Chapter 10: Drivers Ed

“It kind of looks like Max Headroom with gears for brains,” Alan commented dubiously. “But I like it!” he amended quickly. He was holding a sample business card that Kat designed with her concept for the PAK Gaming, Co. logo. It featured the company name, logo, and ARPANET code as well as the name, Alan J. Shoemaker — Chief Project Engineer, along with his cell phone number.

“You better like it,” Kathy grumbled, “Because I’m placing the order this afternoon.” She sat across from him with Peter at the local Round Table Pizza Parlor. Their usual booth was next to the front doors and closest to the arcade where they wasted handfuls of change every weekend.

“Will they be ready in time for the Game Developers Expo next month?” he asked excitedly as he tucked the sample card into his breast pocket and grabbed another slice of pizza.

“The convention isn’t until June 9^th and 10^th,” Peter stated as he sipped his pop. “Kinkos says they can do them in seven to ten business days, so we should be fine.

“Are we a go for the booth?” Kathy asked as she nibbled on a pizza bone. Everyone was still getting used to her new look. Her long, silky black hair that once hung down to her butt now just touched her shoulders. Today she wore a white silk ribbon through it with a bow atop her head. She still favored her tribal feather earrings. Every so often she turned to glare at the little 12-year-old brat who was monopolizing her favorite arcade game. ‘If that little prick breaks my record, I’m gonna... ‘ “Ouch!” she yelped as Alan kicked her under the table.

“Ahem, as I was saying...” he muttered, “we will get badges with lanyards that allow us free admission and parking.”

“Badges? We don’t need no stinking badges!” Peter and Kathy mimed together and then broke out giggling.

“Har har,” Alan snipped. “Stop staring at the kid — his dad is watching you. What about the banners? I got us a folding table from Mom’s break room.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “All taken care of. And we can use my uncle’s International Travelall to haul everything.”

They spent another half hour reviewing the company business and books to make up for the monthly meeting they didn’t have the previous week. PAK Gaming was currently sitting at a gross profit of $35,000 after they agreed to a distribution of $5,000 apiece. Peter gave his share to Kathy so that she could appease her uncle who was still sore at her for blowing the engine on the orange goblin. They had released Canyon Shooter earlier that week and were still waiting to see how many orders it would generate.

It was Saturday the 12th of May and Peter and his mom were allowed back into their home the day before. The porch was full of flowers and cards from neighbors and well-wishers. There were two news vans parked along the street and, when they arrived in Jeremiah’s huge El Dorado, several reporters with cameras approached. The colorfully dressed CFP — looking like a modern-day Davey Crockett, imposed himself in the driveway, blocking their access to the mother and son so recently struck by yet another tragedy. He held up his hands to halt any questions and briefly offered his utmost respect for the journalistic integrity and character of both KING 5 and KOMO 4 news channels, knowing they would understand the family’s desire to be left alone during these troubled times. Without a word, both news crews respectfully departed. They had collected enough dirty laundry from the neighbors and gossips who meandered by.

Peter’s room had been completely remodeled with a new bed, desk, and table with chairs. He asked that they leave his favorite dresser and he found it in its usual place but with one drawer cracked and split from a bullet hole. He set the ‘beast’ on the floor beside his desk which freed up a ton of space for him.

They helped Janet ascend the steps to her room and tucked her into bed to rest from the exhaustive trip (for her) from the hospital to their home. Peter tested his new feet on the steps and felt mostly stable as he stared down the flight to the bottom landing. He held the banister railing loosely as he descended and looked across the room to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. His spirits sank and he was instantly on his guard.

“Hello, son.” Roger Shipley greeted from the porch. “You got yourself some new legs, I see.” He stood six feet even and had put on a few pounds since Peter had last seen him. His salt and pepper hair had grown into a bushy mop and he now sported a short gray beard and mustache that reminded his son of a homeless version of Kurt Russel. He was dressed in baggy Wranglers and a lime green polo shirt with the Weyerhauser logo across the breast.

