Kear sat gasping on the floor. "That's great, boss!" he exclaimed. "I thought I did an extra special job on the plastics mill design. It'll mean a lot to the company. We—"
"Yes. Dress quickly."
Kear threw off his pajamas and started stuffing arms and legs into his clothes. Mrs. Kear opened her eyes and squeaked like a dying rabbit.
The bent rod in the boss's hand hissed, and Mrs. Kear stopped squeaking.
With tie flapping, shirt unbuttoned, shoes unlaced, Kear followed the boss through the living room and down the flagstone walk to the street. The boss opened the doors of the Honeychile Bakery truck and said, "In here."
Mrs. Jane Huprich dropped her mop. Her varicose legs trotted across the wet lobby of the Jordon Building, and her flabby fat arms reached for the tall man with bright eyes who stood near the elevators. "It's me, Mom," the man cried.
"Matt!" Mrs. Huprich cried. "Matt, baby!"
"I got a full pardon, Mom," Matt said, stroking her tangled white hair. "Right from the ruling state official. You won't have to scrub floors anymore! I'm going straight, Mom. I'm a good mechanic now. They learned me a lot in the enclosure. Come on. I got a used truck outside, I bought cheap."
Mrs. Huprich and son walked through the oddly twisted doors of the Jordon Building and into the gray twilight that awaited dawn. The Honeychile Bakery truck waited too.