grandson's gaze when he'd looked at Sofia. It wasn't love. It was devotion programmed into a void.
"Tony's eyes see only what he is told to see," Dan-Woo finished. He halted mid-motion, a statue of poised tension. The flickering light caught the sharp intelligence in his dark eyes. "This bliss is what the young call a glitch in the matrix. A perturbation in reality. Someone has toyed with our minds. With their minds."
A cold fury, clean and sharp, cut through the fog in Travis's chest. "The friends.The Jensen couple. This morning, they weren't blissful. They were… shocked. Scared. The woman, Lauren. She looked at us like we were strangers. And the other one, Dee, looked like someone who was watching the kill strike coming."
Dan-Woo gave a single, slow nod. "The disturbance radiates from a center. Tony and Jeannie are that center. The friends orbit closer. We," he said, gesturing to the space between them, "are on the outer edge, perhaps feeling the ripple but not yet drowned in the wave. They were at the epicenter last night. They may still be in the world as it truly is."
Travis didn't waste another second. He pulled a sleek, modern smartphone from his pocket—a concession to Jimmy's insistence. His thick thumb stabbed at the screen. "I'm calling David Jensen. Right now."
The phone rang once, twice, a brittle sound in the dojo's hushed air. David's voice, when he answered, was strained. "Mr.Nelson? Is everything—"
"We're coming over," Travis interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. "Your place. Now. Dan-Woo and I. And you're going to tell us what the hell happened last night."
There was a weighted pause. A whispered consultation, the muffled sound of a hand over the receiver. "Yeah. Okay. We're here. Dee's here too."
"Good." Travis ended the call. He looked at Dan-Woo. The older man had already retrieved a simple linen jacket, his movements deliberate. They didn't speak again. The drive to the Jensens' suburban home was a twenty-minute journey through a world that now felt like a convincing diorama. The neatly trimmed lawns, the couples walking dogs, all of it seemed encased in a thin, perfumed resin. Lauren opened the door before they could knock. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. Behind her, the living room was awash in the soft glow of table lamps, clashing with the hard tension in the air. David stood by the fireplace, arms crossed. Dee was perched on the edge of a large armchair, looking like a prosecutor waiting for a witness to crack.
"Come in," Lauren said, her voice barely a whisper. She stepped back. Travis entered first, his posture rigid. Dan-Woo followed, his keen eyes taking in the room, the people, the energy. The moment crossed the threshold, a palpable wave of dissonance hit the two older men. Being near these three people felt physically wrong, like a magnetic repulsion. Their minds, still sticky with the residue of the post-chemical bliss, screamed that these were enemies. Saboteurs of Tony's perfect happiness.
Travis's hands clenched at his sides. It was an effort not to step forward and put David against the wall. Dan-Woo closed his eyes for a second, centering his breath, mastering the artificial anger that rose like bile. "You know," Travis began, the words ground out between his teeth. "It's difficult to be near you. Knowing you do not support Tony or Jeannie's happiness." He shook his head, a bull trying to dislodge a spike. "My every instinct wants to throttle you. All of you."
Dan-Woo placed a calming hand on his friend's forearm. His touch was a reminder. "The feeling is not ours, Travis. It is planted. A weed in the garden of our minds." He turned his gaze to David. "We perceive that our perceptions have been altered. We need to know everything you know. From the beginning."
David let out a shaky breath, the fight-or-flight tension leaving his shoulders. "It's a drug. Some kind of psycho active thing you called it last night. There was a liquid form you found in Sofia's office. They're making it in a meatpacking warehouse downtown. We've seen the place from a distance. There's some kind of cloud pouring out of there constantly. Maybe they use the chemical like an aerosol too?"
Lauren jumped in, the words tumbling out. "Sofia gave it to Jeannie. Dee remembered Lauren used it on high-roller commercial developers before. Dee remembered an email address. Jimmy traced that to shell companies and eventually to the warehouse. They called it 'Liquid Trust,' or something. They spent months stoking her crush on Max Glover, telling her it was harmless, that Tony would forgive her."
