Diamond on Your Radar

by F P Adriani

  Hi, I’ll be in-planet soon near Trentonne with a party of people, and I’m wondering what kind of cocktails your bar serves—I hope not Molotov! I’ll be at this Communications terminal both today and tomorrow at this same time. Please get back to me A.S.A.P.

  —Gemma Brady

  I waited for half an hour, my mind going over everything about my case, which I now summed up as: someone wanted me dead, and it was someone who knew me or had known me. Those were the only two things I felt quite certain of. Everything else was part of an enormous gray area that only angered me now when I tried to analyze it, tried to break it down into smaller parts….

  In my mind I kept going over the letters, and I kept feeling a message inside there. But every time I tried to specifically name it, my conscious mind kept stumbling….

  And now I had this new bullshit to deal with: allying with the people who had ruined my life. I’d never forgive them for what they’d done to my past…but I’d use them if it would help prevent the ruination of my future.

  If you get new information, be ready to take a new direction—that was one of my mottos. I strived to always remain open to reassessing myself and those around me. If that made me seem wacky to others, if that I-could-change-my-mind-later one-eighty-ing was difficult for others to deal with, that was their problem. I hated when Tan had to be the one dealing with that difficulty sometimes, but I couldn’t undo the overall path my life had taken.

  That was the silent agreement I felt Tan and I had: if you want me, take me as I am, my very jaded past and all. And, so far, he still wanted me….

  I was just about to give up on the call when static came over the line again. I read the words on the text screen: a message to me, from Molotov. But the location wasn’t at the hotel.

  I accepted the audio feed and heard her voice: “Molotov here.”

  “Thirteen here.”

  “I’m shocked,” she said now, though her voice didn’t sound shocked. It sounded matter-of-fact. “How long has it been?”

  “A length of time I don’t want to think about, at least for most of it.”

  “Let’s go to two-way video.”

  We did, and I saw that her jet-black hair was shorter, her face rounder. But her dark eyes held her trademark ultrasharp spark of awareness, as if even when her lids were closed, she could see what was going on around her.

  I asked her, “Are you inactive?”

  “No,” she said.

  And now I was shocked. “I thought you wanted to be.”

  “I did. And then I didn’t. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Nothing’s as simple as that with you,” I said.

  And then she smiled, slowly, slyly.

  I tried to smile back, but then I remembered why I’d contacted her. “I just spoke with James.”

  “Did you.” A statement, not a question. Her eyes on me remained still, waiting. I figured she’d probably heard about my more recent history with the UPG. So, right now, she was probably wondering if—or maybe even realizing that something important must have come up for me to risk contacting James.

  “I wanted to ask him about you and Anthem,” I said now, “but he wouldn’t tell me shit yet. He’s reinstating me first.”

  “No matter. He won’t be able to tell you anything about Anthem, except that he’s inactive.”

  “What?” I asked, suddenly feeling confused.

  “Anthem’s dead. He died in a fire on a ship. A bunch of people did. The machine’s unaware of this.”

  I felt a little sick to my stomach. I didn’t like hearing about the demise of a Miscellaneous. At all.

  Now I asked, “But how the fuck could they not know that?”

  There was a pause.

  Then she said, “They aren’t perfect. They screw up sometimes. Change codenames—who knows.”

  “They don’t lose people so easily,” I said.

  “He’s dead, Thirteen,” she said in an emphatic voice.

  “You mean dead dead, or dead?”

  She didn’t respond. But it was becoming clear that he must have taken on a new identity and didn’t want to be found ever again—and she must have helped him out there, probably in his file somehow. I wondered what the hell was up with Anthem that he and Molotov had to go through this bullshit subterfuge, but I had my own problems to solve….

  “Thirteen,” Molotov said, “there must be a reason that you came out of nowhere and are wondering about the two of us.”

  I lowered my eyes, felt the frown growing on my face. “I’ve been made by someone somewhere or something. My life is more high-profile now, and I guess that was a mistake. I should have used a totally new identity when I started over. But I made friends and I wanted to just STOP, you know?”

  “Mm hm.” Another pause, this one longer than the last. Then: “So, why contact me?”

  “I’ve gotten death-threats. And someone went through a lot of trouble to send them. I’m wondering if you’ve received something similar?”

  “No, just the usual in-person stuff with someone pointing a big weapon at little-old unarmed me. But that’s no big deal.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Are you saying I’m making something out of nothing?”

  “Nope. I’m not saying that. Your instincts are firing on all cylinders, so that’s enough to make me pause too. But, you’re not unfamiliar with this. You’ve been here before and in worse.” Her eyes shifted, a slow memory-slide, and I could tell she was remembering something from her “worse”….

  Then she continued: “When you have something—or someone—you’re trying to protect, everything gets magnified.” I knew what she meant, both for me and for her.

  “What do you want me to do?” she finally asked.

  I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m just letting you know something’s up, and I can’t tell if it’s related to that job we did….”

  “I certainly hope it isn’t,” she said.

