“None sir. Please,” Spencer sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just not the slaughterhouse… Is Virgil gonna die?”
The sheriff glanced at his holotab and swiped a command, then cracked his knuckles. The sound was like a hundred chicken legs being broken.
“Probably. All you have to do is answer some questions. Can you do that?”
Before Spencer Hotshine could respond, a tiny port in the ceiling opened and a black, smooth-surfaced microdrone appeared, engaged its antigrav turbines and floated down to eye level. It was a drone Spencer hadn’t seen before. It hovered almost silently. Every other second, a green LED on its belly illuminated, then faded.
“What’s that?” Spencer asked nervously.
“It’s a meadowlark,” said the sheriff dryly. “Otherwise known as a polygraph drone.”
“A poly-graph?”
The sheriff blinked, “College might be something you wanna reconsider one day, son. That drone’s gonna tell me if you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Good. Cause if that light turns red, I’m gonna send you to The Restitution Work Camp in Goodland soon as the drill stops spinning.”
“I’m not gonna lie!” Spencer implored.
“Tell it to the meadowlark,” said the sheriff, scanning his tablet. “Now, what do you know about this girl’s relationship to Virgil Benedict?” The sheriff turned his holotablet so the old image of Tara Dean was facing Spencer’s side of the table.
“You know she’s the bett who stole my hovcar, right?”
The sheriff squinted but did not speak.
“Sorry! You know that. Uhhh…” He winced and scratched his head. “Virgil said he met a girl like her once. A substitute teacher or something. He said he thought she hypnotized him once. But he never knew my Tara.”
“Did he say it was this girl?” The sheriff turned over a piece of paper on the table with a still frame of Tara Dean printed from the closed circuit security feed at Marlene Fossbender’s house.
Spencer only glanced at the image for a second, “No, couldn’t be. That’s Tara Dean too. I’ll never forget that face as long as I live.”
“Hmmmph,” said the sheriff with a nod.
“You said hypnotize him. What are you boys? Hippies? Virginia Rose the name he used?”
Spencer snapped, “Boom! That’s it!”
“Hmmm…” The sheriff grumbled, puffing jane absentmindedly. He set the small electronic joint down and drummed his heavyset fingers on the metal tabletop, “Mr. Hotshine?”
“Yessir?”
“Did Virgil ever talk about a Dax Abner? As in, Abner’s Pumpkin Patch?”
Spencer looked genuinely confused, “No. Not that I remember.”
The sheriff glanced at the hovering polygraph drone. Its light continued to pulse green.
“Hmmmph…” Proudstar put his hands together and leaned forward on his elbows, “So what happened tonight, son? You have three minutes, so don’t run your mouth like a hoverboard. And remember,” he said with a sideways glance at the drone, “You lie, your jollies go in a laser-shredder, pecker first.”
Spencer had been praying to the Great Dog for this chance, “Yes! Fond! Okay!” His leg began shaking and he had to put both hands on his knee, wiggling his toes instead, “I met Virgil about five years ago when…”
The sheriff rapped his knuckles on the table, “That’s great. Now fast forward five years to 8:14 pm this evening. That’s the time-stamp when Virgil’s apartment com notified us that a firearm had been discharged. What were you boys doing with a gun?”
Spencer squeezed his eyes together in concentration. A single, itchy bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
“We were all hanging out, drinking. It was a double date I guess.”
“With Amy Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
“I got there early. Virgil was drunk already. He was smoking an antique joint, which was weird, cause he usually puffs vapor. He was paranoid, going on about how poems never die, poets never die or some art shit. But he showed me the gun earlier this afternoon, talking about needing protection.”
“Around 2:30?”
“Yeah, I took lunch break and went over to pound a javaball cause he said he had something to show me.”
“You mentioned an antique joint,” said the sheriff. “He use a registered vendor?”
“He got it, I dunno. He’s been getting them for a couple years now, pre-rolled like that.”
“Taste local?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mmmm,” growled the sheriff, considering. “So what was he upset about? His girlfriend said they had a fight?”
“Totally. He’s always been bunched up about Adrienne seeing other dudes.” Spencer shrugged, “Addy’s always said she’d be his principal. And she has. She loved him, and his writings or poems and whatever. Any betty loves an artist. But Adrienne saw fellas on the side too. It totally scrambled Virgil, especially when he’d get drunk. He’s gotten nutty about it before, cut his hand punching a window once. But never like this.”
“Did she tell him?”
“Totes. That was Virg’s hangup. Awhile back, Adrienne got busted. Virgil pinged her every day she was in Bmod. She thought it was romantic! So they dated antique style, one on one for a long while. He loved it. Virgil’s always been queer like that. He said Addy was his music.”
“His music?”
“Uh huh,” Spencer nodded.
