Proximity

by Jem Tugwell

  I put my hand on the door and it clicked open. I stepped into the darkness of the entrance.

  ***

  We jogged down the corridor. I was worried that the crew wouldn’t detain the bouncers long, so we needed to hurry.

  My heart was banging away, but I could barely hear Zoe breathing behind me. ‘Left here should bring us to the back of the changing rooms,’ she said.

  I stopped and glanced around the corner and saw the door. Zoe almost barged into me. ‘Come on, Boss.’

  Here goes, I thought, while opening the door to the changing room. A couple of people looked our way as we entered, but we didn’t face any bouncers or nasty surprises. We skipped through the changing room, and I peered out into the corridor with the locked door. A small white trainer and pink leggings appeared around the corner, followed by a woman dressed for the gym. Not staff, just a member.

  I stepped out into the corridor and Zoe held the door open to let the woman go into the changing room, then followed me out.

  I put down the small box I was carrying, fished around in my pocket and found a red tube covered with ‘Highly Corrosive’ warnings and the name ‘Arbor-ate’. The tech guy from the terrorist section said it was some sort of genetically engineered organism that ate wood, and promised it would get through the locked door quickly and silently. The tube ended with a short nozzle and a twist cap. I snapped off the cap and placed the nozzle on the door where the lock was attached. Squeezing the tube, I saw a white paste emerge from the end. It looked like toothpaste with metal flecks in it. As soon as it touched the wood the paste started to fizz and hiss. Small white bubbles seethed around the lock and started to turn brown as the paste ate into the wood. I traced the outline of the lock with the nozzle, trying to make sure that I got a good fat bead of the paste everywhere. The whole area around the lock was bubbling brown now. Wood splinters danced and writhed in the darkening foam and the lock moved a few millimetres, slumping towards the corridor.

  I grabbed the handle, then pulled and wriggled it around in a circular motion, trying to wrench it clear. Each rotation freed the lock a little more, and I could hear the wood tearing over the fizz of the Arbor-ate. With a sudden release, the lock came away and the door sagged open. I could see the other side through the foamy hole in the door.

  ‘Let’s find out what’s going on,’ I said.

  ***

  At the bottom of the spiral staircase we stopped in a short corridor, trying to find why the bouncer and lawyer had spent time there. In the glow of an automatic light, I looked around the simple space. Other than some pictures of historic sporting events, the only thing on the walls was a large metal cabinet with another mechanical lock.

  We hadn’t been sure if the door with the key-code lock had a metal core underneath the wood, so the tech guy had given us a second tube just in case. This one was blue with all the same corrosive warnings on it, and its green paste ate through the thin metal door in a couple of seconds.

  ‘Suppressors?’ Zoe said.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ I said, and opened the door.

  The cabinet didn’t hold Suppressors. Inside were rows of shelves, each one had a line of velvet covered stands and looked like something in a jewellery shop display. A lot of the stands were empty, but the rest held small, shiny bracelet-like objects with straps and leads. Every lead was connected to the power, and each bracelet’s LED light stared back at us like a set of little green eyes.

  I picked one up and passed it to Zoe. As I did, the lead over-extended and popped out of the bracelet. The LED changed from green to blue.

  ‘They must be on charge,’ Zoe said as I pulled down another bracelet and removed the lead. I turned the bracelet over in my hand. It was wider than my wrist and seemed to be made of some synthetic woven composite. The straps on the outside looked like they were designed to adjust the size. Like the Suppressors Esteban had, the bracelet was getting warm.

  ‘What do you think, Zoe?’

  ‘It’s kind of like a Suppressor but much smaller than Esteban’s ones.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. Let’s carry on.’

  We walked on, then stopped outside the door where we had seen the signals from Lucia Rossi and the charity worker. I pushed the door open and we looked in. The room was empty except for a bed and a chair. The subdued light, the purple wall coverings and matching fabrics made everything seem soft and sensual, like an intimate boudoir.

  I looked at Zoe and she nodded, seeming to share the same conclusion: Lucia was providing personal training.

