Terms (The Experiments Book 3) Page 16

  Jake on the other hand disagreed. He fought tooth and nail about Rickie wearing his cowboy gear … and lost. Rickie wore it anyhow.

  He had to keep telling Rickie to leave the driver alone, bantering the poor driver with “Are we there yet?”

  They were greeted at the airport and taken by limousine to the Whitehouse, where they waited in a foyer with eight other people.

  “Duuuude.” Rickie said in awe. “This is like where the president lives.”

  “Yes, it is.” Jake said. “Live, works, eats, sleep …”

  Rickie snickered.

  “What? What is funny.”

  “He sleeps.”

  “Yeah, so.”

  I just keep getting a visual of the president and the first lady really ….”

  “Rickie, that is entirely inappropriate.”

  Rickie hunched. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

  “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  “Ok,” Rickie drew quiet, and then snickered. When Jake glared at him again, he hunched.

  Once an aid arrived, they were taken to the area where the reception would be held. A small ballroom. There they were told to mix, mingle, and enjoy a drink and appetizers. They would be gathered when the president was ready to make his entrance, and then there they’d form a reception line.

  Jake had to admit, though he had met the president before, he was pretty excited. And even though Rickie didn’t quite dress like Jake had hoped, he was enthused and that made Jake enthused.

  The aid called them all to position; Jake and Rickie were center of the line. That made Jake feel better. Rickie would watch the others then have his turn. They all had their specific spots to stand. The only problem Jake had was that Rickie would greet the president first.

  At the announcement that the president was en route and would be there any minute, as best as he could Jake straightened Rickie’s clothes, gave him a napkin to wipe his mouth, and handed him a small mint.

  “What’s this for?” Rickie asked. “Does my breath stink.”

  “Not to me, but you don’t want to take a chance when meeting the president.”

  “I have gum.”

  “No chewing gum.” Jake instructed. “And don’t chew that. Allow it to dissolve slowly. Rest it in your mouth. OK?”

  Rickie gave a thumbs up.

  “Any questions?” Jake asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Nervous.”

  “Nope.”

  “Speak when spoken to.”

  “Got it.”

  Jake’s eye caught the door opening. “Stand up straight.”

  Rickie did.

  Just before Jake, snapped to attention, he gave a “good boy” swat to Rickie’s back.

  Rickie coughed. Then Rickie choked. A choking cough, not where Rickie was unable to breathe, but definitely a sign something was amiss with his throat.

  Quickly, Jake turned. “Stop.”

  “I. …” Choke. “Try ….” Choke. “Mint.”

  In walked the president.

  Jake was in debate. Stand at attention or help Rickie. Quick thinking, Jake gave one more hard swat to Rickie’s back. With one more cough, out popped the mint. It shot out, and landed on the floor by the president’s foot as he stepped forward. The President’s foot caught the mint, and that in turn caused the president to slip and loose balance.

  His arms flapped out and before he flailed to the floor, he was caught by the secret service agents at his side.

  All while this happened, Jake stood at attention never flinching at the goings on.

  Rickie on the other hand found it hard to hide his reaction. He winced and turned, closed his eyes, and breathed out loudly when the president didn’t fall.

  The secret service man lifted the mint. He held it up to the president. The president chuckled and peered to the receiving line. Rickie saw it. He saw the mad man, interrogation thing happening behind the president’s eye. He may have smiled but Rickie knew the president was going to get the dude who did it. So as not to get in trouble, for the benefit of the president, and for the direction of blame, Rickie pointed to Jake.

  ***

  The mint incident didn’t breed any interrogations. Even when Rickie verbally expressed to the secret service to check the big guy for mints. It did however breed two other things, a scolding glance from Jake, and a personal meeting with the president before dinner.

  Of course, neither Jake nor Rickie knew why they were being pulled aside.

  A back room, off of the main ball room area. It was small, with a couch and two chairs; a secret service man was posted outside.

  “Sarge, you suck,” Rickie said.

  “Ex … excuse me?” Jake titled his head. “I suck. No, Rickie, you suck.”

