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clicked a mouse button and then, to David’s amazement, a picture captured from Phil’s computer screen appeared.”
    “What’s that stock he just bought? $SFIO? Might not be a dumb idea to sink a little money into that yourself.” Brandon winked. “You see my ’85 Corvette out in the parking lot? I bought that on the money I made following these kinds of stock tips.”
    Brandon wheeled the computer screen back to face him.
    “You’re a smart guy, David. I reckon you could figure out a way to make your life mighty convenient if I gave you access to this kind of information.” The big, black man smiled. “And I’m sure you’d agree, it’s a lot better than the alternative.”
    Brandon leaned forward and said slowly and menacingly: “You take your pick. Either way, I’ll be ready for you to let me in at nine o’clock tonight.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
    For the rest of the day, David was in a daze.
    He shuffled back from the IT department like a zombie, and then sat in his cubicle staring at a blank screen for what must have been most of the day. In fact, the only human interaction he had was at five o’clock, when Lou – who was still fired up with his new-found access to the sports websites - sauntered past his cubicle and called over the top: “Hey, good work today!”
    Ha , David thought. That’s the first time I’ve been praised for my work in months; and it happened on the one day I genuinely didn’t do any work.
    At five thirty, David packed his own things into his backpack, and shuffled off to his car in the parking lot. A half hour of stop-start traffic brought his to his driveway, and then he hauled himself up the steps to his front door.
    As he unlocked it, he realized he felt like a condemned man.
     
    *              *              *
     
    “Are you okay, honey?”
    Cassie looked worried as David unlocked the door; shoulders slumped in resignation.
    “I-I’m fine,” he put on a brave front, and kissed his beautiful wife on the cheek. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”
    “Aww, poor baby.” She gave him a hug. “Maybe you need an early night. Just as soon as I’ve finished listening to my tapes, alright?”
    David grimaced.
    Part of his reason for grimacing was the knowledge that, in just a couple of hours, Brandon would turn up on his doorstep. But pretending that wasn’t the case, David also smarted from the way his wife blithely decided that her sick husband could rest and recuperate only after she’d listened to her tapes.
    And while David loved Cassie, and felt awful about what he was potentially about to have done to her, he still felt a hot flash of anger at her attitude; and it made him feel slightly better about the whole Brandon situation.
    They ate dinner with little but small talk between them, and then headed off to the living room to watch TV. At eight o’clock, like clockwork, Cassie kissed David on the cheek and told him: “I’m off to listen to my tapes.”
    And then David found himself alone on the couch – staring at the clock above his head.
    In sixty minutes, he’d hear a knock at the door – and then who knew what would happen?
    David couldn’t help it. He sat there and just stared at the clock, at the minute hand as it slowly tick-tick-tocked its way around the clock face. As a kid, he’d heard somebody tell him that the hands on a clock moved too slowly for the human eye to see – but that didn’t stop it from still slowly turning around over the course of the following hour.
    And at nine o’clock exactly, there was a rap at the back door.
    David jumped, even though he’d spent the last hour expecting it.
    Climbing up off the couch, he hurried to the back door as the knocking continued, and unlocked it to find Brandon there grinning eagerly.
    “Hey, buddy,” the big black man beamed. “What took you so long?”
    David wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
    “Come inside,” he snapped.
    “Okay, okay,” Brandon