“You two are useless,” Carla snapped at them.
They both gazed at her blankly for several long seconds, grunted at each other, shared a shrug of confusion, and turned back to their game. It was well timed; she appeared to buy it.
They were all dressed in leisurewear to blend in, they looked like a street gang from a Connecticut polo club. Richie couldn’t help himself; he smiled as he watched Carla storm back and forth across the room.
It was a mistake.
“What are you looking at, Q?”—a moniker he’d been tagged with during OTC. Which was too cool, because James Bond’s technical support wizard totally rocked. Richie had done okay identifying with Desmond Llewelyn, except that the guy had been old the day he was born. Richie had never clicked with John Cleese, but Ben Whishaw was awesome. To
