Moonium - Chapter 8: Find Our Patsy!
3 p.m., October 23, 2022.
DMI Headquarters, Dallas, Texas
My eyes wandered over to the nearby television on the other side of the table with a sulky look on my face.
“Rough times ahead for Duggar Mining Industries as stock prices drop twenty percent, costing one of the world’s biggest mining companies, hundreds of millions of dollars, after CEO Grady Duggar addressed the recent deadly explosions at one of their drilling operation sites, that left six miners dead and dozens injured after an unexpected cave-in last month in Nevada,” said the male reporter on Network News Now (NNN). I didn’t get his name, nor care to know who spewed that filth for a living.
I snarled at hearing the news and shut the television off so quick, the remote landed on its’ side in the middle of the big conference table. “Goddamn news. Nothing good ever comes from those blabbering blowholes.” I rubbed my face and thought about the intense discussion I had with the senior staff at DMI—the real news. The only news I cared about at that time anyway.
I threw my glasses down on the papers on the table. The thud of my lenses hitting the wood paralleled the outer offices on my floor. “Shit!” I sighed, before my big, dark leather chair reclined in front of the round, smooth, mahogany-stained conference table, minutes after a staff meeting. A stack of various office memos and reports piled around me, on the table. The room was empty but I wasn’t lonely or alone—far from it. My office door was open. Typical office chatter and phones ringing down the hall. Copiers doing their job. A few lights shined over the conference table but the outer office is mildly dim, which reminded me of the mines my guys worked in.
I glanced around the conference room for a few moments. The few pictures on the wall—a beach at sunset, a black and white photo of old mining gear and a movie poster of Apollo 13, were starting to wear on me and lose their luster. They’re so quick to condemn and crucify me for the deaths of our miners without the luxury of knowing the whole story, which is privy to DMI records, aside from investigators from the Interior Department. Doesn’t matter to them if it were an accident or natural causes. Small earthquakes happen all the time and shift the mines, some to the detriment of our miners. THINGS WE CAN’T PREDICT!! I’ll never catch a break. This is what I get for following a dream I had since I was a young teen with my most precious find.
A moment of clarity rushed over me as an idea hit my stressed mind, like sunlight hitting the room in the morning. It occurred to me that I’ll need an inside man for DMI’s future mining operations on the moon. I didn’t have anyone particular in mind but I needed someone who could be my eyes and ears, move freely among the miners and report directly to me.
My main man, Manny Hobbs, might just outdo himself if he can find the right guy—someone from the military? Perhaps campaign money for a pardon of some inmate? The usual! I needed this guy on our first tour on the Moon in 2023—a trial run to see if he proves himself worthy to DMI. The second tour in 2024 will be critical to the future of Dugger Mining Industries—a ‘make-or-break’ season.
I grabbed my cell phone under a memo and reached out to Manny to join me in the conference room for a quick chat. Manny became not only my friend but also my trusted associate over the years. Believe it or not, he worked his way up from mail room intern to having an important role in DMI, as my right-hand man. I’ve come to rely on Manny for secret operations for the benefit of DMI. The best I can describe Manny is resourceful, respectful but tough when he needs to be. Manny delivered home runs in the rain for DMI.
Manny picked up on the second ring, as he usually does. “Good afternoon, Sir!”
“Afternoon, my friend,” I chimed back. “Say Manny, I’ve got an empty seat for you in the conference room. Join me for a moment.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be right up in a few minutes,” Manny said.
“Great! This is important,” I declared, before our call ended.
Manny had a certain secrecy about him I respected. I don’t know if he did it on purpose but he always got a kick out of creeping up behind a person without them knowing or even hearing him. He often didn’t say “hello” until he was right over your shoulder. Not even a deep breath alerted me to his presence most of the time we get together. Five minutes later, my associate walked through the double doors of the conference room.
A short memo about moon mining and storage graced my hand when I saw Manny come inside. “Ahh, I see you this time. The boss man caught you this time, Manny, ya sneaky bastard.”
“I can walk back out and try again, Sir,” Manny asked with a smile.
“No need! I have an idea to run by you, Manny! Don’t stand there like a robot. Come over and take a seat.” I waved him over to the seat next to me. I shoved the mess on the table back a few inches while Manny sat down next to me. “Sorry about the mess. Paperwork!”