  Yet another pause, and this one was harder, for her; her sharp eyes glazed over till they looked murky with memory. Then she rubbed a fast hand over her mouth. Ever since I’d known her, normally she’d never make emotional gestures like that, but it seemed some things were too painful for even the strongest constitutions.

  And now I felt bad for having contacted her. I said fast, “Look, if I come up with anything concrete that relates to you, I’ll let you know right away. I hope you’re doing well.”

  She nodded…but she didn’t say if she was doing well.

  “Well, take care and watch your back,” I said, and my hand was on the controls, ready to break off contact.

  But then I heard her voice, her much-softer voice. “Thirteen.”

  I looked up. The murkiness was back in her eyes. And then she said, “I’ll never forget what you did for us.”

  I swallowed and nodded, partly because I’d never forget it either.

  “If you ever need me to be somewhere, I’ll be there—no questions asked,” she said, and then she cut the communication.

  *

  I left the building; then I dropped the dirty laundry from MSA at the cleaning service.

  I was back in my car again waiting at a stoplight when my portable rang. I saw Roberto’s number on the phone; as I put it to my ear, I pulled the car to the side of the road. “Yeah?”

  “I just finished another search at the library, and I’ve still got nothing on Jericho. Most of the information about them is all technical-talk. They don’t do nothing but gas, gas and more gas.”

  “That’s probably right. Another dead end.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll explain later. Can you come to my place or Nell’s tonight? I need you at one or the other, but I’d rather you go to Nell’s.”

  “Why!”

  “So you get used to my not being around for a while.”

  A small silence, except I could hear his heavy breathing. “I don’t like the way that sounds, Boss,” he finally mumbled.

  “I’m off to E
arth, Roberto. In two days—that’s my plan. I’m ordering my tickets later, for me and Tan.”

  “Tan too!”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  I thought about that as I drove the rest of the way home: my first instinct was to always leave Tan out of everything, and that had been my first instinct this time. However, I had few options inside this whole fiasco, and they weren’t exactly good options….

  I reached the house, let myself inside. Then I flung off my clothes and jumped into the shower.

  As the water coursed over my shoulders, everything played in my head again; the parts suddenly started falling into a more logical position. I could see how they made up the whole situation, or at least I thought I could see how.

  Apparently, whoever was behind the envelopes never intended for them to go through the mailing system, and that meant Jericho Hydro was indeed a dummy address; the envelopes would have never made their way back to that sender address. They’d been “sent” without Jericho’s knowledge and probably would have remained that way until someone notified the company during an investigation of my death….

  I groaned loudly into the steamy shower air and squirted more liquid soap into my hand. I had to keep my mind away from their end-goal and focus on my end-goal, which was: staying alive.

  The odd thing was that, at the same time, the Jericho address was not a dummy address. I couldn’t believe someone had just randomly picked that real address, especially because the dish and spoon was also in the actual threats.

  I now thought it more likely that Jericho’s specific location had been chosen for a reason. But I still couldn’t fucking see the reason. For an instant I wondered if I just wasn’t bright enough to see it. But maybe I just didn’t have enough information—yet.

  I finished showering and got dressed again; then I used my portable to call the nearest ship-port and make reservations for two on a flight to Earth; then I began packing stuff I’d need for my trip.

  I’d have to make one last stop at my office later to get some more things from the secret safe in my inner office, the inner office I used for when clients were skittish about talking in front of the others there….

  As my hands stuck something into my special case, Vervais suddenly popped into my head.

  Now I wondered if his giving the envelopes to Cooperson in specific had been the instructions of whoever hired Vervais or had just happened out of convenience because Cooperson happened to be around Vervais when the envelopes were there.

  Spur of the Diamond moment, I left the house.

  *

  I slowly drove my car past Cooperson’s place. He lived in a two-story, two-family, attached white house, and a small black car sat in the driveway on his side.

  I parked my car farther down the road, then walked up to his white door. The sliding window beside it was slightly open. I knocked on the door, saw Cooperson’s blond head appear behind the window screening.

  Then I heard him screeeaaaam.

  My hand shot beneath my jacket onto my gun as his head disappeared.

  “Get out of here!” Cooperson shouted. “Go away or I’m calling the cops!”

  “Fucking pipe down!” I shouted back.

  “But you said if I saw you again—”

  “Forget what I said, scumbag. We need to talk. We can do that out here, right on your stoop in front of your neighbors if it makes you feel better.”

  There was a lengthy silence, and I thought maybe he’d slipped out a back door or something. I groaned, thinking I’d have to take a look there and chase after him….

  But then his front door finally opened. He very gingerly stepped outside, with only half his body, using the heavy wooden door as partial cover apparently.

  His blue eyes were down on my gray jacket, but now I removed my hand from my gun and snapped, “You’re a real fink.”

  “What do you want? I quit my job like you said, so fuck off.”

  “You don’t tell me what to do, fink.”

  “Stop calling me that.” He shoved the bridge of his glasses up his fink’s nose, and I longed to punch him there. “I think you killed Ed,” he said now. “I keep calling him and there’s no answer.”

