Detective work is Glamorous

The painter’s bucket in the shower was beginning to overflow. The trick with pay as you go water was to try to save as much as you could when you had the extra money, so when money was tight you wouldn’t experience as drought. Every person was allotted ten minutes of bathing water a day, after that you could pay for more if you needed it. He always seemed to need it.

“Yes double my time.”

“Payment accepted.” He thought he heard a tone of amazement in the computer’s voice.

He still wanted to hear about the case from Jewels so he thought he’d try her home line this time. He hated paying Sally bell's rates on the vidfone, but it really was the best way to reach anyone.

“Hey kid it’s me.” He said looking as distantly as possible into the camera. He wasn’t sure if she would help or not. Not with the way they had left things, plus Sarah had rattled his cage a bit.

“I know it’s been a while, but I could use your help.” He paused for a moment.

“Look I’m not sure if I have a case or not yet, but if I do it’s a big one.  Can you meet me a Dante’s at nine? I think we can talk about it there a privately.” Her voice mailed beeped when he was done instructing him to press 1 for more options.

He hoped she wasn’t in her office when he called, but he figured she saw the ID and didn’t pick up. Either way Dante’s might peak her interest.  They had spent a lot of nights there when they both worked for Star.

The Inferno was a nightclub; where you could get anything and no one ever cared you were there. Everyone knew that most of the city’s illegal deals went down there, but every time someone paid for a warrant, to raid the place, the issuer changed their mind before the warrant could be executed.

He approached the counter at Kwan’s. ‘I’ll have the…”

“You’ll have the number 20; man at table twelve bought your breakfast already.” He looked towards table twelve and could see the well cut dark hair of a young man.

He slid into the booth across from his benefactor.

“You’re fifteen minutes late Mr. O’Neil.” He said wiping his mouth. He was a dainty man maybe in his early thirties neatly groomed and obviously used to luxury.

“I wasn’t aware we had an appointment, Mr…”

“We did not. I was merely commenting on your normal schedule.”

“I had extra shower time this morning.” O’Neil said as he looked down at the number 20, a perfectly grilled steak and two real eggs.

“They told me this was your regular breakfast, and I didn’t want to break your routine.”

“I would have expected a man in your career to have been less routined.  You were terribly easy to find.”

“I find it simplifies things that way.”  He said as he cut into the steak. “What can I do for you? Mr…”

He acknowledged the question this time. “My name is unimportant. What I can offer you however should more than peak your interests.” He sipped his tea gently.

“The gentlemen that have employed me are very interested in something that you may be able to provide them.”

O’Neil swallowed. “And what would that be?”

“How familiar are you with direct human cloning?”

“I know the term, and I know it’s illegal.”

“My clients believe that the laws will be changing soon, and would like to be ahead of their competition when the laws can change.”

“So why tell me?”

“Jor-tech has the edge in direct human cloning, and with your recent addition to their roll, my clients believe you could help us with that edge.”

“I think your clients have been miss informed, I don’t go in for corporate espionage.”

“They will be disappointed to hear that.” He stood to leave, “they had so hoped you were the man for the job.” He bowed politely and turned to leave.

“Mr. O’Neil.” He slid a paper business card towards him. “You can access the account on this card and charge me for your consultation this morning. If you should reconsider, the information we are looking for will be located in the file listed on the card.”

“Thank your clients for breakfast, but I won’t change my mind.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said as he left.

“Meat two days in a row, this case was getting really lucrative.” He thought as he ate the last bit of steak. He looked down at the card on the front was a temporary account number, so his anonymity would be protected, and on the back were the letters B.E.R.D.A.C.H.E. He slipped it into his pocket, might come in handy later.

He had arranged for himself and Gorby to set up shop in Chandler’s office for a while, under the auspices of needing to think like Jordan. In fact he wanted to see if Gorby could access the private network. Murty and Sachi had lied to him about the frequency of Chandler’s visits, the DNA dating at least showed he frequented his wet bar before his disappearance. O’Neil wanted to know why if no one could remember him being there, why there was so much junk DNA lying around.

Gorby hooked up his gear and proceeded to hack.  His computer buzzed loudly. “This is going to take a while, they're paranoid round here.”

“That’s okay I’ve got a temporary transdermist to see.” He pulled the digital card from his pocket. The waitress from last night had been an old pro, and it was a good bet if he got the card so had Jordan. He picked up the receiver of the vidfone on the desk.

An attractive young woman answered the phone. “May I help you?”

“Ah yes, I received this number at Fred’s New Life Temple.”

“Funny, you don’t seem the type.”

“So I’ve been told.” He looked sheepishly down as if he was too shy to ask. ” I would like a consultation.”