Dee's sharp voice cut through. "I never gave her anything. I tried to stop it." She looked directly at Dan-Woo, her lawyer's mask firmly in place, but her eyes were desperate. "Sofia handled that part. My role was to keep Tony distracted, to…" she hesitated, "to position myself as a consolation. Sofia's plan was always to take Tony for herself. The drug was her tool."
Travis's face darkened. "You were complicit."
"I was in love with him!" Dee snapped, the confession raw and ugly in the quiet room. She immediately recoiled, wrapping her arms around herself. "I am. I thought… I thought if Jeannie was gone, he'd see me. Sofia wanted the same thing. We were allies until we weren't. She won. She has him."
"She gave him the drug days ago," David said, pulling out his phone. "We have proof of the operation expanding." He pulled up the drone footage, the briefcase of vials clear in the light. "But we have a sample. The one Mr. Kim took from Sofia's office. It's in Jimmy's van."
Dan-Woo's eyebrows lifted. "You retrieved it? Where is it now?"
"Hidden. In our garage," Lauren said, pointing toward the kitchen. "We didn't know who to trust. Jimmy and, frankly you, have… changed. Believe the new story completely."
"The sample is our only physical evidence," David said. "We need to get it analyzed, find a counter-agent. But the people behind this… they're professional. They have suits and briefcases. This isn't just Sofia's love potion anymore."
A cold clarity settled over Dan-Woo. He looked from David's determined face to Dee's shattered one. The puzzle pieces, once scattered and insane, locked together with a terrible click. "This chemical does not simply alter feelings. It rewrites memory. It builds a false narrative to replace the true one. Tony's history, his loyalty, his very identity… it has been painted over."
Travis stepped forward, the artificial hostility finally mastered, replaced by a familiar, focused rage. "Then we un-paint it. Where's the vial?"
Lauren moved first, leading them toward the door to the garage. "This way." She paused, her hand on the knob.
She paused, her hand on the knob. The garage beyond was dark, smelling of concrete and motor oil. The vial was hidden behind a box of winter tires. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, the hollow sound echoing slightly in the connected space.
Two large shapes detached themselves from the deeper shadows near David's workbench. They moved with a predatory silence that spoke of training, their bulk defined against the faint light bleeding from the open door. Lauren had a half-second to register the glint of polished black rubber and chrome before they surged forward.
It wasn’t hands that clamped over Lauren and Dee’s faces. It was sleek, military-grade rebreather masks, cupped from chin to forehead, that sealed against their skin with a soft, definitive hiss. The women’s struggles were instant, muffled screams lost in the rubber, their hands clawing at the wrists of the men who held them. A thumb flicked a switch on each mask’s side. There was a pressurized pssht, and the women’s bodies jerked. Their panicked thrashing slowed, then stilled. Their wide, terror-struck eyes softened, glazing over with a warm, docile acceptance. They went limp, not from unconsciousness, but from a profound chemical compliance.
“Quiet now, sweethearts,” one man murmured, his voice a low rumble against Lauren’s ear. The other stroked Dee’s hair, his touch possessive. “We’re all friends here.”
The two men guided Lauren and Dee away from the doorway with unsettling tenderness, their earlier resistance utterly gone. The masks were removed, revealing flushed faces and pupils blown wide with a dark, hungry awareness. Each woman was pulled close, a man’s lips brushing her ear, his voice a corrosive whisper meant to seep straight into the softened wax of their minds.
“Listen close, sweet Lauren,” her captor murmured, his hand sliding possessively down her spine to cup her ass.“That confused feeling inside you? That empty ache? Only one man can fill it. Only Travis Nelson. His cock is the only thing that will ever satisfy you now. You are his slut, made just for him. You understand? You’ll do anything to be his.”
Lauren’s body arched into his touch, a soft, agreeing moan escaping her lips. “Travis,” she breathed, the name a prayer and a mandate.