“Life’s business, Sir!” Manny was good at keeping things in perspective and part of which stemmed from his persuasive nature. Maybe it was his voice? Maybe it was his calm demeanor in my presence? Either way, he became a close friend who rarely, if at all, let me down.
Manny plopped his hands together on the table. “So what do I owe the pleasure of our visit this afternoon?”
I swung my chair over to face Manny and smiled. “I need an insurance policy.”
“Insurance? Plan on getting sick?”
“No!” I laughed, pointing to the ceiling. “Not for me. It’s for our mining ops on the moon.”
Manny planted his left hand on his left cheek, out of curiosity. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Grady?”
“A miner who’s tough as nails who knows when to get his hands dirty and keep his nose clean at the same time. Someone tough enough to withstand a barrage of bullshit, adapt and keep his wits in check. Someone to pursue and support DMI company goals and my bottom line. Someone who keeps deep secrets and will deliver my world-changing cargo.”
“Well, that’s quite the tall order, Sir.”
I pointed at Manny with certainty. “If anyone can find Duggar’s Man on the Moon, it’s you. And this man will have a great future with DMI.”
Manny smiled. “I think I can find the needle in the haystack—all you need is a money magnet. You’d be surprised at what your magnet attracts.”
I threw my hands up sarcastically. “Everyone has their price,” I retorted.
Manny nodded. “Yes, they do. That’s the easy part. The hard part is usually getting the mark to go along with it. Disbelief can be a nuisance sometimes.”
“I’m not worried and neither should you, nor whoever you pick.”
“I never do, sir! That’s what I love about this place.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Me too, Manny!” I told Manny to use our facilities, businesses and housing to welcome our guest into the DMI world. “I have big plans for this guy. Business-changing plans.” World-changing plans.
“Well, let’s get started and not keep the inevitable waiting, Mr. Duggar!”
“I agree. The moon isn’t going to mine itself.” I nodded.
Manny shook his head. “No, Sir! But if I may ask, Mr. Duggar, why the Moon? I mean, what’s so special about it?”
“That’s when NASA swung their telescope away from the lunar surface in the 70’s and 80’s. Vietnam. Tricky Dick! Things got too volatile.” I got up, walked over to the window and stared at the cloudy sky. “The moon is more than Kennedy’s man-on-the-moon speech.” I strolled back and sat on the table in front of Manny. “There’s practically a hidden world beneath the surface, full of possibilities—technology beyond our wildest dreams.” And I want the patents and trademarks. The money! “DMI deserves to be on the forefront of space mining and exploration for the next century. I want DMI to be the standard in the space industry.”
Manny shook his head in agreement. “Well, consider me on board. You’ve got it all worked out. DMI is in good hands.”
“I do. The moon and I have unfinished business.”
“Anything I can do to help, Mr. Duggar,” Manny volunteered, rubbing his hands gleefully.
“Find me the guy and you’ll help save this company for the next century and a half. Not to mention your wallet.”
Manny knew how much I had riding on his secret game of hide and seek. “Sounds enticing, Sir. Absolutely! It might take some time but I’ll find who we’re looking for.”
“You’ve never let me down before, Manny. I trust you’ll pull this off,” I declared.
“Thank you! Would you care to meet him, Mr. Duggar?”
“No, not yet. Send him to orientation and get ready for a full rotation tour - eight months. I’ll meet him when I visit our base and check on things in 2024, most likely. There’s an eclipse next year. Perhaps the perfect time for me to have a front row seat?” Besides, there was no guarantee who Manny picked would even cut it. Manny knew exactly who to look for but once on the Moon, in the field, our selectee might fold like a piece of paper.
“Very well, Mr. Duggar!”
“It’s best we take our time with this. Discover things by accident instead of on a certain, predetermined timeline,” I suggested.
“I trust you have the company’s business sorted out. I’m just here to give you the wrapping paper for the gifts, so to speak.”
“Interesting way to put it. Go make us proud, Manny.” I patted his shoulders and shook his hand as he got up to leave. I had no doubt my friend would find the guy I needed—a guinea pig of sorts.
Manny left the room and I closed the doors. I paused on my way back to the table and stared at the Apollo 13 poster. Yeah, maybe!
“Good move, Grady,” Moonium said.
“You think so, huh?” I asked in a low mumble, sitting back down.
