This choice: POV: Gia's contact, who's been waiting for her • Go Back...Chapter #3Of All the Gin Joints in All the Towns... by: Pink-Lightning   Gia had a prearranged plan to meet her contact. They’d established themselves as credible by offering meaningful internal documents from Yeng and some photographs from inside their facility in Abercrombie. That meant that they were either a real whistleblower, or a Yeng plant, but the photos of the sprawling facility being carved into a mountain meant Gia had to investigate. She’d tried to press her by e-mail for personal details, but they didn’t want to identify themselves personally citing fears that Yeng might somehow be listening, so she still didn’t know who’d she’d be working with.
So the prior arrangement had them meeting in a bar in Abecrombie, one thursday evening. They’d do it like the old spy movies. Sit down in a place, in this case a bar, and try the same stock phrases on strangers until one of them gave the right response.
“--Bully’s is a secret gem right in the heart of Abercrombie. I don’t know why it’s not talked about more but it’s lemony sour and spicy wing sauce, it’s surf and turf platters, and it’s Mississipi Mudslides are to die for! I was asking around and nobody goes there. It’s a total mystery, did somebody die there or something?”
Well, the only woman at the bar was a 30-something thing with brown hair, and a real fat ass stuffed into a pencil skirt hanging over the edge of her stool. She was portly, with rounded cheeks that made her look more innocent then she probably was and a big belly balancing out the wide load in the back, and she was tackling a plate of loaded fries and buffalo wings with a pint of beer. That girl had a lot more confidence in her barstool than Gia did.
Well, if that’s all Gia had to work with, that’s where she would start. And she would be greatly reassured to remember she was already paid for this work. “I just got into town, do you know a good place to stay?”
“The Hammond Hotel isn’t great, but the manager is nice.”
Gia gave a little sigh of relief, that they could finally drop all this Spy vs. Spy shit. “My names Gia.”
“Dakota, Dakota Johnson.”
Gia wishes she could smoke in here. She wishes she could smoke. “You work around here Dakota?”
“Yeah, I do marketing outreach.”
After about 20 minutes, Dakota dropped “Want to go back to my place, for a coffee, and have a chat?” She stood up, ponderously, and Gia watched both globular ass cheeks bounce and struggle, sending Dakota’s backfat jiggling. She had to be well over 300 pounds. Maybe 350. Not exactly the kind of person you usually see doing covert photography.
“[inaudible]”
“It’s a WHAT?!”
“[inaudible]”
“Oh that explains…that explains how friendly the other patrons were. Um…Men listening in, forget everything I said. Bully’s will have to remain a secret to you. And Lady’s, don’t go there unless you’re a real lady’s lady.”
Back at Dakota’s cramped department, she had more documents to show Gia, now that she was opening up. She still kept checking the window.
“I took a job with the Yeng Corporation a few weeks…I guess it’s a few months ago now. I’ve worked in the field for a while, and this is just weird. Things aren’t done this way.”
“Weird How?”
“I’ve worked at Hammond Hotels, and Gordge, I do accounts payable and retail sales to hospitality and restaurants. You know, like, when a company needs to buy 10,000 napkin dispensers, they talk to me. So why does Yeng have so much security for me? Paranoid levels of security. I don’t think they have this much security in prison.”
“It’s not a crime to be precautious.” Gia said, blase. She wasn’t defending Yeng. She had heard these concerns from a hundred people she’d interviewed or more. The fact remained: it wasn’t illegal, and she couldn’t expose Yeng for anything for being creepy.
“Okay, but three weeks ago, we got orders to push a new product. And I’ve never seen anything done like this before in the industry. We don’t know what’s in it. We don’t know what it does. We don’t know what it’s supposed to do. We’re just supposed to tell all of our customers in town to buy as much of it as they can. We don’t even have a name for it, not really.”
“You don’t have a name for what you’re selling?” Gia said, looking over these accounts payable, and seeing the same single word payment over and over again from a dozen retailers.
“We just call it ‘Goop.’”
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