  We stopped outside the next door and we could hear voices.

  ‘Do you want more?’ a male voice asked.

  ‘Oh, please, please,’ replied a woman’s voice, husky with desire.

  I opened the door and stopped, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The room was decorated in the same seductive style as the first room. A woman lay on the bed, her hair fanned out on the pillow that supported her head. She wore a fluffy Health Bank robe with the Barclays Bank logo over her left breast. A man knelt on the bed, close to the woman’s head. He was toned and had one of the club’s fitness instructor uniforms on. She was looking up at him, full of expectation. She didn’t even notice us, but the man glared at us and jerked his head behind him, like he was indicating the room we had just come from. ‘Room one is free,’ he said.

  The woman’s left hand clutched the sheets and I could see one of the bracelets strapped tight to her wrist. The man dropped his hand down into the bowl by his side. He brought out a golden-brown chip, heat steaming from it, and dipped it in a sauce. He rested it on the woman’s lips.

  Zoe and I stepped backwards out of the room and looked at each other.

  ‘He was feeding her chips and mayonnaise, right?’ Zoe said.

  ‘It looked like it,’ I said.

  We went along the corridor and ignored two empty rooms. The final room held a couple with another fitness instructor. The couple both wore robes and bracelets, and each grasped a small fork. The instructor held a tray with fruit and marshmallows on it. The man speared an item on the tray, held it under the dark, running chocolate fountain and placed it in his partner’s mouth.

  I felt more like a voyeur watching their indulgence than if they were in bed together. Something weird was going on here.

  ***

  The main room wasn’t what we expected either. The tables weren’t for cards or gambling but for eating and drinking. We were in a restaurant. We could see steaks and pizza, wine and beer. The sight and sounds of happy, carefree people enjoying themselves made me nostalgic. It was like a scene from before iMe. Quite a few people looked like they were well over their FU alcohol allowance.

  ‘Bring his signal up,’ I said, and pointed at a man in his forties in an expensive grey suit. He had taken his tie off and stuffed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. He sagged in the upholstered chair and his head rolled as if it wasn’t firmly attached. From the sheen of sweat on his brow and flushed cheeks, I was sure he was drunk.

  ‘OK, got it,’ she said.

  ‘What are his readings?’

  ‘Normal.’

  ‘Normal? He’s pissed.’

  ‘His signal says there’s zero alcohol in his blood.’

  The man grabbed the last piece of pizza from his plate and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed, savouring the flavours, and drew his left hand up to flick his hair back from his eye. As he did, the cuff of his suit rose and I could see he also wore a bracelet.

  ‘Calorie intake?’

  ‘Low, Boss. Like he’s not eaten for a few hours.’

  I looked around the room. Everyone was wearing a bracelet. The only thing we had guessed correctly was the bar.

  I was about to go and talk to the man when I heard a familiar voice.

  ‘Frenchie…’

  ***

  ‘You’re the person who has committed a crime, Inspector,’ Alfie said. ‘Criminal damage to the door and cabinet at the very least.’
/>   Alfie stood on Doris’ left. To her right was Tom Mitchell, as smart and silent as before. The three bouncers made up the group. Alfie’s bald head shone like the bouncers’. He hadn’t changed much in the years since I last met him. His seventy-year-old body was still big and the lack of fat said he looked after himself. He could have been a prediction of what the bouncers would look like in fifty years. Not surprising as he had started in the same way – bouncing at one of Doris’ clubs. Recognising that he had the brains as well as the physique, Doris had sent him to university, and he had been her lawyer for years.

  ‘But all these people are eating and drinking,’ I said.

  ‘We all have to eat, Inspector. That’s not a crime.’

  I looked at Zoe for help and she gave a tiny nod. The shadowing in her eye showed that her HUD was active.

  ‘That man was eating and drinking, but he shows no alcohol in his system,’ she said, indicating the drunk.

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘Those bracelets must be interfering with the iMe monitoring,’ I said.

  Tom Mitchell squirmed at the mention of the bracelets and looked down at the floor.