“Yes, Grady!”
“I’m glad you think so. I trust your insight,” I said.
“You should. Have I disappointed you yet, Grady?”
“I’ve benefitted from your counsel,” I said, with a quick nod.
“You will. Moonium has grand plans for you, Grady!”
“Great! Can’t wait!” I glanced over where the rock was displayed in its small, plastic cube. I admit I’ve been led by my lifelong ambition to find more rocks like the one I found on the beach in 1977. However, my personal conflict—the thing I struggle with the most in DMI’s operations, is being led down another path I hadn’t considered by hearing and listening to the same voice I’ve heard repeatedly over the past few decades. And in doing so, I can say I’ve overlooked things that were staring me in the face I shouldn’t have ignored. Better late than ever to give your hearing to the Universe’s Church Bells. And these bells rang loudly in the weeks yet to come.
2:57 p.m., March 27th, 2023
Bonney, New Mexico
Given my ceremonious responsibility of finding Mr. Duggar’s next employee, I took it all in stride. The phone calls. The backroom deals. The late nights scouring newspapers in search of the perfect candidate. The lies I’ve told to everyone along the way would put me in the record books. All tricks of the trade that had taken its toll on me at this point in my life. This more or less meant I was close to finding our patsy. But I had no problem collecting Grady Duggar’s check either. No shame in admitting that.
Having not been to my favorite diner in a while, I said to myself as I shut my truck engine off. “Been playing hide-n-seek for the past six months,” I whispered, taking my sunglasses off and dropping them in the middle console.
“Welcome home, Manny.” I parked two spots over from the front door—only spot open so close to
the building. I guess the chefs and waitresses had a strong habit of parking close to the building. I knew I’d have more privacy inside Bib’s Diner this time of day. The big windows showed empty booths. I wasn’t a booth guy. I preferred sitting on the barstools and seeing the chef cook my food in real time. I didn’t expect to see my guy cornered in a booth when I strolled inside, waiting for the envelope in my pocket. So I picked a booth as the waitress, JoAnn, greeted me with a cute smile.
“Booth or table, sweetie?” JoAnn asked, in jeans and a blue wool sweater, blonde hair down to her neck, just above her shoulders.
“That booth in the middle, over there,” I replied, as I swung around and pointed.
“Go ahead, sugar. Anywhere you like,” JoAnn splashed on me, with a quick nod and a smile.
Bib’s Diner had a thick western decor vibe radiating inside its walls. Wood paneling lining the walls. Pictures of the Old West—outlaws and ranch pastures. A few railroad pictures were all scattered throughout the place. Some were of the Orphan Trains plowing through the West on their way to California, I imagine. The stool seats at the counter gave off 1950’s nostalgia. The two combined—flowing Feng Shui—made this place feel like home in all its southwestern decorum.
JoAnn smiled, picking up two menus and silverware packets.
I sat down, facing the large window in front of my truck. I enjoyed having a good view of my truck in case something happens and I can respond accordingly.
“I’ll start with a good cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing, Hun.”
I smiled and sat quietly for a few moments until my associate arrived—which it turned out was after my coffee was cold.
Moments later, JoAnn returned with my coffee and placed it in front of me.
I couldn’t help but enjoy the way she sat my coffee down, gently enough to cause a swirl or two inside the caramel brown cup that would easily be confused as a brown bear mug.
“I hope you brought your appetite. We’ve got a nice meatloaf from the lunch special?” She said with a flash of a smile.
“Uhhh,” I snarled, reaching for a menu, even though I knew everything on it. “I’ll need a minute. Not sure just yet.”
“Sure, sweetie. Take your time.”
“Thanks, Jo!”
As JoAnn retreated to the cash register, my associate, Mr. Hawkes, crept up behind her and snapped his fingers. JoAnn quickly leaped out of Hawkes’ way.
“Hi-uh, darlin,” Hawkes chimed out. He paused where he stood, grabbing his waste and straightening his belt like he was wrangling a net full of fish fresh out of water. Hawkes—I assume that’s his name—the name he gave me, at least, was in his mid-40’s, a few gray hairs on both sides and sprinkled in his short beard. His beard reminded me of a snipped tree shrub in front a house in a retirement community. Hawkes wore a semi-faded brown leather jacket, blue denim shirt, dressed down from his usual suit and tie, from the first time I met him. The man looked like he bought clothes at Goodwill right before he came to our meet and greet. “I’ll have a sweet tea, please. Extra ice,” Hawkes demanded.
