Circuits.
I
had the car drop me off a block away from my apartment building.
There wasn’t
anyone obviously watching so I slouched up and entered the lobby
door. When I reached my apartment I noticed that the sliver I’d
left jammed in the frame had moved. That meant company. The scent of perfume suggested Paul’s wife had found his copy of my
key. Failing that, since her perfume was cheap and fairly common, it
meant some other broad was waiting for me. I didn’t feel up to
entertaining company so I slipped out the fire escape and walked off.
I needed to think, without the interruptions that would have
accompanied my return. Even if it was just Celine. Especially if it
was just Celine. I could have dealt with normal thuggery more easily
than overblown hysterics.
The
main streets would be covered with snooping eyes, but I could hear
the distinctive low buzz of a drone. That meant the alleys were out.
Better to act normally, and hope you were missed than to attract
attention by looking like a common house thief.
So
I strolled out onto 12th street. If the police stopped me, I could be
looking for a burger joint. If I walked far enough along the street,
I could be looking for a joint joint. We’d
see what turned up first.
In
the end I didn’t
get far. There at the intersection with Keyes, was a woman. She was
furtively looking my way. I waved and called, “Teresa!”
At
least she didn’t
run away. It was a start. I caught up with her and said, “I know we
said, ‘let’s meet up sometime’, but this is a bit quick. How
about a meal?”
“I
wasn’t looking for you.”
“Sure.
If you weren’t looking for me, what where you looking for? Because
you found me.” She smiled, “You’re right. I was looking for
you, thought we could chat. Too bad we didn’t hit it off.”
“I
don’t know about that.” I left unsaid that we’d had it off,
more than once.
“Well,
you know. I had to go East.”
“Look
Teresa, just friends.” I held out my hand. She paused, then shook
it. “Friends, just. No benefits.” Darn.
“I
did mean it about dinner. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
“There’s
a good Vietnamese place towards town.”
“As
long as it’s not live monkey, I’m game.” It was an old joke. I
guess you had to be there to understand it.
She
chuckled, “Just
noodles, with fish.”
We
were finishing up the first course when I asked her, “So
outside of the librarian gig, how’s life?” Not exactly a stellar
line, but I hoped it wasn’t crossing the ‘just friends’ line.
While I wouldn’t have minded going there, this wasn’t the time or
place.
“Boring
as all Hades. The wife’s off on a business trip and there’s
nothing to do.”
“The
wife?”
“Didn’t
you know?”
“Well
no. So you’re a-”
“A
lesbian, and married. Heather’s a sweet woman and I’m lucky to
have caught her.” She noticed my skeptical look and continued,
“Yeah. Figured it out when I left you. I’d have felt more cut up
if we’d had anything special.”
“It
was sort of special for me. I missed you.”
“Sorry.
It wasn’t going to work Alan.”
“Your
wife won’t mind you meeting an old flame?”
She
laughed, “Not
hardly. Not the jealous sort. Knows I’m not going to have it off
with a man.”
“Pity.”
“Now
Alan, if you’re going to be awkward.”
“That’s
the last of my intentions. Actually I was dodging someone.”
“Who?”
“I
think Celine - Paul’s wife, sorry, his widow. Someone, probably
female or else with an odd taste in aftershave, is in my apartment
waiting for me.”
“Oh.”
“Do
you have your cell?”
“Why?”
“I’m
going to call myself. See what my cell says.”
Teresa
handed me a dainty phone and I typed in my number. My cell answered,
took one look at the camera and bluntly texted me, “Don’t
come home. Female not Celine.” Then she hung up.
“Shit.”
I handed her the phone.
“What
was that about?”
“My
visitor. Not Paul’s widow.”
Teresa
leaned toward me. She spoke with a level on interest in her
voice that I hadn’t
heard since debugging programs together at the academy. “Sounds
like you lead an exciting life Alan.”
“Not
really. Usually it’s just divorce, with the occasional adultery and
missing kid thrown in. This one. Oh boy.”
“Serious?”
I
whispered, “National
3-letter agency serious.” Then I added in a normal voice, “You
know, if you’re interested I need a new partner.”
“Do
you remember what I said five minutes ago. I’m not interested, I’m
married and my wife.”
“No.
Don’t get me wrong, Teresa. You don’t screw your partner in this
line of work.”
“What
do you mean?”
“You
don’t screw your partner, either literally or figuratively.”
Though I was going to have to check our account books when I had a
chance, Paul had a tendency to pad things. “That leads to
complications, and complications can get you killed.”
“I
don’t know.”
“Think
about it. It isn’t boring, and you said you were bored.”
She
laughed, “You’re
right. I did, didn’t I? Have to be careful about what I wish for.”
“You
have my number if you’re interested.” I changed the topic into
what I hoped were safer grounds, “What’s it like being married?”
