Tek Power (4 page)

“It's over and done,” said Gomez. “Like everything else that's ever happened up until just now, it's in the past. Let it go, Jake.”

“I'm trying,” he said. “I'll be okay now—get some sleep.”

Gomez turned away. “You, too,
amigo
.”

5

T
HE NEW DAY
had already started, the night completely faded away, by the time Richard had returned to his apartment. He stood in the living room, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his outercoat, staring out into the morning and yet seeing nothing.

“It's too cold in here,” he said aloud after a moment.

“I'll raise the temperature, sir,” responded the voice of the computer obligingly. “Is that better?”

“What?”

“I've elevated the temperature.”

“Yeah, okay.” Keeping his coat on and his hands in his pockets, Richard sat on the bright crimson sofa. He was shivering, his teeth clicking.

“There have been some vidphone messages, sir,” the computer informed him after a moment.

“I'll listen later.” He leaned back. That didn't feel especially comfortable. He sat up again.

Concentrating on the big wide window, he forced himself to take in the view outside in the grey morning. A skycab was drifting slowly by; a chubby young woman in a plyo running suit was jogging along the Level 18 pedramp; a robot doorman, decked out in a crimson-and-gold uniform, was taking his position in front of the private hotel across the way.

“Life goes on,” muttered Richard, “as Detective Busino would say.”

“Sir?”

“Nothing, I'm babbling to myself. Ignore it.”

“Might I,” ventured the computer after another moment had passed, “inquire as to Mrs. Bascom's condition?”

“She's dead. That's her condition.”

“Oh.” A concerned gasp came out of the overhead voxbox. “I'm terribly sorry, sir. Is there anything I can—”

“No, not a damn thing right now.” He stood up. “Who phoned, did you say?”

“Your father, a reporter from Newz, Mrs. Truett and Dean Allen of the Lit Department.”

He crossed to a chair that faced the vidwall. “I'd like to see my dad's message.”

“Right away, sir.”

Walt Bascom was behind his desk, hands folded. “This is to update you, son, on what's going on,” he said. “I've arranged to have operatives from the Continental Detective Agency, which is our chief affiliate back that way, set up an around-the-clock security watch on you. I know you don't think it's necessary, but I—”

“I don't, but, hell, I'll go along with it. I ran into one of those ops just now in the hall.”

“… Cardigan and Sid Gomez will be arriving in Manhattan this morning,” Bascom's message was continuing. “They'll be contacting you. These lads, especially Jake, tend to annoy people and rub them the wrong way. But they're among the best detectives we have and they almost always get results. I'll—”

The wall went suddenly black.

“How the hell'd you guys get in here?” Springing up from his chair, Richard faced the two men showing in the doorway. “Who let you in?”

The computer, too, had fallen silent.

One of the men was small, only a shade over five feet high. He had a completely bald head that seemed at least a few sizes too large for him. In his knobby left hand was gripped a pearlhandled lazgun. The other man was big and wide, speckled with fuzzy freckles. His face wore a broad, unchanging smile.

“We're looking for something,” explained the smaller man, his voice thin and chirpy. “I hope to god, for your sake especially, you'll tell us right off where it is.”

T
HE BEAUTIFUL BLONDE
android smiled a wide smile out of the small dashboard vidscreen at Gomez. “Good morning, sir,” she said in a smooth whispery voice, “and thanks for hitting the CarNet News button.”

“Aren't you informed enough already?” asked Jake, who was piloting their rented skycar through the grey morning sky over Secure Zone 2 of Manhattan.

“Actually it's this platinum
chiquita
who fascinates me,” confessed his partner. “Probably due to some genetic defect.”

“My name's Marj,” continued the synthetic young woman, “and I'm your Menu Guide for the vast array of informative NewsBites—a term fully trademarked by CarNet—available to you this morning. On the international scene there's been a very exciting earthquake in Lisbon—that's in faroff Portugal—and it's estimated to have killed more than 2,500 people. If you want to see the thrilling and heartrending footage, with astute comment by CarNet's respected correspondent Colonel R. W. Estling, request Snippet 1A.”

