“Oh man,” Terry said, “Chasing away my business.”
The complaint fell on deaf ears and did nothing to remove the condescending grin from Nathan’s lips.
Rail thin and wiry, Terry Watts displayed the hallmarks of a junkie.
Nathan said, “Don’t worry Terry, you’ll find more like them.”
Shifting his feet, Terry glanced between Nathan and Quinn several times. “Why you sweating me man? They was paying customers.”
Nathan showed Quinn an astute smile before he put a shoulder into Terry and slammed him back against the brick wall. Terry’s head bounced hard off it before he collapsed in a heap.
Nathan grabbed a handful of his greasy blond hair to pull his head up. “Let’s get one thing straight, T-dog. You operate under my good graces. You exist because I allow it. I let you move your shit on my streets in return for your cooperation when I want it.”
He shoved his head back to the ground. “So don’t piss me off.”
“All right man.” Terry crawled a short distance away to sit up. Spittle hung from his bottom lip. He asked, “Shit, what do you need?”
“Well now, that’s more like it.”
A bottle breaking echoed in the alley. Quinn to glanced into its dark depths and hovered his hand over his holster.
Nathan paid the noise no heed. “Somebody’s been talking, Terry. They been telling King shit she shouldn’t know.”
“Well, it isn’t me man!” He scratched his cheek as he said, “I—I didn’t say nothing.”
“Did I say it was you?” Nathan clipped him behind the head knocking him forward. “You don’t know shit and, even if you did, who’d fucking believe you? Piece of shit junkie.”
“Well then, what do you want man?” His pleading tone gave Quinn pause, but it only further angered Nathan.
With his left hand around his throat, Nathan lifted Terry up and pressed him back against the wall.
“Miller—” Quinn objected. Nathan silenced him with a look.
“You’re connected, shithead.” Nathan tightened his grip on Terry’s throat. “You got your ear to the ground. You know things. You know how to find out things. Want to keep getting high? Find out who’s talking to King. You bring me their name, and you can crawl back into your haze. Otherwise, I’m gonna be all up in your shit, and things will be unpleasant for you.”
He dropped him, and Terry slid down the wall wracked by coughs as air flooded back into his tortured lungs.
As he walked away, Nathan said, “Spread the word. I want a name, and I want it now!”
Quinn lingered a moment as Terry retched on the concrete before he turned away from him and followed his partner into the dark.
6
Nathan banged the side of his fist on the aluminum screen, rattling the storm door in its loose frame. Despite the chill wind, the inner door was open, and he heard sobbing.
Quinn stomped his feet behind him. Nathan glanced back and said, “Last stop, Rook, I promise.”
Quinn rubbed his hands together. He cupped them over his mouth as he blew air into them. “Whatever,” he said, “What are we here for?”
Nathan looked back through the screen door as he answered, “Report of a missing teen.”
Skeptical, Quinn said, “Nothing on the police chatter about it.”
Nathan gave him a look. “You forget where you are? Things are different outside the wall.” Out of the corner of his mouth, Nathan said, “Just zip it and follow my lead.”
A man with an unkempt beard and wearing a stained and tattered shirt ushered them inside. Nathan and Quinn followed him down a long corridor. The claustrophobic space reeked of poverty—a mixture of sweat and dried food.
They emerged from the dank hallway into a bright kitchen. Seated at the table, flanked by two women, was a dark-haired woman with tear-stained cheeks choking back sobs.
Nathan gave their escort a final glance and moved toward what had to be the mother. The chair scraped across the worn floor as he sat across from her. Outside, a siren wailed.
“You are Maria Juarez?” Nathan asked.
Maria nodded but didn’t speak. Her expression pained and raw, her eyes red-rimmed. Nathan offered her a tissue and said, “Try to stay calm. I know you’re frightened, but you contacted me because I can find Damien. Let me do that for you.”
She nodded again and struggled to find her voice.
“If you’re up to it, I’d like to begin with a few questions?” Nathan said.
“Shouldn’t we clear the room first?” Quinn asked, drawing an irritated glance from Nathan.
To Maria, Nathan asked, “Who are these people?”
Choking back another sob, she answered, “Neighbors. Friends.”
“Why do we need to leave?” The man who led them into the room asked.
“You don’t.” Nathan gave him a hard look. “My partner often speaks without thinking first—it’s a problem.” Returning his attention to Maria, Nathan asked, “When did you last see Damien?”
Maria sniffed and dabbed the tissue to her eyes. “Yesterday morning, before school.”
“How did he seem?” Nathan asked, “Any indication something was wrong?”
“No,” Maria answered, “he was himself. He was fine, happy.”
Nathan nodded once. “Has he ever done anything like this? Stayed out all night? Not come home for long stretches?”
Maria shook her head. “Of course not,” she said, “Damien would never do this—he wouldn’t worry me like this. Something has happened—I know it.” She broke down again and buried her face against the shoulder of the woman on her left.
Nathan allowed her a moment to regain her composure. When she again looked at him, he leaned forward and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do you have a list of his friends—people we can contact to construct a timeline?”
