Sour Notes

by Todd C Wilson

  “That sounds great. Can I borrow one for the evening?”

  ✽✽✽

  An hour later, Reet showed up at my door, pushing a non-gilded non-synthleather wheelchair in front of him. He glared at Bob, who did her best to glare back from under her wig, while I flipped through the paperwork. “I thought Zam said he was giving me a discount,” I griped at Reet. All I got for my troubles was him transferring his glare from Bob to me. I finally signed and tore off the top sheet and passed it back to the sullen manservant.

  “Tell Zam thanks, and I’ll get it back to him as soon as I can. And I’m keeping the pen,” I said. Reet turned on his heel and stomped off, without uttering a word. At least he hadn’t slammed the door on his way out.

  “Okay, new plan,” I told Bob, fixing a wide smile on my face. “Have a seat and I’ll explain it.”

  ✽✽✽

  “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh,” the gopher-shaped intern said, running back and forth in front of us. “Nobody told us you were injured!”

  “It’s not something they wanted to advertise,” I said, pushing the wheelchair with Bob aka Viphres Nechun in it, a blanket I swiped from a neighbor’s clothesline draped over her pseudo legs. “Besides, it’s not as bad as it looks. The doctors tell me Ms. Nechun will be walking around and wearing shoes in no time.” I was glad that I was standing behind Bob, because I was fairly sure whatever look she would have been giving me otherwise would be capable of stripping flesh at twenty paces, sunglasses or no.

  “Yes, that’s what they tell me,” Bob said musically, her voice a perfect match for Viphres Nechun, up-and-coming ace reporter for Channel 99 News, currently out on remote assignment and nowhere near the building. “But until then I’m afraid I must make do with hired help, even if they are soft in the head and generally feeble minded. Do you know I had to show Klepto here three times how to open the door?”

  I ground my teeth and kept a smile plastered on my face. “All these newfangled buttons. I get so confused. Tell me why we are here again Ms. Nechun?”

  “I just need to pick up a few things. Cosmetics, a paperback I haven't finished reading, any leftovers that might be laying around. The usual,” Bob said. “We came at night to avoid any undue questioning. I didn’t want to make a scene. Can you be a dear and show my weak-brained helper here the way to my office desk? I’m afraid I’m not capable of doing it myself just yet.” Bob touched her sunglasses with one hand before quickly putting it back down and tucking it under the blanket. Mimicking facial structures was easy enough for Bob to manage, but she kept fusing her fingers together in weird ways.

  “Of course, of course of course,” the intern chanted, bouncing on his feet. “Follow me, follow me,” he said, rushing off.

  “Weak-brained? Feeble minded?” I hissed, leaning close to Bob. “That wasn’t part of the script.”

  “I’m improvising,” Bob said. “Besides, if you had bothered to watch the holovid you’d realize I’m keeping within character. Oh, thank you, little one, that’s so kind of you,” she said as we reached the intern who was holding a door open for us.

  “My pleasure, my pleasure, my pleasure. Can I get you anything Ms. Nechun? Smoothie latte caff mineral water iced tea fruit-”?

  “A caff would be great,” Bob said, interrupting.

  “Take your time,” I called after the intern as he rushed off, practically bouncing off the cubicle walls. The office door clicked closed behind him, cutting us off from the rest of the late-night staff. I plunked myself down in front of Nechun’s workstation, reaching around the back to fish out a fat tangle of fiber optics. Yanking hard, I separated a few from the bundle and traced the one I wanted to a wall jack. Unscrewing it I spliced in a handy little device I had borrowed from Zam last year and hadn’t quite gotten around to returning quite just yet.

  “Is this gonna take long?” Bob asked, sliding out of her getup, and looking over my shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re always hungry,” I said, staring at the tiny screen of the device. Numbers and letters flew past, the password cracker bipping every so often as I adjusted the controls.

  “I’m a growing girl,” Bob said, squishing around the room and opening drawers. “Hey, raisins!” she exclaimed, tearing open a box and making a yum-yum sound.

  “You’re a growing something, all right,” I muttered as the password cracker made a ta-da sound and the workstation screen unlocked.