“What are you doing here?” the boy demanded standing guardedly in front of the stairs. He heard the clop of Jeremiah’s snake-skin boots coming down the steps behind him. The loud clack of his silver-tipped walking stick accompanied his slow steps.

“Unexpected visitors?” the Southern Creole gentleman drawled as he moved beside the boy.

Peter’s father was taken aback as he observed the well-dressed man.

“Jeremiah, this is my dad,” Peter growled.

Whether intended or not, the man stepped into the living room and approached them with his hand out. “Hey there,” he spoke with a chummy tone. “Roger. Roger Shipley.”

Jeremiah Tobias Whitaker III made no move to accept or shake the offered hand. Instead, he stood ominously still, regarding the man through steel-gray eyes. His expression was neither friendly nor menacing but hinted strongly at the potential for either. “Charmed,” he replied with a neutral voice.

Roger grimaced and cleared his throat uncomfortably as he lowered his hand. “Um, yeah, well...” he stammered.

“I asked what the Hell are you doing here?” Peter replied angrily.

“Now there’s no need for you to be taking that tone with me young...”

“Screw you ... Dad!” he blurted. “You bailed on us right after my accident and left Mom when she needed you most!”

His father bristled and stepped back defensively. “Now just a damn minute, son. Your mom and me separating was a long time coming. That accident had nothing to do with...”

“Why the FUCK are you here now?” the younger Shipley demanded forcefully. He felt Jeremiah’s strong hand grip his shoulder and clenched his jaw tight.

“I just wanted to make sure you and your mom are all right!” he replied angrily. “Is that so wrong?”

“Why would you suddenly start giving a sh...?”

“I think we can all agree that this probably isn’t the best time for exchanging salutations and condolences,” Jeremiah interjected, never taking his eyes off the other man. “Perhaps you would prefer to arrange a visit some other time.” His drawl seemed more authoritative and ominous with a cautionary undertone.

Roger blinked several times before nodding agreeably and backing toward the door. “Yeah, sure. Just wanted to check in on y’all, that’s all.” He turned his back to them and stepped through the doorway. “I still care about you, boy,” he added over his shoulder.

“The only thing you care about is youe VP status and big stock incentives,” Peter retorted.

“Ex-VP,” Jeremiah stated calmly, causing Peter to glance over at him and his father to freeze in the doorway. “Isn’t that correct, sir? I seem to recall hearing something about a disciplinary review inquiry,” he continued. Roger didn’t turn around but Peter could tell that the CFP’s words stung him deeply. “Something about a scandalous relationship with a pool secretary, a married gal ... unless I am mistaken.”

Peter’s father took an angry breath and stormed off the porch toward his familiar old ‘84 Dodge Ram.

The boy snorted under his breath as he walked over and shut the door. The knob and deadbolt were new, he noticed. Most likely another detail covered by the man behind him.

“Me thinks your erstwhile parent may be interested in more than your well-being,” Jeremiah suggested as he twirled the tip of his mustache. “Mr. Bales informed me a week ago that there was an anonymous FOIA request to unseal your settlement mediation.” He stepped over to the couch and lowered himself slowly onto it. “It was denied of course. But the request was most certainly made by an attorney who should have known better than to pry into a sealed litigation involving a juvenile.”

Peter turned and sat across from him on their new loveseat. “Jeremiah?” he asked, studying the man skeptically, “Why do I suspect that this attorney is not so anonymous anymore?”

The other man snickered and smiled without humor. “Her name is Judith Westmore and she is indeed, in cahoots with your father. I suspect they are interested in the ‘undisclosed’ portion of your settlement.”

“Anything I should be worried about?”

“I’d think not at this juncture. But they may be watching for any perceived opportunities to dip their fingers into the cookie jar — so to speak.”

Peter frowned. “If they think mom is too sick to care for me...” he let the unfinished thought hang there.

“Indeed, your biological father might see that as an opportunity to petition the courts for conservatorship if not full custody.”