“Sure, we have an opening today if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” he said. They made arrangements for him to see about becoming a she later that day.

“I always suspected,” Gorby teased.

“You needed something?”

“Yeah but the whole Lola thing is much more interesting.” He smiled at his own joke. “I cracked the system.”

“Thought you said it would take a while?”

“When you think in binary, 20 minutes is a while Betty.”

O’Neil nodded to himself as he made a mental note to turn Gorby in for hacking Star Corp, when he was done. “So is there anything interesting.”

“Not really, our boy did use the place a lot though. Mostly for phone calls and a few file transfers.”

“What kind of phone calls?”

“I’m not sure yet give me a few.”

“What about the files?”

“They’ve been erased, but I can recover them, at least most of them.”

“How long will that take?”

“Uh,” he said distracted now by his computer, ‘maybe an hour, maybe two.”

“I’m going the check out the crime scene. Maybe Jewels missed something.” He gathered up his gear to leave. He showed Gorby the business card. “Check for a file with this name, might mean something.”

The transdermist office was a complete bust; if Jordan had been there they weren’t talking. The crime scene as well had done very little to shed any light on his disappearance. Gorby on the other hand had a very fruitful day. He had recovered several files, mostly contacts at escort services, as well as the file on the business card. The encryption on that file was pretty intense and Gorby thought it would take several days to crack it, so he had taken his gear and headed to the mountains with the hack from SallyBell, this left O’Neil with a case but nothing to go on.

“Hey Jewels.” He said into the desk vidfone. “Look I need everything you’ve got on the Jordan case. I know things didn’t go well, but this is business and I could use your help. I’ll see you at Dante’s tonight.”

His cell phone rang, almost shaking him out of the desk, it was Ms. Jordan. “I’ve been going over Chandler’s affairs and I found something that I thought might help.” O’Neil was grateful for any leads at this point.

“My brother spent a great deal of time at our family’s beach home, not long before his disappearance. I thought it might help if you started looking there.”

“It could be interesting,” He said. “I’ll head out that way tomorrow.”

“The car service is at your disposal.” He could get used to this.

“I appreciate that.” Now he had something to go on, and besides he could use a trip to the beach. Before he could plan the beach trip he needed to take care of a few more things in the city and meet with Jewels.

The last of the Hatmen

The last of the hat men is falling
Gone is the creased fedora brim elegantly hung above the brow
the smell of aqua velva and brute
clinging cigarette smoke and coffee

The last of the hat men is falling
Twice after we had shared a six pack and a bottle of bourbon
You tried to teach me the lessons you had learned
“Real men don't cry,”
”all women are crazy, but I think men make them that way”
”Don't rock the boat”
“it's all about family”

The last of the hat men has fallen
Did I learn the lessons I needed
How to feed your family when there isn't work,
when to stand my ground,
it's all about the family

The last of the hat men has fallen
I wanted to go to your funeral
Not to say good bye,
we had already done that a few months before.
But to show you that I had.

It's a great life if you can afford it.

He sent Gorby the vid message once the Aero-car was a float and placed the call to Jewels.

“Star Corporation, detectives’ offices.”

Jewels must not be answering her calls today. “Hey, Sarah can I speak to Jewels?”

Sarah squinted into the vidfone. “Mr. O’Neil, you’ve got some nerve.” He probably deserved that when he left Star Corp he left every part of that life behind him.

“Yeah, I suppose I do. Is Jewels in?”

“Miss Devonshire is on a case. And if she wasn’t I still wouldn’t patch you in.”

“Look this is business, I need the professional courtesy of a closed case file.”

“I’ll see if I can find a cock roach.”

He was beginning to think Jewels took their break up harder than he thought. “Funny, I need a copy of the Jordan case faxed to me if it’s not too much trouble.”

She began clicking at her keyboard. “The Jordan case, no trouble at all…”

“Thank you for doing this.” O’Neil interrupted.

“The records are sealed at the family's request.” She smiled big into the vidfone.

She was pressing the disconnect button as he stopped her.

“Can you tell Jewels I called?”

“No.” She said as the call ended.

The Aero-car sat down gently in front of his office and he was back inside within a few moments.

The light on his vidfone was flashing; he pressed the button and rolled a cigarette.

“Hey man.” It was Gorby. ”Looks like you have a case.” O’Neil wasn’t looking at the vid screen because he was busy exhaling into a bag. Tobacco was strictly illegal so you had to hide the smoke as well as everything else.

“The message is legit. So the way I see it either SallyBell has started placing calls from the other side or he wasn’t dead when Jewels found the body.” He pointed again at something on his computer screen, which would have made sense to O’Neil even if he had been looking.“ The message is short though, see right here. Maybe they got cut off, I don’t know, but this wasn’t everything.”