I
finished chatting with Teresa, and paid the tab. Since I asked her to
replace Paul, it could count as a legitimate business expense if
nothing else. Besides, it was nice to chat, even if she was married,
to a woman.
The
serious business of the night remained. I kept looking over my
shoulder as I approached the apartment building. There weren’t
cars waiting down the side streets to follow me and none of the
classic giveaways for surveillance cutouts were immediately obvious.
That didn’t they weren’t watching me if they weren’t there.
Heck, if they’d hacked the machine, they could watch me while
sitting in their living room. Over a bowl of popcorn, and in their
underwear. So I waved to the cameras, at least the ones I saw.
The
cars in front and behind my building were neither suspiciously all
the same, nor equally suspiciously all different. There weren’t
any erstwhile lovers, rocking their car’s suspensions as I passed,
nor was there anyone checking their makeup in the rear-view mirrors.
I thought about that a second. Long before the convergence, cars had
improved to where you could no longer drive yourself, as it was too
dangerous to mix people and automata, so there shouldn’t be any
mirrors. Old habits die hard. The few manual cars were reserved for
far away in the country off the grid or dare-devil racers on isolated
tracks like Leguna Seca. Or in places like the Free State of Nevada.
The
lobby was empty when I entered, and I wandered to the back exit,
nominally to check the washing machines. No surprises. So I started
up the stairs to my room. The chips in the doorframe were still
missing, and the smell of perfume, while weaker, remained. I stood to
the side of the door, behind the wall and slipped my key into the
lock. I gave it a turn and started to punch the access code when the
door opened.
“So
Mr. Blake, are you surprised to see me?” It was the woman who first
commissioned us to search for her husband. She’d ditched the veil,
but was still dressed in a stylish black gown.
“Somehow,
not at all.” I entered the room and pulled the door shut behind me.
It latched and locked automatically. “Why are you here?” I
figured if she were armed she’d show it to me soon enough.
“I’m
scared. They got Paul.”
“They?
Who?”
“The
boss and his gang.”
“Mr.
Guezman. I’ve already exchanged a few words with him.”
There
was real panic in her voice as she said, “He’s
not coming here, is he?” Either that or she was one hell of an
actress. Looking at her, I decided it was most likely the later.
“Not
to my knowledge.”
She
relaxed. I asked, “The
story about this man, your ‘boyfriend’. That was a load of crap
wasn’t it?”
She
put on the tears and said, “Yes.
You see there wasn’t any other way I could convince one of you to
follow him.”
“You
could have tried telling us the truth.”
“The
truth. What is truth?”
“I
was always told truth is beauty and beauty is truth. Trouble is, I’ve
met too many beautiful liars in my line of work. I don’t even know
your name. Paul wasn’t a good one for keeping notes.”
“I’m
Jane, Jane Grey.”
“Is
that what it says on your birth certificate?”
“No,
but it’s good enough.” She reached for her wallet and pulled out
a credit card and state ID, both in that name. The picture on the ID
matched her.
“In
other words, you’ve pulled an informal document switch?”
“Let’s
just say Jane’s parents were happy to have a grown up daughter. To
help support them in their old age.” The identity hole of taking a
dead infant’s name had been plugged years ago. Although if
you had the money you could find parents who were willing to open it
up again.
“So
Jane, what do you want me to do? Other than standing at the wrong end
of barrel like Paul.”
“Don’t
you remember?”
“What
I remember is you asking Paul to track down this man. Who?”
“Jean
Leclerc. Be careful because he’s quite a hacker.”
“Fine,
now babe, why? The money you gave Paul hasn’t turned up, at least
it wasn’t in the office when the police searched. I’d have
heard.” To be honest I’d be down at the precinct being sweated.
“I
don’t know about it. He p-put it in the safe when we left.”
“Let’s
try this one more time. I know it’s hard to be honest when you’re
used to lying. Who was Paul supposed to track?”
She
broke down in tears. I handed her a handkerchief and started over.
“Who
was Paul supposed to tail?” Seeing that tears had no effect on me
she dried up.
“Jean,
Jean Leclerc.”
I
thought, it could be the name, but it probably didn’t
matter. It still sounded like one she pulled from a history book to
me.
“Alright.
Now why, babe, did you want to tail Jean?”
“He,
he.” She stopped, and then after a moment to catch her breath
looked at me and said, “He was chasing tail, other women.”
“That
why you have the ring? Is he your husband?”
“Yes.”
There was a little flicker of discomfort in her eyes. “OK, Ms. Grey
or Mrs. Leclerc, why’d he shoot Paul?”
“I
never said he did.” She tried crying again.
“No,
but if Paul was tailing him, and Paul was shot, it follows that Jean
was involved.”
She
refused to say more and sat there wiping the tears from her eyes.
