Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (18 page)

“Oh. 
Sos it’s kinda like testing a recipe but making sure all the food is good, and
not rotten.  Or making sure you’re not testing a chocolate cake recipe using
brussel sprouts,” Vito said.

“I
like brussel sprouts,” Ethel interjected.

“Hey,
me too!” Vito beamed. He was followed by a chorus of, “Shh!”

“Anyway,
the recipe analogy is pretty good,” said Norman easily.  A little too easily. 
I wasn’t sure if Norman had ever had a whole beer before.  I was beginning to
hope he would make his excuses to Janice and stay nappily at Bauser’s place. 
“Anyway, Howard insisted on using the test data for presentation to
Buy-A-Lots.  I warned him it would present like a Buy-A-Lots Utopia.  I also
warned him about using a disclaimer about the sample data.  He didn’t. ”

“So?”
asked K.

Norman
sighed.  “We sold them the
actual package using virtual data, before the actual data was incorporated.  So
Buy-A-Lots ran their marketing programs – and budgets – with the test data. 
Which is bad, because the actual data we sent them, to replace the virtual
data, was almost a year old.  Either way, the test data predicted plenty of
future Buy-A-Lots all over.”

“What’s
so different about that?” Bauser asked.

“No,
I mean, like right on top of an existing store.  Or, say, in the middle of the
Susquehanna.”

“Would
make for one hell of a fishing department,” Bauser retorted.

“I
suppose opening retail stores don’t use a restaurant row concept?” asked Ike.

“Similar,
but not exactly,” Norman said.  “According to Buy-A-Lots’ market analysis, they
don’t want to be the only Buy-A-Lots in a county, but at the same time they
certainly don’t want to out-convenience their own convenience.  Like building
right next to an existing store.”

Trixie’s
“Huh?”came out muffled, through a mouthful of Raspberry Brownie sandwich.

“The
thing is, Buy-A-Lots ran with the whacky data.  And How-weird knew it. They
made a lot of corporate decisions – and investments – based on bogus
assumptions.”

“Oh. 
Like Iraq?” asked K.  We all nodded at him.  He was getting it.

“Then,
when we gave the data update, with the real data, that blew their forecasting
out of the water.  So now How-weird is trying to figure out a way to make the
bogus data seem actual, and the actual data seem somewhat bogus.  But
incrementally, because we have to wean their system off the fake whacky data
and onto the real whacky data, but without too many whacky results.”

“How
do you know all this?” I asked.

“Because
How-weird’s making me do the tweaks.  He’s finally realized he can’t shift the
blame to the real data, so he’s shifting it to development. And of course, he’d
never shift the blame by admitting a mistake, or the truth,” Norman said. 
“Which means every time I ‘fix’ something, to try to get the actual data to
give similar bogus results, I’m meddling with years of research.  And
development.” 

Gack. 
So that’s why Norman kept getting corralled into weekends.  Eeek.

“So
that’s why I’ve been running tons of backups.  Assuming, once all’s said and
done, Howard wants the king’s men to put all the bits and pieces together
again.” Norman took another swig of beer.  I made another hash mark in my
napkin.  This might have made three or more whole swigs of beer he had taken. 
Maybe in his whole entire lifetime.

“Anyway,
the system started to get real funky when Norman ran the data re-runs,” Bauser
said.  “So awhile back I did a concurrent live time monitor while Norman ran a fake run.”

“And?”
I asked.

“Someone
is monitoring each and every run of Norman’s, but only against the sample
data,” Bauser said.

“How
can you tell that?” asked Ike.

“Because
I put out packet sniffers,” replied Bauser.

“Huh?”
we all asked.

Ma
clapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course!”  I looked at her and winced.  Ma
and Bauser looked around at the rest of us, and realized we were clueless.  “A
packet sniffer is a program that is able to go out across a network and tell
you who’s sending out what – whether it’s an email or FTPing data.  The more
sophisticated ones can even tell you who’s packet sniffing you back,” she
explained.

Bauser
blushed. “Well actually, not more sophisticated – more like modified.”

Ma
looked at him like she’d just discovered chocolate.  If Bauser kept playing his
cards this way, he’d be out of EEJIT and in New Jersey with Ma’s firm before
the ink was dry.

“Anyway,
we still can’t pinpoint who’s spying on my runs,” Norman explained.

“How
come?” asked Vito.

Bauser
said, “Too many sales reps logged into EEJIT from too many outside locations.”

“So
that’s why I ran concurrent runs against the sample data,” Norman said, with
another swig.  “I haven’t done that before, mostly because I was afraid it
might hang the system while other data runs were going out.  But the fire was
the perfect opportunity. I figured most everyone was logged out, and mine would
be the only programs compiling.  I’m hoping the concurrent behavior will get
the Watcher to launch multiple tracking.  Which is easier to be sloppy with,
and maybe give us a clue.”