  “Uh!” Rickie gasped. “You have never told me I sucked.”

  “No I have not. But I am now, because you do. You suck.”

  “Sarge, that’s like, not right.”

  “And nether is fingering me in front of the CIA.”

  It was an odd look Rickie gave. He sucked in his cheeks, bit his lip, and tried not to laugh.

  “What?” Jake asked. “What is with that look?”

  “Dude, I didn’t finger you.”

  “You did too.”

  “That would be highly gross, considering I am not gay and you are like my dad.”

  “What?” Jake asked puzzled, and the it hit him. “Oh. Rickie. Stop that. That type of thinking is completely uncalled for.”

  “Sorry.” Rickie smirked. “But you said it.”

  “You know what I meant. You tattled on me, when it was you who spit out the mint.”

  “Sarge, with all due respect ….”

  “All due respect my ass.”

  “Man you are mad?”

  “Yes, Rickie I am mad,” Jake said. “Do you realize I am here to be honored, now I am in a back room to be scolded?”

  “Oh! Sarge, I got it.”

  “Got what?”

  “Dude, I know how to get you out of trouble.”

  “I shouldn’t be in trouble in the first place.”

  “Granted but …” Rickie held up a hand. “I know how to solve it. I’ll just tell the CIA that you were being the big hero you always are. I was choking and you saved me.”

  “Won’t work.”

  “Why?”

  “The hero thing went out the door when you started yelling, ‘Dude, check the big guy. He has mints.”

  “Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll just tell them I was excited.”

  Jake only grumbled.

  The door opened a notch and Rickie and Jake quickly looked up.

  Jake snapped to attention. While Rickie pointed out excitedly. “The president.”

  Jake wanted to kill him, the left side of his face twitched.

  President Allan nodded, at the secret service man, and the door closed. One agent stayed inside.

  Jake whispered a ‘behave’ to an overzealous Rickie.

  “Gentleman,” President Allan greeted.

  “Mr. President, sir,” Jake snapped a firm attention.

  President Allan gave an ‘at ease’ nod and shook Jake’s hand, he then faced Rickie.

  Rickie took a step to the president, but he didn’t do it his way, he did it with the side step, slanted John Wayne style. “Howdy, Mr. President Pilgrim, sir.”

  Jake closed his eyes.

  President Allan chuckled. “I’m gonna take it you are a John Wayne fan?”

  “Dude!” Rickie snapped out. “He rocks, I am.”

  “Rickie,” Jake corrected. “Sir. Sir.”

  “No, no, Sarge, we’re cool, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’.”

  After a grumble, Jake regained his composure.

  President Allan chuckled. “I like you young man.”

  “I like you, too.” Rickie smiled. “I voted for you.”

  “You did?”

  “Um ….” Rickie shifted his eyes. “OK, I didn’t.”

  “Rickie,” Ja
ke grunted out his name.

  Rickie continued, “But like if I said I didn’t then you wouldn’t think I liked you. I do. Now. Sarge taught me why.”

  Again, this bred a smile from president Allan. “Do you know why I asked you back here?”

  Rickie answered “Because Sarge made you almost trip and fall over that mint he tossed on the floor.”

  “Sir,” Jake spoke up, “I really do apologize for …”

  “No, no.” President Allan shook his head and lifted a hand. “Don’t apologize. I knew the second I saw him, I’d like him. Why? Because while everyone else was wearing tuxedos and uniforms, this young man dressed in the attire of my all time favorite hero.”

  “Dude, yes.” Rickie clenched his fist. “I knew it. I knew you were a John Wayne fan. I knew it I said to the Sarge you were. Sarge didn’t believe me. Shows how much he knows about his commander.” Rickie winked.

  “Oh my God,” Jake’s hand shot to his face.

  “Do you like horses?” The president asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Rickie nodded. “Never saw one other than the horse racing track.”

  “Well, we’ll have to get you out to my ranch,” President Allan laid a hand on Rickie’s arm. “Get you riding.”