“Is there any way I can just sue for my emancipation?” he asked wearily. “I know I’m only sixteen but in nine months, I’ll be seventeen. I could be considered competent, can’t I?”

“I am not an attorney Peter. But I will discuss it with Mr. Bales, you can be certain. If it does come to such a course, there are measures we can take to protect your assets from ‘legal prying’. I do know of persons as young as sixteen who have successfully petitioned for their own conservatorship, but I’d have to go back and check what States they resided in.”

“In the meantime, we need to be wary of sharks in the pond.”

“Indeed.”

When Peter closed his Call positions on Oracle and Microsoft, he increased his available cash holdings by $370,000. Due to the shooting and subsequent upheaval in his life, Jeremiah postponed the initial contact with Dr. Richardson regarding the venture capital investment in Puget Sound Orthopedic Solutions. On Monday the 14^th of May they met with the doctor and his principal financial advisor at the famous Metropolitan Grill in downtown Seattle, to discuss Peter’s offer over lunch. By the time they finished their steaks and desserts they agreed to a limited capital partnership and over coffee, they discussed the details. With a handshake, Peter committed himself to providing two million dollars of investment capital in as many years, with an initial good faith deposit of $250,000. He would in turn be granted one-quarter ownership in the company without voting rights and his investment would be converted to an equal portion of preferred stock, if and when the company decided to go public. The deal was finalized and ratified a week later with Jeremiah as co-signatory for Peter in lieu of his minor status.

Researching future Options plays, he studied the maker of his CD ROM, which he was enthralled with. Hewlett-Packard was a well-rated stock in the IBD. They began the year with a Market Capitalization of over $2 billion and were predicted to grow by another billion by the end of the current year. There was much debate in the financial information circles about a new form of long-term option that the Chicago Board Options Exchange was considering. Long-term Equity Anticipation Securities would offer contracts that extended well beyond typical quarterly expirations. Currently, they were trading at $37.40 which was markedly down from April’s high of $43.50. Since he couldn’t go beyond the December chains, he studied the Calls and Put that were just out of the money. Ultimately, he bought 20 DEC 40 Calls at $3.33 and 100 DEC 35 Puts at $0.15. And since he was so happy with his new processor, he bought another 5,000 shares of AMD to double his current holding.

The other milestone achievement for Peter was the completion of his junior year of academic study. At the invitation of his school, he presented himself to his teachers on campus and sat for a series of examinations to confirm what they already knew; he was a genius and more than ready to tackle 12^th grade. The Senior curriculum was divided between a series of AP classes (several of which he had already completed), a final-year project, and an external study program at Green River College. With the recommendations of his teachers and school board approval, he was granted permission to continue with his studies through the Summer and enroll in the Computer Sciences curriculum at GRC in the Fall. Most seniors spent weeks or months just preparing their final project proposal. He wrote his overnight and included a specific series of steps he would take to complete it. His project centered on incorporating computerized electronic technology to help facilitate the adoption of common day-to-day tasks into the electronic era.

After two weeks, Peter was comfortable walking with his prosthetics and he became obsessed with getting his driver’s license. Without a Driver’s Ed course, he would have to wait until he was seventeen to take the driving test. The only things stopping him from getting his Learner’s Permit were the written knowledge test and his mom’s presence at the DMV to sign his minor affidavit, permitting him to do both. Her hesitation had nothing to do with her fear of him getting behind the wheel of a car. She was simply terrified of leaving the house and exposing herself to possible germs that her body wasn’t able to fight off. Nothing he tried would sway her from her stance. Dr. Yamada had put the fear of death in her and she wasn’t about to risk proving him right.

It was Jeremiah who, once again came up with a suitable solution. With his incredible persuasiveness, he convinced Janet to sign over a limited power of attorney that gave him specific guardianship roles over her son allowing him to sign the boy’s affidavit and sit for the knowledge test. He breezed through it in 10 minutes and paid the $10 fee for his temporary paper permit. He clutched it in his hands eagerly as he left the DMV with Kathy and Jeremiah in tow.

