Rusted Chrome

by Karlos Allen

Day One

part 3 of 4

O’Leary scanned the file. It would’ve strained Margie’s sensibilities to actually state what she’d found. This Ms. Porter was the president of the local chapter of ‘Americans for Free Minds’. They were particularly against caps, mental interfaces and virtual reality, but more generally they weren’t real fans of the Web at all.

He looked up from the folder. “Sounds like a winner. Can you get her for me?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to reach her.”

He looked down; sure enough there was a com number, voice only. He noticed a post office (snail-mail?!) address as well. What was missing was any kind of Space address or online web contact information. It stood to reason, if you’re against technology you don’t want to be caught using it.

“All right, Margie, I’ll handle this one. Take any calls for me while I’m out.”

“OK.”

Once again O’Leary went offline. This bouncing back and forth between the real world and the Web was starting to give him a headache. Oh well, he knew how to cure that. He popped a couple of ibuprofen and downed it with the now cold coffee.

Getting up, he went over to the break room and got another cup. He was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t had to start a new pot yet today. That was one of the advantages of having the office to himself, nobody else was drinking his coffee. Maybe, he reflected, we should have downtimes like this more often. The purple face of the dead IT tech came to mind. Then again, maybe not.

Picking up one of the communicators, he set it to Voice Only and keyed in the number Margie had given to him.

He listened to the ring and then a woman’s voice answered. “Americans for Free Minds; don’t get caught in Big Brother’s Web. This is Denise, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Metro Police Detective Charles O’Leary; I’d like to speak to Christine Porter please.”

There was a pause. So, Denise IS a real person, after all. Then: “Do you have an appointment, Detective?”

“No, ma’am, I do not,” he said and then waited, letting the pause draw out. It was always better with these underling types to make them do all of the work. The more uncomfortable they got, the quicker they moved you on to someone who could help you.

“I... I’m afraid her schedule is rather full right now, can I take a message?”

“Certainly, tell Ms. Porter that I am investigating a possible terrorist attack in the Portland area and that I may need to interview her as a material witness. I understand that her schedule is rather full, but I would advise her not to leave the Metropolitan Area until such time as we’ve cleared her to do so. I’ll try to get in touch with her soon. Meantime if she would like to speed things up, she can contact me at this number.” He gave the voice-mail address of his office.

“Wait, wait. She’s just come out of her office now.” I’ll bet she has, he thought. “Perhaps you could talk to her directly.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” He heard voices in the background and then the communicator changed hands.

“This is Christine. How may I help you, Detective?”

He explained briefly what had happened.

“And this concerns me, how? Detective, we are a legally registered PAC. We don’t set off bombs.” She wasn’t intimidated at all.

“Of course not, ma’am. However, in the course of your business you have to come in contact with others who have less respect for due process, or at least, less patience.”

“Obviously, but that doesn’t mean I know when somebody is going to set off a bomb. Also, Detective, some of those people, if they trust me, might be willing to be a little more patient. If I start reporting on them to the authorities, I lose that lever.”

She wasn’t giving an inch. He knew that the Voice of Authority routine wasn’t going to work. He wondered how the Humble Supplicant Who’s Totally Out of His Depth routine would play.

”Of course, Ms Porter. It’s just that, well, people died today. I found one of the bodies myself. I was just hoping, in the interest of preventing this from happening again, that you could at least give me some background information? Something that would give me a lead? I really don’t know where to start here. And I really don’t want to find another body.” At least that’s true.

There was a pause, he could almost hear her thinking it over. “Well, it can’t hurt to fill you in on the reasons we all have to be worried about the Web. However, I don’t want any of this recorded, nor do I want anybody with you in reality or virtually.”

O’Leary thought for a moment. “I know a place we could meet. It would be neutral ground and you’re guaranteed that I will be alone. It’s a privacy club out on the corner of one eighty-fifth and the Sunset Highway. It’s called Ernie’s Diner. He makes a great cup of coffee; just don’t let him sell you any goat curry.”

“I happen to like goat curry, Detective. Very well, I wrap things up here at five. I can meet you there at five-thirty.”

“I’ll see you then, Ms Porter.” He hung up, making a mental note to be there about ten minutes early. This would give him a chance to size her up before they started talking. He felt he was going to need all the help he could get with this one.

He was still working out his strategy for the meeting when Hans called him.

“Hey, Chuck, you were right. It was a bomb. We’re picking up fragments for analysis now. Looks like a home-made job from the materials used in building it.”

“Amateur?”

“Possibly, but if so this wasn’t their first bomb. They didn’t make the usual amateur mistakes. It has the earmarks of a private job. One person or at most a small independent group.”

“Any clues as to who?”