“Give me the domestic menu,
cara
.” Gomez slouched further in his seat.

“Very well, sir.” Marj smiled sweetly. “Our top story on the American scene this morning has to do with President Warren Brookmeyer's preparations for his upcoming Cracker Barrel Express Tour of the nation. It is, as you may know, the chief exec's desire to meet face-to-face with as many concerned citizens as it is humanly poss—”

“Hokum,” commented Gomez. “How about some cultural stuff?”

“We usually, sir, don't advise anything too deepdish this early in the AM, but I might recommend one of our popular Opinion Essays,” suggested Marj. “These in no way reflect the political views or basic beliefs of CarNet News nor of its parent company, MaxComm Communications, nor of its chief exec, Arnold Maxfield, Sr.”

“Ay, we can't get away from the case.” Gomez slouched further.

“Beg pardon?”

“Thinking aloud.”

“We have a brand-new exclusive letter, lasting a full two minutes, in which Professor Joel Freedon discusses his controversial contention that Tek ought to be legalized. He asserts that reports of brain damage, seizures and other serious side effects from this popular illegal electronic drug are purely propaganda circulated by biased and corrupt government agencies. This incisive snippet has the bonus of including some glorious scenery, since it was vidfilmed in the beautiful Carmel Redbout in NorCal only last—”

“Pass,” said Gomez.

“We're nearly there,” mentioned Jake.

Straightening up, Gomez shut off the newsscreen. “Okay, I'll remain ignorant of the day's major events.”

“Dan went through a spell where he thought Freedon was a firstclass guru.” Jake tapped out a landing pattern on the dash pad. “Fortunately, he outgrew it.”

“Eventually I'll outgrow my fascination with Marj and the news.”

Their skycar descended toward a landing port at a Level 18 pedestrian ramp.

Frowning, Gomez leaned forward to look out his side window. “That door that just now came flapping open leads to Richard's floor, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, and that guy who was just tossed out onto the ramp looks like he's one of the operatives assigned to watch him.”

6

A
S
THE SMALL
bald man approached Richard, he steadied his oversized head with his hand, as though he were afraid it might topple completely off his neck. “Forgive us for intruding on your sorrow,” he apologized. “But then, in a way, that's why we're here.”

“Get the police,” Richard told the apartment computer.

“Slow on the uptake,” observed the large, freckle-splotched intruder.

“It's the shock of his missus kicking off,” said the smaller man. “Dickie—do they call you Dickie or Dick? Doesn't actually matter. Dick, we disabled your security system before we came waltzing in here. Catch?”

“Also your private coppers.” His partner laughed in a chesty way.

“What the hell do you want?”

The bald man nodded, which caused his big head to wobble. Steadying it, he replied, “I like that, Dickie, you getting right to the point. We'll get right to business, shall we?” He jabbed at the air with the barrel of his lazgun. “Hand over the vidcaz.”

Richard gave a puzzled frown. “The what?”

“Videocassette,” amplified the freckled thug.

“The logical assumption, Dick, is that your wife—your late wife—stashed it somewhere in this apartment.”

“And the corollary assumption is that you are aware of the location.”

“A videocassette?” He shook his head slowly. “We have a few cassettes of parties and such around, plus some of business meetings of Eve's, but—Anyway, none of that stuff is any of your business.”

“No, no, Dickie, we're not interested in old memories of bygone days,” explained the bald man, gesturing again with his lazgun. “The vidcaz we seek is new, special, made within the—”

“
Pendejos
, play close attention.” The vidwall had suddenly returned to life and there stood Gomez, lifesize, smiling amiably out at them. “We've put the whole security system back in service, along with all the other electronic gadgetry you goons futzed up. Cops are winging their way hence even as we chatter. Furthermore, this little diversion of mine has, I'm betting, diverted you to the point that you have completely failed to note the advent of my trusted associate.”

“Suppose you dworks raise your hands?” suggested Jake from the doorway behind them.