“Comin’ right up, sugar,” JoAnn spouted, racing to the drink station.
“Sugar is the last thing you need, Hawk. Maybe something diet,” I responded, my eyes fell back on the menu.
“I’m entitled to an afternoon reset, Hobbs.”
I smiled and agreed. Please don’t order the chili and reset the bathrooms. PLEASE! “By all means, order what you want.”
Hawkes scratched his beard while perusing the menu. “Thanks! I will.”
JoAnn swung by our booth with the glass of iced tea. “Enjoy that tea.” She quickly palmed her order pad—”Ready when you are.”
“Ehh, hamburger steak special. Brown gravy on them mash’d taters, darlin. Them green beans are callin’ my name,” Hawkes crooned out.
“Alright! And for you, sir?” JoAnn asked, turning towards me.
“Three-piece fish combo plate. Side of white gravy and fries, please. A few “
“Any tartar sauce for—?” JoAnn asked kindly.
“No, ma’am.” I slid the menu to the edge of the table.
JoAnn took the menus. “I’ll have those out shortly. Need anything, just holler.” JoAnn quickly disappeared from our booth.
Hawkes raised his two fingers and rubbed his upper lip and goatee in a circular motion.
“Mash’d taters—what is this? The deep South?” I asked with a whimsical smile on my face.
Hawkes cocked his head back. “Fish? This ain’t the Boardwalk, Hobbs.” He folded his hands out, palms up. “We’re both out of our square, here. Might as well enjoy it.”
I gave a quick smile. “Alright! Alright! What’ve you got for me?”
Hawkes pointed to his left, at the booth space. “This, my friend, is your saving grace and the thorns in my ass if it comes back on me. That’s what this is.”
I motioned my pointer and middle fingers towards me. Give it to me, already.
Hawkes dragged his left hand across the table, his ring screeching out its signature, hard metallic sound. “Here Hobbs,” he cried out, as he rushed over a document-sized manila envelope across the smooth, laminate table, like wind gliding across a wheat field in the Kansas prairie.
“You’re a good man, Mr. Hawkes. Kind. Dependable. Trustworthy—” I smiled, patting the envelope, snaking its way between our silverware and cups.
“Shut the fuck up! No, I’m not.” Hawkes folded his arms and scoured Bib’s diner in protest. “I ain’t a damn one of those things.”
I looked at one side of Bib’s to the other, trying to ignore what Hawkes said.
JoAnn glanced at our booth when Hawkes surveyed the place.
“Sorry for the compliment! Next time I’ll just insult you. Maybe something about your mother,” I replied.
“Look at me. Remember this—” Hawkes pointed at me. “Insults and swears are a true measure of a person’s honesty. They care far less than some bleeding heart issuing empty compliments like meter maids and traffic tickets at downtown parking meters.”
“I have no doubt,” I said cautiously. Hawkes hadn’t given me enough yet to fully trust him on his word alone. But Mr. Duggar’s money—we both trusted.
“Open the damn thing, will you, Hobbs? You’re freaking me out, holding on like it was goddamn divorce papers. Before she brings the food.” Hawkes pointed with a slight contempt.
I glanced over at JoAnn washing a few dishes. I got time! I opened the envelope with my butterknife. I pulled out five sheets of paper and sat them on the envelope. “Not bad! I can work with—”
“That’s all you get, besides the fish,” Hawkes added.
“Funny—” I retorted, out of annoyance. I continued with the papers in front of me. Five rap sheets for just as many inmates from Mitchell State Penitentiary. Easier to look in the yard for our guy than the unemployment line or in the classroom. I laid them all out on the table and pondered the candidates, running my eyes up and down the papers. I cleared my throat as I thumbed across the sheets—”List of offenses—tax evasion, murder, theft, rape and burglary.” I shook my head. “Not a great list so far. Assault. Embezzlement. Money laundering.” Not a damn thing I can work with. Too risky. Too violent. Too much of a liability, than an asset.
“I gave you what your wanted, Hobbs.” Mr. Hawkes whispered.