Maria nodded, and the man who led them in stepped forward to drop a sheet of paper on the table. “We already contacted them all.”
“I’m sure you did,” Nathan said, “No harm in being thorough.” Nathan glanced around the room. “Where’s the boy’s father?”
After a moment, Maria blew her nose and took a deep breath. She began, “He’s out of the picture. Eduardo found a job inside the wall. He took his mistress with him instead of his family.”
“When was this?” Nathan asked.
One of the women rubbed Maria’s arm. She answered, “Eighteen months, give or take.”
“Any chance he wanted his son back?” Nathan asked, “Or Damien went to see him?”
“No.” Maria was adamant. “Damien wants nothing to do with his father after his betrayal. And Eduardo has made it clear he does not want us.”
“You’re certain?” Nathan asked again.
Maria swiped a tissue across her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
Nathan reached across the table and rested his right hand on top of hers. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and received a weak smile in return. Under better circumstances, he was sure her smile would light up a room. Even now he could see the warmth in it.
Nathan said, “Try to get some rest. Damien will be home again before you know it.”
Quinn stepped forward and said, “With your permission, we can request a warrant to track his Identchip. You could have him back in a few hours.”
Nathan ground his teeth together. Maria’s eyes widened, and the color bled from her face. He reached across the table as he stood up, clasped her hand and said, “Don’t worry, we’re not doing that.”
“What—” Quinn began before a severe look from Nathan silenced him.
Nathan repeated, “We’re not doing that. I’ll find him myself.” He held Maria in his gaze and said, “I promise.” He motioned for Quinn to leave and followed him.
Their escort in showed them out. Near the front of the house, he said, “She better not have made a mistake calling you.”
Nathan stopped, turned around, and
took the measure of the man. “Who are you again?”
“I live next door. I care about Maria.”
Nathan rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah, I’ll bet you do.”
He took a step forward. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nathan met the challenge and pushed him back against the wall. “Bet you wish she was crying on your shoulder right now.”
“Nate,” Quinn said from the open doorway.
Nathan leaned in closer and said, “I find you’ve inserted yourself in my investigation, and I’ll put you in the middle of it.”
The man stammered. “Are—are you threatening me?”
Nathan shoved him hard enough to shake the wall. Without another word, he followed Quinn through the door.
“What the hell was that about?” Quinn asked.
Nathan watched the neighborhood slip past his window while Quinn drove. “I could ask you the same thing.” He frowned at him. “You were supposed to stay quiet, remember?”
Quinn tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “A child is missing. Standard operating procedure is to have the parent sign off on activating Identchip tracking. We could have him home tonight—what parent would be against that?”
Nathan shook his head. “You have no clue how things are out here. Not every displaced person is a victim of floods or the quake.”
Quinn glanced over, and Nathan watched realization dawn on him. “They’re illegals,” Quinn said.
Nathan touched the side of his nose. “Look who finally clued in. Understand now why she doesn’t want to be tracked?”
“No,” Quinn said as he turned the wheel, “not if she wants her son back.”
“She wants him back home, not deported,” Nathan said, “That’s why she’s come to me and not the police.”
Quinn lifted his eyebrows at Nathan. “If his safety were her top priority, she’d sign off on tracking him.”
“Climb down off your high horse, Rook,” Nathan said, “You think either of them would be any safer in Mexico with the way the Cartels are?”
Quinn pulled over to the curb out front of Nathan’s home. He placed the cruiser in park and said, “Then if they want to be in this country, they should file for citizenship.”
Nathan crossed his arms. “Don’t be so smug in your morality, Rook. Everything isn’t as black and white as you’d like it to be. Let me tell you something. When they put walls around our cities, they left out millions of Americans—cut off by protectionist fears. With so many Americans left out, what chance does a Mexican have at gaining citizenship?”
Quinn said nothing, so Nathan continued. “Those fears used to be about immigrants coming to this country and taking American jobs. But after the walls went up—nobody cared about illegals anymore. America downsized. Anything outside the wall got forgotten. Funny though, out here, there are honest people working hard to better themselves. They believe in the ideals of life and liberty and have created communities that are missing inside the walls.”
“The crime rate out here—”
“Is no higher than in there,” Nathan interrupted. “Only difference is the bullshit fear-mongering politicians keep the focus out here, so they don’t have to solve the problems the fucking walls created.”
Nathan opened the car door. “You’re gonna have to wise up one of these days, Rook. The world isn’t the fairy tale you think.” He kicked the door open further and stepped out. Slamming it shut, he bent over the window. “Nothing’s black and white out here. Sometimes doing the wrong thing, is the only right thing you can do.”
7
“Welcome to AmeriGEN, creating a better tomorrow, today.”
Nathan made a face when he entered the main lobby and heard the robotic voice from the overhead speaker. Why do they gotta make it female?
As he crossed the marble floor, the voice continued reciting high points in the company’s history.