“Mina,
I’m impressed that you work with these guys,” Vito said.

“Work
with us?  Heck, she just hangs around and gets konked on the noggin,” Bauser
joshed.  I tossed a breadstick at him.  Jim caught it mid-flight.

Suddenly
we were all chatting away with different people and different conversations
about the same thing:  whodunit?  When at last we came to a lull, Trixie piped
up, as she looked out the window.

“Gee,
Vito, I’m surprised you didn’t bring your niece over with you.”

Vito
flushed, Aunt Muriel choked on some melted ice cubes and Ma cleared her
throat.  “Oh, Annie, you mean,” Vito said, smiling and showing off his
bridgework.  “Oh, well, uh, she had to go back home to, uh, Virginia.”

“Really?” 
Trixie asked, still looking outside.

“Yeah,
uh, that boss of hers, he’s got her doing lots of stuff for him,” Vito said. 
He mopped his brow with a crumpled napkin.

“Gee,
does she live close to the Beltway?” Ike asked.

“Huh?”

Now
it was Ethel’s turn. “Vito, does your niece live in Northern Virginia?”

“Oh,
yeah, sure…”

“Gee,
where?  We live in Springfield.”

“Where
does she work?” toyed Trixie.

“Uh,
D.C., I think…”

“Then
don’t you think it’s kind of funny that she’s been parked across the street
from us for the past two hours?”  Trixie asked.

Vito
gulped and looked a lot like Vinnie when he’s about to cough up a hairball.  I
looked over at Trixie.  She had a very determined look on her face.  I suddenly
felt very, very sympathetic for Appletree or any other prospective boyfriend
she might have.

Everyone,
including Vinnie, Jim and the Ratties, dove to the living room windows to gape
at Vito’s niece, Annie, sitting parked across the street from my house.  Except
for Trixie and Vito.  I didn’t move because I couldn’t.  My head felt like
cement.  Besides, K. was using my shoulders for a perch.

“So,
what is it?” Trixie asked Vito.

“Hey,
Trix,” Vito began.

“You
wanna see your little doggie again?  I heard what you did from my old boyfriend
George at the animal shelter.”

CHAPTER 6

(Tuesday Night)

Vito’s
lip quivered
and
he began to cry.  It started out with his back turned then went into a full
soaker hose drenching.  During the course of which everyone got distracted from
the windows.

“Sos
I called the animal shelter and says I want to adopt the little fella,” Vito
sniffed.  “But they says they can’t adopt a dog out what’s not theirs.  So I
had to turn him in.”

Aunt
Muriel exchanged glances with Ma.  Ma dove into the kitchen and got the roll of
paper towels and handed them to Auntie. Aunt Muriel broke off two towels,
handed one to Vito, and they blew in unison.  Vito smiled wanly.  The rest of
us grabbed our napkins and blew.

“So
now what?” cried K.

“I
gotta leave him there for 72 hours, on account of he could be licensed to
someone who might be looking for him.  The dumb jerk.  Who could let a little
fella like Stanley run around, anyways?”

“Stanley?”  we all parroted.

“I
had to call him something! Besides, it’s a very historical and dignified name.”

“Only
if you’re a rabbit,” said K. 

“No,
that’s Harvey,” Aunt Muriel corrected.

“Do
you mean like Stanley the Great, of Poland?” asked Ike.

“Exactly!”
Vito smiled. Ethel hung her head. 

“Well,
he might actually have been lost.  It could have just been an accident,” Ike
said.  Ethel elbowed him.

“So
what happens after 72 hours?” Norman asked.

Vito
wiped his nose and blew.  “I get to go in and get him,” he said.  “Unless he
does have a previous owner, and he claims him before I do.” He looked at Trixie
and sniffed.

“Oh,
for Pete’s sakes,” Trixie said.  “You already put dibs on him.  You don’t think
they want another doggie for their collection, do you?”

“No,
no.  I guess not.”

“Hey,
what time is it?” Trixie asked.

Bauser
checked his wristwatch – which has the accuracy of the Hubble Space Telescope –
and said it was 10:11:04:0000567 p.m.  Since Vito had turned the gnawing
Terrier in at a little after 9 a.m., we assured him he was over twelve hours
into what was going to eventually be the home stretch.  Only 59:49:56:0000033
to go.  In layman’s terms, another two and a half days.  Another two dinners. 
Another three bird fluffed lunches.  Yikes.  I set my shoulders and jaw line
into the ready position for the upcoming dyspepsia and associated Swifferings.

“Don’t
you think we should invite her in?” asked K.  “I mean, after all, she is his
niece – she can’t possibly stay out there all night!”

“Who
are you talking about?” Norman asked.

“Annie,”
he answered.