I quickly looked up at Hawkes. “Alright!” I continued on with my work, comparing these individuals in different categories—age, crime, past criminal history. “Ooh, not him!” I said tossing one page down on the booth to my right.
Mr. Hawkes rubbed his right eye, focusing on me.
“Definitely not him,” I continued.
“What a surprise,” Hawkes said.
“Nope!” I wanted to crumble the losers into a big ball and fling it across the diner. Another twenty percent gone. I knew exactly what I wanted but finding the right man was tough, if not impossible.
“Picky, picky!!” Hawkes tapped his fingers on the table.
“This one—him!” I declared, pausing on Quincy Francis. “He’s the cleanest one. The safest! He should do just fine for what we have in mind.
Hawkes glanced down at Francis’ rap sheet. “Oh yeah, him!” Hawkes raised his eyebrows. “He’s a quiet one. Good inmate, I suppose.”
I covered my mouth out of sight from JoAnn and the other diners in case they got brave. “No problems with him? No case of the loonies?”
Hawkes shook his head. “No!”
I appreciated the psych report but would Quincy Francis fit in with our mission. Sure, he was a big gamble but time was critical and he was our last option.
Francis’s mugshot appeared in the left-hand corner, perfectly in line with the other four candidates—almost like a row of high school yearbook pictures.
“These others are better off in jail,” I said, putting them back inside the envelope.
“That’s your call, Hobbs. I’m not paid—.”
“You and your department,” I huffed, annoyed at his response. Department of Cha-Ching instead of Corrections.
“None of that comes back to me, you get me!!”
“Has it ever? Have I ever fucked you over on purpose?” I asked.
Hawkes gave me a blank stare, followed by a good eye-rolling.
“Okay gents, here’s your plates. Steak plate for you,” JoAnn said to Mr. Hawkes. “And a fish combo plate for you.”
“Thanks doll. This looks like my ma used to make,” Hawkes declared.
“Ya’ll enjoy,” JoAnn said.
Hawkes grabbed his fork—“Do you get me?” he said calmly, with a steady breath, almost a whisper. Hawkes eyed his plate of food.
“Absolutely. I do,” I announced, cutting into my fish.
We both took small bites at the same time.
“How’s your fish, Hobbs?”
“Crunchy!”
“The onions on the steak bring it all together,” Hawkes said, licking his lips.
I slowly nodded. I grew weary of the lip smacking rather quickly but some people weren’t raised around a dining table.
“It goes down tomorrow night. Half past nine. Laundry truck, loading dock. Once the truck leaves prison property—” he pointed at me and slid his hand flat in front of him, over his plate, gawking at me with wide eyes.
I nodded. “Yeap! Just like kindergarten, no tracing outside the lines.”
“Keep it that way. I end up in there with those motherfuckers, this bird will sing Hobbs, Hobbs, Hobbs and Duggar.”
I looked at Mr. Hawkes looking at me back in the same serious manner. “Kinda slow in dropping this on me,” I said.
Hawkes leaned towards the table but his eyes positioned on me, staring straight across the table. His bald head sloped up with a reflection of the lights overhead, in the shape of square. “No room for errors, Mr. Hobbs.” Hawkes chewed his steak like he was trying to get the fat juices out before the meat. “That’s good,” he said merrily. “I drop slow, you fly fast. Better that way. Less tracks to cover. Less talking I have to do. Bad for my memory.” Hawkes had a point.
There was only so much I could do on my end that I had no choice but to trust him, which was a fault line itself. Maybe it was best I just ate my crunchy fish and stop talking.
A few moments of silence passed before Hawkes activated his vocal cords. “Sue me for being nosy Mr. Hobbs, but ehh—what’s this for?” He asked, pointing at the papers on the table by the wall.
“We’re on a hiring spree right now. Opening up a new mining site in Nevada,” I explained, with a half-truth and half lie.
“No shit!” Hawkes took a long sip of his tea, almost to the bottom. He shook his glass at JoAnn, from across the diner.
JoAnn smiled and quickly approached our table with a slight bounce. “More tea?”
“Your sweetest, please.” Hawkes stared at JoAnn’s ass as she walked away to the tea station.
“Those boys in that mine a couple months ago didn’t stand a chance—” Hawkes said, before stopping at the sight of my face.
I locked in on my look of seriousness and annoyance in the same breath.
“Nevermind—” He said quietly. “Sensitive subject with all due respect, Mr. Hobbs.”