  “No, can do. Would love to. But I can’t.” Rickie said.

  “Why? Fear?”

  “Yes.” Rickie nodded.

  Jake grimaced out his name, “Rickie.” He knew where he was going.

  “Son, there’s no reason to fear horses.” President Allan said.

  “Oh, I don’t fear them. They fear me.” Rickie said.

  “Rickie,” Jake warned.

  “Horses fear you?”

  “Rickie.”

  “Not just horses. Horses, pigs, wolves, some dogs, most animals. Never met a bear, so I wouldn’t know. Could have met one. But the Sarge wouldn’t wait.” Rickie shrugged.

  “Rickie,” Jake warned again.

  The president looked puzzled. “Wait. Why do you think all these animals fear you?”

  “dude, I don’t think I know. Sarge here took me to the zoo for a little ex-pre-a-mentay. Man, the animals ran.”

  Quickly the president looked at Jake. “Is he pulling my leg?”

  Just as Jake was about to answer, and tell the president that Rickie was joking, Rickie answered.

  “No, I swear. Girl scouts honor.” Rickie held up his hand. “They all fear me.”

  “Why?” the president asked.

  “I’m a monster.”

  “Rickie …”

  “No, Sarge, it’s cool.” Rickie stated. “He’s the president he’s allowed to know.”

  “A monster?” The president asked.

  “Yep. But not like Frankenstein or anything. Closer to the werewolf, but not as ugly. I don’t think. Do I get ugly Sarge?” Rickie asked.

  Jake winced.

  The President stammered “Why … why do you think you’re a monster?”

  What to do. What to do. Jake quickly raced through his mind on how to get out of the current conversation, but nothing was going to help. Just about the point where Jake feared begging tossed out of the Whitehouse while Rickie was taken for mental evaluation, Rickie spewed forth.

  “Ever hear of Caldwell Research institute?” Rickie asked.

  “Why, yes, I have.”

  “They run the Iso-Stasis experiments.”

  The president smiled knowingly. “Yes, I followed the last one.”

  “Then dude! You know me.”

  “You … you weren’t listed,” The president said.

  Rickie smacked himself in the forehead “Duh, to me. Caldwell owns me. OK, not owns me. But I sort of am involved in the toot because I’m a monster. See I met the Sarge here in Iso-Stasis Twelve.”

  The president had a pause to him. “I read those reports. It said nothing about you. Two people walked away. The colonel here and his wife.”

  “Dude, I died. But I didn’t.” Rickie explained “The Sarge here ruled. Man, he is the coolest. But like him and the Cal-Babe didn’t know I died, and when the toot told them I wasn’t dead, they took me in. The Sarge is my dad now. Took me in. Loved me. Fed me. Yelled at me..”

  “What about your real father?”

  Rickie stumbled back. “Prez, sir. The Sarge is my real dad now. I wouldn’t insult him and say that he wasn’t.”

  Jake couldn’t help it. He was touched. But his moment of being caught up took away from his moment of opportunity to stop Rickie. Rickie had spewed forth quickly how he was scratched and infected with a mutated DNA, which mutated his DNA. Jake could only hope that the president just thanked Rickie for the story and forgot about the science fiction sounding tale.

  Rickie rambled, “And I transform, not completely. Somewhat. Only when I’m mad. But sometimes, when I don’t like what’s on TV I get a little green-eyed, nothing to fear. Sarge helps me keep it in control. But, Dude, I can run fast. Like fifty miles an hour. Can’t I Sarge?

  Jake winced.

  “And jump. I jump high and fast. I’m strong too. I can’t always turn it on, and if I was running from a bully, I probably couldn’t get the adrenaline going enough to hit fifty. But he couldn’t catch me that’s for sure.” Rickie exhaled. “So. How are you?”

  There was as suspension of disbelief, along with belief with the president. “You run that fast and jump?”

  Rickie nodded. “All in the name of science, guy. All in the name of science. I’m a lean, mean, Rickie Miester machine. Grrrr.” He snickered.

  “Rickie,” Jake warned.