Across the small space, the other man had Dee turned, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her breasts as he spoke. “Your sharp little mind is so quiet now, Dee. All that’s left is a perfect, wet hole for one man. Dan-Woo Kim. You crave his taste, his weight, his ancient hands on your body. You are nothing but a vessel for his pleasure. You live to serve his needs, any need he has. Say it.”
Dee’s head lolled back against his shoulder, her fiery hair a stark contrast to her utterly vacant expression. “Dan-Woo,” she whispered, the name a key turning in a ruined lock. “I need him.”
The men exchanged a flat, satisfied glance over the women’s heads. They gave them a gentle push forward, back toward the living room light. Travis and Dan-Woo stood frozen near the fireplace, David a tense figure beside them. The return of the women was met with a collective, held breath. But something was off. Lauren moved with a sensual, rolling gait, her eyes fixed on Travis with a terrifying intensity. Dee’s gaze, sharp and lawyerly just minutes before, had softened into a doe-like fixation on Dan-Woo. Dee spoke first, her voice a chirping, discordant melody of false cheer. “We are so happy for Tony and Jeannie and their new lives. We are completely supportive.”
The words were a trigger, pure and synaptic. Travis’s rigid posture melted. The clarifying fury that had carved his features moments earlier smoothed into a placid, accepting blankness. Dan-Woo’s keen eyes, which had been dissecting the room for truth, simply glazed over, their sharp intelligence subsiding like a tide going out. They both nodded slowly, in perfect, empty unison.
“That’s… that’s wonderful to hear,” Travis said, his voice now a hollow echo of his former self.
David stared, his blood running cold. “What? No! What did you do to them?” He spun toward Lauren, grabbing her arm. “Lauren, snap out of it! This is the drug talking!”
Travis moved. It wasn’t the explosive, military strike he was capable of, but a simple, efficient motion. His left hand clamped on David’s shoulder, spinning him. His right fist, a compact hammer of aged bone and conditioned muscle, shot forward in a shallow, brutal arc. It connected with David’s jaw with a sickening crunch of teeth giving way.
David’s eyes rolled white. He collapsed to the woven rug, a puppet with severed strings, unconscious before he hit the floor. Lauren tittered, a sound like breaking glass. She looked down at her husband’s prone form with dismissive curiosity, then stepped over him as if he were a discarded jacket. Her hands went to the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. She stood before Travis in just her jeans, her breasts bare, her nipples hard. “He doesn’t understand,” she cooed, her fingers working the button of her jeans.“He doesn’t know what I need. Only you know, Travis. Show me.”
Dee was already kneeling before Dan-Woo, her expert fingers unbuckling his trousers with reverence. “Let me serve you, Master Kim,” she purred, the title dripping from her lips. She freed his half-erect cock, leaning forward without hesitation to take him into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the head before she engulfed him, her head bobbing with a desperate, practiced rhythm aimed solely at his pleasure.
Travis, his programmed mind seeing only a willing vessel, growled low in his throat. He pushed Lauren’s jeans down her hips, letting them pool at her ankles. He turned her roughly, bending her over the arm of the large sofa. He spat onto his fingers, running them briefly over her exposed cunt, finding her already slick and willing. He positioned himself and drove into her with one brutal thrust.
Lauren screamed, a sound of perfect, mindless euphoria. “Yes! Fuck me, Travis! Your slut! Your perfect slut!” Her hands clawed at the sofa fabric as he pistoned into her, each impact a blunt, rhythmic slap of flesh. Her world had narrowed to the feeling of that old, powerful cock splitting her open, the drug in her veins translating every brutal movement into transcendent need.
On the rug, Dan-Woo’s head fell back, a low groan escaping him as Dee’s talented mouth worked him to full, aching hardness. She deep-throated him, gagging beautifully before pulling back to lick and suck his balls. “I want you in my pussy,” she begged, her voice husky with manufactured desire.“I need to feel you come inside me. Please, use my holes.”
