Motel 3 is in a seedy part of town where one might not expect to find an upstanding businessperson such as Fritz the Tailor. And it is a little unusual for two such well-dressed people to be wheeling a trunk with them at this early hour. But when a repo squad approaches us, it is not with suspicion. “Excuse me, gentlemen, have you seen…” The squad leader describes Louisa’s blue-haired look. Fritz replies smoothly, sending them in the opposite direction of the casino, and we continue on our way.
Motel 3 proudly advertises on the sign out front that they rent out rooms for up to three hours. Perfect, that’s all we need. Check in goes smoothly; no one asks any questions. There are… so many mirrors in this room. Walls—ceilings, even. And a jacuzzi, because of course, why not? There’s no point in trying to get any more sleep, not with all the adrenaline stirred up in our systems by the disruptive start to the day. Instead, we use the time to review our materials and make ourselves more presentable. It was okay to walk through town in the early morning hours with a night’s worth of stubble, but I’m certainly not showing up at a business meeting that way.
I also change into my newly-mended dress shirt, which fortunately was not on the showroom floor when Fritz’s shop was hit. As I had suspected, simply mending the tears to the left sleeve was impossible, but Fritz has worked wonders keeping the garment usable and stylish. He’s shortened both sleeves to three-quarters now, which means no more wearing it with a blazer. However, this alteration actually fits fine with my tendency to roll the sleeves up to my elbows when not wearing a jacket. So for the meeting today, it’s a shirt and vest for me. And though I usually keep a button or two undone at the collar, I borrow one of Fritz’s cravats to look more formal. He has an amazing selection, and when we were considering the color scheme for today last night, he picked one out for me. Given that my vest is charcoal gray with purple and blue embroidery, he selected a purple cravat with gray highlights. As I stand in front of a wall of mirrors now, tying it and tucking it into my vest, Fritz comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Matches your eyes, too,” he says. Our gazes meet in the mirror and I flare my eyes, sending a sparkle of indigo through their pale gray. Fritz feigns a swoon, which makes me laugh. Ah, it is so nice to be here with him.
Fritz is looking quite dapper himself, in a well-tailored three-piece houndstooth suit with purple accents. Our outfits are coordinated with each other but don’t match in a too-cute kind of way. Fritz is more flamboyant than I am and includes a pop of contrasting color, a yellow-gold pocket square in his outbreast pocket that also brings out the gold tones in his brown skin. He tops it all off with his short top hat, the one he was wearing when we first met. He places it on straight, but after a moment of consideration, he tilts it to his usual jaunty angle. “Less intimidating this way,” he says with a cheeky grin. My accessories include my cane, of course. Made from shelftop, it fits our professed agenda of showing off Chiron-produced wares. And I wear my Progenitor boutonniere, too, though no one needs to know where that’s from. With its bronze rod and silver filigree, clearly I’m coming in second place to Fritz’s gold.
We arrive at the Campos Chiron Construction head office half an hour before our meeting, just to be on the safe side. And sure enough, all is not well. The harried secretary greets us with the news that the computer system is down. “Some dissidents attacked our network last night. I do apologize. What are you here for?”
“Oh, that’s so terrible!” Fritz says sympathetically. He certainly did not spend last night deploying the program Roze made for him, so this must be the work of one of the splinter groups. Rather inconvenient too, for the larger-picture goals. With his winningest smile, Fritz tells the secretary that we have an appointment with Leyland Campos.
That triggers a memory in the receptionist. “Oh, yes!” he says brightly. “Mr. Campos is excited to meet you. You’re Fritz the Tailor, right?” Fritz nods demurely. “You’re someone really impressive,” the receptionist continues, looking Fritz up and down, “and Mr. Campos is sometimes a little, uh, timid. So, um, just try to be nice to him. Don’t tell him I said that though!”
Timid?! ¡Ay, no! That is horrible to hear, given our true plans here were to prod him into taking control of the board. We’re going to have to boost his self-confidence, not just make him see the practical necessity of a change in leadership here. While I’m internally stressing over this news, Fritz remains his usual charming self. “Don’t worry, darling,” he tells the receptionist smoothly, “we’ll be on our best behavior.”