12
I reached my office on the New Frisco docks with no other major entertainment-related incidents (although Rupert Roundtree called me on the way over to rave about my performance in episode two of the series, referring to it as bombastical). I called him an idiot and a fraud but he took it as a compliment and then excused himself so he could attend a focus group of white trash Americans (he didn’t say if he was running it or one of the participants). Other than that, the trip was uneventful.
My office is an oasis in the desert of late twenty-first century technology-centric chaos. It’s a throwback to an earlier time (as am I), a technologically simpler time when everything wasn’t wirelessly connected to everything else; when machines weren’t connected to one another and, more importantly, when machines weren’t connected to people.
It’s a place where I can sit in my simulated leather chair, prop my legs up on my real wood desk, put my arms behind my head, and let my mind do its thing. It’s also a place where bill collectors, unsatisfied clients, angry pressbots, assassins, and enemies of the state can easily find me, but every oasis has its drawbacks.
First order of business was to reestablish contact with Tony Rickey.
“What do you want now, Zach?” he said.
“Tony, I’m hurt that you think I only call you when I want something from you.”
“That’s right. You only call me when there’s a warrant out for your arrest.”
“Well played, Captain.”
“Do you know that the department has a listserver called Guess-What-Zach-Did-Now?” he said.
“Really? Is it accurate?”
“Most of it’s way off. Third-hand stuff. I try to post the real stuff but I keep getting kicked off because no one believes it. You know, like last night’s Kabuki fiasco.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “Last night was nothing. I’ve had more people try to kill me at a softball game.”
“That’s what happens when you pitch spitballs to a Police Athletic League team.”
“It was sweat, Tony. I have no control over my pores.”
“I didn’t know the mouth was considered a pore,” Tony said with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you know anything about a group called PATA?”
“Not off the top of my head.” He turned away and typed into his computer keyboard. “They don’t show up in any of the databases. I’m afraid to ask this, but why are you interested?”
“They’ve threatened to kill Sexy Sprockets.”
“Have the threats been reported?”
“They will be. You should be getting the call any time now,” I said. “I’ll have HARA send over copies of the threats.”
“HARA is HARV, right?”
“Sadly, yes. I’ve made it clear to Sexy and her people that they should cooperate with your department.”
“Great. I’ll send some men over. She’s at the Elite?”
“Where else? What kind of security will you have at the concerts?”
“Her fans are more exuberant than most so we planned to have extra personnel and machines there, both uniform and plainclothes.”
“Plainclothes machines?”
“They double as popcorn dispensers,” he said (straight-faced). “So you’re on Sexy’s payroll now?”
“She’s asked me to help her security.”
“Zach Johnson, bodyguard.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“You mean like reality star?”
“There is no show,” I said. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied. “And HARV’s still a woman?”
“She’s called HARA now.”
“She looks good for a computer. You’ll have to tell me the whole story sometime.”
“Yeah, let me know when you have a free month. Right now I’m just trying to keep Sexy alive.”
“Like I said, Zach, I’m not going to let anything happen to her on my watch. Thanks for the info. I’ll make sure everyone’s on guard.”
“Hopefully there won’t be any trouble,” I said.
Tony smiled. “Believe me, Zach, with you on the case, there’ll be trouble.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Tony. Let me know if you turn up anything on PATA.”
Tony smiled and his face disappeared from the screen just as HARA’s hologram appeared back on my desk (legs crossed, skirt riding high).
“Wow, sharing information and cooperating with the police,” she said. “Is this the start of a new Zach?”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure my goodwill with the police department is only temporary. Any new information on PATA?”
“Nothing yet, but I’m still digging. You need anything else?”
“Run background checks on Sammy Smiles and Sexy’s bodyguards. Saucy, scrappy, and scurvy.”
“You mean Misty, Sissy, and Lusty.”
“Whatever.”
“Got it.”
“When you say got it, do you mean that you understand the request or that you have the actual info?”
“Both, Zach,” HARA said. “I’m very intelligent. Try to keep up. By the way, you have a message from Electra.”
“Hate mail?”
“More like a shot across the bow,” HARA replied, morphing into Electra’s form, then mimicking her voice. “I’ll be home tomorrow, Chico.”
“That’s it?” I asked
“That’s it,” HARA said, morphing back to her current form.
I shook my head. “She’s mad at me. And for once it’s not because of something I did or had any control over.”
HARA smiled. “I think it’s cute that she’s jealous of us.”
“She’s not jealous of us!” I said. “There is no us. I’m me and you’re the holographic interface of a supercomputer.”
“There have been stranger couples,” HARA said, smile widening.
“We’re not a couple.”
“We’re partners.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Would Electra have loaded your gun with bot-busters?”
“DOS, where’s Rupert Roundtree when you need him?”
“Oh, I get it,” HARA said, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not good enough for you.”
“What?”
“Sure I’m the world’s most sophisticated cognitive processor, but you’re Zachary Nixon Johnson private eye. Nobody’s good enough for you, are they?”
I buried my head in my hands and thought nostalgically about how good my office used to feel.
“This is what hell feels like, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Don’t talk to me now,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at me. “I’m mad at you. By the way, I have the info that you requested.”
“I thought you were mad at me?”
“I am, but I’m also a professional. I am not going to let our personal relationship get in the way of our work relationship.”
“I appreciate that,” I said.
“As well you should,” she said. “I’ve learned the initial death threats from PATA came in via an ultra-encrypted line. They’re untraceable.”
“That figures. So it’s a dead end.”
“A dead end that tells us much.”
“How so?”
“A line that’s encrypted to such a degree is ripping edge.”
“So whoever sent the threats has access to some serious tech.”
“Correct.”
“Which means they’re either rich, powerful, or both.”
“You know, you’re almost as smart as you think you are,” she said rolling her eyes.
“Well, it’s a start,” I said, grabbing my hat.
“What now?” HARA asked.
“We’ve done all we can from here,” I said. “We’re not going to track PATA down today so it’s time to start being an actual bodyguard.”
“Which means?”
“It means we prepare for the worst and hope for the best.”
“It also means backstage passes to Sexy’s concert,” HARA said, hopping off the desk.
“I’m not sure if that falls into the best or worst category,” I said. “But let’s stop at the store while we’re out and pick up some earplugs just in case.”