TNT04


DINER RECEIPT

RECEIPT NUMBER: TNT04

RECEIPT DATE: 11 4 1988

MANAGER TITLE: EIGHT

RECEIPT NOTES:

You ever try negotiating with someone who doesn’t grasp the concept of gray? They think they’re white and we’re black. Personally, I’d wager it’s flipped—but really, we’re both somewhere between ash and birch. It’s tricky, man. The folks over at the Salt and Pepper see the world in neat little boxes: this belongs here, that belongs there, and Bird forbid anyone blurs the lines. But hey, I found a rhythm with Mr. Pebble. For now, at least. We hammered out a truce over two cups of the blackest coffee our cream-colored hearts could handle. :)

The terms? Simple. Sort of. We swap notes on Mrs. Berkeley—share what we know, what lovely Lucy knows, about her moods and machinations—and in return, they promise to stop breathing down our necks for the time being. I mean, we’re not even open yet, so what’s with all the fuss, right? I threw in a few “big picture” insights in too—the kind only I can see. Don’t worry, nothing trade-secretive, but I’ve gotta call it like I see it. And I’ve seen the Indigo Kids lurking in the back of my mind for a while now. In return, Salt and Pepper tossed us a few morsels of comfort food, mostly tidbits about Mrs. Berkeley. Turns out, she’s old. Old-old. Older than even Lucy. So, I guess that means Mrs. Berkeley has a history. And it’s messy.

Here’s the kicker, though: that actually knocks Mrs. Berkeley out of Lucy’s care. Out of her jurisdiction. Because, of course, every solution just sows new problems. :) Salt and Pepper seem pretty convinced Mrs. Berkeley falls squarely under their care, not ours. Even with an Ottawa royal in our corner.

Still, I don’t know, man. The lines are blurring, and the gray space we thrive in is getting awfully crowded. What’s the plan, anyhow, Baltz? You know… to serve Mrs. Berkeley. She’s old, cranky, and quite honestly, all I think we could do is shove her onto a one-way plane back to Ottawa. Except the Agency doesn’t want that. They want her over in the USSR or deep down in the ocean.


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