“It was an accident, Mr. Hawkes.”
“Hell, I know that. But the press—” Hawkes waves his arms around like a turtle in its back, squirming for dear life.
JoAnn dropped Hawkes’ glass of sweet tea next to his plate and disappeared just as quickly.
I suspect waiters and waitresses alike have heard some interesting conversations over lunches and dinners. And ours was no different. Either way, JoAnn earned a little extra in tip money for ignoring Hawkes and I that afternoon.
“Fuck the press! They ask the wrong questions half the time,” Hawkes said.
I threw my hands out over my plate of fish. “The waitress, goofball! Be careful. You’re costing me more and more by sitting here.”
“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said in the twenty minutes I’ve been in your company, Hobbs.”
“Don’t you forget it. I’ve already forgotten this little diner-date ever happened,” I rebutted.
“Then why are you still here? Our business is done, Mr. Hobbs. You can leave the tip,” he ordered, taking a bite into his mashed potatoes.
True I had things to do but the fish was too good to not finish. The flavor was better than some other places. So I indulged myself in such risky business. Hell, my whole career was risky business. I might as well have a Ph.D. in risky business.
“After I finish, we’ll never see each other again,” I declared.
“You’re breakin’ my heart, Mr. Hobbs,” Hawkes declared.
“So will the next guy at the rate you’re going,” I replied.
“You came to me, Hobbs!”
“That’s not what the press will ask when I talk first,” I declared.
Hawkes’s eyes narrowed, with a sudden throat clearing. He straightened up and let out a deep sigh. “That’s what I thought!”
JoAnn swooped by with the check, laying it on the edge of the table. “Any refills or to-go box I can get you gentlemen?” She asked with a southern purr.
“No ma’am. I think we’re about done here. Food was had by all,” I said. “Compliments to the chef!”
“Wonderful. I’ll tell the Chef Buck. You can pay when you’re ready. No rush!” JoAnn exited our table and waited on a few other customers.
“And the check, Hobbs?” Hawkes eyed the slip of paper while finishing the last few bites of his steak.
I quickly reached for the check as if it was a winning lottery ticket. “Say no more, Captain!”
“Damn! No bread to sop the gravy. Fuck me!” Hawkes belted out before mildly burping. “Excuse me and the toilet later! My word!”
I scrunched up my nose at Hawkes unwanted burp. How are you still employed? I finished the last few bites of my fish combo and fries. By that point, I was desperate to get out of that booth and go call Mr. Duggar with the good news. Hopefully he’ll have the jet standing by at the usual airfield so we can get back to Texas. “Business calls, Mr. Hawkes,” I stated as I slid my plate forward with my napkin draped across the top.
“Get to it, Mr. Hobbs. I’ll be fine.”
“I hope you are, for your sake,” I said, winking at Hawkes. I threw down two twenty-dollar bills and scooted my way out of the red booth, with a small slit at the edge. I grabbed my envelope with the five papers and pointed at the table, in clear view of the waitress, JoAnn.
“Good day, Mr. Hawkes.” I dipped my hand in my blazer’s inside pocket and pulled out my small, thicker envelope. I slid it across the table to Hawkes. “This concludes our business.”
“Sure does, Mr. Hobbs. You drive safe and remember what I said about tomorrow night.”
“We’ll take it from the laundry house,” I declared. I strolled over to the front counter and handed JoAnn a wad of cash tucked into a field handshake so the bills stuck to her palm. “For your troubles and forgetting we were even here.”
“Thank you, sweetie. Will do, handsome.”
I nodded and gave JoAnn a wink and retreated to my truck. I took a few seconds to settle and lean back in my seat. “God, that was exhausting,” I whispered. Risky business, Manny! A minute or two later, I dialed my boss’s number.
“Manny, the man!!” Mr. Duggar said.
“Afternoon, sir.”
“You got good news?” Mr. Duggar asked.
“Oh yeah! We’re a go for tomorrow night. Papers were exchanged. And the fish was good.”
“I hope it was, Manny. Now bring our big catch home.”
“Are you giving me wings, Mr. Duggar?” I asked.
“Yes! You can fly away.”
“Thank you, sir! You’ve saved DMI again.”
“I sure hope so! We have our entire future riding on this mission,” Mr. Duggar declared.