That's What They Say

4. the importance of reading things carefully

"Why, hello there!" the Speaker drawled in a voice that somehow contrived to be both enthusiastic and bored at the same time. He stood up as Henry and his companions filed in. "Please, take a seat."
The Speaker was dressed in a pinstriped suit that utterly failed to conform to any bodily standards. The sleeves stopped two inches short of his wrists, while the shoulder pads looked like they should have adorned a football uniform. To top it off, he was wearing a hat that closely resembled a dead cottontail rabbit.
When they were seated, he sat back down. "I suppose you can all guess why you're here."
"Yeah," George Quentin rumbled. "You're partnering us up with Nancy boy here." He jerked a disdainful thumb at Henry, who winced and jumped backwards.
"Now, now, George, Henry is perfectly competent."
"Then why does he have his shirt inside out?"
The Speaker's amiable expression quickly changed to loathing when he realized that yes, Henry's shirt was inside-out.
"Never mind that!" he snapped. "You're stuck with him."
"Well," Mary White said loudly, startling the three men, "I don't mind him. He's just tired, you know."
Henry smiled at her, although he was wondering bitterly why the only person to stick up for him was a nutcase with filed teeth.
Quentin still looked mutinous, but the steely glint in the Speaker's eyes discouraged him from saying anything. Henry, however, felt that some sort of comment was needed. "Sir, do I really need two partners? I mean, I can take care of myself…." An evil little voice in his head muttered yeah, right. You sissy.
The Speaker looked at Henry as though he was a particularly interesting species of bug just about to be crushed under his shoe.
"Really, now?"
"Well, yes! I…uh…" Henry trailed off, distressed by the sheer nastiness of the Speaker's sneer. "Never mind," he finished. The voice in his head, which was beginning to sound a lot like George Quentin, said see, what did I tell you? Sissy.
The Speaker smiled broadly, but his eyes still glittered maliciously. "Well, I hope you three are very happy together. Henry, I'm sure Ms. White or Mr. Quentin can tell you what to do. Now, get out of my office."
As the three stood up, Henry regarded Quentin nervously. Maybe this will be one of those touching mentor relationships you see on the TV, he thought hopefully.
Suddenly, Quentin pushed past him, jamming Henry up against the doorframe for the second time that day. "Outta my WAY, Nancy boy!" he growled. His elbow somehow hit Henry's glasses, and they were jammed up against his nose so tightly it felt like they had fused with his eyeballs.
No, said Henry's thoughts, doesn't seem like it..