  ‘People are consuming taxable food and drink, using their FU allowances and your bracelets are stopping it being reported. If nothing else it’s tax evasion and fraud, Doris.’ I enjoyed saying the name. Like Al Capone, Doris had got away with so many crimes and killings and maybe it would be a tax charge that took her down. I smiled at the thought.

  I knelt down and released the top of the box I had been carrying since the alley. An immediate angry buzz started, and six micro-drones came up and out of the box, hovered and then scattered. The diners looked up at the noise as drones buzzed around them. They started to panic. People jumped up, looking for an escape, upending tables, smashing glasses and spilling chairs as they tried to get away. The pissed guy waved a lazy arm to swat at a drone like it was all a drunken hallucination.

  Doris screamed, ‘Frenchie, you’ll fucking pay for this! I’ll rip you and your little girlfriend apart.’ She motioned to the bouncers to grab me, but they stopped when they heard people arriving behind them.

  The crew piled into the room, clearly having a wild time, and took in the scene: the drones, the diners, the mess. Their huge smiles disappeared when two bouncers stepped towards them.

  Doris chuckled. ‘That’s your backup? Five little kids. Don’t make me fucking laugh.’

  Then she heard the heavy boots on the stairs and the first of twenty black helmeted counter-terrorism cops stormed into the room, almost running the crew over. ‘No, Doris. That’s our backup,’ I said.

  I had a huge, stupid grin on my face. Finally, after all those ancient defeats, I had got her. Finally, I had beaten her.

  I didn’t see Alfie’s fist until it smashed into my right eye and sent me flying.

  33

  DC Zoe Jordan

  Clive and I waited in the sad space called Interview Room One. We only had one interview room, so I didn’t understand why someone had bothered to number it. When it was last decorated, beige paint must have been cheap as it covered everything. The walls and table showed chips and knocks from the years since the paint had been slapped around and the original battleship grey was visible underneath. It gave the room a camouflage feel.

  I looked at Clive. His right eye was a small bloodshot slit surrounded by a sea of yellows, blues and purples. It could have been the inspiration for some of the street art outside the Health Bank. Worst of all was the massive egg swelling on his cheek.

  ‘That looks nice, Frenchie,’ Doris said, laughing. ‘I hope it’s hurting.’ She tapped the backs of her rings on the table to create her own metallic applause. The liver spots dotted her hand like the chips in the table’s paint.

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ Clive said. He reached up and his gentle fingertips explored the egg. ‘I’ve never been able to see my cheek before.’

  Alfie kissed the big ring on his right hand. The gold band held some sort of gold coin that doubled as a decorative knuckleduster. He stared at Clive.

  Doris patted Alfie’s arm as if to congratulate him. ‘Embarrassing, Frenchie. Little peck from an old man and you go flying. I did laugh. You landed like the useless sack of shit you are.’

  Clive shrugged. ‘That little peck resulted in Alfie being charged with assaulting a police officer.’ Clive stared back at him. They were locked into some bullshit macho stubbornness competition. Why do they think it matters who blinks first?

  Clive should be the boss, but I was the one trying to keep the interview running in a professional manner.

  ‘You claim to never have heard of Karina Morgan?’ I said.

  ‘That not what I said, dearie.’ Doris could do a convincing little old lady act when she thought it might help her. ‘I said that I saw her in the news but that’s all.’

  ‘And Alan Kane?’

  ‘As I said, he’s a member of the club. I’ve met him a couple of times.’

  ‘Well, you’ll go down for fraud, Doris.’ Clive couldn’t resist jumping in again. Even then, he still stared at Alfie.

  He was taking us off topic, and after all the grief he gave me for doing it once with Art, here he was doing it again and again. One rule for him and another for me.

  Alfie dropped his stare, and Clive wiggled in his chair, a jubilant smirk on his face. Jesus, he thinks he’s won something.

  Clive was still staring as Alfie reached for his case. With a clack, he released the catches and put his hand inside. ‘I’ve sent you this electronically, but I thought paper would make the point clearer.’