“Okay!” he chimed excitedly. “Which one of you is gonna let me drive?” He pointed to the obnoxious yellow and black Datsun parked beside the gleaming black Cadillac.

“Surely you jest, young fellow,” the Southerner drawled as he climbed in his El Dorado. He kept the windows rolled down to keep it from overheating in the bright sun. He backed out of his parking spot muttering something about the youth of today and lead-based paint chips.

Peter turned on his girlfriend who was tapping her foot defiantly.

“C’mon babe,” he moaned. “Give me the keys.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” she scoffed. “Have you ever driven a 4-speed?”

“No, and, um ... no,” he replied holding his hand out persistently. “But how hard can it be? Three pedals instead of two ... I mean, you can do it.”

Those were words she would make him eat for the rest of his life. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in disbelief at his words as he stood determinedly before her. Then she blew out her air and tossed the keys to him. “Okay,” she retorted as she went to the passenger side. “All right, big guy. You go right on ahead and show me what you got!”

To call his first attempt at driving a manual transmission a disaster would have been an understatement. He failed utterly just trying to start the engine. The car lurched forward as soon as he turned the ignition and rammed into the curb stop, jarring them both in their seats.

“What the fuck?” he demanded angrily.

“It could be because the car was in gear dumbass,” she snickered. Her brilliant eyes were hidden behind her aviator sunglasses.

He blushed as several people outside the DMV turned to look at him. “Why did you leave it in gear?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth, “I’m just a silly girl that’s all. And I didn’t want the car to roll away,” she growled back. “Push in the clutch.”

He sheepishly pressed the left pedal with his foot.

“Okay now watch,” she said as she pulled the shifter back and then swung it loosely side-to-side. “This is neutral, easy peasy, side-to-side.” She swung it back towards him and then jabbed it forward. “Left side to the front is first, back is second. Back to neutral, in the middle; forward is third, back is forth. Now over to the right and back ... that’s reverse. Got it smart guy?”

He practiced the maneuvers several times and then smiled brightly. “Yep. Got it.”

“Good, now keep holding the clutch down and start the car,” she instructed.

He reached over and turned the key, grinning ear-to-ear when the motor fired up. “Yes! I got this!” he exclaimed tapping both feet excitedly on the floorboards.

“Now put it in reverse and back us out of this spot,” she ordered.

“Reverse!” he cried eagerly and swung the shifter to the right and back. The racket of grinding gears could be heard a block away and everybody around them stopped to stare as he tried twice to shift it into reverse. “What the Fuck?” he yelled as the gears shrieked at him again.

“I never told you to take your foot off the clutch!” she shouted back at him, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” he grumbled, pushing the left pedal back down. This time the shifter slipped smoothly into place.

“Now look back at where you are going, give it some gas, and then SLOWLY release the clutch.”

He got two of the three right but ignored her emphasis on slow and just released the pedal causing the car to lurch backward and stall with an epic backfire report that once again drew the attention of every bystander nearby.

“FUCK!” he yelled as his cheeks began burning with embarrassment.

“I said ‘S-L-O-W-L-Y,” she teased him with her best ‘tarded’ voice.

“Why can’t you just get an automatic?” he grumbled as he pushed the clutch back in and restarted the engine.

“Automatics are for pussies,” she retorted. “And pale-face boyfriends. Want me to take over?”

“No!” he growled as he revved the motor and slowly released the clutch this time. He successfully maneuvered them out of the parking spot with minimal whiplash and then released the clutch completely to step on the brake. The engine stalled once again and he turned to his snickering girlfriend balefully. “Oh, shut it!” he grumbled as he once more engaged the clutch and started the car. Kat had all but completely lost her composure as she giggled and snorted over his repeated mistakes.

With burning cheeks, he put the car into first gear and once more over-revved the engine as he tried to release the clutch. They jerked several times as they picked up speed. He wrenched the steering wheel wildly as they came up to the first turn, winding the engine loudly.