Chapter 1

The Chevy was purring right along. It was late afternoon and the traffic hadn’t picked up yet. It would before long.

We were later than we had planned. My fault. I had stayed at the office to finish up a report before we took off on this over due mini vacation.

Ed and I were going down to Riverside to visit with her parents for three days. I needed a break and Ed was really looking forward to the visit. Her folks were very nice and I thought this would be a fun time.

We were not talking about much, just light chatter. Ed knew I was still thinking about the case. She was used to it. This one was particularly nasty. Kiddie porn using ppc and cloaked web redirects. We thought we were close to breaking it, but you never know.

Her brother was an SeO too. Pat was the one who recruited me. I remember him saying that it’s not the best paying job, not glamorous, dangerous enough, and mostly dull, but a job that the state needed doing.

Search Officer Lt. P.M. Spade reporting for duty, sir. Hell it sounded good to me. Four years later it still sounded good. It’s a job. One that doesn’t look to ever be finished.

I stole a quick glance at the rear-view. The little car was still back there. It would close the gap, then back off again. The daylight driving lights clued me that it was a sports type. I got a good peek at it two miles back. Black or dark gray. Mercedes maybe?

I saw the woman as I realized that Ed was talking to me. The woman was standing near the edge of the road waving her hands wildly. The car was in the ditch behind her. Looked like she had blown out the left rear tire.

I tripped the cruise control by tapping the brake. Ed said, “Honey look. Someone is having trouble. We’d better help her.”

I had let the engine start the braking process and now I applied pressure to slow us even more. I said, “Yeah, I see her. I’ll pull up in front and we can back up to where she is.”

I pulled the emergency flasher switch out as I started my move to the verge. It was then that I noticed the car behind. It made the quick flash-flash lo to hi to lo beam like they do over on the Autobahn. It was closing fast.

I thought, great, this clown is going to push right past at full speed. Then he slowed quickly. I glanced over as I got all the way off of the roadway.

There was this grinning face looking right at me. Big, savage, murderous grin. Then his door panel winked at me. Winked orange-red fire. Shit.

The sledgehammer hit me. It felt like a freighter loaded with scrap iron had slammed into me. I slumped over to the right. Now why is Ed hanging forward in her seat? And, when did she get that rose colored tattoo on her temple?

I started to crumple on the inside. Like a wad of tinfoil tossed into a camp fire. Slowly folding in. Wrinkle by wrinkle. Faster and faster until it’s all gone.

No! Not Edna! Not this way! Nooooooooooooooooooo…….

- - - - -

I was sitting bolt upright in the bed. The echo of my scream still filling my ears. The flashback. Again. Sweat was pouring off of every inch of my body and I was shaking like a new-born lamb. The bedsheets were rucked up and stinking. Fouled by my bodily reaction to the memory.

I managed to get to my feet and make it to the shower. I turned the cold water on and stepped in. That didn’t help the chills any, but it did clear the echo from my ears. I slowly turned up the hot and turned down the cold until it was as hot as I could stand it. Then I turned the heat up some more.

I ran my hand across my chest. Tracing the scar from my left nipple all the way to the other side. It had healed well. Yeah, it’s noticeable, but I don’t run around shirtless anymore. The left shoulder is another story. The pucker where the slug entered is a big dimple. Tiny stitch marks all around it barely show. The back side of the shoulder is where the real damage was. The slug took a pretty big chunk of muscle with it when it passed thru.

Why? With all this evidence to look at every day, why do I have to relive it so often? Why? Why, why, why?

I leaned my forehead against the shower wall and watched the water swirling down the drain. As the steaming water boiled down over me, the vortex of water slowly sucked the door shut on the compartment where I keep the awful memory hidden.

- - - - -

I hate a Monday. Any Monday.

As I slipped the key into the scarred up door lock, I thought about getting the Kaptain to fix it up the next time he came to town. About the umpteenth time I’ve thought that.

The door swung open to reveal my inner sanctum. Ha. Some sanctum. It’s drab. Rundown. Crap.

I threw my hat at the hatrack and made for the desk. Powered up the desktop unit, turned on the rest of the hardware in the credenza, switched on the coffee pot and leaned back to enjoy the stats.

The big wall monitor came to life. Three section split screen, how’d I ever manage without it? Crap. And, crap again. Traffic down, clicks down, income in the shitter. So much for enjoyment. Better find out what’s going on.

Not good. Two servers running red dots and the third blinking orange. Hmmm. Funny. The sql server is maxed out. Maybe it hasn’t finished with the 1k dot be’s I loaded up last night.

Damnit. If Doll Face were here she’d have it running smooth in no time. I could call her. She’d come by and fix things. Nah. Don’t like to beg anyone for anything.

The geek could get it back up. But, he’s out of touch. Again. One more try. I’ll use the landline this time.

“Hey. This is Dink and you missed me. Leave your message at the beeeeep, or check in on my standard IM”.

“Ya. I’ve already left you four messages, you twerp. Where are you. I need you, like yesterday.”