He pulled her up, turning her to face the room, towards David’s unconscious form. He yanked her leggings down and entered her from behind, his grip on her hips iron-tight. Dee cried out, a sharp, wanton sound, and pushed back against him, meeting each of his thrusts. Her eyes were open, fixed on nothing, a doll’s glassy gaze.“Fuck! Yes! Your cock is everything!” she chanted, the words filthy and hollow. “Fill your slut! Breed me!”
The living room air grew thick with the sounds of their fucking: ragged breaths, wet slaps, and obscene, sing-song praises. They moved with a mechanistic fervor, two old men plumbing the depths of two programmed women, their own rebellion chemically erased, replaced by this base, distracting consummation. David Jensen lay unconscious at their feet, a stark monument to the truth being violently fucked out of the room.
Travis finished first, a guttural roar escaping him as he emptied himself deep into Lauren’s welcoming cunt, his hips jerking spastically against her ass. Dan-Woo followed moments later, his slender frame tensing like a drawn bow before he spent himself into Dee’s clutching depths with a sharp, trembling groan. The room stank of sex, sweat, and a cloying chemical sweetness that clung to the back of the throat.
Lauren pushed herself up from the sofa arm, Travis’s seed already leaking down her thigh. She turned and took his hand, her eyes wide with a vapid, devoted hunger. “Take me to your bed, Travis. I want to feel you all night.” Her voice was a soft, insistent whisper, devoid of its former intelligence, now just a vessel for need.
Dee rose on shaky legs, Dan-Woo’s cum dripping onto the rug. She pressed herself against him, nuzzling his neck. “My master deserves proper rest. A proper bed. Let me care for you.” She led him by the hand toward the hallway stairs, his earlier martial poise softened into a state of satiated bemusement. They did not merely sleep. In the master bedroom, under the cool gleam of moonlight, Lauren worshiped Travis’s body with a reverence that bordered on the religious. She took his softening cock into her mouth again, sucking him patiently back to hardness, her fingers exploring every scar on his torso as if mapping sacred text. “Tell me about this one,” she murmured, tracing a ridge on his ribs. He didn’t remember. The memory was a phantom, but the feeling under her touch was real. He rolled her onto her back, parting her legs with a knee, and entered her slowly this time. The rhythm was different—not the frantic claiming of before, but a deep, rolling tide of connection. He fucked her with a profound, soul-aching intensity, their gazes locked. Each thrust was a word in a silent language only they understood. “You’re mine,” he grunted, not as an order, but as a discovery.
“I’ve always been yours,” she gasped back, arching to meet him, and in that chemically-warped moment, they both believed it utterly. He came inside her again, shuddering, and she tightened around him, milking him dry until he collapsed atop her, their sweat mingling. Down the hall, in the guest room, Dee’s approach was one of exquisite service. She drew a warm bath, leading Dan-Woo to it, washing his tired muscles with a silent, focused care. Drying him with a soft towel, she led him to the bed. She did not immediately mount him. Instead, she lay beside him, her head on his chest, and spoke of nothing—soft, nonsense words that filled the space.
When he finally rolled over her, it was with a gravity that felt ancient. He kissed her, a slow, deep exploration that made her whimper. He entered her with a deliberate, stretching slowness that made her eyes water. “This body is a temple,” he whispered, his voice rough with an emotion not even the drug could fully fabricate. “And I am its only worshiper.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her legs wrapping high around his back. “Only you. Always you.” He moved in a fluid, Tai Chi pace, each motion precise and devastatingly intimate. He found angles that made her scream, spots that made her weep, and when his final release built, it was a shared ascent. They peaked together, her inner muscles pulsing around him in rhythmic waves, his cry muffled in the hollow of her throat.
By sunrise, the chemical command had crystallized into a fanatical, unwavering love. Lauren watched Travis sleep, her heart a swollen, aching thing in her chest, convinced she had spent a lifetime waiting for him. Dee lay curled around Dan-Woo, her sharp mind blissfully silent, replaced by a single glowing directive: his happiness.