The bald man started to turn around to face Jake, swinging his lazgun up.

Jake fired the stungun he was holding.

The sizzling beam hit the small man full in the groin. He yowled, went dancing back until he collided with Richard.

Entangled, they both fell over.

The small man's head whapped the floor, bouncing floppily several times.

The other intruder had attempted to tug out his weapon, but a second burst from Jake's stungun knocked him out and into a sprawled position on the sofa.

Walking over, Jake helped Richard up. “I'm Jake Cardigan.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he said. “Your timing was pretty damned good.”

Jake asked him, “What about this cassette they're so eager to get hold of?”

“I don't know,” he answered. “I don't have any idea what the hell it could be.”

T
HE WHITE-ENAMELED
medibot nudged the sprawled body of the little bald man with his metal foot. “Detective or hoodlum?” he inquired of Jake.

Jake was sitting on the arm of the sofa. “The two in here are goons.”

“We have to keep them sorted,” explained the mechanical man. “Criminals go to a different medical facility.” He bent, creaking slightly in the hip joints, to roll the unconscious intruder onto a wheeled stretcher.

As soon as the body hit, the stretcher went rolling across the living room and into the hallway.

Detective Busino came walking in right after the bald man left. “That's the way it goes sometimes, one damn thing after another.” He glanced over at Gomez, who was slumped in a tin wingchair. “Hi, Sid. I met you a couple times out in Greater LA when you were still a cop.”

“Encounters, Buzz, that have remained fondly etched in my
cabeza
.” Tapping his temple, he came stretching up out of the chair. “I'm with Cosmos now.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Yonder is my partner, Jake Cardigan.”

Busino studied Jake for a few seconds. “I heard, yeah, that you were out of prison.”

“With all charges dropped,” reminded Gomez.

“Sure, but they can't give you back the four years you were on ice in the Freezer. Life isn't usually fair.” The policeman moved closer to Jake. “Any idea, Cardigan, what's going on?”

“Too soon to tell.”

“What brings you to Manhattan?”

“We're looking into Mrs. Bascom's death.”

“Not an accident, you think?”

“Too soon to tell.”

“I'll be sure to look you up when you finally do have something to tell,” promised the officer. “Mr. Bascom, can you add anything?”

“They broke in. I don't know why.” Richard was seated stiffly in an armchair, still wearing his outercoat.

Busino crossed to a window. “Always a lot of people coming and going,” he observed. “Well, life goes on.”

Gomez asked him, “You know either of those louts who busted in?”

“The big one is Chaz Quinlan.”

“Let me guess—he's a freelance.” Gomez brushed at his curly moustache. “He'll work for just about anybody and he has a lousy memory.”

“That's Chaz,” agreed Detective Busino. “The other one is Roy Scarbo. Nastier than Chaz and somewhat smarter. He usually does odd jobs for various Teklords in the Tristate area, but he, too, will work for just about anybody who can meet his price.”

“It's not likely,” observed Jake, “that either one is going to tell us much.”

“Nope, they'll end up telling us just about nothing at all.” Busino turned to face Richard. “What did they want?”

He shook his head. “They broke in and the bald one—Scarbo? Scarbo pointed a gun at me,” he said. “Then Cardigan was here and it was over.” He rubbed his hands, slowly, together. “Do you think this has anything to do with my wife's death?”

Busino's smile was small and brief. “I wouldn't,” he said, “be at all surprised.”

G
OMEZ, ON HIS
knees in a corner of Eve Bascom's bedroom, was saying, “It's a knack you ought to cultivate, Richard.”

“I haven't had much practice.” He was sitting, arms hanging at his sides, on his wife's neatly made bed.

“You'll find that being able to lie effectively to the minions of the law is an art that will serve you well throughout life.” The detective was running a small handheld sniffer along the floor beside the bed. “No sign of any vidcaz hidden in this part of the room either.”

“So you're suggesting that Detective Busino may suspect I wasn't telling him everything I know?”

“Even Little Red Riding Hood would've seen through you.”