“Can you check with SallyBell, and see how long the call was?”

“Yeah I guess but it’s going to cost me, I know a little hack who works there who’ll do anything after enough bourbon, and a weekend in the mountains.”

“Start her with the bourbon, I’ll see what I can do about the escape.” He placed the cigarette but in a jar of water and closed the lid tight. “Go easy on me I only got my fee plus half so we can’t run the expenses to high.”

“I know you got double.” He ad already hacked O’Neil’s files before he checked the call out.

“Don’t you trust me, Gorby?”

“Of course Darien, but I also know you. So make the weekend first class, ya cheap bastard.” O’Neil closed the vidfone and started planning his next move.

Things weren’t making a lot of sense to O’Neil right at the moment. Apparently Chandler had faked his own death, and the successfully disappeared, not a small feat in the chipped world. After doing this for some reason he chose to make contact with his sister.

It was clear from their meeting that there wasn’t any love lost when Chandler disappeared. From the way he saw it Ms. Jordan barely tolerated her twin and was probably more worried about the scandal this might cause than his safety. She made sense, in a Machiavellian way, but why did he come back. That’s what O’Neil couldn’t figure.

The place to start would be Jor-Tech; maybe the family fortune wasn’t what it appeared, at least that was as good a place as any.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Murty.” O’Neil extended his hand to the balding 70 something Indian man behind the mahogany desk.

“Not at all, but I must confess I’m not sure why you are here.” They both sat down.

“Ms. Jordan has asked me to investigate Mr. Jordan’s unfortunate circumstances.”

“Yes I’m aware of the details, but you see I’m not sure why you are here. Mr. Jordan’s role here was merely symbolic.” O’Neil smiled and nodded at his host.

“I gathered from my research that he didn’t have a head for business.”

“That would be putting it mildly, I honestly can’t remember the last time he used his office. Ms. Jordan controlled the family's interest in Jor-tech.”

“What exactly is the family's interest?”

“Jor-tech is the world’s leader in universal tissue donation, genetic modification, as well as the owner of hundreds of other companies,” Slid a digital reader towards O’Neil. ”Here’s record of all of our holdings as a corporate entity.” O’Neil pretended to scan the document.

“So it’s mostly tech stuff?”

“Primarily yes, but not only we own several vidfone companies and security firms like Star corp.”

O’Neil nodded, nodded politely.

“We purchase any company that would appear to be able to benefit our interest.”

“And Chandler wasn’t interested in this I’m surprised.’

“As you said he didn’t have a head for business. Personally I think if he couldn’t swallow, smoke, or insert it he wasn’t interested.”

“That would agree with the press reports” O’Neil thought.

“In fact Chandler even signed his shares over to his sister in exchange for an allowance, so he had more time to find himself.”

He slid another reader towards O’Neil.  Who glanced down at the reader, it was a standard deed issuing all control of the family interest to Chase. The paper work looked proper and it had been signed and duly witnessed.

“Could I get a print out of this for my records?” He slid the reader back.

Murty plugged it into a port on his desk, as a printer behind him started humming.

“I’d like to see his office if that would be alright.” He stood up moving away from the desk.

“I’ll have Sachi show you the way.” His assistant came in and escorted O’Neil to a spacious office with a beautiful view of the lake.

“Will there be anything else?” Sachi asked.

“When was the last time Mr. Jordan was here? He asked starting to appraise the office. It might as well have been a new suite since it was clear it had almost never been used.

“They both were here for the documents, I notarized them. That was eight months ago.” He scratched his head. ‘Outside of that I can’t say.” He left O’Neil to investigate the office.

He ran a tiny probe along the desk; time dating of the Dna showed that no one had been at the desk for over a year. Even with the high tech robo-cleaners it was pretty rare that all of the stray human particles would be gone unless of course, the desk had just been unwrapped, or the scan was right.  The only part of the office that showed any human contact was the wet bar, and although it was clear it had been used frequently, the dates said not recently.

“Interesting...” O’Neil thought. “For a while he was here every night drinking Manhattans, but that was a year ago.” He moved to the central computer and saw that it was clean as the desk, not even an entry to the drive in over a year. Gorby could tell him if it had been erased, so he scanned an imprint of the drive.

He walked past Sachi’s desk as he was leaving.

“When Mr. Jordan used to come in…” Sachi looked up from his computer screen. “Where did he go when he left?”

“Fred's new life temple.” Sachi said distractedly.

“So he wasn’t that absent,” O’Neil thought. “And he liked raw food and drag shows.”