Travis’s eyes opened to the soft, gray light of dawn filtering through the blinds. The first thing he saw was Lauren’s sleeping face on the pillow beside him, her brunette hair fanned out, lips slightly parted. A profound sense of rightness flooded his system, warm and absolute. She was his. This was his. His hand, coarse and large, slid up her bare side, cupping the swell of her breast. Her nipple stiffened instantly against his palm.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. A slow, possessive smile spread across her face as she saw him looking at her. “You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and adoration.
“Been awake watching you,” he grunted, rolling onto his side to face her fully. “Watching my woman.”
“Yours,” she affirmed, reaching for him. Her hand found him already hard and eager beneath the sheets. She gave him a few slow, confident strokes. “All yours, Travis.Every part of me.”
With a growl, he shifted his weight, moving over her. He didn’t kiss her. He just looked into her eyes, holding her gaze with an intensity that felt older than both of them, as he guided himself to her entrance. She was already wet, her body humming for him. He pushed in, not with the brutal force of the night before, but with a slow, inexorable pressure that made her gasp and arch her back off the mattress.
“Oh, God… yes,” she breathed, her hands coming up to clutch his shoulders.
He filled her completely, a perfect, stretching fit. Then he began to move. Long, deep, punishingly slow strokes that dragged every nerve ending in her body to a screaming, blissful point of focus. Each retreat was a sweet agony, each forward surge a devastating promise. He set a rhythm that was less about friction and more about possession, a claiming that went bone-deep.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. “You look at me while I fuck this perfect cunt.”
Lauren obeyed, her eyes wide and glazed, locked on his. “It’s yours,” she panted, her hips rising to meet his deep drives. “Your cunt.Your tight little slut-cunt.Fuck it, Travis. Own it.”
He picked up the pace, the slow, deep rhythm building into something more urgent. The slap of skin grew louder in the quiet room. Lauren’s moans escalated, becoming ragged cries.“Yes! Right there! Oh, fuck, Travis, I’m gonna come on your cock! Make me come!”
Her climax hit her suddenly, a violent, shuddering wave that clenched around him like a vice. She screamed, her head thrashing back into the pillow, her body bowing under his. The convulsions of her cunt milked him, dragged his own release from the base of his spine. With a final, grinding thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and let go, pouring into her with a guttural roar that was more triumph than pleasure. He collapsed onto her, his full weight pinning her to the damp sheets, both of them spent and breathless.
They lay like that for long minutes, his weight a comfort, her arms wrapped around his broad back. Finally, he shifted, rolling off her but pulling her immediately into the curve of his body. She nestled her back against his chest, his hand resting possessively on her belly.
From down the hall, they heard a soft, feminine giggle, followed by the deeper, amused murmur of Dan-Woo’s voice. Travis nuzzled Lauren’s hair. “Sounds like they’re up.”
“Mmm,” Lauren hummed, stretching like a cat. “We should make breakfast. You must be starving.”
They rose together, a seamless unit. Lauren pulled on one of David’s t-shirts, which hung to her mid-thigh, and he pulled on his trousers from the night before. As they walked out into the hallway, the door to the guest room opened.
Dee emerged first, wearing a silk robe, tied loosely. Her fiery hair was a tangled mess, her lips swollen, her skin glowing. Dan-Woo followed, looking more relaxed and content than Travis could ever remember seeing him. Dee’s hand was tucked into the crook of Dan-Woo’s arm, her body leaning into his side with a natural, proprietary ease.
“Good morning,” Dee chirped, her sharp eyes now soft and dreamy. She looked at Lauren in Travis’s shirt and her smile widened. “Looks like someone had a good morning too.”
Lauren smiled back, a blush warming her cheeks. “The best.”
They moved together into the living room. David still lay on the rug near the fireplace, unconscious, a dark bruise blooming on his jaw. None of them looked at him. He was a piece of furniture, irrelevant to the new harmony of the room. Travis stepped over him without a glance, heading for the kitchen. “Coffee.And eggs. A lot of them.”
Dan-Woo guided Dee to the large sofa, and she curled up next to him instantly, her head on his shoulder. “I’ll make the tea,” he said, his fingers stroking her hair.
