a (very very) short story about a secret

“Jack is here, Jack is here!”

“Don’t listen to her, just ignore her.”

“Are you sure? I mean how… umm, she knows my name?”

“Well, you must’ve been here before.”

“You’re kidding! Once. Years ago.”

“Yep, she has the memory of a computer.”

Jack’s lower jaw fell feet from his face and stayed there for a whole minute and a half.

“This is not good.” He recuperated and cleared his throat. “Would she remember what I talked about?”

“Yep. She does and is probably ready to splurge unless you give her some Bourbon.”

“Bourbon?”

“Bourbon. We have some for these, ahem, frequent occasions.”

“Right. But don’t you think it’s a bad idea having her here? At meetings like this? Inside an intelligence building that doesn’t exist?”

“No. We actually need her.”

“What the heck for?”

“You can’t imagine. Besides, this is not the topic for today.”

“Watson is here. Watson the dead.”

“Who is Watson?”

“Really man? Watson. Your partner.”

“What? He’s dead.”

“So now you’re the parrot?”

“What is this about?”

“You know what it’s about.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“You tell me. Just so you know, she talks to recently dead people.”