  “You do realize I find this hard to believe. It’s fascinating, but difficult to believe,” the president said.

  “Oh, for sure, like I wouldn’t believe it either.” Rickie said. He paused, smiled and snapped his finger. “Hey, wanna see?”

  “Rickie.” Jake shook his head.

  “As a matter of fact,” the president stated. “I think I would.”

  An announcement was made that dinner would be delayed another fifteen minutes, and the president promised he would dedicate his evening entirely to the guests of honor. But something of importance had come up.

  Little did the guests know that important matter was Rickie.

  No one was the wiser what was happening on the background of the Whitehouse. Jake stood with the president about fifteen feet from the back of the structure. Two lines of CIA agents spread apart created a path to the trees.

  With a megaphone, an agent called out, “Whenever you’re ready son.”

  Carl Smithton, the Chief of Staff edged his way to the president. “Sir, I can not believe you are standing here waiting on a boy to jump to the roof of the Whitehouse. If this gets out …”

  President Allan lifted a silencing hand. “It won’t. Either way.”

  “What do you mean either way?” he asked.

  “Either way.”

  Carl sighed out in aggravation, “Col. Graison, can you stop your son?”

  “At this point,” Jake said. “I’m remaining silent.”

  “Dudes!” Rickie yelled. “Ready? I don’t want you to blink and miss.”

  Carl rolled his eyes.

  The agent lifted the megaphone, “Go for it.”

  Rustling of leaves, a breaking of a branch, and Rickie shot from the wooded area, down the line of CIA agents, and with one mega leap was on the roof of the Whitehouse leaping in victory, and singing the theme from Rocky.

  If they would have blinked they truly would have missed him.

  Carl stood shocked.

  Jake said nothing.

  The agents were as baffled as Carl. But the president, he looked as if he were diligently tying to remain reserved, and held back his excitement.

  “Dude!” Rickie yelled. “See!”

  The president turned to Jake. “What was the name of the research center again?”

  ***

  At 11:01 PM, Cal fully expected Jake and Rickie to be on their way home. She was surprised she hadn’t heard from Jake,
and also a tad bit worried.

  The chef in the kitchen had whipped Cal a bowl of homemade chocolate pudding. A big heaping bowl with a die of homemade whipped cream. But Cal couldn’t enjoy it. Why hadn’t Jake called her?

  Finally, using her cell phone, she gave in and called him.

  She had to pull the phone away from her ear, the noise and music was so blasting.

  “Cal!” Jake yelled.

  “Where are you?” Cal asked.

  “What?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the Whitehouse. We’re detained until tomorrow.”

  “What do you mean detained?”

  “What?” Jake yelled.

  “What … do … you mean .. detained?” Cal spoke louder.

  “I’m sorry babe! The party is really loud! What was that.”

  “Never mind,” She mumbled, thinking why doesn’t he just find a quieter room. “Call me when you get home.”

  “When I get home?” Jake asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Tomorrow first thing I’ll be home!”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “What!”

  “Fuck,” Cal grunted. “Forget it. I miss you.”

  “What was that?” Jake asked. “I can barely hear you.”

  Cal was about to speak again, when she hear a woman’s voice.

  “Jake, come on, we’re waiting.” The woman said.

  Cal bit her lip, stewing, “Go enjoy your party asshole.”

  “What did you say?”

  Click.

  Cal hung up. She wanted to toss the phone, but didn’t. Instead she quickly sent a text message spelling out her pregnancy enraged feelings.

  “Asshole!” was what she typed and sent.

  “Ha!” She laughed. Waited. A minute later the phone rang, she saw it was Jake and she … turned off the power. Feeling almost better, she lifted her room phone and dialed the switch board. “Hi, I’m really exhausted, can you make sure no calls come through? Thanks.”

  Better.

  Cal felt better. She knew Jake would try to call at least ten times. Feeling more like eating that pudding, Cal grabbed the large bowl of pudding along with the whipped cream, and the spoon at the same time there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Cal yelled.

  “Billy.”