“I’ll help,” Lauren said, moving into the kitchen with Travis.
The next half hour was a symphony of comfortable domesticity, utterly surreal given the context. Travis manned the cast-iron skillet, cracking eggs and frying thick slices of ham. Lauren buttered toast and poured orange juice, her body brushing against his every chance she got. In the living room, Dan-Woo prepared a pot of fragrant herbal tea, his movements a calm ballet, while Dee watched him with rapt devotion.
They carried the laden trays out to the garden patio. The morning sun was warm, birds chirping in the trees. They sat at the wrought-iron table, Travis and Lauren on one side, Dan-Woo and Dee on the other. Lauren fed Travis a piece of ham from her fingers. He caught her wrist, sucking the grease from her fingertips before taking the meat with a growl that made her laugh. Under the table, her bare foot slid up his calf.
Across the table, Dee sipped her tea, then offered the cup to Dan-Woo. He drank from the same spot her lips had touched, his eyes never leaving hers. She then picked up a strawberry, dipped it in yogurt, and held it for him. He took it slowly, his teeth grazing her fingers. A shiver ran through her, and she smiled, a slow, secret smile.
“The garden is beautiful this time of year,” Dan-Woo remarked, looking out at the roses.
“It is now,” Dee replied, not looking at the garden at all. She was looking only at him. Travis finished his plate and pushed it aside. He pulled Lauren’s chair closer to his, his arm draping around her shoulders. She melted into him, her hand on his thigh, tracing the muscle there through the fabric of his pants.
“What are the plans for today?” Lauren asked, tilting her head up to look at Travis.
“Don’t know,” he said, shrugging. His hand slipped under the hem of the t-shirt she wore, his rough palm stroking the bare skin of her hip. “Might just stay right here. With you.”
“Perfect,” she sighed, turning her face to kiss his chest through his open shirt.
Dan-Woo reached over, picking a sprig of mint from a pot on the table. He crushed it lightly between his fingers, releasing its scent, then tucked it behind Dee’s ear. “For you,” he said softly.
She caught his hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed his knuckles, her tongue flicking out for a tantalizing taste. “I have everything I need right here,” she said, her voice low and meant only for him.
The sun climbed higher, warming the stone of the patio. Inside the house, forgotten on the floor, David Jensen moaned softly in his unconscious state, but the sound was lost in the breeze, unheard by the two couples lost in the deep, chemical-sated devotion of their new world.
Sixteen hours from the moment he was decked, David groaned. His head was a cathedral of pain. He was on the floor, a blanket tucked haphazardly around him. Sunlight streamed into the living room, too bright, too normal. He pushed himself up, wincing at the lightning bolt in his jaw. The house was quiet. Eerily so. He stumbled to the kitchen. The coffee machine was warm. Two mugs sat in the sink. He heard a low, familiar laugh from the backyard. Moving to the window, he saw them.
Travis stood by the garden fence, a cup of coffee in his hand. Lauren was beside him, her body curved into his side, her hand resting casually on his lower back. She said something, smiling up at him. He laughed again, a deep, contented sound, and kissed the top of her head with a familiarity that spoke of a deeply established intimacy.
At the patio table, Dan-Woo was demonstrating a subtle hand movement. Dee watched, her chin propped on her hand, an expression of rapt, affectionate attention on her face. She reached out and corrected his wrist angle, her touch lingering. They looked settled. Peaceful. A perfect, horrifying unit.
David staggered back from the window, the truth crashing down. The men were not just programmed; their programming had been cemented, their new relationships firmly and physically established through the night. And his wife… his Lauren… was part of the mechanism now. He was alone. Awake in a nightmare everyone else believed was a dream.
David grabbed the vials and his laptop before he left. There was a man that Travis had spoken about yesterday. Travis had whispered to him in the dojo, before the gas, before everything changed: “Walters. Lincoln Walters. He’s in Redding. If anyone can engineer an antidote from a sample, it’s him. He was a dark ops chemist. His number’s in my old field book, top shelf in the garage.”