“I’m thinking about getting into corporate security, I hear the pay is better.” O’Neil paused to look around they foyer. ”How secure is the private Ethernet here? I’d like to know what I’m up against.”

“Sachi smiled, “We have the latest linus357 secure system. It’s completely impenetrable, and we own the company that makes it.  There’s no work here for you, you might want to see if Star Corp is hiring. I hear they still have benefits.”

“So I’ve been told.” O'Neil said as the elevator doors opened.

Most people new Fred’s new life temple by reputation only, O’Neil had planned to keep it that way for himself, but you have to follow the trail to catch game. He sat down on an oversized cushion in the back of the room and glanced down at the menu.

A young woman, or so he thought, you could never be sure at Fred’s, approached the table.

“What’ll you have?” She said in an ethereal voice.

He looked a little closer at the menu; nothing on it was cooked to protect the live enzymes. The theory was the overly processed food everyone else ate was killing them slowly.

“I’m partial to a mock beef and rye.” He looked back down at the menu. “I guess I’ll just have a water.”

“Would you like to see the water menu?”

“The water menu,” he said cautiously. ” No I’ll just have whatever’s cheapest.”

“Here for the show, are you. You didn’t seem the type.”

“The show and I’m looking for a friend.” A drag queen was on center stage singing a poorly mixed version of a classic oldies song called, Dancing Queen.

“Most people here can be really friendly for a price. Tell me what your looking for and I’ll see if I can find the type.” The waitress knelt down next to him and whispered in his ear. “Or maybe I’m your type.”

“Flattered as I am,” he said removing her hand from his lap.“An old friend of mine, Chandler Jordan, told me I could find what I was looking for here.” The waitress furrowed her brow looking at O’Neil.

“I just didn’t have much time to come in, and then with his death I felt a little odd.” Her brow relaxed.

“Chandie had a special room behind those doors, “It’ll cost you to get in.” She slipped a credit reader onto O’Neil’s lap. After the transaction was done they walked to the private room.

He wasn’t sure what to expect after having read what he did about Chandie, but this wasn’t it. In the center of the room was a large overstuffed chair, surrounded by computer scanners and VR goggles.

“Have a seat and I’ll tell it to run Chandie’s program.” He sat in the chair looking at the monitor in front of him.

“Once the imaging stops you put on the goggles. You’ve paid for thirty minutes when that times up tell it to restart and we’ll bill your chip,”

“Uh thanks, I think thirty minutes will be enough.”

“It is for most men, but I’d had hopes for you cutie.”

The waitress dimmed the lights as she left.

“Imaging beginning, please look straight ahead;” said a dislocated computer voice. A light shot out of one of the machined and began tracing O’Neil’s face.

“Turn to the left please.” So he did. The light traced the side of his face.

“Now to the right.” The lights turned off.

“Imaging complete. Relax and enjoy your experience.” He placed the goggles on and prepared himself to experience Chandler’s fantasy.

A handsome man in his mid-forties walked into the VR room. “You’ve been a naughty girl haven’t you?”

O’Neil felt himself nod as the woman in virtual reality did the same.

“Yes I have daddy,” the VR woman said as she started undressing. “Yes I have.” O’Neil was puzzled, with Jordan’s money, he could have paid for live shows, he didn’t have to come here to watch badly written VR porn. O’Neil felt his body start to tingle as the couple engaged in the erotic drama.

Even if he was afraid to act it out with a real person he had his own VR studios. “It just didn’t make any sense...” O’Neil thought, “Why go to all this trouble, and with an ugly babe?” She was truly the ugliest woman he had ever seen, and yet somehow familiar. He sat back to watch the film and try to figure it out, which was difficult with the distractions of the electrodes, then it came to him. The woman was him.

“Oh my God, he wanted to be a woman.” I guess there was more to it than the x y switch. He took off the goggles and left the room.

The waitress was standing by the door to greet him on the way out. ”Ten minutes, I figured you’d last longer than that.” She looked down and snickered.

“I know a good therapist, if you need her.” He smiled at O’Neil as she moved closer and whispered in his ear again, “I also know a temporary transdermist if you’d like to try this for real.”

O’Neil moved closer placing his arm around the waitress. “I thought I was a disappointment.” He whispered.

“I could always use a quick buck,” she said licking at O’Neil’s ear. He slipped his hand into the front pocket of the waitress’s apron pulling out her personal credit pad. He held his hand just above the reader.

He typed five hundred on the pad. “Was that Chandie’s thing?”

Eager to make 500 standing she answered. “No, he only watched in the booth.” O’Neil pressed firmly on the pad as he ran his other hand down the front of the apron.

“Can I have a copy?” He whispered

“No after he died some guy from star corp. came and subpoenaed it, took the whole hard drive.” She exhaled quickly.

