As I approached Haggerty's old office, I saw Angel, Sherry and Smitty gathered around a computer, discussing and pointing at things on the screen. They were sharing a bag of sea salt and vinegar potato chips, so each time they touched the screen it left a big greasy fingerprint.
"What's up guys?" I asked with unusual cheer.
"Intercontinental sent us some diagnostic software." Sherry replied. "It runs through the standard security holes to see if you have them covered."
"Well, how are we doing?" I asked.
"Pretty well so far." Sherry continued. "We disabled the guest account and Professor Haggerty's email account. The software found an obscure loophole on the web server, which we fixed. But we seem to be faring pretty well."
"I'd like to help out with this if you don't mind." Smitty offered.
"Sure." I replied. "We can use all the help we can get."
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"I want you to do what you're told, of course." I replied laughing, greatly appreciating my own wit." I turned and headed towards my office, still appreciating how clever I was.
Nobody was in my office when I got there, but my answering machine was blinking, my email icon said that I had mail in my inbox, and there were three students waiting to see me.
The first student just wanted a form signed. So I signed it without even looking.
The second student was from the database class that I had taken over for Haggerty. He felt that Haggerty's disappearance was the reason that he wasn't doing well in the class.
"Is it because I am more difficult than Haggery?" I asked.
"No."
"Am I teaching differently?" I pressed.
"No."
"Then what does Haggerty's disappearance have to do with your not doing well?" I inquired.
"Well, it was disruptive." He replied.
"I'm sure it was disruptive." I agreed. "But it was disruptive for everyone. Since the grades are always curved, this shouldn't affect your grade unless you are particularly sensitive to disruption. Do you believe that you are more sensitive to disruption than your classmates?"
He shrugged, but said nothing.
"If you are not doing well in the class," I offered, "then you may want to consider spending more time studying and less time waiting outside my office to complain."
He smiled sheepishly and went on his way.
My next visitor was an odd looking middle aged man a little short than me but outweighing me by fifty or sixty pounds. His hair was long, unwashed and hung in greasy corkscrews around his face and neck. He wore bifocal glasses that were black plastic across the top with a chrome wire underneath and a gray cashmere safari hat. His comedic appearance was completed by a loud Hawaiian shirt and blue sweat pants.
He didn't look like a student. In fact I wasn't completely sure that he was human. As he entered my office, I instinctively moved behind my chair as though the extra few feet of distance might keep me from catching something horrible.
"Professor Wentworth?" he inquired oblivious to my recoil.
"Yes. I'm Professor Wentworth. What can I do for you?"
"My name is Gershom Oxenstein ," he began offering his hand, "and I need your help."
I shook his hand and then tried hard not to wipe my hand off on my pants leg. But the name rang a bell.
"Mr. Oxenstein, if my memory serves me correctly you run some rather unpleasant rackets in the Southeast section of town. What could you possible want my help for?"
"That business about the rackets," Oxenstein began, "maybe its true, maybe it isn't. You can't believe everything you read."
"Well, I certainly agree with that but it still doesn't tell me why you want my help."
"Alright, Wentworth, I'll get to the point," he said dropping the pleasantries. "I understand that you are an expert in money laundering and I would like to pay for some of your expertise."
"Well my expertise isn't really in money laundering. It is more in the algorithms that are used to identify patterns of transactions that may represent money laundering."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Oxenstein said with marked impatience. "Look, Wentworth, I hear that you are a straight up kind of guy so I'm going to level with you. Over the course of my career, I have accumulated a large quantity of cash. I need to get that money into circulation without attracting the attention of the feds. I need your help to do that."
"Mr. Oxenstein, it sounds like you are trying to hire me to help you launder money. That is illegal and I cannot help you to do that. In fact, I don't think I would help you even if I could."
"Look here, Wentworth. You don't know that this money isn't perfectly legitimate. I have some above board businesses such as video arcades that generate a lot of cash. The problem isn't how I made the money, the problem is that I didn't always report it. So I'm a little behind in my taxes. I don't mind reporting the money and paying taxes on it. I just don't want to go to jail for the taxes that I have paid so far. So I thought you could help me get the money into legitimate circulation so I could pay the taxes without attracting the attention of the IRS."
"It is an interesting problem, Mr. Oxenstein. But right now I have all the work I can handle. Maybe if you could come back in a month or so we could talk more. I don't really think I can help you. But I will be fair and consider it."
"O.K.," said Oxenstein, "I'll come back in a few months. But I want your word that you will give me fair and honest consideration."
With that he left. It was an interesting proposition. But at the moment I had too many other things on my mind.
The next three people waiting for me were students who had a variety of grumbles about classes, professors, and the world in general. I dispatched their concerns as deftly as I could.
The last person waiting for me was a very attractive woman about my age. I did a quick once over and thought to myself - Not bad for an old lady. I'll bet she turned a few heads in her day. I opened the door and invited her in. I figured that she was a recent divorcee coming back to school to start a new life. Probably not enough room in this tiny office, I thought to myself, for all her baggage.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, only slightly interested in the answer.
"You don't remember me, do you?" she asked in reply.
It had been such a long time since I had picked up anyone in a bar, that I knew that couldn't be it. I had probably met her at one of those university relations luncheons where you shake hands with a bunch of CEO's, eat the same lousy catered food and walk around bloated all afternoon. It was not the kind of experience that one would want to remember.
I look more closely at her. She did look vaguely familiar. The crow's feet in the corners of her sad eyes added dignity, wisdom and character to an otherwise lovely face. In fact, it was a very lovely face. Boy, if I can't remember you, I thought, I must really be slipping. But, truth was, I didn't.
"I'm afraid you have the advantage," I said cautiously, "I really don't remember."
"Taddy, you haven't changed a bit," she said looking like she might actually smile.
My mind reeled. I hadn't been called Taddy in years. Well it certainly wasn't one of the executive lunches. Maybe it was somebody who knew me from high school. I must have looked thoroughly puzzled, because she looked amused. First a twinkle appeared in her eye. Then she smiled - a broad warming smile. It was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. And as she smiled, her blue eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. It was Julie Fantod - looking every bit as beautiful as she did twenty-five years ago, and maybe even a bit more radiant.
My heart was pounding. It was like being dealt three face cards and knowing the you've got the hand if you just don't blow it. "We have a lot of catching up to do, Julie." I said trying to behave nonchalantly.
"That we do, Taddy." She said. "That we do." She smiled confidently and relaxed a bit.
I felt like I did going to Breakfast Club, running every third step just to keep up. But this time I wasn't going to let her get away so easily.