Vito
leapt across the room and stood in front of the door.  “NO! NO! NO!” Ma and
Muriel shrieked.

“She
probably just forgot something.  Or maybe she’s counting change,” Vito added.

“You
could at least offer her dessert,” Trixie said levelly.

“Look,
I’ve really gotta go.  I could bring her a brownie on my way out, and let her
know she’s welcome to come in and join you,” Norman said.

After
some micro-debate and some more NO-NO-NOing from Vito, Ma and Auntie, K.
packaged up a brownie in a tin foil swan a la doggie bag and sent Norman trudging across the street toward Annie’s car.  Vito stood by the windows, looking
out and sweating a lot.  I checked my AC.  Yup, it was working.  Do senior guys
get hot flashes?

Ethel,
Ike and K. started cleaning up.  Oddly, Aunt Muriel and Ma hovered around
Vito’s window watching.

“I
thought they gave you today to decide about being on the Plan,” I said, and let
Bauser in about Lee and her crew.  He shrugged.

“Either
I’m on the Plan or I’m out of work,” he said.  “But even if I’m out of work,
EEJIT still owes me a boat load of back vacation pay,” he finished

“How?
I thought they bought you out already?  Isn’t that why you bought the
wall-to-wall TV?”

“They
bought me out some, not all. Part of my strategy for job security, with the
corporate takeover.  I figured they would hate parting with a full payout.”  I
nodded.  I had to hand it to Bauser: he was pretty smart.

There
came the sound of squealing tires, and a car sped away from the curb.  Vito
looked out the window.  “See, she was probably just counting change, after
all,” he said.  “She’s got a long drive ahead of her, don’t forget.”  He sat
down and mopped his brow.

A
firecracker went off outside.  Then some cursing and shouting in Vietnamese
went off.  The doorbell rang.  I opened the door and saw Mrs. Phang.  “This
yours,” she snarled and pointed.

“What?”
I asked.

“Man
in driveway!” she huffed at me.

I
went down the front path and saw Norman sitting at the bottom of the driveway
at the curb, holding his forehead in his hands and bleeding.  Apparently, Norman got shot.

After
some shrieking and more shouting in Vietnamese and various regional American
accents, we got Norman inside while Trixie cleaned him up and gave him the once
over.

“You’re
lucky; it just grazed you,” she said, cleaning his wound with vodka and making
him wince.  Ma and Aunt Muriel winced, too, but I had a feeling that was more
about Trixie using their Absolut.  Bauser came back into the house with Norman’s towel, and held it out to him.  Norman slung it over his shoulder, and pressed a
cold beer to his forehead.

“Well
this is just ridiculous!” K. pronounced, hands on hips.  “I mean, really, what
is this neighborhood coming to?”

Vito
tsk-tsked him.  “Hey, this neighborhood’s good.  This shooting is a very
unusual happenstance,” he said.

“I
think we should call the police,” Trixie said, getting all slitty eyed.

“No!”
Vito and I shouted, and looked at each other.  Clearly, we both had very
different reasons for wanting Trixie to never call the police.

Trixie
pouted. “He did get shot at, you know.  And it wasn’t exactly a hunting
accident.”

“You
make too much big deal,” Mrs. Phang said.

“Over
a gunshot wound?” Ike asked.  If his voice rose any higher, Ethel would have to
pull him down off the ceiling.

“Just
accident.  I miss.” Mrs. Phang shrugged.

“YOU
SHOT ME?” Norman asked.

“NO
ON PURPOSE! NO ON PURPOSE!” Mrs. Phang screamed.  “MAKE MISTAKE!  YOU NO HURT!”

“I
know I’m going to regret this,” Norman began, after taking an enormous swig of
his new beer – which had been opened by Bauser, this time – “but I have to ask:
if you weren’t aiming at me, who were you trying to shoot?”

Mrs.
Phang threw her arms up in the air, and sat down.  She looked at Vito.  Vito
shrugged and sat down next to her, and patted her on the shoulder.  We all
winced and thought him brave.

“The
least you could do is offer me a drink, Muriel,” she said in perfect,
unaccented English.  “It’s pretty much over, anyway.”  Vito and Ma nodded.

Aunt
Muriel whipped up a drink, and the rest of us made ourselves ready for a good
story.  K. dug out the brownies and cheesecakes.  Vinnie snuffled peacefully in
the corner.  The dogs all sat pretty.

“A
few years ago, my husband wanted to retire and move to Lancaster, to be near
his sister,” Mrs. Phang said.

Trixie
yelled, “Your husband?” She was the only one of us ballsy enough to ask what we
all thought: Mrs. Phang was just too mean to have a husband.  She was the type
that probably killed her husband immediately after mating, just like a praying
mantis.