“That’s too bad.” O’Neil said as he pulled away.

“What about us?” Breathed the waitress.

“Sorry you’re not my type.”

Straightening the apron he said, in a male voice “Then that’ll be 20 bucks for the water.”

“I knew she had balls,” he thought. He left Fred’s hoping that when he got home he would have a call from Jewels, if not a relaxing evening at home to ponder the new information probably couldn’t hurt.

Through the Looking Glass. Chapter 2

Gorby had been one of the leading code jockeys in the in the world until he was busted. Just being paid hadn’t been enough for him; he needed to always know he was the best. When a different hack busted into the entire chip network, he had to show he was one better; he liberated all of the funds in the network and deposited them into one homeless man’s account. For a day the whole country shut down, accept one wino on Thirty-Fifth Street who never even knew he controlled the world.

Since that little stunt he had been under house arrest monitoring the chip net for the Gov. For a lot of hacks the best job interview was hacking, show hem their not safe and they’ll usually pay you to keep them safe. It might be considered extortion, by most people, only none of the hacks ever thought of it like that, because they never planned on getting caught.

Gorby buzzed him in; private dwellings weren’t required to have a scan entrance. “Can’t you see I’m busy O’Neil? What da you want?”

All O’Neil could see were sixteen different monitors playing sixteen different games. “Yeah, looks that way. Look Gorby I need some information.”

“Like where to find a case.” He continued clicking at his keyboard.

“No I have a case, well maybe. That’s why I’m here. I want to know if it’s worth taking.” Gorby continued with his games.

“The last time you asked for some info, all I got out of it was Star Corp breathing down my neck.”

“Look I’m really sorry about that, but this client has paid 10 grand just for me to talk to her.”

Gorby pressed a button and all of his games paused at once. “I’ll take my standard 10 percent plus two grand up front, for last time.

O’Neil placed his hand on Gorby’s scanner. “You should being flying the Jolly Rodger.”

“I did and the feds busted me.” He checked his accounts to make sure his money was there then showed an interest in the case.

“So what’s the case?”

“Chandler Jordan.”  O’Neil reached for his PDA.

“The dead joy boy? Didn’t Jewels solve that one?”

“So I thought, but that 10 grand says maybe not.” He paused for a moment to think. “I’m going to meet miss Jordan she seems convinced he is still alive.”

Gorby clicked away at his computer. “Chase Jordan, she’s his twin, says here identical.”

“What, they aren’t…”

Gorby interrupted. “You really should keep up with the times a little more. Their father was an old geezer, with a young trophy wife, looking for a son. The problem was he only shot X’s.” He scrolled the screen a little further reading ahead. “So they had his company Jor-Tech, fix the problem, and chandler was the lucky girl. They do this stuff all the time; change an x to a y or vice-a-versa.” He smiled at the screen.

“Oh this is totally delic; they don’t even have the same birthday…” He pointed to the records on the screen. “She’s at least twenty years older than him. Not only was he supposed to be the belle of the ball but, he was late for the cotillion.”

“I guess money can buy everything but common sense.” He looked over Gorby’s shoulder trying to read the scrolling information as fast as he could. “The gossip is nice, but what can you find about the murder?”

Gorby clicked at few keys. “Oh no, I’m not hacking star,” he turned to face O’Neil. “Do you remember last time; well I do, no way, not ever.”

“So don’t hack star, if I find anything worth investigating I’ll ask Jewels for that. I think she’s not holding too big of a grudge. Find me what you can about the case without looking in the star reports.” He grabbed his coat off the chair and turned to leave. “I’ll show myself out, I have to sneak back into my building. Let me know when you have something.”

If you could afford it Aero-car travel was the only way to go. Above the smog level the world was a different place; orange and pink clouds covered most of the desolation and every so often the top of a skyscraper would poke through like a spring blossom searching for the sun. He settled into the plush leather seat flipping the dial on the remote to see if there was anything worth watching on the satellite. He stopped on a news channel as the anchor was prattling on about a recent pod bust

“Five pods were recovered in a warehouse today on the lower east side. So far the detectives have reported that there was no evidence the recovered pods had been used for id theft, only that black market organs were the apparent motive.” He drifted off to sleep as they started to cover the highlights of the ethics debate he had seen earlier.

The Jordan estate was nice as far as self-indulgent mansions went. A servant showed Darien to the back lawn where Miss Jordan was expecting him.

In person Ms. Jordan still looked like the botoxer was her best friend.  Sometimes with the vidfones you couldn’t really tell what a person was like – an electronic distortion or a filter over a camera.  In her case the vidfone showed her exactly as she was, a bored 60-something wanting to be a 20-year-old trophy wife.