“I
suppose, it’s just possible that Paul got in the way and Jean was
the target.”
She
nodded, “Guezman.
The boss wanted him dead.”
Her
story almost made sense, but was a little too neat. I said, “I’ll
go make us some coffee, then we’ll go over this a few more times.
Sooner or later you’ll tell me the truth.”
“I
did, I swear I did.”
I
walked to the stove, put on some water to boil and reached for the
coffee, the synthetic coffee anyway, the real thing being too
expensive for my tastes and wallet.
“Put
your hands up, and slowly turn to face me.”
I
chuckled, but complied. She was pointing a small automatic at my
chest. Nothing high-caliber, but still big enough to do the job if it
came to it.
“Step
back from the stove.”
She
walked behind me and, without pointing her pistol away, turned off
the stove. Then she slid around to my front and started asking, “Now
you’ll answer some of my questions, Mr. Blake.”
“Sure,
how about I sit down?”
She
thought for a moment, then said, “Why
not? In the middle of the floor, and cross your legs.” I was
dealing with a professional, she could sit a couple of meters away
and nail me before I could jump her. There would be no tell-tale
marks from being tied up.
I
sat and said, “This
what you want?”
“It’ll
do. Now Mr. Blake, where’s the money?”
“No
idea, that’s why I asked you. Is it so important?”
“You
can keep the money, I want the package you received last week.”
“What
package?”
Keeping
me covered, she brought her left hand up to her mouth and told her
unit, “Trace
package, to Blake and Bigelow.”
The
band said, “Yes,
Mistress.” Some people liked having that sort of power trip with
their interface. It made them feel in control. I thought it rather
puerile.
“Package
00131991039ab, Delivered Monday to office, signed for by one Paul
Bigelow.”
“Oh
that one.”
“What
was in it?”
“No
idea, Paul took it. Did you ask his widow?”
“That
bitch? We searched his house, it wasn’t there.” So there was a
reason Celine was trying to get in touch with me after all.
I
thought, “In
the future, I’ll have to tell my cell to be more careful about
screening calls.”
There
was a knock on my door, then I heard Celine’s
voice, “Alan, you in? The light’s on so you can’t hide.”
I
looked at my guest, and said, “Well,
Miss Grey, do you want to answer the door, or shall I?”
“Get
it, and don’t try anything.”
I
slowly rose and walked to the door. Opening it a crack, I said,
“Celine,
what a surprise? You’re looking nice.”
“Not
that you’d notice, you gay or something?”
“No.
Just rather not get involved. Would you like to come in?” Ms. Grey
shoved her pistol in my back, “Sorry I forgot, it’s a mess. We’re
getting the exterminators in.”
“We’re?
Isn’t your Mrs. Gonzales cleaning any longer?”
“She
is. Still, you can’t come in. Um company?”
“The
kind you pay for?”
I
smiled, and she took that for a yes. “Alan,
you need to find a nice wholesome woman, none of those whores.” As
if she’d know.
“I
have to support the local economy somehow. Why do I have the pleasure
of your company?”
She
handed me a small package, “This.
Someone tore up my house to find it, and I don’t want it.” She
shoved it into my hands and ran off.
My
visitor poked her pistol in my back and demanded, “Give
it.”
I
slowly turned and handed it to her. She tore the package open and
screamed in frustration. “Damn!
Fucking Hell”
There
was a photograph and a biometric data drive. The right person could
open it, but it could do anything from refuse to work, to destroy the
data, to explode if anyone else tried to open it. I could see why she
was frustrated.
She
picked up the photograph and showed it to me. “Know
her?”
I
did. Sarah Gonzales. It was a copy of the same class photo her mother
had given me to help me find her. My visitor waved the pistol in my
face, “You
do, don’t you? Tell me or I’ll.”
“Patience
Ms. Grey. Shooting me won’t help you identify the girl. Now will
it?”
“It
will make me feel better, and I’m sure someone else can identify
her.” I had figured she was somewhere on the psychopathic spectrum,
and she confirmed it.
I
hinted, “There’s
no guarantee that she’s the right person anyway. Could have been
Paul, or even me. If you’ll put the firearm away we can take this
to my lab and see what’s really there.”
I
waited while she considered her options.
She
said, “What
the hell,” and then took the magazine out of the gun. She pulled
the slide back to unload the round from the chamber and locked it
open. After she put the ammunition in a pocket, she said, “Don’t
get any ideas, I can load this in fifteen seconds.”
“Babe,
I don’t need no stinking idea’s.”
I
reluctantly shut the door to my apartment, while ‘Jane’
watched. It had occurred to me that my lifetime could be measured by
how long it took me to crack the data drive plus however long it took
Jane to reload. She said fifteen seconds. Unless I was lucky, and
lady luck had been giving me the middle finger of late.