“Since 2019 AmeriGEN has grown to become the world’s largest corporation through our achievements and dedication to eradicating human frailty. Our founder, Tiberius Holt, seeks to free mankind from the shackles of disease. By creating the Holt Liposome, he moved toward that goal, curing many debilitating genetic afflictions including cystic fibrosis, muscular dystrophy, and sickle-cell disease. His visionary leadership led to the development of a hybrid gene in 2025 that targets cancer cells, eradicating them while leaving surrounding tissue unharmed.”
Erected in the center of the glass and marble space was a twenty-foot-tall statue of a different Holt. The visage represented Tiberius’ tragedy before the rousing accolades.
Nathan didn’t need to read the gold-leafed plaque at the foot of it to recognize the man. Those of his generation well remembered the great adventurer and father of Tiberius—Peter Holt.
As a child, Nathan read the adventures of Peter the Brave and thrilled at his exploits. From the wilds of the Amazon to the desolation of the poles to the top of the world, Peter Holt did it all.
Until his fateful last adventure.
Glancing down at the plaque, he recalled how Peter vanished into the depths of Krubera Cave along with the rest of his expedition in the summer of 2009.
Across the palatial lobby, suspicious eyes watched him from behind the reception desk. A long corridor extended out behind reception, leading to a security scan to keep the inner sanctum locked down to the uninvited.
“Can I help you?”
Nathan attempted a smile but could only manage a strained grimace. “You listen to this crap all day long?”
“It—” she stumbled over her words, “it blends in after a while. How can I help you?”
“That’s quite the angry crowd you got outside,” Nathan said, “You make them listen to this spiel too? That why they’re so angry?”
She stifled a laugh, and her cheeks turned a darker shade of red.
“I’m here to see Hugo Torres,” Nathan announced.
“Is he expecting you?”
Nathan fished his badge out of his pocket and placed it open on the counter. “He’ll see me. Tell him Nathan Miller is here.”
With a slight nod, she turned to make the call.
Retrieving his badge, Nathan noticed the row of screens just out of view from his side of the circular desk. With a practiced nonchalance, he leaned over for a quick look. On each screen, the harried images alluded to panic on the floors above him.
“Mr. Torres will see you now.” She handed him a swipe card. “This will grant you access to the building. Mr. Torres is on the sixth floor.”
“I know where he is,” Nathan said as he took the card and moved past her down the corridor. “It’s not my first time.”
Nathan gazed out the glass wall overlooking the lobby. He whistled. “That’s quite the drop.”
Hugo said, “I’ve never thought of it that way, but leave it to a homicide detective to notice.”
Nathan tilted his head back to look up at the top floor ten stories above them. Hugo said, “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but did you want something?”
Nathan nodded and moved to the chair opposite Hugo’s impressive glass desk. “Nice digs you got here. You’re moving up in the world.”
Hugo rubbed his goatee. He smirked. “Nothing gets by you, Miller.”
Nathan frowned. “I’d watch that smart mouth if I were you.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Hugo said, “I’m just a little busy right now.”
“I noticed. There’s a certain anxiety to this place.”
“Lots going on,” Hugo said.
Nathan scoffed. “Well, you’re about to have more going on.”
Hugo groaned and sat back from his desk.
“How long have we known each other?” Nathan asked.
“Too long.”
Nathan feigned upset. “Is that any way to talk to a friend?”
“We’re not friends, Miller.”
“Take a look around you,”
Nathan said. “Letting you keep this job seems friendly to me. Does your employer know what you did before this?”
Hugo dropped his gaze to his desk and said nothing. “I didn’t think so,” Nathan said. “Smart guy like yourself, you probably erased the digital trail too, didn’t you? Good thing I’m a fan of hard evidence—as in harder to erase.”
Hugo fidgeted in his seat. Nathan leaned forward. “We understand each other here?”
Hugo met his gaze and answered, “Yeah. What do you need?”
Nathan stood up and moved back to the glass wall. He gazed at the massive statute of Peter Holt. “Take a guess,” he said.
“Well,” Hugo said, “I’ve seen The Ransom. King is making you out to be a mobster. I’d say you want dirt on her?”
Nathan looked back at him and shook his head. “We’re way past that now. I need to know her source.”
“Can’t argue with you,” Hugo said. “What do you think I can do about it?”
“You’re a hacker.” Nathan smiled. “Figure it out.”
Hugo stroked his goatee. “You think she’s put the name in her files?”
Nathan ignored his doubtful tone. “It’s worth a look.” He raised an index finger and pointed to Hugo. “Oh, and while we’re on the subject of hacking, I need to know where she’s been. I need you to get me her Identchip tracking data.”
Hugo’s jaw dropped open. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “No, forget it. No way am I doing that.”
Nathan took a step closer. “Did you forget our understanding already?”
“You want me to hack into Identchip? You’re talking a serious felony.”
“You’re not exactly a stranger to felonies, Hugo.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hugo swore, “if I do this, how do I know you won’t hold it over my head forever?”
Nathan grinned. “You don’t. But if you don’t do it, you know what I will do.” He walked toward the door and opened it. Looking back, he said with a faux smile, “I expect to hear from you when you have what I asked for. In the meantime, keep up the good work, Hugo.”
Singularity Page 3
