Chapter 5, Part 6

jacobson

So he was truly off the case. All right, old bean. Just like old times.

Nuts to Bleakly and his atrophied sense of chivalry. Nuts to City and his draconian schemes. Old-fashioned sleuthing would win the day.

Right, I said to myself, in the old tradition, it is time to cover the hows, wheres, wherefores.

The old safehouse was more than adequate as a base of operations. The truck I kept there had a full tank and was totally “clean” in the Private Eye’s (or criminal) sense- paid off, entered in the computer registries under a legally bulletproof alias, and invisible so long as I didn’t draw attention.

I reviewed the tools at my disposal: The omnigun, loaded for now with old revolver rounds; my own emergency kit, which contained simple first aid along with holoculars, an electric lockpick, and a few simple (but effective) bits of disguise; and my own finely honed senses- not on par with Thomas’ preternaturally attuned abilities, unfortunately, but I’d take chivalry over competent cowardice any day.

I laid the groundwork for my movements carefully. I acquired a hotel room, to be my ostensible location- I wouldn’t sleep there, but I’d perform less secure bits of the trade there, to confuse and draw attention away from my safehouse. Once there I used the hotel’s services to acquire tickets to a few live shows; I’d undoubtedly be shadowed the moment I drew any sort of attention to myself, and I knew the old theaters downtown well enough to slip unnoticed out an unmarked exit during an intermission.

The first such show was an atypically impressive rendition of Hamlet. I regretted wasting the opportunity to behold the young troupe finally put their talents to theatrically wholesome use, but the life of a private investigator is necessarily filled with sacrifices and disappointments.

I hadn’t noticed anyone following me to the  theater, but I hadn’t the slightest doubt that I was well within range of one of City’s sort of goons. In the crowd, he could probably have tapped my shoulder without my recognizing him- but, though my mundane senses noncommitally admitted total failure in registering any sort of conspiracy, my higher perceptions and gut feelings agreed totally with my intellect’s deduction. My next actions would be critical, and would give me some small freedom of movement to begin my plot to decipher City’s motives and discover the whereabouts of poor Miss Smith and her father.

———————————————

bleakly

Otto withered under my gaze and raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Here’s the poop.”

I lit a cigarette, put my feet up on my desk (and through Otto’s midsection), and blew smoke into the synthetic cop’s holofield.

Otto sighed as his image flickered brightly off the smoke. “We know who, where, when.”

I closed my eyes and smirked. “But you got fuck-all to send after ‘em so you gotta hire on freelancers?”

“Jackass. No. To tell you the truth, Tom old boy-”

By which I knew there was no way in hell he was being honest.

“-we don’t know WHAT they took. Here.” He waved and part of his holographic representation resolved into security camera footage. “Greeney’s lockup services, north branch. Camera’s got ‘em goin’ in, empty-handed, goin’ out, pockets full, no blip on the radar. Lucky break, they hit an autobank terminal later that night.” The video flickered and shifted. The same four men from the previous clip were expressionessly tearing  into a computer terminal with some kind of energy saws.

I almost squinted at the clip, but didn’t. I didn’t want to betray a flicker of emotion, because I noticed something that gave me a hell of a lot more than a flicker. The second video clip wasn’t the same as the first- not just different lighting or a different camera, but something was off about the colors. Faint blue afterimages seemed to trail a few pixels behind the men in the video- and that meant…

I nodded slowly. “These guys ain’t pros.”

Otto spread his hands. “Exactly.”

“But someone helpin’ ‘em is.”

The see-through cop nodded vigorously and the video he’d shown me winked away.

Weird camera angle for a computer terminal, expressionless faces, and staticky blue auras around the people in the second video…

The second clip had been computer-edited.

I grinned. “I’m in. Let’s talk compensation.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Fantastic! All right, how’s-” He named a pathetic figure.

He’s gauging me, tryin’ to see if I’ve caught on. Tryin’ to see how eager I am. “You crazy? You want me to risk my sorry ass for drinkin’ money? I could spend thirty seconds on my handheld and prove someone’s wife is cheating and make twice that.”

The old holographic fraud’s smile didn’t get any smaller. Either he was satisfied that the con was good, or-

“How much would you do it for?”

I named a figure quadruple his original offer.

A few minutes of haggling wrestled the compensatory figure to something more appropriate– though I knew full well there was no chance that I’d collect…

When I grabbed my hat and left, I started whistling. There’s seldom better money easier got than in conning a con, if you’re good at that kind of thing. You get one guess who’s the world-champion best at that kind of thing. I mean, you should know by now.

———————————————–

hannah

Edge of town. No money. No clue.

Phone. Buzzing. Collar ID- “Thomas.”

“Hello?”

“Lay low. Gonna text you an address- hotel owner owes me a favor. I’ll email you.”

“”What the fuck is happening? I don’t–”

“Can’t talk now.”

“Is Greg-”

But he’d already hung up.