Rolly picked up a brochure that lay on the table next to his chair. The brochure was printed in glossy purple and yellow, with another big Eyebitz.com logo on the cover. Inside were black and white photographs of young people looking engaged and productive. Rolly read the accompanying text:
Eyebitz.com is at the forefront of the enablization of a new marketplace, allowing the global exchange of ideas to emerge by extending media supply chain synergies to creative professionals and clients through the unique power of the Internet.
Rolly wondered if enablization was a real word.
Using the power of data, our media delivery services create a new marketplace for artists, filmmakers, musicians, and writers to promote their work to a global audience, unencumbered by the restrictions and contradictions of the media power elite.
There was more.
Analyze. Categorize. Customize.
Words. Pictures. Music.
Find the words that focus you. Play the song that pleases you. Watch the scenes that wow you.
Somebody was working overtime on the alliteration, but it wasn't making things any clearer. He tried another section, under "Our Technology."
Eyebitz.com presents eSurf®, the next wave on the Internet. eSurf® is cutting-edge technology for analyzing and processing data in order to compare customer choices, habits, and preferences.
By using recursive algorithmic processing and iWatcher® technology, the system helps guide user decisions and provides faster and more effective access to content. It helps content providers identify their customers through thin-channel targeted marketing. The more a user listens, the more a user watches, the more eSurf® knows about the user's interests and taste. Advertising and ideas are pushed to the user through the framing of the traditional browser in eSurf®, which provides a seamless, organic web experience.
eSurf® from Eyebitz.com. Creating trends before the trend. Riding the perfect power wave.
Rolly looked up from his reading and saw two feminine feet, strapped in black high heels, descending the staircase. They were followed by incredibly long legs, covered up at the last minute by a black leather miniskirt. It was Alesis. She had on a green silk blouse, draped over a more professional bosom than she’d displayed at the party last night, more intimidating but still inviting.
“Mr. Waters. I'm Alesis Amati. Mr. Rogers is available to meet with you now.”
As Rolly followed Alesis up the stairs, he found himself facing her leathered backside, compared it briefly with the memory of Leslie’s, then looked away, reminding himself to stay focused on the business at hand. Alesis gave no indication she even remembered him.
“Would you like anything to drink?" she asked. "Coffee, tea, soft drinks, juice?”
“I'm fine," said Rolly, breathing heavily, either from stress, or the view, or from climbing the stairs, probably all of them. He hoped Alesis hadn’t noticed his wheezing.
They turned down a hall at the top of the stairs and passed a set of publicity photographs, most of which seemed to be autographed. Rolly recognized a few faces, local lounge singers, infommercial pitchmen, and cable T.V. personalities. Many of the pictures were signed, “To Ricky.”
“You look familiar,” Alesis said. “Have we met before?”
“Well, I was at the party last night,” Rolly said. She looked at him again, as if trying to remember. She had dark green eyes like a cat’s.
“I played in the band.”
“Oh yes, of course,” she said. “The man who rocked Japan.” She didn't sound quite convinced, though, as if she were trying to remember something else.
They stopped at a door with a printed brass plaque. It said Ricky Rogers, CVO. Inside the room, someone was yelling. Alesis wrinkled her nose, gave a small, apprehensive sigh before knocking on the door. The yelling stopped.
The CVO
“Who is it?”
“Ricky, it's Alesis. I've got Mr. Waters here.”
A moment passed. The door opened to reveal Fender standing just inside. Beyond Fender, sitting at a large desk facing them was Ricky, who was looking at something on his computer. There was an older man, the one who had been trying to find his glasses at the party, the one who was Alesis’ ex. He sat on a leather sofa across the room from Ricky, inspecting his fingernails. Rolly entered the room. Alesis closed the door behind him.
Fender got things started. “Ricky, this is Rolly Waters, the private investigator I told you about.”
“I know who he is, Fender. You told me. And Alesis just told me, too. Everyone in the fucking building has told me now.” Ricky continued to stare at his computer monitor, tapping aggressively at the keyboard.
This was a different version of Ricky than the one Rolly had met last night, the one who’d been all smiles and hale fellow. This Ricky was wound up so tight he was going to explode if you tapped him just right, like one of those old artillery shells left by the Marines in an East County canyon, dug up by a construction crew as they started a new housing development.
“I’ve been told you can help us,” Ricky said, still focused on his computer screen. Rolly imagined bright red laser beams shooting out from Ricky’s eyes, drilling a hole through the glass screen, into the metal and plastic inside.
“Well, I hope I can help,” Rolly said. Ricky was bearing down on the computer monitor like a freckled coyote chasing a gopher down into its hole.
“Hope is for idiots,” Ricky said. “I don't hire idiots.”
There was a time in his life when a guy like this would have set Rolly off, brought his own anger up to the surface. But if Rolly got angry, he’d want a drink. That’s how he used to handle his anger. He was recovering now, from assholes as well as alcohol. He’d learned how to cope. He took a deep breath, counted to five under his breath. He counted again. The only way he knew to make the world work when it spun up too fast was to bring it back down to a speed he could manage. If it meant other people found him a little slow, so be it.
