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rabidsamfanSomehow
By the third week, Murray knew he was going to have to start making some money. Somehow. The money on the credit card Bax had given them was vanishing into the hospital fees, and the rent on the helicopter pad and the dock slip were going to have to be paid soon. Nick and Cody were almost well enough to go to the rehab center -- they didn't need him visiting for hours every day any more now that they were both conscious and could talk to each other -- but they did need to know that the bills were going to be paid. The first case he solved without ever leaving his computer. The second one too. He turned down the kind of jobs which would need long term surveillance, the kind that took three partners to do well, but he took on every case he thought he could solve without endangering the agency's reputation, even the ones that required a trip to the library or city hall.
It wasn't enough. Never enough, somehow. He sold the patent on the Roboz's voice recognition system for more than he might have gotten if he'd insisted on getting royalties down the line and that made a cushion for a while. But mostly he did computer work -- the kinds of jobs he'd done before he became a detective, programming and debugging and working on security systems. Computer clutter spread out of his room, into the salon and even down into the galley, so that he could keep working while he made coffee, and monitor two and three projects at a time. He told himself that it didn't matter that he was getting by on caffeine and late hours instead of food and rest. He'd always been skinny, and these days he didn't really want to sleep anyway. Or dream.
He knew somehow that Dooley would be willing, but flaky, about helping when it was needed, and it was going to be needed sooner or later, so he studied the assistance rigs in the physical therapy magazines. He spent hours designing rigs that would work on the Riptide, and more hours building them and installing them. And then he made up for those hours by programming under the stars. There was something peaceful about being the only person awake on the pier, with only the green glow of the monitors to keep him company. But it was lonely too, and he'd end up waking up the Roboz, just to have someone to talk to.
Once a week he made the time, somehow, and stopped by the rehab hospital, bringing books and magazines and whatever outrageous story Dooley had inflicted on him the day before. He always made sure that he shaved before he went, and after the first time he made sure he brought a pizza, and for a little while it would almost be all right, with all three of them bickering lazily over who would get the extra slices and him always making sure that Cody and Nick won the argument. And gradually Nick started sitting upright again, and Cody could get up from the table by himself and switch into the wheelchair, and Murray could almost forget how much it had hurt watching the firemen prying his friends out of the ruin of the Jimmy after they'd been forced off the road and into that tree by the lake. His own seatbelt had been sabotaged too, but when he'd been thrown clear he'd landed in water just deep enough to make the difference between breaking his neck and breaking his fall. Two nights in the hospital, that was all, not two months and counting.
He lost track of time during the heatwave, somehow. He'd had to tie a cloth around his forehead, like Rambo, to keep the sweat from dripping down into his eyes as he worked. Had to keep a towel by the keyboard to dry his hands now and again. He had three computer commissions and two cases going, and Dooley to come by and make sure there was Gatorade in the cooler, only somehow he missed it when Dooley said he had to be out of town for a few days, and if the cooler ran out of Gatorade at least there was water from the tap he could pour over his t-shirt and shorts and the little fan blowing at him, so loud that he could hardly hear the girls complaining on the Contessa next door.
And somehow he must have put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes, because he was startled out of the nightmare by a touch on his shoulder and when he yelled and fell off the chair and woke up Nick and Cody were there, way too pale and thin, but grinning and shaking their heads at him and and telling him that he'd missed his regular visit and they'd decided to sneak out of the hospital to make sure he was okay. And next thing he knew Cody was making happy noises about all the bars and things that would let him move around on the boat and Nick was grumbling about how skinny Murray had gotten and did he ever eat and when was the last time Murray had slept in his own bed and not in the salon. And Cody said that if they were going to play hooky they ought to do it right and go out where there might be a breeze and maybe some fish to catch and Nick said good idea because if they unhooked Murray's computers from the phone lines maybe Murray would actually do something fun for a change.
And somehow, that's just what they did.
By the third week, Murray knew he was going to have to start making some money. Somehow. The money on the credit card Bax had given them was vanishing into the hospital fees, and the rent on the helicopter pad and the dock slip were going to have to be paid soon. Nick and Cody were almost well enough to go to the rehab center -- they didn't need him visiting for hours every day any more now that they were both conscious and could talk to each other -- but they did need to know that the bills were going to be paid. The first case he solved without ever leaving his computer. The second one too. He turned down the kind of jobs which would need long term surveillance, the kind that took three partners to do well, but he took on every case he thought he could solve without endangering the agency's reputation, even the ones that required a trip to the library or city hall.
It wasn't enough. Never enough, somehow. He sold the patent on the Roboz's voice recognition system for more than he might have gotten if he'd insisted on getting royalties down the line and that made a cushion for a while. But mostly he did computer work -- the kinds of jobs he'd done before he became a detective, programming and debugging and working on security systems. Computer clutter spread out of his room, into the salon and even down into the galley, so that he could keep working while he made coffee, and monitor two and three projects at a time. He told himself that it didn't matter that he was getting by on caffeine and late hours instead of food and rest. He'd always been skinny, and these days he didn't really want to sleep anyway. Or dream.
He knew somehow that Dooley would be willing, but flaky, about helping when it was needed, and it was going to be needed sooner or later, so he studied the assistance rigs in the physical therapy magazines. He spent hours designing rigs that would work on the Riptide, and more hours building them and installing them. And then he made up for those hours by programming under the stars. There was something peaceful about being the only person awake on the pier, with only the green glow of the monitors to keep him company. But it was lonely too, and he'd end up waking up the Roboz, just to have someone to talk to.
Once a week he made the time, somehow, and stopped by the rehab hospital, bringing books and magazines and whatever outrageous story Dooley had inflicted on him the day before. He always made sure that he shaved before he went, and after the first time he made sure he brought a pizza, and for a little while it would almost be all right, with all three of them bickering lazily over who would get the extra slices and him always making sure that Cody and Nick won the argument. And gradually Nick started sitting upright again, and Cody could get up from the table by himself and switch into the wheelchair, and Murray could almost forget how much it had hurt watching the firemen prying his friends out of the ruin of the Jimmy after they'd been forced off the road and into that tree by the lake. His own seatbelt had been sabotaged too, but when he'd been thrown clear he'd landed in water just deep enough to make the difference between breaking his neck and breaking his fall. Two nights in the hospital, that was all, not two months and counting.
He lost track of time during the heatwave, somehow. He'd had to tie a cloth around his forehead, like Rambo, to keep the sweat from dripping down into his eyes as he worked. Had to keep a towel by the keyboard to dry his hands now and again. He had three computer commissions and two cases going, and Dooley to come by and make sure there was Gatorade in the cooler, only somehow he missed it when Dooley said he had to be out of town for a few days, and if the cooler ran out of Gatorade at least there was water from the tap he could pour over his t-shirt and shorts and the little fan blowing at him, so loud that he could hardly hear the girls complaining on the Contessa next door.
And somehow he must have put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes, because he was startled out of the nightmare by a touch on his shoulder and when he yelled and fell off the chair and woke up Nick and Cody were there, way too pale and thin, but grinning and shaking their heads at him and and telling him that he'd missed his regular visit and they'd decided to sneak out of the hospital to make sure he was okay. And next thing he knew Cody was making happy noises about all the bars and things that would let him move around on the boat and Nick was grumbling about how skinny Murray had gotten and did he ever eat and when was the last time Murray had slept in his own bed and not in the salon. And Cody said that if they were going to play hooky they ought to do it right and go out where there might be a breeze and maybe some fish to catch and Nick said good idea because if they unhooked Murray's computers from the phone lines maybe Murray would actually do something fun for a change.
And somehow, that's just what they did.