  “That’s probably because he hasn’t paid his goddamn phone bill.” I saw his phone-turn-off-is-imminent notice among his garbage. “He’s so high right now, he probably can’t even remember how to use his goddamn phone.”

  “What’d you do to him!”

  “Nothing. But I want to know more about the whole letter set-up—”

  “I don’t have time—I’ve gotta go out and look for another job!”

  “You might find one at Sapphire Lake’s penitentiary. I heard they could use a few good inmates.”

  “Fuck you,” he said through shaking lips. Beneath the black fabric of his pants, his legs seemed to be shaking too.

  “Your friend can really pick his accomplices.”

  “He didn’t pick me! I came over for a visit and saw the envelopes there.”

  My eyes snapped to his. “Yeah? What else did you see? Tell me everything and maybe I’ll forget everything you did. Maybe. No promises.”

  His lips were still shaking as he spoke now. “I saw what you got—two envelopes. Ed said maybe we should stick them in other envelopes. But I said why bother.”

  “Yeah, why bother,” I snapped. And I doubted Vervais’s fried-brain said any of that. More likely, Cooperson’s fink-brain said it. But maybe he decided against doing that because whoever hired Vervais included very specific directions in the package. “Did you see any names and instructions in the package they came in—was it silver?”

  He shrugged and nodded. “There was a note inside.” He paused.

  “And?” I asked fast. “Do you have it?”

  His head shook rapidly. “Nope. Ed threw it out after.”

  I groaned. I had been hoping that Vervais had remembered wrong and the fink had the note….

  “It didn’t say much,” the fink continued. “No names, just yours and Ed’s, and just to get someone to put the letters in your box.”

  “And you just happened to be handy.”

  “Fuck you,” he said again.

  “You know, at this point, I’d really like for my fist to meet your teeth.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t want mine to meet yours.” His eyes instantly turned malevolent.

  But I took a step closer and said, half through my thankfully intact teeth, “Don’t you goddamn threaten me, you scumbag, or else I’m gonna think YOU did the whole goddamn thing. Don’t think your name isn’t stashed somewhere related to all this—in case something happens to me.”

  His eyes collapsed back into their fink-state. “What the hell do you want from me! I saw easy money—the guy paid Ed a mint!”

  “The guy?” I asked quickly.

  “I think it’s a guy—I don’t know. I just assumed that because he was someone from prison when Ed was there—”

  “What—what?!?” I said, my voice automatically taking on more urgency.

  “The note just said something about his time in Stilton Maximum on Keron—”

  “Whose time? Ed’s or the guy’s?”

  Cooperson’s blue eyes now seemed to fade into their sockets; his fingers scratched the side of his face. “I don’t know…the way it was worded, it seemed like both. How else would he know Ed?”

  That was a good point: who would randomly pick a stoned loser like that to do the job, unless it was someone who realized he coincidentally knew a crooked petty loser near me who would do a crooked petty job.

  When most criminals were presented with multiple paths, they usually took the easiest path. Oftentimes, that wound up being their undoing. I hoped this would be one of those times.

  “Douchebag,” I said to Cooperson now, “there were three letters. How come you only wound up with two?”

  “I took what Ed had there on the table—I was a bit out of it myself that day because for once Ed shared his dots….” Hi
s voice faded away and he cleared his throat.

  But at this point I could only shake my frustrated head at his annoying face because the bottom line was: two idiots—two stoned idiots—had helped ruin my days, my life.

  *

  A little later I was driving again and I was on the phone again—this time with Nell. “Can you meet me at the office in an hour?”

  “But I thought you wanted me to avoid there still. Roberto called and said he’s coming over later and we’ll all be phone-conferencing?”

  “Scratch that. Just meet me at the office; we’ll set things right enough there to last a while.”

  Her voice sounded tremulous with worry. “How long a while?”

  “Not sure yet,” I said on a sigh.

  *

  When I finally pulled up to MSA, I parked in the driveway and used my portable to dial the prosecutor’s office. Jennings might have still been in the courtroom, but I had to try. I was running out of time, and I was hoping I’d hear something about Ronin’s sentence before I left for Earth. That would certainly make me feel a tad better.

  Unfortunately, when her secretary answered my call, she said Jennings was indeed still in court. “The trial’s not over yet. You want me to have her call you back?”

  “No, don’t bother,” I said. “I just wanted to know if a decision’s been made yet.”

  “I wouldn’t expect that for a while yet, at least a week, maybe more.”

  Fucking great.

  *

  “Pia, are you serious?” said Nell.

  We were in the office, and she had been sitting at her desk tidying up some MSA stuff she had to bring back to her house.

  But her hands stopped moving now as she stared at me, and her mouth was dangling open: I’d just told her about me and the UPG.

  And now I said, “Yeah. I’m serious.”

  Her face looked upset on top of shocked. “But how can you go back to work for them again! Shit, I thought we’d all left that behind….”

  “Sometimes there’s no way to do that in life, Nell. Plus, I need information, and they have it.”