“What I mean is, I'd like to know a little more about the problem before I commit to taking the case.”
Ricky took a last, vicious tap at his keyboard, turned to look directly at Rolly.
“Mr. Waters, we don't have problems here at Eyebitz.com. What we have are opportunities. What we have are solutions that remain unfound. That's the whole philosophy this company is built on.”
Ricky zapped Rolly with a big smile. It was the same smile, with the practiced-to-perfection look of assertion in his eye, that he’d given Rolly last night when they were introduced. It rolled across Rolly like a big wave at Black’s Beach. He rolled with it, kept himself grounded. After the wave comes the undertow. It sucks away all the sand under your feet.
“Fender has explained a little to me. Can you tell me more about this Magic Key I'm supposed to find?”
“Yes I can. But before I do that, let me ask you what you know about our business. Do you understand what we do?”
“Well, I've read a little in the newspaper, and I read the brochure downstairs while I was waiting.”
“And how would you describe our business?”
“Well, you have some sort of computerized audio video service. From what I understand, that means you can send video over the Internet to people’s computers. According to your brochure, you send it better than anyone else.”
“And…?”
“And you can track what people are watching. And because you track what they're watching, you can sell them exactly what they want.”
“Is that it?”
“In fifty words or less, that’s about the best I can do.”
Ricky smiled. It was a little smile this time, directed inward. He dropped his eyes down towards his desk, winding up for his pitch like Randy Johnson on the mound at Qualcomm Stadium, ready to blow another one past some feeble Padres’ batter.
“What we're really selling, Mr. Waters, is the future. And we have to get to the future faster than anyone else. We have to make our future the future. And in order to
make our future happen, we have to protect it tightly so no one else gets there first.”
Ricky had practiced this pitch so many times, it almost sounded like he was making sense. Rolly said nothing, acted like he was processing the information. He wasn't going to say anything unless he had to. He was miles outside of his comfort zone right now.
“Let me get down to details," continued Ricky. "Do you know what an algorithm is?”
“Something to do with math?” Rolly said, taking a swing, hoping to at least foul one off the end of his bat.
“Yes, it has something to do with math. An algorithm is, in fact, a mathematical formula used to process a computer event. This company is based on a set of algorithms, created by Curtis Vox, our chief technology officer. The algorithms he created are used to encode our digital content.”
“Sounds good,” Rolly said, not feeling too bright. He looked over at Fender, wondered if Fender understood any of this. Fender was fiddling with his temporary badge, the one with the dunce cap drawn on it.
“It's very good,” Ricky said, bearing down. “But what's more important is we've created a way to track how people respond to the content we send them. Let me show you something.”
Ricky turned back to his computer and waved Rolly over next to him. He clicked the mouse and the screen went black. After another second or two, it popped back to life. There was a Japanese cartoon in the center of the screen, with advertisements displayed in a rectangular box around the outer edges of the cartoon. There was an ad for Coca-Cola, one for Subaru, some others Rolly didn’t recognize.
“As I watch the video here, I can also click any of these graphics. When I click I get more information,” Ricky said. He clicked on the Coca Cola logo. The logo animated, spun around, and flipped over. It now said, “Win a Hawaiian Holiday.”
“Hmm,” Rolly said, trying to sound impressed, as if he were seeing the future Ricky wanted him to.
“But here's the critical part, Mr. Waters. Information flows both ways. As a user watches the video, we can watch the user. Everything the user does on screen while the video is playing gets recorded and sent back to our servers. For instance, we can know that at one minute, thirteen seconds into this cartoon, a certain user has clicked on the Coca-Cola logo. We can then store the information in our database, analyze patterns and predict user behavior, allowing us to target advertising for our sponsors in ever more accurate ways. Isn't that fantastic?”
It sounded more creepy than fantastic to Rolly, like something out of George Orwell. He decided to keep that opinion to himself.
“This key that's missing. What does it have to do with any of this?”
“Like I said, it’s the Magic Key,” Ricky said.
“What’s magic about it?”
“Inside this building is a locked, secured room and inside that room is a magic box, a special computer on which we run the algorithms that are key to our eSurf technology. That computer is not connected to any other computers in the building.”
“And you’ve lost the key to the room?”
“Oh, I have a key to the room. It's right here,” Ricky said, holding up his security card. It was just like the one Rolly and Fender had, except it was red. “This gets me into the room. I have one. Curtis has one. And King here has one,” Ricky said, nodding towards the bald man on the sofa, who was still concentrating on his cuticles.
“I’m guess I still don’t understand what this Magic Key is.”
“The Magic Key isn’t a room key. It's a removable data disk that connects to the computer in that room. If the disk isn’t connected to the computer, the eSurf algorithms won't run. The disk is encrypted with part of the algorithm that makes eSurf work. By keeping the algorithm in separate pieces, we protect it. All of our engineers have access to the first part of the algorithm. But you need both pieces to make the system fully functional. If someone had the Magic Key and was able to get into the computer room, they would have access to all of our technology. They could steal all our secrets. Those algorithms are the lifeblood of this company. They're worth millions, possibly billions someday.”
