Free The Pedestal by Daniel Wimberley Page A

other than Ryan, the only person who’s ever had direct access to the database—at least in our patch of the circuit—is Arthur.”
    Whoa . The room feels as though it’s a giant tilt-o-whirl. “Hold on, are you saying Arthur did this? Why would he do that? It doesn’t make any sense.” Only, even as the words pass my lips, I realize that it does—well, sort of. Suddenly Arthur’s split from Mitzy seems to take on a new light. Arthur was never the emotional sort—I sometimes wonder if he believed outward displays of emotion to be signs of weakness—therefore he never so much as cracked a frown when Mitzy left him. I feel as though a small piece in a giant puzzle has quietly merged with another, yet the overall picture remains obscured.
    Tim shrugs, as if to say, Stranger than fiction, right?
    “Listen, Tim. I need to ask you something—and it’s important that you tell me the absolute truth.” I need to know just how deeply Arthur was immersed in this little extortion racket, and I’m rapidly running out of leads. “Was Arthur involved in anything, you know—unethical—or anything?”
    “Jeez, Wil. You’re asking me? He was your best friend.”
    “I know, I know. It probably sounds weird, me even bringing it up. But have there been any—I don’t know—rumors or anything? You know, things that maybe people talk about but would never mention with me around for fear of it making it back to Arthur?”
    Tim pales, and I know I’ve hit paydirt. “C’mon,” I prod. “I really need to know.”
    “Well, there’s sort of been a rumor going around that he’s been getting a little, uh, action on the side.”
    I blink. Just like that, there it is—right out in the open, where it’s much harder to deny. “How long?” I manage to squeak out.
    “I don’t really know when it started. Right before he got divorced, I guess. We all kind of figured it was a contributing factor and all—I mean, nobody cheats on a woman like Mitzy, you know?”
    Uh—say what? “Wait a second, are you saying Arthur was having an affair?”
    Based on Tim’s expression, I surmise that I’ve just reached a level of dimwittedness previously reserved for the truly extraordinary. Mom would be so proud. “Hi, I’m Earth. Have we met?” he says. “What the heck have we been talking about, man?” He shakes his head and then pauses to appraise me, suddenly worried. “You sure you’re okay?”
    “Yeah, sorry. Just misunderstood you, that’s all. So has anyone actually ever seen the other woman?”
    “I’m thinking Rupert—you know him, right? Works on the first floor?—seems like he’s the one that got all the bugs scuttling. Think he saw them kissing once when he was running some lines behind the building or something.”
    “Did he say what she looked like?”
    “I don’t know, man.” I give him an incredulous glare, to which he replies: “C’mon, we’re talking two years ago. At least.”
    “Yeah, okay.” My vision pulses slightly, warning that my lunch break is now half-over. “Thanks, Tim. I appreciate your help.” I’m about to leave when I realize the burden of populating Arthur’s impromptu ceremony has fallen on my shoulders. “I guess Arthur’s wake is this afternoon,” I explain. “Any chance you can make it?”
    Tim gives me the deer-in-headlights look. “Oh. Uh, I should probably stay here. Gotta leave a man on deck, right?”
    I smile flatly at this pragmatic and perfectly reasonable excuse. But inside, my heart aches because I know most of the guys around this place will find equally reasonable excuses to bow out.
    “Yeah, I guess,” I agree with as little disappointment as I can manage. “I’ll see you later, Tim.”
     

 

     
     
    Though I’ve been given no reason to believe it will do any good, I have nevertheless decided to ensnare Dr. Seymore for a final plea before the cogs of progress irreversibly spring into motion. As it turns out, I’m wasting my time: Arthur’s body