A Study on Remote Frequency

Note: This is part one of a story that will hopefully only have two parts.  I'm sorry I didn't get it all done this week.

Thank you for reading!

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Regent Square was a respectable sort of  neighborhood generally made up of tall, monotone grey brick buildings with iron railings and stiff ceramic pots filled with maroon and yellow pansies, with grey signs sticking out above the door saying things like, “Marks Lawyers and Co.” and “Department Administrators Reliability.” A very old black automobile sat in a corner lot under the notice “Jennings and Representatives, CEO,” next to a particularly starched-looking facade, over which a corrugated tin roof presided, giving it a truly respectable air; even though its inevitable pansy pot was drooping alarmingly. Over the one, flat concrete step leading up to the door a gilt-edged rug, shabby with age, was draped, and its tassel-adorned edges, though dirty, gave an exotic impression; in its younger days it had been a parlor-rug, from India, now grown old and reduced to the status of door-mat. The door opened then with a clang of an ancient cowbell affixed to the doorknob, and a round-faced gentleman, arrayed in an immaculate white suit, emerged, gripping a carrying-case in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. His face, though of a reddish hue, was pleasant-looking, surrounded as it was by a bristly fringe of dull red beard, and surmounted by a white bowler hat. He was Jennings, as described in the sign, a personage of some importance, and well acquainted with papers and documents, many of which he had spent his working years perfecting. Indeed, hardly a sheet of official paper in Regent Square was without his signature, inscribed in a script flowing and yet efficient, as was his tendency to write. His father, Richard Jennings, had been the sole influencer of his legal work, for Jennings never looked to anyone else for advice unless absolutely necessary; thus contributing to his reputation as a man of independent thought and outstanding mental capabilities. Jennings’ personal life was in all appearances quite dull; he was seen driving his automobile to his office every morning, from there to the occasional other business facility, and back to his apartment at the end of the day. He was not one inclined to socialize, disliking large gatherings of any sort, and preferring to barricade himself behind a mountainous heap of papers, textbooks, document-cases, ledgers, and state legal-works in his office. As the golden cherry on top of the job, he was the recipient of a great deal of money, not to mention heaps of respect and admiration, and he remained the figurehead of business and education of the town. 

The stones of the street clattered as footsteps approached the corner lot; and pretty soon a drooping figure emerged thereon around a corner, clothed in a rather patchy black overcoat, and clutching a bundle of papers very tightly as though fearing they would blow away. He must have been over seventy; with a thin, melancholy sort of face and two tufts of grey hair sprouting from either side of it, and he would have been quite tall had he not been so bent over with age. He was being closely followed by a small, brisk gentleman in a checkered suit, sporting a thin mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles balanced on the end of his nose. They made their way towards Jennings, who was at that moment fumbling in the carrying-case for his keys. He looked up as the pair approached.  

“Hi! Wait a minute, there, Jennings!” called the brisk gentleman, stepping forward ahead of his elderly companion. Jennings set his carrying-case on the hood of the automotive and gave the two a genuinely sincere smile. “Good morning to you gentlemen! What can I do for you?”

“Good-morning to you as well, Jennings.” said the brisk gentleman. “Do you mind if we introduce ourselves? I am John Lake, a lawyer for Marks and Co. This is my assistant musician, Howard."

“Honored to make your acquaintance,” said Jennings amiably, extending a hand across the hood of the vehicle. Lake shook it vigorously.

“If you don't mind, Jennings, we have a bit of a proposal to make.”

“Certainly, good sir!” said Jennings.

“Well, Howard here came to me with a request (usually I can suffice for anything he asks me for, but this time I thought myself a tiny bit incompetent!) I, being his lawyer, have taken it upon myself to see his problem resolved.” He took out a small paper of notes from his pocket and examined them. “An upcoming test case of Howard's is in need of a proper manager. This manager would act as a third witness to the test case's legitimacy, provide input and legal documents where necessary, and encourage government approval concerning the outcome therefrom. Is that satisfactory? Good! He requests that you act as this manager, Jennings.”

“Ah, I see.” Jennings was used to offers of this nature, and they didn't cause him to become excited and distracted like they used to. He sipped his tea. “I'd offer for you to come into my office, but the building closes at three and it's already fifteen after! Anyway, would you mind giving me some information about the test case itself? Thank you!”

For Lake had nodded and motioned towards Howard, who shuffled forward. 

“I think it would be best for Howard to do the explaining here,” said Lake.  

Howard shook open the bundle of papers he held, unrolling them into a rather rumpled sheet of notes. He gave them a quick glance, then burst suddenly into song: something like an operatic aria, by the sound of it.

“Ahh My Expectations of you are So Long Wished For!. . .” he warbled, in a tremulous baritone that even Jennings, (who was partial to jazz), could appreciate. When the song was over, Jennings applauded politely. Howard bowed and spoke solemnly. “‘Tis a great mystery, that song.”

“Oh–ah, is it?” Jennings said, not sure what to make of this.

“The grammar, my dear sir.” Howard gave Jennings a piercing look over the paper. “Didn't you notice— the last line was decidedly faulty. Shall I repeat it? Very well.

“O that no one could bear it ahh my travels are going INSIDE ME TOO!”

Howard gave Jennings another thoughtful look. “However it is that last line that is the subject of interest. Note the vocal glissando on the last word. . .”

“Erm, forgive me sir. Perhaps I misheard you. Did you say ‘hotel Fernardo'?”

“No. Easy mistake, good sir. I said “glissando”---a slide, a scale. . . You know. This one consists in part of a transition from the note of B to the note of C. Now my former professor Caprice Mays asked me after my performance of the Song you just heard whether or not I would be willing to sign a contract that her friend Doctor Clinton Dicey, also deeply interested in such sciences, proposed. To this contract I readily Signed, But shortly afterwards My colleague fell ill, and my manager Margery Davis left as soon as I mentioned the contract. Left alone as I was then, I told John here of my plight, and he Agreed to be my colleague, as well as helping me find a manager and third witness. The test, and corresponding contract, are simple. Is there a note Affixed between the notes of B and C, and if so, what is it? I must conduct certain tests to find and determine whether or not an in-between note exists, none of which should in any way endanger your person as you participate. As for payment, I will give you twenty dollars for every hour you spend on this job as my manager and third witness. I plan to begin tomorrow morning, Stevensons Centre for Aeronautics and Other Research. I trust you know where that is. Are you interested?”

“Certainly!” Said Jennings, picking up his carrying-case. He was used to taking up jobs of this sort, but this one seemed to be especially attractive.

“Then we'll see you there!” Said the lawyer briskly, waving farewell as Jennings got in the automobile. Jennings waved and started the engine. Tomorrow, it appeared, was going to be interesting.