“I don’t really know much about computers,” Rolly said. “Perhaps you should consider hiring someone who does.”
Ricky smiled. “Mr. Waters, you have just confirmed my initial opinion of your integrity and character. Your honesty and forthrightness are exactly the reasons I think we should hire you.”
“Well, I do have other clients right now,” Rolly lied, looking for ways to avoid making a commitment, wanting to buy himself time to think about what he was getting into.
“I understand that,” Ricky said, “we'll make it worth your time, financially. What do you charge?”
“Five hundred dollars a day, plus expenses,” Rolly replied, making a concerted effort not to blink. It wasn’t a lie. His rate card said five hundred a day. But he’d never been paid at that rate. The clients he worked for could barely manage fifty a day.
Ricky nodded to the older man on the sofa. "Mr. Gibson here handles our finances. King, what do you think?"
“Seven-fifty a day, plus ten thousand in options,” Gibson said, without looking up from his fingernails.
“Options?” Rolly said.
“Certainly, Mr. Waters,” said Ricky. “As a temporary contractor with our company, we like to consider you part of the family. We're willing to offer you ten thousand in option shares above and beyond your daily fee.”
“You mean stock options?”
“Yes, as you may know, we intend to take this company public by the end of next month. If you accept our offer, those options will be worth considerably more when that happens. How much are our shares priced at now, King?”
“Exactly one dollar.”
“So your ten thousand shares are worth ten thousand dollars today, Mr. Waters. A nice even number. If our IPO goes anywhere near as well as planned, you could make that ten, twenty, even thirty times over.”
“Just for finding the Magic Key?”
“Just for finding the Magic Key and returning it to us.”
Rolly's head was swimming. His stomach was churning. He liked to pretend that he didn’t care about money, that he was happy with life just the way it was. It was his recovery mantra. Keep things simple. Don’t get in over your head.
He looked at the faces around him, Ricky's eyes boring into him brightly, King Gibson in silent contemplation of his cuticles, and Fender, silently pleading with Rolly to make him look good with the boss.
“Let me just ask plainly, Mr. Waters, will you help us with our problem?” Ricky asked, still pressing. He was the kind of man who never stopped pressing.
Five years ago, Rolly’s life had almost ended. He’d screwed up his chance for grabbing the big gold ring. Leslie had left him. Matt had been killed. Rolly had dropped into a hole so deep that he thought he’d never get out. But he’d finally stopped drinking. He’d started playing guitar again, writing songs. And he’d obtained his P.I. license. Perhaps this was one more rung in the ladder leading out of the hole he’d dug for himself, something he could grab onto to get himself clear.
He looked back at Ricky, as directly as he could manage, trying to return a little wattage in kind.
“Ricky,” he said, “I think this is an opportunity, not a problem.”
“Yes, an opportunity.” Ricky smiled. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Waters. Mr. Gibson will draw up the papers.”
So that was it. The business was done. Ricky’s confident ways were contagious. Rolly decided it was his turn to take charge.
“So when did you last see the key?” he asked.
“Curtis reported it missing. He emailed me this morning.”
“Who is Curtis again?”
“Curtis Vox is our Chief Technology Officer. He created the algorithms. He’s the man with the technical skills.”
“He’s in charge of the key?”
“Yes.”
“And he lost it?”
“Apparently. Or someone stole
it from him.”
“I should talk to him. Is he here?”
“No, but we’ll have him contact you when we find him.”
“He's missing too?"
“Not exactly, but Mr. Vox is often hard to get hold of. Curtis is a genius, the brains, the heart and soul of this company. He keeps his own agenda and we try not to impose an artificial schedule on him.”
“That seems kind of unusual.”
“Curtis is not your usual employee, Mr. Waters. Eyebitz.com is not your usual company. There’s a new way of doing business now, a “new wave,” I like to call it.”
“Well, I do think I should talk to him.”
“Of course.”
“And this computer, the one in the room. Perhaps I should take a look at it so I can get some idea of what I’m looking for.”
“Of course.”
Ricky withdrew his attention from Rolly and returned to his computer, scowled, entered another room in his mind, shutting the rest of them out. The interview was over.
The Zoo
Rolly waited a moment, unsure. Fender shot a glance at him from behind his deep eye sockets and then looked towards the door. Rolly took the hint and walked out, closing the door behind him. Alesis was sitting at her desk, right hand on her chin, index finger extended and touching her nose. She was reading a big glossy magazine titled Italia. She looked even better than she had twenty minutes ago.
“How'd it go?” She smiled at him.
“Well, if you mean, did I get the job, I guess it went fine.” Rolly was still thinking about what it really meant. He felt woozy, a little bit giddy. Thirty times ten thousand. That was three hundred thousand dollars.
Black's Beach Shuffle: A Rolly Waters Mystery Page 4