“You mean his muse.”
“Yeah.” Spencer smiled for the first time in hours, “His muse!”
“I didn’t give you permission to experience joy,” growled the sheriff. “So. She decided to shag another fella. Virgil blew a sensor feed. When?”
“A month ago. He’s some football player.”
“Tony Parsells. Works with her at Purple Tree Farms Float-Through Dispensary on Hovstreet 23.”
“Yep,” Spencer nodded complacently. “That’s the dude. Adrienne pinged Virgil that she couldn’t have dinner just the two of them on Saturday cause she had plans, but we could all kick it Friday. I didn’t see the big dealio, but when Adrienne said she had plans, that meant she had a date.”
The sheriff glanced coolly at the polygraph drone’s steadily pulsing, green light, then asked, “Virgil couldn’t leave well enough alone?”
“No.”
The sheriff grimaced, “What a pansy.”
Spencer shrugged, “It’s like I said, sheriff. He’s a poet. Or a reader of poetry or some such.”
“He’s two cunt hairs short of a adolescent bunny, far as I can tell.”
Spencer Hotshine cleared his throat.
“Well, go on,” grumbled Proudstar. “What happened when the girls arrived?”
Spencer rubbed his hands together, “Okay. Adrienne and Amy got there like twenty minutes after me. Virgil was drunk, faded on jane and pacing about.”
“Did he have the pistol out?”
“Nuh uh, no. I only saw it this afternoon. He had it in the bedroom in his backpack, I guess. The betties had been there all of two minutes before Virgil and Adrienne started fighting, went in the bedroom and closed the door. Shit got hella awkward. I’d just met Amy like two seconds before, but we got on, unscrewed a mason of beer and there was tunes, so whatevs. We just laughed about it.”
“Could you understand what they were saying in the bedroom?”
“Not really. Just a bunch of the usual hollerin.’ Normally if they’d commence to fight, I’d pick myself up and get.” Spencer gestured left and right with his hands, “You know, I could make out slut this and asshole that, and you’re acting like a girl… Normal couple stuff. Then Amy started joking. She’s like to me, Nothing weird about this. Nice to come over and listen to them fight! Maybe we should just go? I was fixin’ to tell her that’s a good idea, but then Addy comes out of the bedroom and slams the door.”
“No Virgil?”
“No Virgil.”
“What did Adrienne Moon say when she came out of the bedroom?”
“Nothing.”
“The girl ain’t mute.”
“Nuh uh. Not then. She’s red in the face, streaks past us, grabs a jar of vodka, goes back to the bedroom. She left the door open this time, hollers somethin’ along the lines of how something and something, it’s her body and she’s keeping their sex alive… She comes back out, slams the door again. I don’t now. Virgil’s quiet now. Then she yells at the door that if he’s really a man, he’ll come hang out like one.”
The sheriff whistled low.
Spencer Hotshine shrugged, “It’s a woman’s world, sheriff. Addy does what she wants. She always been straight with Virg too. You can ask her. She’s never once said he’s the only dude in her day outside o’ love.”
The sheriff picked up his holotablet, speaking absentmindedly as he made a couple of swipes, “In my experience, the harder you try and force a pussy cat to use one litter box, the faster it’s gonna desire a good shit in the woods. Ain’t that right, Talboy?”
Talboy responded curtly, “Yessir.”
Sheriff Proudstar let his holotab fall back on the table. He looked at the still green LED on the hovering polygraph drone.
“All right, Hotshine. We’re about nineteen minutes past three here… so I can put the rest of this together pretty quick, I think, but you might as well finish. What happened after she closed him in the bedroom?”
“I remember he screams she’s a slut again,” Spencer chuckled. “Then the three of us says to hell with it and commence to drinkin’ and smokin’ ourselves. The girls danced for a second. Then Amy wanted to go out to a ganjabar, but Adrienne wanted to wait on Virg, see if he straightened out. So she says we ought to play some Monopoly on the holoset. Then after a few minutes…” Spencer’s lower lip began to shake, eyes falling to the floor.
Sheriff Proudstar’s voice held a modicum of empathy, “Take your time, son.”
Spencer’s eyes were bloodshot when he looked up, “He was real drunk.”
“Take your time.”
Spencer took a deep breath, “Okay, okay. We’re sitting there like I says, and we’re drinkin. I’m gettin’ on pretty well with Amy Miller. Ady and I are buds, so it’s all fly.” He smiled affably, “Ya know, we’re razzin’ Virg pretty fierce through the wall, though. I was too. His best friend…”
Sheriff Proudstar’s voice was steady, “What happened next?”