“Naw, just a bomb. Nobody sent any threats beforehand, and nobody’s claiming responsibility. In fact, since the news people aren’t paying attention I don’t think the radical community is even aware of it.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Could you send me the footage from the remote and your analyses when you get a chance? I’m sure you went over things pretty thoroughly, but I’d like to be able to speak from first-hand knowledge when I report on this.”

“Sure, Chuck, no problem. I’ll upload the footage to your office now and you should have the analysis waiting for you in the morning.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

He looked at the clock. It was about four-thirty right now. It would take him about ten minutes to make it to Ernie’s with the traffic at this time of day. He got up and reached for the coffee, then paused; his mouth felt like shoe leather, and his head was buzzing; he must have been hitting it pretty hard today. Oh well, he’d be having more at Ernie’s, so he decided to have a juice instead. The vitamins would do him good.

Going back to his desk he put in a call via communicator to Okawa’s room. Mrs. Okawa answered. She looked white and scared.

“Hello, Miko, how’s he doing?”

“He doesn’t remember, Chuck. He doesn’t remember anything. He keeps asking for his cap over and over. He keeps saying he’s fine and that he wants to go home.”

“Is he getting angry?”

“No, he would be if he knew how many times he’s asked, but every time is like the first time for him.” She paused, “I’ve sent the children to their grandmother’s; he was starting to scare them.”

Only them? Out loud he said, “I have a meeting with a witness at around x-thirty. I can be up there to his room by seven-thirty at the latest. Is there anything you would like me to bring?”

She dipped her head in an unconscious half-bow. “No, thank you. We would be happy to have you here.”

“OK, Miko. I’ll see both of you then. And Miko? It will be OK.”

A few minutes later he drained his juice, checked his office for messages, put on his coat and went out to his car.

Traffic was as bad as he’d imagined, but he was still able to make it to the parking lot of Ernie’s with time to spare. Getting out, he scanned the area just in case she’d shown up and, not seeing anyone, went inside.

“Salaam, Ernie” he called out as he came through the curtain. “I’m meeting someone in a few minutes—”

“She is already here, Detective.” Ernie was shaking his head. “I don’t like her. You can do better than this, I’m sure.”

“It’s not a date, Ernie, it’s business. How long has she been here?”

“She came in at five, she said she was early but would be happy to get a booth, she said you would be joining her soon.”

So much for sizing her up, she probably had the same idea. He shook his head, “Neither of us were to be here till five-thirty. Has she ordered yet?”

“No, she said she would wait for you. I don’t like her, Detective.”

“Why?”

“There is something dishonest about her. She is hiding something. She reminds me of one of my daughters when they’ve sneaked off to a party and think I don’t know about it.” He motioned one his daughters over and told her to lead O’Leary to the booth.

“Thanks for the warning, Ernie, I’ll watch her.”

He made his way through the crowded restaurant, scanning the people and trying to get some kind of read on where they were going. Of course the booth was darkened so he couldn’t see her very well. The only consolation was that she’d been looking in the wrong direction and so didn’t see him till they were there.

“Ms. Porter? I’m Detective O’Leary.”

She looked up. “Hello, Detective. Where’s your hat?”

He sat down across from her. “My hat? I don’t wear one.”

“Never? Funny, I guess I just pictured you with one.” She shrugged. “You must have sounded like a hat person on the phone.”

“Sorry, the only place I wear a hat is online, and I doubt you’ve ever seen my avatar.”

“It wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t recognize you anyway, would I?”

“Yes, you would. Police regs state that our official avatars have to be digital photos with the badge plainly visible. This way anyone who sees us online would instantly recognize us in the real world and vice-versa. It prevents people from impersonating an officer.”

“And the hat?”

He shrugged, “As a bow to netiquette, we are allowed to dress the avatar as we wish, provided we follow the guidelines. My avatar wears a fedora and a trench coat. Looks like something out of an old detective movie. It seemed to fit.”

“Well, I would suggest you start wearing one, it might help hide the fact that you’re a capper.”

“A what?”

“A capper. One of those people who’ve surrendered their minds to the Web. You can always tell one, they have that glazed twitchy stare, no muscle tone, and bald spots where the nodes have rubbed the hair off.”

He drew himself up in mock dignity, “I am not the least bit bald. The twitchy stare comes from having had to go an hour without any coffee and the supposed lack of muscle tone is a result of my working such long hours protecting people like you so that I am too exhausted to work out. If I am balding, that is from tearing my hair out doing that same job.”

She laughed at this, as he’d hoped. Putting her at ease would help matters immensely. Something seemed a little odd about her hair, though.

“Do you see our waiter? I’m hungry.” She turned slightly to look off to his left. As she did so, his right hand snaked out and twitched her hair aside. She grabbed at his hand, but missed as he pulled it back.

“Sorry,” he smiled insincerely, “your wig was crooked. So tell me, what does your avatar look like?”

Proceed to part 4...