“Jen, I hope I’m not interrupting your night off.” I speak into the receiver.
Music pounding, muffled in the background, “Not at all, what can I do for you,” Jen asks, the lie plain.
“Regarding the business of Tara’s master. We seemed to have missed some links. It appears that he may have worked with a group of people. At least to the extent that they worked together in his…business. I also have another name for you. In relation to Tara. Rachel, no last name, may have been a late guest of her master.” I say, attempting to be circumspect. One never knows who might be listening.
“I’ll handle it. When do you need the information,” asks Jen.
“We tried fast. Let’s go for thorough. Let’s meet in a week and see what we have. If in house can’t handle it, farm it out. Pull from the Aleph account,” I command.
“Yes. We’ll do this right. Do you want us to sit on it or do we want to encroach on the subjects?”
“Soft recon only, nothing close in until we have the shape of it,” I reply.
“On it.” The background sounds cut off as the line goes dead.
Emerging from the bedroom, I walk over to the oven and pull out the cookies to cool. The warm richness of melted dark chocolate fills the night air. Placing the dozen chocolate chip cookies on the cooling rack; I turn off the oven. The sound of a wisecracking fox fills the air. Ah, Zootopia.
Time for some actual food. I’m thinking grilled cheese with caramelized onions. A bit of comfort food to go with a comfort dessert.