  “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got,” I said, typing in a few commands and getting a rejection message. I did it again and got a different error message, this time telling me to go invalidate a directory with a pipe. I would love to, trust me, but I doubt it would have any more positive results than I was currently getting.

  “Move over and let me try,” Bob said, pushing me aside and flowing over the keyboard. Text started to appear on the screen, scrolling by at an alarming rate. I looked around for a fire extinguisher or a garden hose, certain that something was about to overheat and catch on fire.

  “There you go,” Bob said, declaring success. “What are you looking for again?” she asked as someone knocked on the door.

  “Any video of the demonstrations,” I said over my shoulder, opening the door and peeking out. “Yes?” I asked, looking around and then down.

  “I got Ms. Nechun’s caff like she asked,” the intern said, holding up a paper tray loaded with cups. “I didn’t know what kind she liked so I got as many as I could carry.” Leaning to one side the intern tried to peer around me and into the room. I moved to block his view of Bob slopping over the keyboard, taking the tray away from him.

  “That’s great kiddo. We’ll let you know if we need anything else, ok?” I said, pushing the door closed in his face and locking it. I handed the caff over to Bob who wasted no time sticking a tentacle in one and sucking on it.

  “Interesting flavor,” she said, a list of videos filling the screen. “Salted fish and mango. I like it.”

  My face scrunched up as I shuddered. “All yours, Bob.” I returned my attention to the workstation. “Anything interesting yet?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly and there’s a lot to choose from. Any suggestions?”

  I gave one of the remaining caffs a cautious sniff. It seemed okay so I gave it a taste. Plain and simple, just like me. “Focus on the crowd. Cut out any talking heads that aren’t Fwunky Moh’na. If you can find some before and after of the facility that might be good, too.” Someone started banging on the door and rattling the handle. “And make it snappy,” I added, setting my caff down and giving her my phone. It looked like the intern might have gotten a better look than I thought and stopped bouncing off the walls long enough to call someone.

  “Who’s there?” I said through the door in a trembling falsetto. Bob snickered at my attempt to imitate Nechun’s voice but kept typing away, copying each video to my phone as she went.

  “It’s Yarrow, the Station Manager. Who’s this?” a gruff voice demanded, slightly muffled by the thick plastiwood.

  “Yarrow who?” I said, trying a knock-knock joke on for size. It didn’t fit.

  “Yarrow Barkofit! The Station Manager!” the voice shouted. “Open the space-damned door!”

  “Oh, that Yarrow! The one with the strange fascination with mangos and salted fish. Well I’m sorry Yarrow, but Nechun doesn’t want to talk right now. Not after, well, you know.” I lowered my voice a bit. “That night last week out in Neovegus. Just the two of you and a bucket of cheese dip. The doctors say it’s not exactly contagious, but you might want to get checked out just in case. Otherwise things might, you know, drop off?”

  “What?” Yarrow’s voice exclaimed. “I didn’t. I mean we never.” The sound of a scuffle and an argument was replaced with vigorous banging on the door.

  “You! Whoever you are, open this door right this instant! That’s my office and I want you out right now!” Viphres Nechun’s voice coming from the other side of the door made me do a doub
le take to make sure Bob hadn’t slipped past me and was playing games. Nope, the blob was still scrolling through video as fast as she could, copying anything that looked interesting. So, unless she could be in two places at once it meant the real Nechun was not actually on a remote assignment like I thought and instead was outside banging on the door and demanding Yarrow find the master key. I guess the old saying is true – don’t believe everything you read online.

  “Okay, new plan,” I said, jumping over to where Zam’s hacking device hung from the cable and unhooking it in record time. I yanked the power cord to the workstation, cutting off whatever Bob had been doing and hopefully erasing the history at the same time. As an added measure I poured the remaining caffs through the vent holes, figuring there was nothing like the old standby when it comes to wrecking electronics. Looking around the room, I tried to figure out if there was a second exit but couldn’t see one. The banging on the door wasn’t helping, each thump louder than the last. A bit of dust sprinkling down from the ceiling made me look up, and I got an idea.