Damn geeks anyhow. Can’t count on them. All they ever think about is tech stuff. It never occurs to them that real people with real problems might need their help.

Oh well.

What’s new in the search world? Never know until you look. Blah blah. More blah and blah and blah. No algo news, same old newsletters, same old crap.

Wonder if I can get any more of those fifty-cent dot be’s? Nope. Special ended yesterday.

Client messages? Yeah, right. What clients. No email. Well, if you count the daily spam stuff, there’s a plenty. Wonder why they keep repeating the same subject line. Surely they have it automated. I guess there’s a new crop of newbs everyday.

I fired up a fag and leaned back in the rickety old chair. The whole search and advertising scene has changed too much. Damn GYMI to hell.

I lifted the coffee cup up towards my mouth. When I glanced down, I could see my face reflected there on the surface. Craggy would be too kind. I wondered, again, if others could read in my face what I read there.

Left eyelid drooping just a tad. The downward crescent shape exactly matching the faint white scar in the eyebrow right above.

Busted up nose that didn’t heal straight. Too many wrinkles and lines for someone my age. Ears are too big. And, ugly to boot. But, hey, the hair is still all there.

The mouth is a gash. Lots of folks have told me it’s too big. It fits the rest pretty well though. Not a snarl, exactly. Not an unhappy pout either. Hell, it’s just me.

The eyes.

Don’t look into the eyes. There’s death in there. Sort of a greenish, gray color with tiny tombstones around the cornea. The eyes are those of someone much older than I am. Not wiser. Just older.

That’s the very reason that I don’t look at myself when I shave. Why don’t I look into my own eyes? Scares the shit outa me, that’s why.

I had just put the cold coffee down when I saw the shadow fall across the frosted window on the door. I was so tied up in my self pity that I didn’t even register the rusty old elevator coming up. Slipping, boy. Too many slips like that and they’ll find you face down in the gutter.

I snagged Betsy from her resting place and reached for the record button under the lip of the desk. Those three little eyes and ears would record everything in the room. The tiny blue light blinked twice and went off.

I flipped the cloak switch and turned to the credenza. Closed doors don’t give away the farm. As the wall monitor changed to the cheesy digital image of Niagara Falls, I pulled up a spreadsheet on the desk monitor.

I was about to get up when the shadow figure turned slightly. I could see by the profile that it was a dame. So, I quick like grabbed the phone and made like I was talking into it while shoving the rod back into the shoulder rig.

I let the dame knock the second time before I shouted for her to come in. Whoa. This ain’t no dame. Not a tomato either.

I waved her to the ladies chair and finished up my fake conversation. I eyed her while talking. Tall, slender, late 20’s or early 30’s. Mid length hair. A dark auburn color. One side pushed back over her shoulder letting that little pink ear look out into the world.

Nice duds too. The blouse and skirt could have come from Saks, but I’d bet they didn’t. Bet they didn’t come off any other rack either. A real pleasant light bluish purple color. Lilac?

The shoes and handbag matched. They looked Italian and expensive. The gold needlework on the purse looked real from here.

Her face was pleasant. Very pleasant. Almost a perfect oval. The eyes sat squarely in the center of nicely formed cheek bones. Smallish nose. Slightly tilted up. Small nostrils and no lines around the corners. Lips nicely formed. No caked on makeup here.

She was looking at her folded hands in her lap. That’s the way she’d been this whole time. Guess she is giving me my privacy. My bet is that she is seeing everything she wants to see.

When she walked in, she took a cursory glance around this dinky office. Her eyes didn’t miss anything. Her glance did linger just a split second longer when she looked at the desk where Doll Face should have been.

Nice walk too. This is one classy dame.

“……. Ya. I can do that”, I said. “It may be next week before I can start though. Just drop the payment in my regular paypal account and I’ll get back with you. Right you are, and I’m glad you’re happy. So long.”

I stood up then and pulled my jacket from the back of the chair. I put the jacket on to cover up Betsy and the leather harness. Dames get nervous when they’re staring at all that hardware. This one didn’t act like she was going to get nervous.

This one didn’t look the least bit nervous.

As I buttoned my jacket, I stuck out my big mitt and said “Hello, I’m PM Spade.”

She said “How do you do? My name is Ulrika.”

“Nice to meet you Ulrika. Would you like some coffee” I asked.

“No thank you, but do finish yours Mr. Spade.”

I busied myself with the coffee pot while I thought about her some more. British accent. High class too. She’s had voice training and it shows.

I brought my cup back to the desk and sat down. I looked at her and said “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, it is not for me,” she said, “it is for my employer, Mr. Spade. He would like to retain you.”

“Who is your employer?” I asked.

She looked me squarely in the eye and said “You wouldn’t know him Mr. Spade, but his name is Zane. Are you available for consulting work?”

“You’re right, the name isn’t familiar to me. What sort of consulting work is Mr. Zane looking for?”

“That I don’t know, Mr. Spade. My task was to contact you and find out if you are available. Mr. Zane would be the one to answer that question.”

“Yes I’m available. For a price. I’m not the cheapest private blackhat around San Francisco, but I back my work with a satisfaction agreement.”

