backforthmenu Thievery. Firehose tape stolen from my office today. Last week it was a Herbie Hancock/Willie Bobo CD. Once again, I unwillingly complain to the office manager, Janna, an older pleasant woman. She rolls her eyes back in sympathy and takes the phone in her hands, rapidly punching a few buttons. “Can I speak to Olga please?” Janna covers the receiver and whispers to me, “She’s the head of security.” I imagine Olga as a big strapping German with knee high leather boots and suspenders, then leave and lock myself in my office. 20 minutes later, Janna knocks on the door, “The security guy is here to see you.” I walk out to greet him. Tall. Gray hair. No front teeth. Thick square glasses. “Do you have a private place where we can sit down and go over this?” I point him to my office, give him my chair, and close the door behind us. The air conditioner is going full blast above us. He clicks his pen and starts, “Tell me everything, from the beginning—anything that will help us out.” I begin. “Slow down, slow down sir, I have to make sure I get all this. What was it that was stolen?” “A cassette tape.” “What did this cassette tape look like?” “Huh?” “What was it called?” “It was a clear plastic ‘promotional-use-only’ cassette of the newest Firehose release Totempole Live. Look, they didn’t even take the case.” I hand him the case. “Can you spell that please.” “It’s on the case.” He scribbles leaning way over with his face very close to the pad. He uses a red pen. I notice the heels of his black shoes are heavily worn at the very back. Probably wears them all the time. I want to tell him forget it, it was only a tape, but it seems so important to him. “Okay, so you were here from 5:50 to 7pm on Saturday the 25th day of the fourth month, 1992?” “Yes.” “Were you alone?” “No. I was with our computer consultant.” “And what is his name?” “Holden Hume.” “Holden? Is that his last name?” “No.” “Spell it, please.” “H-O-L-D-E-N.” “Holden Heyoumeh?” “H-U-M-E.” He scribbles more. “Is this, Holden Hume, a friend of yours?” “Yes.” “So, you were here working on Saturday with your close personal friend, Holden Hume...” “He’s a freelance computer consultant, he was the liaison in purchasing all this equipment you see.” “...and you left at approximately 7pm, correct?” “Yes. Correct.” “So, this Holden Hume is involved, I have to write that down here.” He writes it down. “Is this when you noticed the tape missing?” “No. We played it on Saturday, so I knew it was here then. When I came to work this morning, it was gone. “Were you here alone this morning?” “Well, yeah, I happened to have gotten here before anyone else today. 7:15am.” “And the tape was missing?” “YES.” Pause for more scribbling. He looks around the room from his chair, “Okay, Mr...” he squints at his notes, “... Jennings.You be sure and call down if you can think of anything that can help us with this.” he hands me a scrap of paper with his number on it. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this. Good bye.” “Good bye.” 4/27/92