  “Up there.” I hissed. “Into the vents. I’ll meet up with you later. Go, shoo!” I pushed Bob towards the ceiling and ignored her protests. I watched until she had vanished into the ductwork before grabbing the red wig and glasses, stuffing them under the cushion of the wheelchair. Straightening my coat, I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath, reaching out to unlock the door and preparing to bluff for all the peanuts.

  ✽✽✽

  I had to take a quick step backwards as the door flew open, a pile of bodies crashing down. “What is the meaning of this!” I bellowed, putting my hands on my hips, and glaring down at the tangle of limbs, red hair, and a rather large snout. “You!” I said, jabbing a finger at a florid-faced Choldat with a trunk-like nose whom I assumed was Yarrow. “Explain yourself!”

  “I... What?” the Choldat said, confirming my assumption.

  “Useless,” I sneered. “Just as I expected. All of you, completely useless. You especially!” I turned towards the intern laying on top of the real Viphres Nechun, her normally perfectly coiffed hair in disarray. “I let you out of my sight for five seconds - five seconds – and you run off and forget basic tradecraft. Useless!”

  “Basic what?” the intern said from his position atop the upcoming ace reporter, confusion filling his features.

  “Now wait a minute,” Yarrow said, climbing to his feet and trying to take control of the situation. “Who are you?”

  “Special Branch,” I said imperiously. “If I told you who I really was, I’d have to shoot you.” I leaned towards Yarrow and looked him in the eye. “You wouldn't want me to shoot you, would you?” I growled menacingly. “No? I didn’t think so. And put that snout away before you hurt someone. You’ll put somebody’s eye out if you’re not careful.” I dismissed him with a wave, glaring at the other two.

  “Get up,” I commanded, turning to grab Zam’s wheelchair. I wasn’t about to leave it behind; I’d never get my deposit back otherwise. “You. Sit,” I ordered, pointing at Viphres Nechun who looked positively terrified. “Now!” I bellowed, rattling the walls. She scrambled to comply, perching uncomfortably in the chair. I guess I should have sprung for the gilded wood and Corinthian synthleather model.

  Gripping the handles, I headed towards the door, Yarrow and the intern jumping to get out of the way. “I expect a full report in the morning,” I said to the intern as I passed, giving him an evil eye that would have made Reet proud. “In triplicate. Double spaced.”

  I loped down the cubical village, my long legs eating up the distance. I ignored the strange looks I was getting from the residents who popped up to see what was going on. Let them make up their own story. Viphres Nechun held on for dear life, bouncing around as we rattled along towards the exit.

  “Who-who-who are you?” she finally managed to get out.

  “Not here,” I said mysteriously. “Too many eyes and ears.” That shut her up and she gripped the armrests even harder, her head twisting back and forth, trying to see into every corner at once.

  We banged through the emergency exit, knocking over an empty planter that had seen better days and was acting as a makeshift wastebasket. I ground us to a halt, centimeters from steps that would have sent both of us into a nasty tumble.

  “End of the line,” I intoned. “Get up.”

  “Are you going to shoot me?” Nechun asked.

  “No. Not unless you need me to. I don’t have much time, so I’ll make this quick. The game is afoot, and all is not as it seems. The lion sleeps tonight, and the scarlet pimpernel rides at dawn. Too much of a good thing is bad for you. Got it? No, don't write it down. You’ll never see or hear from me again. Now get back inside and forget any of this ever happened,” I said rapidly, rattling off as much nonsense from various spy movies as I could. I grabbed the wheelchair and turned to leave, flicking up the collar of my coat at the same time. “Oh and quit sleeping with your boss. It’s not good for your self-image.”

  And with that I vanished into the night, leaving behind a very confused and completely terrified up-and-coming ace reporter.

  Chapter 7

  “S

  o that was a waste of time,” I complained, throwing down my half-eaten bagel. Bob and I had spent the better part of a day going through the videos she had managed to download from Channel 99’s server looking for recurring people at the scene of the Science Facility explosion. All we got for our troubles was a mountain of empty caff cups and a burning sensation in my eyes.