When they had left the building, Henry instantly asked Mary, "What did you mean when you said this job was dangerous?"
Mary grinned. "I meant what I said, love. Did you think that your new job was going to be easy?"
"Well, no," Henry said, "But I didn't think it was going to be life-threatening, either! Isn't it just spreading rumors?"
Quentin cut in, having slowed to walk beside them. "Oh, listen, Mary, he thought he was in for butterflies and puppies! 'Spreading rumors?' Ha! Not exactly, Nancy boy. Not exactly."
Henry sighed. "Nothing in my life is butterflies and puppies," he said glumly. "More like spiders and wolves."
Mary White looked sympathetic. "Don't frighten him, George," she chided. "He doesn't know anything about it."
George rolled his eyes. "Yes, he does. He got the papers, didn't he?"
"Well, yes, I suppose he did," Mary said uncertainly. She turned to Henry. "You did read the papers they gave you yesterday, didn't you?" she inquired.
"Oh," Henry muttered. "Those papers. Um…sort of."
"Surprise, surprise," Quentin sneered. "Another one who can't be bothered. Oh, you're not gonna last a minute, Nancy boy."
"It's not my fault!" Henry said defensively. "I…er…didn't have time."
"Course you didn't," Quentin said. "I'm sure you have the busiest social life in the world, right?"
Henry glowered. "Listen, I'll read them right now! They're right here, in my…oh."
Henry surveyed the sodden heap of pulp in his hand, formerly an informational packet. "…In my pocket," he finished sadly.
"I thought as much," Quentin said flatly.
Henry was a lovely shade of magenta as he stuffed the papers back into his pocket.
Mary White, taking pity on him, nudged Quentin and asked, "Isn't that the car?"
Quentin stopped giving Henry the evil eye long enough to look where Mary was pointing. "Yep," he confirmed.
The car in question was a hulking SUV, with a shiny black paint job and ominously tinted windows. It could have flattened a herd of deer without so much as a bump.
Currently, it was double-parked directly in front of a fire hydrant and several "No parking ANY time" signs. A parking ticket had been incongruously wedged between the windshield wipers, and fluttered like a dying moth as they approached.
"Wow," Henry said, "That's some parking job. Amazing how you managed to find a space."
"Isn't it?" Quentin asked proudly, apparently immune to the sarcasm that had just gone whizzing over his head.
"so," Henry asked, "precisely where are we going?"
Mary looked surprised. "Why, the shooting range, of course!" she exclaimed. "Where did you think?"
"The…the shooting range? Why?"
Mary sighed. "Did you read anything about the job, Henry?"
Henry could vaguely recall the title, but the subway had distracted him so much that all else the papers contained had eluded him.
"Is it really important?"
Mary turned to him, surveying him with a round gray eye. "Yes, it was," she said. "But I think the point is rather moot now, isn't it?"
Henry blushed again. He was about to reply when he realized they had reached the car. Quentin was already there, looking ferociously at the parking ticket. Henry could hear him mumbling savagely.
"Gonna give them a piece of my mind…there're other fire hydrants, why this one…can't believe it…"
Henry had to suppress a grin at Quentin's plight, but the mirth quickly dissipated when Quentin jerked a thumb at the rear door of the car. "Personally, I'd like to put you in the trunk, but apparently that's illegal." He said this last word in a mocking falsetto, then added, "And if you get one grimy footprint on my floor, you're gonna wish you were in the trunk."
"Yessir," Henry muttered, and opened the door to the backseat. He climbed in carefully, settling himself in a seat that was supposed to look like leather but bore a worrying resemblance to human skin. He was careful to keep his feet off the floor.
Mary White, who had reserved the dubious honor of the passenger seat, followed behind him and Quentin. As she fastened her seatbelt, she said, "by the way, Henry, I'm sure that George can best explain to you the mechanics of a Spreader's job. He's been doing this longer than I have."
Quentin shrugged and started the car. The sound of the engine turning over was enough to make the surrounding street vibrate.
"Oh, I'm sure he can pick it up as he goes along, Mary," he said maliciously. Then, seeing the fierce expression on her face, he muttered "Alright, fine.
"You see, Nancy boy," he said grandly as he pulled out of the spot, "Your new job is going to be very different from Tallying."
"I had gathered that, actually."
Quentin glared, but continued. "Spreading isn't really just spreading rumors, as you would know if you had looked at the packet."
"Well, what is it then?" Henry asked impatiently.
"Tell me, Henry. Did you ever wonder why this organization existed at all? Seems a bit strange, doesn't it?"
"You could say that."
Quentin took a moment to honk the horn loudly at a small and inoffensive old lady who had dared to cross the street. When she had skittered safely to the median, he continued.
"Well, Nancy boy, there's a reason for all this, believe it or not."
Henry looked at him quizzically. "I find that a bit hard to believe, you know. 'That's what they say…' How can that really mean anything?"
"You didn't let me finish, Nancy boy. As I was saying, there is a reason. Unfortunately, that reson is given out on a "need-to-know" basis. And apparently, no one except the Speaker and his most trusted allies need to know."
"Aha." He wasn't surprised. "So, do you know why my job entail a visit to the shooting range?"
Quentin shrugged. "Nah. All I can gather is that our friend the Speaker has made some enemies. And, lucky for us, the Spreaders are the ones they seem to have a grudge against."
"Hence the shooting range?"
"Precisely."
Henry sighed and sat back in his seat. Closing his eyes, he wondered just what he had gotten himself into.