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.”
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