  He slid a few sheets of paper across the table to us. Alfie was as old-school as Clive.

  I glanced at the front cover:

  The Health Bank

  Wilde Membership

  Terms and Conditions

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked.

  ‘Every one of our members in that room joined our Wilde Membership,’ Alfie said.

  ‘Clever name,’ I said, enjoying the nice play on words.

  Doris grinned her appreciation of my understanding. ‘Thanks, dearie.’

  Clive was trying not to look lost.

  ‘Explain it to him, dearie. He always was as thick as shit.’

  ‘Wilde as in Oscar Wilde,’ I said to Clive, but he looked blank. ‘All those people are giving in to temptation. They’re indulging themselves.’

  ‘And?’

  I had to spoon-feed him. ‘Oscar Wilde is quoted as saying that he could resist everything except temptation. Like the members. It’s why the room is called Resistance Training – it’s a double meaning with the resistance training in a gym and Wilde’s lack of resistance.’

  Doris nodded along with my explanation, but Clive said, ‘So?’

  I gave up trying.

  Alfie turned the pages over to get our attention. He pointed at the highlighted clauses. ‘You will clearly see that my client has no fraud case to answer. Any FU reporting issues are the responsibility of the member.’

  I pulled the paper close to read the smaller print.

  7.3 The Member is liable and responsible for their Freedom Unit allowance, reporting consumption to the Ministry of Well-being and Health and any tax liability arising from their use of the Membership.

  7.4 The Member fully indemnifies the Club and its Employees for all and any claims brought against the Club and its Employees in relation to the Member’s use of the said Membership.

  ‘I’ve also sent you the audited accounts and tax returns of the Health Bank. They show that the fees paid by the members have been properly declared and taxes paid.’

  ‘But your bracelets suppress the signal – that’s a criminal offence,’ Clive shouted, and banged the table so hard the sheets of paper bounced.

  ‘Again, I thought paper would be easier,’ Alfie said, delving into his case again. ‘It’s an extract from the Sovereignty Protection Act.’

  A single sheet of paper came across the desk, covered i
n text but with only one highlighted sentence.

  ‘It is a criminal offence to block, suppress or hide the iMe signal.’

  ‘There you go. You’ve proved my point,’ Clive said, a smile of triumph playing on his face.

  ‘No, Inspector. The signal was not blocked, suppressed or hidden. At no time did the members’ signals get lost. Your records will show that.’

  ‘But you changed the content of the signal.’

  ‘My client cannot possibly know the intent of the lawmakers, and there is no mention of the content of the signal in the act. She can only go by the letter of the law, which she has not broken.’

  Now it was Doris’ turn to look very pleased with herself.

  ***

  Clive was sulking in the corner of the PCU by our crime wall. He kept touching his eye and looking down at the floor. I’d give him a minute more and then we need to get on with it. We still had Alan to find and Karina’s killer to catch. Moping around in the office wasn’t going to do either.

  Fuck waiting, we needed to get on with it now. ‘Boss, we have work to do.’

  He looked up and slumped his dispirited shoulders. ‘I can’t believe she’s going to get away with it.’

  ‘As Bhatt said, the case has been passed to Fraud. It’s up to them now.’

  ‘Yeah, but did you see the Wilde membership list she forced Alfie to give her. It’s all celebs and lawyers. It’s going to get hushed up.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I was sure that the fraud guys would fight hard to make a case.

  ‘They can’t prosecute. It’s an all-inclusive membership. They can eat or drink anything and there are no records of who had what.’

  He made a good point. Without records of consumption, the fraud guys couldn’t prove how much each member owed in undeclared FU tax. ‘I’m sure the CPS will find something in the Sovereignty Protection Act that makes the bracelets illegal.’

  ‘I hope so. I finally thought I’d got Doris.’

  I picked up Doris’ and Tom’s photos on the screen and slid them away from Art under the ‘Possible Suspects’ list. I didn’t want to move them out completely yet. ‘They could still be involved. Alan Kane is a member.’