She extended her gloved hand to feign a greeting, “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come, Mr. O’Neill.”

“It’s not often I get a chance to leave the city and breathe real air.” What freelance detective wouldn’t arrive for a ten thousand dollar carrot and a mystery that has already been solved?

The air recyclers in most cities did just enough to keep people alive but not enough to not let anyone enjoy it.

“Would you care to have a seat?”  She gestured toward the garden chairs.  “I trust that your trip was comfortable.”

As she continued with the niceties of civilized society, O’Neill interrupted, “Ma’am, I appreciate the fact that you have paid me handsomely for my time, but I must admit that I am more used to doing business in a straightforward manner. I’d be more comfortable if you get straight to the point.  You asked me to come out here to talk about your brother, who you say is missing.”  He paused to notice the butler bringing light refreshments to the garden table.

She nodded, “that is correct.”

“Your brother who is missing, and yet every news article I’ve read and everything I’ve heard leads me to say with reasonable certainty that your brother was murdered six months ago. I must admit that I’m curious as to why I’m here.”

Her rigid face cracked as much of a smile as its tissues would allow. “You’re right to believe that my brother was murdered, because that’s what the Star Corporation said.  However, I know he was not.”

She gestured for the servant to leave them in peace.  “Please, Mr. O’Neill, have a sandwich.”

He glanced down at the serving plate, and his brow furrowed in amazement, “is that real meat?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s one of the luxuries that living outside of city limits will allow.”

O’Neill greedily grabbed a sandwich and shoved an oversized portion of it in his mouth, forgetting any sense of table manners.  “Please, Ms. Jordan, call me Darien.”  His audible chewing muffled the rest of that thought, and then he said, “Do you have any idea of how long it’s been since I’ve had real meat?”

“You will find the milk equally as real, Darien, but I didn’t fly you all the way out here to discuss the epicurean niceties that money can provide in today’s world.  I brought you here to find my brother.”  She fiddled with her napkin for a moment.

“When he first disappeared eight months ago, I hired the Star Corporation to locate him, make sure he was okay, and possibly return him home.” O’Neill nodded because his mouth was too full to talk.

“Six months ago they notified me that Chandler had been murdered.  It was all very convincing.  Chandler, as I’m sure you know, was fond of associating with less-than-desirable people.”  O’Neill nodded again, remembering that depending on which paper you read Chandler Jordan had been either a joy boy who hung out with narco-traffickers, or a lush who spent so much time in rehab they were naming wings after him.  Either circumstance would have been less-than-desirable to Ms. Jordan.

“According to the Star Corporation, one of his associations set him up to be pod jacked.”  O’Neill swallowed his roast beef.  “Yes, I did read that.  His hands and eyes were removed from his body.”  He paused for a moment.  “You may not be aware of this, Miss Jordan, but although in today’s world human life is cheap, the retinas and chip hand of a wealthy man bring a lot of money on the black market.”

“So they’ve told me.”  She gently folded her napkin and placed it on her untouched plate.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, but I don’t want to waste our time.  They found your brother’s body, and it matched his DNA exactly.  Not only did they have the positive match, but they found the people who jacked him.

She did her best to interrupt him, politely. “It wasn’t Chandler’s body that they found.  Not only that, the people they convicted didn’t murder him, they helped him to disappear.”

“There are a few problems with your story, ma’am.  First, they weren’t just convicted.  They’ve already been sentenced and put to death.  I can’t believe that anyone would consent to that.  Second, it was your brother’s body – the DNA match was 100 percent certain.  And before you tell me that Star Corp forged the results, I know the investigator who was in charge of your brother’s case, and Jewels has never forged anything.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to see that you’re well-versed in the criminal proceedings behind my brother’s disappearance.  I had no intention of defaming your friend’s integrity.  I’m sure her DNA results were accurate, but it wasn’t Chandler’s body she found, it was a pod.”

O’Neill’s brain nearly leapt from his head.  “I knew it,” he thought. “Mad as a hatter.”  “You hired me for my investigative abilities, ma’am.  Part of being a detective is using reasoning, and there is no reason behind what you’ve just told me.  Pods don’t possess DNA coding at all.  That’s what makes them so valuable to podjackers.  If Jewels had recovered a pod instead of your brother, the DNA would have shown nothing other than a living organ transplant.  Even with removal of his hands and eyes, no one, especially Jewels, would have identified a pod as Chandler Jordan.”

“Mr. O’Neill, did you know that my grandfather’s company created the first pods?”

“What?” he said, looking puzzled with his patience running thin.

“My grandfather’s company created the first human pods 40 years ago as a way to guarantee universal donors for organ transplants.”

