2. Doolittle Finds Work-life Balance?

Chapter two

Doolittle Finds Work-life Balance?

I t was bad enough that I had to work for Special Processing and Management, SPAM for short. But right? The only thing they processed and managed was me. Or at least the other so-called supers. Or heroes. Or whatever. I sure as hell didn't feel like any of that applied to me. Yeah, yeah, I made it through basic training, but I hadn't even had a case yet, and I wasn't sure I wanted one. If I could avoid it forever, I would. This was never where I wanted to be, but the alternative wasn't much better.

And then, to top it all off. Poof! Out of nowhere, I get assigned a partner. No, an assistant. An analyst with the code name Special K. In other words, a minder.

And it was literally like that. I got out of the shower—around noon, admittedly—and the paper floated down from the ceiling. I picked it up and read:

Meet Analyst, Special K at HQ today at 1:30 pm Eastern.

And do not be late.

It wasn't even signed but had the SPAM logo as a watermark. I started to crumple it into a ball, and it dissolved into nothing in my hands.

I washed them.

This was going to be a long ass day.

After dressing, I poured myself a shot of the cheap stuff. I couldn't afford the eighty-year-old scotch I probably should have been drinking. At least in my mind's eye. Weren't successful archaeologists supposed to drink that?

Well, that wasn't me either. No. I went with Skol, preferring vodka anyway. I slammed it down. Ah! It wasn't the best on the market, but it gave me whatever boost I needed to actually make shit happen in my crap-tastic life.

I headed out. The walk to the office was only like ten or fifteen minutes away—if I didn't stop for another drink along the way. Which I did. But when I couldn't put it off any longer, I continued to the HQ office.

It was an unassuming, non-descript building that fit in with all the other buildings around it to the point that if you didn't specifically know what you were looking for, you would probably miss it. The tan building was a high-rise, but not as tall as other buildings but not the smallest either. In true SPAM style, it fits somewhere in the middle, hidden in plain sight. The full name of the agency was etched above the glass doors. It hardly looked like a military agency, though I wasn't entirely sure SPAM was military. Or what exactly their purpose was. I guessed that they supported people like me with powers. Though, to be honest, I probably had the least likely powers ever, while their main agents were true supers, saving the world on the daily. Or so I assumed.

But me? No. I still couldn't see that being me.

My brain was particularly muddled when I finally walked in, only a few minutes late, to shake hands with this Special K. I couldn't see what was special about him. He was a bit geeky. Tall and lanky with annoyingly floppy brown hair. All he needed was a pair of glasses, taped in the center—oh, and a pocket square. He didn't have those. He simply wore a business-like button-up shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. Yep, loafers.

I rolled my eyes. "What are we doing here?"

"Uh, you'd know if you weren't late." Wow, that T had a sort of pop to it. Was he mad? I didn't give a fuck.

I held my hand up. "So?"

He made a tight fist, and an odd noise came from him. Kind of like a snort, but not quite. "We're going to the basement."

"Basement?" I didn't even know they had one of those here. "Why?"

"Do you, like, know anything? I thought you were an agent."

"I'm an agent. Badge to prove it. Come on." I gestured to the door, but all I got was another eye roll, and then he pointed to a door on the other side of the room. It was marked Stairwell . "Okay. Stairs." I gestured for him to proceed, so he did. He placed his thumb on the security panel, and the door popped open with a beep. I followed him down three flights of stairs, through another door, then down two more flights. "Holy shit. This is too much like work."

"That's what they pay you for."

"Oops. Sorry. Didn't realize I said that out loud."

He looked at me over his shoulder. He was kind of cute…in the low light. He pursed his lips before turning back around. We went through one last door and into a dark room. Lights popped on with loud clicks as we walked through row upon row of files. I would quit if I had to search those fucking files, but luckily, I could hold on to that resignation letter a little longer.

A small office at the very back contained a desk, a computer that looked about twenty years old, and three office chairs on rollers. K pulled up the chair in front of the computer and booted it up.

What did I do? I waited with my arms crossed over my chest. He knew I had no clue what we were doing, and he ignored that. Some assistant he was. And where the hell was our librarian? Every SPAM building was supposed to have one. I didn't know why, though. The archives were a no-mans-land. Even I knew that much.

This Special K dude clicked at the keyboard and glared at me every now and then.

I knew nothing about him, but I would do my own research later to find out. He could be an ally or someone sent to keep me in line. The latter wouldn't work for me. Neither would the former, really, so I sighed. And waited.

At some point, he started bouncing in his seat, looking exceedingly eager. "This is good. Oh… we have a lot of cold cases to choose from." He suddenly turned into a bright ball of energy, like a puppy with its first bone.

But he also piqued my curiosity. I grabbed another chair and wheeled it over to see what the fuck he was doing.