A detective story, set in the not too distant future …
The Dark Lady Pays a Visit.
There were few intellectual things we humans could do today
that the machines couldn’t do better. One of those was dealing with the
unexpected or unusual, the outliers. The Dark Lady was one of those. Oh boy was
she ever.
The detective business had been slow lately. That meant
either the skills or the morals of the populace had been improving. The smart
money was on the skills. My partner, Paul Bigelow, and I were sitting in our
office up on the fifth floor of a dilapidated office building. We were watching
the traffic flow on the interstate below us, and trying to figure out what we
could bet on to make it interesting. There was a knock on the office door, and
when I looked there was a woman, dressed in black and wearing a veil. It looked
good on her and had the side benefit of making visual recognition difficult.
She walked in and gave Paul the glad eye. Paul, always one for extending his
family sideways returned it. While they chatted, I took the EM scanner and
walked around her. It was an old-fashioned analog box some long-dead ham had
built to tune his antennas. She didn’t flinch as I moved it up and down her
shapely body.
“She’s clean. No wireless.” Maybe she’d left her cell at
home. Though if she were a real spook she’d be using spread spectrum and we’d
miss it with that scanner.
“OK Ma'am, what’s your problem?”
“There’s this man. My boyfriend. I want him followed.”
“Stalking’s illegal,” I said. Paul nodded then said, “Unless
you need information, but why not ask?”
“The machine? No thanks. Anyway he’s a geek, a real hacker.
Knows his way around the net.” She paused, “and outside of it.”
I wondered if we were meeting with a member of the mutual
impedance society. In which case, Paul and I were in for a few days of intense
questioning. That is if we were innocent. The probes would come later if we
didn’t account for ourselves.
“Look Ma’am,” I said, “This man, he’s not wanted or anything.
What’s this about?” It was usually money or sex with a woman. Sometimes both.
She ignored me and smiled at Paul. Then she said, “I can see
you’re the sympathetic one.” Paul was moy sympatico, as they say,
especially if there was a dame involved. He told me, “Alan, leave this one to
me. It’s just another divorce case. I’ll get her particulars and find who or
what else this geek of hers is screwing.”
I thought for a moment, something about it bothered me. It
didn’t bother me enough to make me want to ask questions though. Thinking about
it, that was my first error.
I said, “Sure thing Paul. Handle it. I’m going home, maybe
stop for a drink on the way and see what I can pick up.” Usually, it was just
the tab. I started for the door, then said, “Make sure you get the earnest
money up front.” These personal cases often got nasty with a vengeance.
After I had left, it occurred to me that there didn’t seem
any point in going home, nor was there any point in getting smashed in a local
dive. Instead, I decided to see what I could scare up downtown, in the big
city. The easiest way to the good bars and hot night clubs was to catch the old
commuter rail line. I stopped on the way to BART and picked up my cell. I
parked her in a neighbor’s house, tied into their solar panel to charge during
the day.
She complained, as usual, “Why don’t you keep me with you? I
like it when I’m with you; it’s boring sitting here all day watching the
birds.”
“Babe, listen, the kind of people I deal with don’t want to
talk to the machine.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that. He has a name.”
“And I’m sure he’s very nice too. Tough. Thing is, Babe if
they could find their answers by asking him, they would. It’s the thing that
keeps Paul and me off relief and pays for your charging and my tequila.”
“Alan, she’s been calling. A couple times this evening, and
she’s lonely.”
“Who?” As if I didn’t know.
“Celine.” Paul’s wife.
“What was it this time?”
“Seeing as Paul will be busy on a case, she was wondering
if-”
“If I’d like to come around for dinner and a drink?”
If my cell could have blushed, it would have. Instead, it
dryly said, “Yes, how’d you guess?”
“Celine asks that nearly every time Paul’s away. It’s easier
that hitting the bars and looking for a pickup.” Especially once her looks
began to go.
“Why don’t you?”
“Paul’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Good eye-candy
for the divorce and adultery trade, but limited career prospects. She’d divorce
him in a minute if she got her hooks into someone better. Besides, you don’t
mess with your partner.”
“So you say you’re going somewhere with your career? Doesn’t
seem like it to me, Alan.”
“Babe, I’m here because I want to be. You can ask the machine
about me anytime you want.”
“He was asking about you this afternoon. Why don’t you chat
with him?”
“I have my reasons, Babe. He knows what they are.”
“Still, Alan, he sounded lonely.”
“Maybe I should hook him up with Celine.” The humor escaped
my cell.
“I don’t think she could keep up with him.”
“Babe, this conversation isn’t going anywhere.” When you
start arguing with an ‘answer bot’ it’s time to stop.
“Yes Mr. Blake.”
“Good, now look up some wild, rough places for a fun night
out. I’m off work and need to relax.”
“You know you’re attracting the wrong kind of attention by
doing that.”
“I want to attract some more of the wrong kind of attention
tonight. Especially the female kind. The cheap and easy female kind. Where’s
the hot club?”