“Universal donors, only if the clients can pay.”

“That may be true, but did you know that they’ve developed a new kind of pod?  It’s one that can be grown in a matter of weeks and matches its original’s DNA code exactly.”

O’Neill stared at her intently trying to figure out if he had just heard the latest scientific innovation or the ramblings of a madwoman.

“That, Mr. O’Neill, is what Investigator Jewels Devonshire found and pronounced to be my brother.”

“Can you prove that this?”

“No,” she replied, “but I can show you where to go to find the information, and I will pay you handsomely for your time.”

O’Neill thought for a moment.  It had been a long time since he had had a paying client, and even longer since he had a client with any sort of real money.  “What the hell?” he thought.

He slid a personal organizer across the table.  “In here you’ll find my standard terms for services, my advance fee, and my expense account requirements, as well as a standard warrant to proceed with the investigation.  Because of the uniqueness of your story, I am going to double my normal upfront fee, in case this turns out to be nothing but a wild goose chase. If you agree to those terms, simply pass your hand across the scanner and the money will be automatically debited from your account.”

She never looked down at the screen, simply waving her hand across the scanner, and O’Neill thought, “Damn it, I should have charged her triple.”

Chandler Jordan is Dead. Chapter 1

The buzzer of the alarm clock cut through the air like a digital hangover. He rolled slightly so he could quiet his morning nemesis. “Oh God five more minutes,” he thought.

“Three minutes left of authorized water usage.” Ten minutes didn’t seem to last as long as it used to. The shower continued “to purchase more water say yes clearly.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve still got soap in my eyes.” He fumbled quickly for his cup to catch the extra water before the shower stopped.

“I’m sorry Mr. O’Neil but you have exceeded your financial quota this month.” “In other words, I’m broke,” he muttered.  The shower hissed to a stop, sputtering its last few drops of water into his cup. He savored the drops of his shower as he finished preparing himself for the day.

He hadn’t seen a serious case for a few months, but he had to eat so the only place to go was Kwan’s. Kwan’s was like any other Asian/American diner in the city except for O’Neil knew they’d take barter. Federal trade act 335 had required all citizens to move from a cash economy to the chip. Everyone had a small microchip implanted in their hand at birth allowing the Gov., as it was usually called, to monitor all purchases keeping a particular eye on suspect goods, bomb supplies, medical equipment, and humus. Of course as quickly as the regulations were passed a barter system fell into place, you could get almost anything you wanted if you knew where to go and had something of value.

Since it was made illegal in 2020, O’Neil preferred tobacco for barter, because he could always smoke it when he was bored. The average cit had a life expectancy of 85 years, 150 if you could afford treatment, however detectives and their like were lucky to make it past 50, so a smoke every now and then didn’t seemed to make much difference.

He placed his hand on the scanner of Kwan’s door, it buzzed as it recorded every person who entered the restaurant. It was unusually empty this morning O’Neil thought. There were only a few of the regulars gathered around the wall television watching a debate about pods.

He snickered; people had been debating the ethics of pods since maybe two decades before the first one had ever been grown.

The representative of the Vatican council was speaking. “It is an abomination to God that a human could be grown in the lab, and then at a certain point simply have the brain turned off.”

His opponent a professor from M.I.T. responded,” without a brain there is no life to be an abomination. The work we have done in creating, these pods as you have called them, has improved the quality of life for all humans.”

One of the old men watching the debate shouted back at the T.V., ”Only if you can afford it.”

Another regular responded, “My son, you know the doctor…” All of his companions winced to hear him say that for the millionth time. “He just had a new liver put in last week, and he says he hasn’t felt better in ages.”

A feisty man wanting to liven up the debate added “Which cost more his liver or the new tits they grew his wife?”

We waved his would be assailant down. “Your only jealous cause your wife’s drag to the floor.”

Although the old timers were fun He had come for a simple breakfast and then to hopefully work for a client.

“Mr. O’Neil you here with real money today or barter?” The old woman at the counter asked.

He waved a baggie of tobacco, no one in the restaurant cared about whether he scanned or not.

She wrung her hands in disgust, “Jon, he no pay again, broke only have smoke.” A very old Asian man stepped out from behind the kitchen doors, he was Kwan, or so everyone thought. No one was really sure about him, the rumors on the street ranged from he was the head of the largest triad, or he made the best mock-beef and rye in the city. O’Neil preferred the later but it didn’t really matter since he always took what he offered.

He looked at the baggie, yelling back at the kitchen. “Make him number three.” He looked at O’Neil “You want real job, I use good dishwasher.” O’Neil smiled at the little joke since Kwan’s only used recycle ware.