She smiled a small smile and said “That’s very nice, Mr. Spade. What are your fees?”

“My base rate is 1,000 bucks a day, five day minimum. Plus expenses. The rate goes up depending on what the play is. If there is shooting involved, the price goes way up. The minimum rate covers five days. If the job is not completed at the end of five days, another minimum payment will be required. An accounting of the miscellaneous and extra expenses will be presented at the conclusion of the work, and is payable within fifteen days.”

She hesitated just a heartbeat and said “That will be satisfactory Mr. Spade. But, what is the nature of the expenses you mentioned?”

“Oh, just the usual. Domain fees, hosting, Proxy lists, fuel, and so on. It’s pretty standard in the industry.”

“Very well. If you accept this as your retainer, Mr. Zane requests that you meet with him at ten o’clock, Wednesday morning.”

With that said, she slid a nicely plump envelope onto the corner of the desk.

“And where would Mr. Zane like to meet me? Here?”

“Oh no,” she said, “Mr. Zane would prefer something much more public than this office, Mr. Spade.”

I gave her a little squint and said, “Public, huh? Where is Mr. Zane staying?”

“Mr. Zane is staying at the Excelsior hotel, Mr. Spade.”

“That’s very convenient, Ulrika. Shall we say in the east lobby area?”

“That would be convenient indeed, Mr. Spade. May I tell Mr. Zane that you will meet him at ten A.M.?”

“You absolutely may, Ulrika. By the way, I was distracted when we met just now. I didn’t catch your last name and whether it is Miss, or Ms.”

She smiled that small smile again and said, “My last name is of no interest to you, Mr. Spade. And, my marital status is not your concern.”

And with that, she stood up. I followed as she started for the door. She stopped beside the other desk and asked, “Are you a glass collector, Mr. Spade?”

“You mean the bud vase?”, I replied. “No. It was a gift from a friend.”

“It’s very interesting. A bud vase, you say? What is that in the bottom of it?”

“I’m not real sure”, I lied. “It’s some sort of grainy stuff. Probably to help keep the poseys pretty longer.”

“How interesting. How very interesting,” she said. “Well, I really must be going. Thank you Mr. Spade.”

She turned and as she gave me her hand, she looked up into my eyes. Her eyes. Well, her eyes… yes her eyes. Blue. A deep dark blue. I was like a deer caught in the headlights. Trapped. Frozen by those eyes, unable to think or move.

And then she’s gone. I can hear the heels on her cute little shoes clicking down the hall. The whir and grind of the elevator as it struggles to make it all the way up here. The muted whoosh and rattle as it flings itself back toward earth.

My hand trembled a bit as I snapped the deadbolt in place.

I ease over to the street-side window just in time to see her flag down a cabby. The taxi slides over one lane and turns south at the corner and accelerates out of sight.

Wow. Now that is some dame. Calm, cool, and collected.

I snagged the envelope on my way back to the chair. As I sat down, I caught a hint of jasmine. It was from the envelope. I raised the envelope to my nose. Sure enough, it’s jasmine perfume.

I thumbed open the unsealed flap and peeked inside. Mercy, I thought, there’s a lot of bills in here. I pulled the fat stack of bills out and spread them on the desk top. All hundreds. Not new. Not used up either.

A few counts and stacks later and I had 50 G’s on my desk. WooT! Now, that’s what I call a serious retainer.

I slapped the receiver off it’s cradle and dialed Doll Face’s number. After a few rings the recorder came on. Her pleasant, sparky voice said, “Hello, this is Zelda. I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave your message after the beep.”

Zelda. Yes, Zelda is her name. I haven’t called her that in a while. In a long, long while.

I tried to keep my voice calm as I spoke into the phone. “Doll Face, I need you. We have a client and cash. There’s three months back pay and two months future pay under your keyboard. Please come back and help. I’ll be out the rest of today, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

Heh. Just a little chuckle at that. The big shot doesn’t like to beg, huh? Seems like begging to me. But, what do I know.

I pushed four stacks of the C notes under her keyboard and walked back to my desk. The bottom left drawer seemed to open itself. Mr. Forester jumped up into my hand and begged me to uncap the bottle.

I poured a healthy slug in on top of the cold coffee and took a big swig. As I put the cup down, my hand brushed against the empty envelope.

I picked it up again and brought it up to my nose. Another sniff of jasmine would go well with Old Forester, I thought.

Wrong. This time the envelope is open. From the inside comes the unmistakable, foetid, cloying, and slightly evil, smell of money.

Now that the effects of those deep blue eyes have worn off, the faint alarm bells are ringing louder.

She didn’t quibble about my rates. She didn’t count out the money. It was already determined what was in that envelope. She must have been instructed to give it to me if my rate was below x.

I wonder how many more envelopes were in that purse?

I wonder too, if that glimpse of pearl was the handle of a pistol. A little 25 or even a small 32 would have fit in the handbag with no problems.

No problems. Right. I’m smelling more than money now. I’m smelling rats. Big fishing rats with tails this fishing long.

God, I hate Mondays.