“Yes,
yes, my husband.  Cong Phang.  We were married for thirty-five years,” she
said.  Her face softened.  She looked down and spotted Trixie’s handbag, and
her Swank’s.  She looked around. “May I?” she asked.

“Sure,”
Trixie said, handing her the cancer sticks.  Mrs. Phang moved to sit near the
screen door.  Ma made her tight lipped face; she hates smoking.  But she hates
missing a good story more.

Mrs.
Phang lit the cigarette and blew a puff of smoke outside.  She smiled.  “First
one in twenty years.” Then she continued with her story: “My husband owned a
small hardware store in Hackensack. I worked in the hospital.  I helped
patients sort out their medical billing crises after they got through their
health crises.

“Cong
wanted to retire.  The store had made a decent profit, I’d been working
steadily, and we didn’t have kids.  We couldn’t.”  Vito nodded his head in
sympathy.  “Besides, another Buy-A-Lots was opening up, and it was getting
harder and harder for him to compete with the big box stores.

“So
I retired from Tri-County Hospital.  Cong sold the store and we sold the
house.  Cong moved here ahead of me, to scout out the area while staying with
his sister and her family.  Less than a month later, he died of a heart
attack.”

“Oh
jeez,” Trixie said, and helped herself to one of her own cigarettes.

“It
gets worse,” Mrs. Phang continued.  “You see, Cong stayed with his sister to
help her and her husband out with their business.  It was failing.”  Mrs. Phang
let out another puff.  “After the funeral, I found out he’d let his life
insurance lapse.  I also found out he’d ‘helped his sister out’ by investing
the sale of the hardware store, and our house, into Lickety-Split Laundry.”

“Oh
dear,” Aunt Muriel said, and found her way to the kitchen and the Absolut.

“With
Cong gone, my brother-in-law, Fu, had a lot more stress, with all the workload
back on him.  That’s why my sister-in-law, Fen, thinks he drove off Route 283
in the delivery van.  He must have fallen asleep at the wheel,” she finished.

“But
why the phony accent?” I asked, and added, “And why all the yelling?”

“It
was easier getting legitimate customers in and out quickly that way.  I’m not
really retail-oriented.” She shrugged.  “So there I was, stuck with no real
home and no job.  I went back to the hospital, but they’d already hired for my
old position.  And since I’d removed myself from the pecking order, if I
started back there again, it would be almost like starting all over.  Complete
with getting 4 weeks vacation whacked back down to 1.”

“Ouch,”
Bauser said sympathetically.

“My
sister-in-law was in similar straits, and we talked about living together.  But
we couldn’t figure out if it would be better for her to sell the business and
move up with me, while I hopped back on the bottom rung at the hospital, or for
me to move here and try to help her out.”

“Well,
you’re here… so things worked out, right?” Ma asked.

“For
the most part, now.  But in the beginning it was pretty tough.  Especially
while I was trying to figure things out, and stuck with the apartment in Hasbrouck Heights,” she said.

“Hasbrouck Heights?” Ma and Aunt Muriel asked.

“It
was a 6-month rental, after we sold the house, while Cong was looking for a
place here.  But when all those plans went kaflooey, I needed some kind of
income, just to pay the rent and eat until I could think.”  Mrs. Phang stubbed
out her cigarette.  “That’s when I started working at the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht.”

Ma
and Aunt Muriel looked at Mrs. Phang with pity and awe.  Ethel and I nodded. 
Ike was still trying to wrap his head around bagels, much less borscht.

“It
wasn’t so bad.  And it turned out to be a good thing.  I used to get my lunch
there a lot when I worked at the hospital.  The Bagels ‘n’ Borscht was right
across the street,” she explained.  “Anyway, I wandered in for lunch one day
and told my tale of woe to Rachael, the gal who worked there, and it turned out
they were hiring.  So there I was.”

“So
Lickety-Split Laundry must be a success, right?” K. asked nicely.

“It’s
getting there.  But when we were bleeding all the cash Cong invested, along
with most of the income, it was pretty frustrating.” 

“Start-up
costs?” Norman asked.

Mrs.
Phang shook her head.  “Gambling debts.  It turned out that Fen, my naïve
sister-in-law, was paying off my nephew’s online gambling debts with the
investment monies.  And our income.”

“Isn’t
that illegal?” Trixie asked.

“Nope. 
Online gambling is legal if you’re over twenty-one.  And his mom was willingly
paying off his debt.” Mrs. Phang sighed.  “But he’s all grown up, with a great
paying sales job. He lives on the Mainline in Philly,” she said.  “So I had a
down and out with him, and told him he’d have to help us out of this mess.  And
then I cut up his credit cards.”

“You
did?”  Ethel asked, with a nervous glance at Ike.  I opened my mouth, then
closed it.  I didn’t want to know.

“Excuse
me, but what exactly has all this got to do with shooting me? Accidentally, I
mean,” Norman asked.