“No thanks business is bound to pick up soon enough.”

He sat down to eat his mock-beef on rye, come to think of it it might just be the best in town he thought as he chewed hungrily.

He sat in his office for nearly an hour until the gov line finally rang. Clients never called on that line, usually only bill collectors and working stiffs like himself.

“Yes I understand Mr. Jameson; I know I’m behind on my payments. You know what take the damn thing; I can’t afford the petroleum to run it!” He slammed down the phone; the endless war had initially been great for his business. Private detectives made out like bandits when they first privatized the police forces. The government had spent so much money bringing freedom to the rest of the world, they forgot that they needed to pay their bills at home, and everything that could be was privatized.

Eventually the personal security companies took over and in most cases between arbitration fees and security fees only the very few could afford any laws. That left Darien most months with not enough money to buy his extra shower time, but it gave him the antiquated feeling he was living the American dream. No time card to punch and no stubby fingered boss to give him orders, just the way he liked it even if he couldn’t shower every day.

O’Neil sat debating whether or not he should roll a cigarette from his barter fund or simply take a nap when the vidfone zipped into action. “Incoming video call Mr. O’Neil,” Said the automated voice of the SallyBell operator.

He sat up quickly in his chair and turned the screen of the vidfone towards himself. “Sally, are the charges reversed? “  All O’Neil needed was a vidfone charge he couldn’t afford to pay. ‘If not…” he continued, “Ask them to call on the govline.”

A human operator, with a distinctly Hindi accent, “so much for my local phone company” thought O’Neil, came on to the line.

“Yes Mr. O’ Neil, the charges are reversed. Given the nature of your business you really should consider using SallyBell for all of your business calls. We can offer you the best in privacy, and a convent flat rate calling plan…” The operator continued her assault on his pocket book as well as the English language. “According to statute 27 in the federal emergency preparedness plan the free governmental phones lines should only be used in the event of an eminent threat which could result in loss of life or property.”

“Then you should lower your damn rates,” muttered O’Neil, he thought inaudibly.

“We provide our customer with the lowest possible rates and the highest possible local service.” The operator had obviously heard his remark.

O’Neil chuckled to himself, “How’s Bombay? Look I can’t afford your reasonably priced local service, so would you please just place the vid call?” He pushed his receding hairline back in an attempt to look presentable. A woman’s face came onto the vidfone; at first glance she appeared to be a rather uptight woman in her thirties.

“Mr. O’Neil. Mr. Darien O’Neil? “She asked.

He studied her face for a moment, No she wasn’t in her thirties,, more like sixties and very well acquainted with a botoxer. This meant she either had a lot of credit to borrow with or a lot of money. He hoped it was the later.

“What can I do for you Miss…” He paused giving her a chance to give him her name.

She smiled as much as the toxins would let her, “Jordan, Ms. Chase Jordan.”

He knew the name, and he knew a lot of money. The Jordan’s were the modern equivalent of royalty with good teeth. ”What can I do for you Ms. Jordan?”

“I would like you to find a missing person.” O’Neil shot her a puzzled look, that was usually star corps’s bag and with her money they would have been the obvious choice.

“Who would you like me to find?” He asked.

“My brother Chandler.” She replied.

He held his best poker face, while knowing that inbreeding had finally gotten to the Jordan line as well. “Chandler Jordan is dead. I suggest you look in your family plot.” Damn it, he thought, just when I was about to make  real money my client turns out to be the Mad Hatter.

“Mr. O Neil, I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you my brother was not killed six months ago. I would prefer to talk about this in person, if you don’t mind.” O’Neil started to shake his head while interrupting her.

“I thought you might react this way so while I was waiting for the call to connect I took the liberty of transferring 10,000 dollars into your service account to cover your inconvenience of having to come all the way out here.” O’Neil waved his hand across his credit book, the digital read out confirmed what she had said.

“Ms. Jordan I’m not sure I can really help you but…” He looked over at the ever growing pile of newspapers he had been meaning to return for deposit, her brother’s death had been the lead story of every paper for nearly three weeks. Any time the truly rich fall everyone wants to read about it. “It can’t hurt to meet.” He said straightening his tie.

“I hope you would feel that way. When you are ready there is an aero-car waiting for you outside, it knows where to bring you.” He stood up turning off the vidfone. His grandmother always used to tell him to never take candy from a stranger; he hoped 10 grand and a tea party wouldn’t disappoint her too much.

He locked his office and headed for the fire escape instead of the front door, since the Aero-car would be waiting for him there. He was going to meet with Miss Jordan, but first he had to get some information. When chasing rabbits down a hole it was always better to know more about them than they did you, and right now he was feeling under informed. Gorby could help fix that.