  “I thought it was fun,” Bob said brightly, cycling up the next video. “I like that pattern,” she said, pointing at a Trottiux wearing a white smock covered in yellow symbols.

  “Even the part where you crawled through the ductwork and found a mummified rat?” I reminded her.

  Bob’s mouth made a little moue shape. “Well, aside from that. And the dust. And the insects. And the fan blades. And the…”

  “I get the picture.” My tired eyes gave my equally tired brain a kick. “Hold up, go back.” I studied the video, pausing it on a specific frame. “Isn’t that the same outfit?” I asked, indicating a trio standing next to each other.

  One of Bob’s eyespots leaned in closer to the monitor. “I think so. Your computer really needs an upgrade.”

  “Along with everything else,” I grumbled. I pulled up separate videos from different protests and started comparing them side by side, squinting at the screen. Once I knew what to look for, it was right there in front of me. Different species on different days, sure, but all wearing the exact same shirts complete with the logo of their favorite place to hang out emblazoned across them.

  The Ballroom. It wasn’t much to go on and it was based on the flimsiest of links, but I finally had a lead.

  ✽✽✽

  I decided on the front door approach this time, walking up to the pastel-colored building that The Ballroom called home bold as brass and twice as shiny. I made Bob stay behind, telling her that it would be more helpful if she kept scrubbing through videos looking for clues. All I got for my trouble was a pouty version of my own face and a frosty “fine!” huffed at me. To be perfectly honest, I just wanted some peace and quiet. The uninvited guest shtick was getting old fast, even if my new roomie did sleep in a reusable shopping bag and didn’t interrupt my precious shower time.

  I wasn’t prepared for the wall of noise that almost knocked me off my feet when I opened the door and entered The Ballroom. The owners must have installed industrial-grade noise dampeners to keep the neighbors from complaining, and I don’t blame them. Thumping music combined with the whoop of electronic scoring and cheering groups of players, backed up by the continual rumbling and crashing of heavy composite balls knocking down plastiwood pins. I’ve been to quieter planetary demolitions.

  I hate bowling alleys. Give me a nice shooting range and a medicine-free root canal any day of the week instead.

  “Hey!” someone yelled. I turned to look, trying to figure out who. “
Hey! You gotta rent the shoes first!”

  The bellowing was coming from a large female Squotnix, triangular double chin hooking up with a matching hairdo. Sequined eyeglasses and a thin red-lip mouth completed the ensemble, giving her a permanent cheesed-off look. If I didn’t know any different, I would swear she was the same lady who worked reception at the Bureau of Motorized Non-Vehicles. Heck, maybe she was, and this was how she spent her evenings, moonlighting as a bowling alley counter jockey. We all have bills to pay.

  I angled towards the Squotnix, cupping one hand over an ear. “What?” I yelled.

  “I said you gotta rent the shoes before you can play! What are you, deaf?”

  “No thanks, I just ate! Thanks for asking! Have you seen Larry?”

  “Who?”

  “Larry! Larry the Blimp! Never mind, I see him. Hey Larry!” I yelled, waving at a group of players waiting their turn to hurl oversized marbles downrange. I walked towards them, ignoring the Squotnix and whatever obscenities she was yelling at me. Like I was about to rent shoes in a place like this. I already had a pair, and I wasn’t about to take them off. Never mind the fact that they probably didn’t even have any in my size or style. I like mine with extra-deep treads and reinforced toes, perfect for those times when a swift kick in the posterior is called for.

  “Hi there,” I said loudly so I could be heard over the din. “Jazz Singer, Department of Round Things. Mind if I ask you a few questions?” I said, slapping a friendly grin on my face.

  “Uh, I guess,” one of the players said, the others mumbling the same.

  “Great! So, in terms of roundness, how round would you say your balls are? Really round, or just round enough? And is smoothness an issue?” I pulled out my phone and a cheap stylus, making like I was taking notes the old-fashioned way.

  “Uh, round and smooth enough, I guess.”

  “I think they could be rounder,” an orange Bhenall said. He got defensive when the rest of the group turned to look at him. “What? I’m just saying they could be rounder is all. Not like you guys ain’t throwin’ gutters most of the time either.”