Lachat.com

Jimmy departed his bungalow on the corner of Stewart & McGraw for what he feared would be the last time. Although such evening departures kindled memories of all nighters on the strip, he shook his head with a sigh and latched the door. It was getting too dangerous to visit his favorite haunts. He knew that if he wasn't more careful he might find the unfriendly end of a compass lodged in his back.

Rain lashed against the windowpanes of Sir Henry's study. Drawing the shades, Henry's large build jostled the jars of amber liquor near the window. Eying the sherry bottle, he heaved a might sigh. Chelsea must have been nipping from his good sherry again. Of course, he'd have to let her go, despite her shore tenure working for him. He hated the confrontation what would ensue. He'd have to accuse her, then she'd deny it. He'd point out the conclusive evidence and his deduction. She'd strain to point out the minutest flaws in his analysis.

In a world where the mathematical Illuminati prey upon the lesser mortals, two rival gangs converge upon the same area with divergent goals, explosive personalities, and bad math puns. When the holy grail of mathematics is found, and quickly goes missing, therein lies the probability that an exponential increase in power can be derived for those quick to act and ruthless in their deduction.

"I need a pencil!"

I could hear it clearly from him and acted on it immediately. Handing him the pencil, I received a quizzical look and the response, "How did you know?" But with a dismissive shake of the head, he took the pencil and continued on with his work.

I found it harder to resume my studies. How did I know he needed a pencil? I was sure I'd heard him say he needed that pencil. At that point, everything about him seemed to exude that need.