It took weeks for Tom to catch up on his schoolwork, even with Greg and Harvey's combined help and tutelage. During that time, his ribs healed slowly and he managed to get rid of his cast and brace, though two doctors told him that he should avoid strenuous activity for two more weeks. Amazingly, Tom felt fine after such a short time, even though he had literally been at death's doorstep. Silently, he thanked whatever powers watching over him and picked up his backpack as the bell rang for lunch.
He sat outside at one of the tables and ate his lunch quietly, thinking about work and if he'd get a call or not today. The Director had told him that he would be one of the last people on the list to get a case for the next few weeks, but that didn't guarantee that he wouldn't get a case. As he ate, he tried not to think too hard on Ceria's bet with him or how stupid it was for him to have agreed to it.
What was it with her that made her so eager to screw with him? Did he look especially vulnerable, emotionally unstable, what? He tried to make sense of her, and caught himself trying to rationalize a demon. All she cared about was getting her jollies by implanting herself in his thoughts and driving him out of his mind in confusion. Tom kicked himself mentally at wasting his time and finished his lunch.
He threw his trash away and the bell rang. He checked his work phone, grabbed his backpack, and then headed off to gym. He changed, went to the weight room, and worked out with the rest of his gym class. He still never fully understood why the classes were segregated by gender, even though he could guess from the way everyone stared at the girls doing laps outside when they got near the windows.
About half way through, the fire alarm rang for a fire drill and everyone went down the crowded hallway filling up with students to get out of the building. Outside, they saw two firetrucks pull up and had to wait to find out that nothing was wrong and someone had pulled the fire alarm somewhere. After about half an hour, everyone was allowed to go back into the building and gym resumed as normal.
Class ended a little while later and Tom changed back into his regular clothes, reaching into the front pocket of his backpack to check his work phone. Usually, when they needed him, the call came at the one hour of the day where he didn't have his phone. His brow knitted when he couldn't feel his phone. He stretched the pocket wide open and peered into it.
No phone.
He searched the other pockets of his backpack and still couldn't find it. He looked for his normal phone, and found that it too was gone. He looked around and found two other guys looking through their bags too.
"Phones gone?" he asked.
"What the fuck?"
"Yours gone too, Tom?" Jeremy asked, rubbing his shaved head in resignation to his situation.
"Somebody jacked all our stuff. My wallet's empty too," Tom said, looking inside to find all his money gone and only his driver's license looking back at him. "Fuck, they took my work ID too."
"Ho shit thank God, my stuff's still here," Devan said with a sigh in relief. Half the locker room looked at him with contempt and envy.
"Hey," Tom said. "Let me see your phone for a minute. I need to make a call."
Devan blinked. "What?"
"I need to make a call to work. I need my stuff." After a few moments' hesitation, Devan tossed Tom his phone. Meanwhile, someone left to get Coach Ward to help. Tom punched in Greg's number and had to call back twice before his coworker actually picked up.
"Look, I don't know how you got this-"
Tom cut him off. "Greg, shut up. It's Tom."
Greg paused. "Tom? Who's phone are you calling from?"
"My friend Devan's. Are you...uh, at the office," trying to word it so that it didn't look like he worked somewhere out of the ordinary to everyone listening to him.
"The office? The holding center, yeah, why?"
"Can you do me a huge favor?" Tom asked.
"What?" Greg replied, suspicious. "If you think for one second that I'll take a hard case, then you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm not as young as you think I am."
"Hell no. Alright, so here's the deal, I lost my phone, and my work ID, so I can't go into work until I get both of those back, or new ones. Can you get the Director to turn on the GPS thing so we can find it?"
"Call him from your phone; they've got both your numbers here. Why didn't you call me from it?"
Tom scratched the back of his neck as a red flush came to his face and neck. "Yeah, see, the thing is that whoever stole my ID took both my phones and all my money. I can't really get in touch with the Director, or even get into work."
"Stolen?!" Greg exclaimed incredulously. "Are you serious? Do you know what kind of shit that could stir up if whoever has your phone can break the lock?"
"I know. If you can find it, I can get it. I just need you to tell the Director to get the GPS thing running." Tom heard Greg sigh frustratedly over the phone.
"You're already in deep shit. I'll go see him about it. Tell whoever's phone this is that you need it for half an hour. I'll call you back."
Greg hung up and Tom managed to convince Devan that he would return his phone after his coworker called him back. After Coach Ward came in and everyone explained to him what happened and what was missing, everyone but Tom left. He waited almost an hour before Greg called back and told Tom that the Director was going to have his ass for getting his stuff stolen.
After a bit of chewing out from Greg, mostly just because the Director was still close by, Tom was given the GPS coordinates, the address, and the directions on how to get there from school. He wrote everything down on his arm and told Greg he could get his phone back on his own and didn't need another agent to help him.
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After an unpleasant encounter with the phone thief, he went home and took a long, relaxing shower. He knew he was in big trouble, bigger trouble than he had ever been in before. The Director was probably close to firing him, and although that wasn't really an option for the old man at this point, it was still a great indicator at how mad he was. He'd heard the Director over the phone, how many times he'd said that he could fire him at the drop of a hat.
The agent threw all his worries aside for a while and sat in the warm stream of water for the better part of an hour before he got out, changed into his house clothes, which was essentially whatever he found first in his dresser, and went downstairs to get something to eat.
On the kitchen table, his work phone was ringing and he rushed over to pick it up.
"Yeah? Hey, it's Tom, what's the problem?"
