Bug Park by James P. Hogan

“Hi, Doug. Sorry to interrupt you at work, but I think it’s important.”

“I wasn’t doing anything that you could call interruptible. Anyhow, if it’s about what I think it’s probably about, it’s important. What’s up?”

“Well, er, I don’t think it would be a good idea to go into it now. But could we get together maybe this evening and talk about it?”

“Sure,” Corfe said. “Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“Probably best not at the house. I was thinking, maybe over at Hiroyuki’s. Could you pick me up later?”

Corfe frowned into the phone. “Hiroyuki’s? Why there? Wouldn’t that be almost as bad?”

“It has to do with an idea that Taki had last night—you know, to solve our problem. Well, I don’t know about solve it, so much, but do something that might help, anyway. We tried it out over there, and—”

“Wait a minute, Kevin. An idea that Taki had? You’re not saying he knows about this situation?”

“He’s okay, honest. It won’t go any further. . . .”

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Corfe groaned and covered his brow with a hand.

“I know him better than I know anyone, really. He’s the only person I can talk to who’s on the same wavelength. I had to talk to somebody. It’s bad enough for you, Doug, from what you were telling me, and we’re not talking about your dad. Just try being in my position for a day and see how it feels.”

“Okay, okay.” Corfe couldn’t find it in him to argue. He’d known Kevin long enough to believe it wasn’t something he would have rushed into lightly. And besides, it was done now. The worst thing they could do would be to start falling out among themselves with accusations and recriminations. “Give me a chance to get clear here.” Corfe snorted to himself. Get clear from what? He’d said it through pure force of habit. “I’ll stop by the house at around . . . say, between five and six.”

“Sounds good to me.”

After hanging up, Corfe remembered that Michelle had been at the firm earlier in the day. If what Kevin had to say concerned the case in general, then perhaps it would be an idea if Corfe took her along too.

It didn’t make any difference, as things turned out. When he called Beverley, Eric’s secretary, she told him that Michelle had departed back for Seattle a couple of hours previously.

While Corfe was driving to Kevin’s a little over an hour later, he recalled a story that one of Ohira’s friends had told him of an incident that had taken place some years before. One of Hiroyuki’s female cousins—a widow in her fifties—became involved with a cult that practiced self-discovery and inner development. Their chosen path toward enlightenment and a higher mode of living involved groups getting together, usually at weekends, sometimes for a full week, at varying venues, and to feel that she was getting into the spirit and contributing her share, the cousin commissioned an architect to design a substantial extension to her house. The architect also offered his services as a consultant to choose a suitable contractor for the work, supervise the quality and performance, and generally act on her behalf to make sure she got value for the substantial amount of money involved.

All did not go well. Extras that were supposed to be optional suddenly became essential; time frames escalated; one estimate after another was exceeded. Ohira became suspicious and hired a consultant of his own to do a little checking on the side. It turned out that the architect’s whole operation was a scam. He himself was the real contractor, paying himself under the table, while at the same time gouging on prices and cutting costs through substandard materials and shoddy work. At the same time, he had committed so little to writing, and the widow had kept so few records, that Hiroyuki’s lawyer was dubious that much could be made to stick in court.

That was the point at which the architect received a visitation from some polite Oriental Gentlemen in business suits. They read their list of grievances, suggested a figure that they thought would constitute reasonable compensation, and gave an assurance that if it were met, they would consider the matter closed. The architect told them, in more verbose terms, to go to hell. The deputation expressed regret at their failure to communicate their position clearly, and withdrew.

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