We
walked out onto 12th street. Ms. Grey said, “Should
we call a car?”
“No,
We walk.”
“Walk?”
“There’s
always a record if you call a car. So many people walk that even if
you’re watched it doesn’t trigger any alarms.”
“It’s
late.”
“So
what, I’m often out at night. Nothing unusual there.” Although me
walking with company was out of the ordinary. We started south on 12
street, away from the old highway and towards the barrio. Didn’t
get far when my luck finally broke.
“Heather?
Why aren’t you in Tokyo?” It was Teresa.
“Teresa
I can explain.” The standard line of any cheating spouse. “It
isn’t what it looks like.”
“Well
I know you’re not having it off with Alan. He’s a man. What are
you doing here?”
Heather
was at a loss for words. I tried to be helpful, “Shall
I?”
“Teresa,
your wife was using forceful arguments to convince me to help her
identify this package Paul received.”
“Forceful?”
“Did
you know she had a firearm?”
“That
old airsoft pistol? It’s mine Heather. Hand it over.” Heather
reluctantly agreed. The pistol she’d used to threaten me was a toy,
maybe. Though the trick of late was to lace the pellets with a drug
or poison. Made them a little harder to trace and at least as lethal
as a regular firearm. Just not as good at dropping an assailant.
“Oh
Heather,” Teresa shook her head in dismay, “I love your sense of
fun, but this really is carrying it too far. Did you know about
Alan?”
“I
saw a couple of your old emails. Why did you keep them if he didn’t
mean anything?”
“It’s
hard to delete old love mails. You know that, because you’ve your
share too. Marriage means something, though, I’m yours and you’re
mine. For keeps.”
Teresa
put her arms out to hug her wife, and Heather reciprocated. They
kissed passionately while I stood there, feeling decidedly awkward.
Finally,
I gave a discreet cough and said, “If
you two want a room, that’s fine with me. I’m still taking this
package to my lab.”
They
disengaged with one last squeeze. Heather said, “Later,
I, we need to find out what’s on the drive.”
Teresa
nodded, “So
it’s turned up at last?”
It
was a couple of blocks further on, my walking ahead while they held
hands and chatted. I gather Teresa was now the forgiving sort. I
guess she had matured, or maybe marriage had done something to her. I
turned and dove down an alley. Then I waited for them before opening
the door.
“Here
is where it happens, as it were.”
I
opened the door, turned on the lights, and was surprised by Guezman
and two of his friends. The guns they held definitely weren’t
airsoft guns.
He
said, “Ah,
Mr. Blake, I see we have the pleasure of meeting again. This time I
don’t think you’ll dash off so easily.”
“I
guess not. Why do I have the pleasure of your company?”
“The
package. Do you have it?”
I
handed it to him, and warned, “It’s
a biometric drive. It will need to be opened properly.”
He
sniffed, “Don’t
trifle with me, I can see that.” He pointed to one of his helpers,
“Even Jose here can see that. What you are going to do is to open
it for me.”
“I
am?”
“There
are three of you. Since your librarian friend is almost as good as
you at hacking, we’ll save her for last. Ms. Grey can go first.”
He nodded and Jose pushed the muzzle of his firearm under Heather’s
chin.
“Do
it outside if you must, I’d prefer you not to make a mess in my
lab.”
Teresa
shot me a dirty look, but Mr. Guezman laughed. “You
always were a cut-up, Mr. Blake. Even in high school. Do we
understand each other?”
“Yes.
Give me the drive and I’ll see what I can do.”
It
took some careful work and far more time than Guezman liked. The gray
pre-dawn light was beginning to filter through the skylights and the
neighbor’s
cocks were beginning to crow when I sat back and said, “Done.”
“Done?
Give it here.”
“When
I said, done, I meant ready for the next step. I couldn’t break the
lock, but I was able to blank it out. Guezman, I need one of your
fingers.”
“Still
attached?”
“Whatever.
It’s not my finger. The scanner needs to be reinitialized before
you can read it. Something tells me it would be decidedly unhealthy
for me if I used one of mine.”
“Wise
choice, Mr. Blake.” Guezman heaved himself out of his chair and
rolled over to my bench.
“Put
your finger here.” I pointed to the sensor. He did.
“What
next?”
“It’s
yours. Take it. Can I keep the photo? She’s a pretty young thing.”
“Ms.
Gonzales? Sure. It has been a pleasure doing business with you Mr.
Blake.”
“Next
time I’d appreciate payment for my services.”
“I
let you and your friends live. Should be a good deal, and one I hope
I won’t regret.”
He
took the drive, motioned to his goons and disappeared into the dawn.
I
turned to my two female guests and said, “Vamos.
I’m
tired and going home to sleep. I don’t care what you do, but you
are not staying here.”
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