Spencer’s gaze trailed off, “Ya know, he been in there hitting the vodka, hard. I didn’t know he was depressed, he takes Pleasium all the time, right? It was just a muffled POP! Amy’s head went like a firecracker, blood in my eyes and skull bits and body stuff’s all over. I thought it was some kinda joke at first. There was so much red… I didn’t…”
The sheriff held up a finger to silence Spencer.
He leaned over and looked at Deputy Talboy who had begun shifting nervously as he listened to his com, “Bullfrog in your britches, Talboy?”
Talboy looked at the sheriff uneasily, “Sir, we’ve got a situation…”
Several seconds passed.
The sheriff gestured with an open hand, “Well…?”
Deputy Talboy took a couple of steps away from the door, obviously agitated, “Perhaps we should speak in private?”
“I don’t have time for private,” said the sheriff, nodding at Spencer. “This kid couldn’t remember his own name if it wasn’t welded to his jaw. I need these details while they’re fresh. What gives?”
“Sir, Everquist says you should be getting an encrypted prelim on your holo now…”
The sheriff frowned, looked quickly at his holotablet, then back at Talboy, “Don’t make me read. Speak, deputy!”
“We just had a citizen ping a 901A on an LPD beat cop!”
The sheriff’s face froze, aside from the twitching of his gray mustache, “Say again?”
“I know, I don’t know!” Talboy blurted. “Everquist is pinging again, hang on…” Talboy tapped his combud and listened for a few seconds more, then came back, “All right. This is streaming my ear now. An officer at Ninth and New Hampshire apparently just walked into the middle of the intersection, drew her sidearm and shot herself!”
Spencer Hotshine’s knee began bouncing with renewed anxiety. The sheriff showed no emotion. He tapped his holotab, passed his palm across the glass, unlocking the encrypted message.
“Jeeezus…” he said slowly. He tapped the holotablet once more and the tiny black polygraph drone returned to the ceiling and disappeared. “Talboy, get down there,” the sheriff barked. “Yesterday! I want a sealed perimeter and two armed COD’s running molecular refraction on every corner in five minutes. Now, now, now!”
“Yes sir!” said Brick Talboy, suddenly all business.
As Talboy vanished, Sheriff Proudstar stood for the first time. Spencer Hotshine sunk into his chair at the size of the man.
The sheriff walked around the table, “Son, we’re gonna have to cut this short. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Wait!” cried Spencer. “What about Virgil!?” Spencer reached out and clasped the sheriff’s wrist, “What’s about my buddy!?”
The sheriff slammed Spencer Hotshine’s arm to the table.
“Ouch!”
Proudstar pinned Spencer’s wrist like a rubber hose in a vise, “Unless you’re of a desire to lose a limb, Hotshine, just don’t do that.”
He let him go.
“I’m sorry!” blurted Spencer, rubbing his wrist. “I just… When can I see Virg?”
The sheriff faced him squarely, “Never is when.”
“But I…”
“You got it or not?” he said, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Never.”
Spencer collapsed, “I got it, okay.”
The sheriff sighed. He pulled the e-joint from behind his ear and took a hit, exhaled.
His voice softened, “Your friend has got himself wrapped up in some mean, mean sky, son. If he lives, he’ll face the magistrate and be swinging a pneumatic hammer against moon rock at Hypatia 5 for the rest of his days.”
Spencer closed his eyes, slouching, “Hypatia… dude. What if he dies?”
“Then he’s lucky…” the sheriff’s voice trailed off.
Spencer barely mumbled, “Yeah.”
Sheriff Proudstar opened the door and stepped halfway through, then turned back, “Someone will be by for you soon. Good luck.”
The door closed with a tight magnetic seal and the Sheriff of Douglas County, Kansas, was gone from Spencer Hotshine’s life.
Friday, October 15, 2082 10:27 pm – Fourteen Hours Before Event.
The holoscreen’s modulating splashes of light reflected weakly off the aquarium’s dark glass, casting a diffused glow. Only one of the six monitors was active. An infrared topographic map was projected, streaming data from one of the private drones patrolling the skies above. An orange line bisected the display, representing the heat signature of County Hovroad 1500. The flat harvest rich fields that composed the two kilometers of land between the hovroad and the farmhouse were a lime green color, bare earth yet warm from the day’s sun. The farmhouse glowed like a little yellow shoebox on IR, and the wall of trees that made up the woods between the farm and the Kansas River were a deep green, accented by a curving, fat purple line that represented the river itself.
The London Digital Philharmonic’s rendition of Kashmir by the antique, 20th century instrument band Led Zeppelin echoed softly through the air. Dax Abner was known for being an ardent classical music enthusiast. Joan’s habitat was tomb black, only the wan light of a SimulSun© new moon shining its weak beams down through the crystal water. The massive saltwater filtration mechanism whirred steadily, accented by an occasional beep or wonk from the supercomputer’s coolant room. Even surrounded by meters of rubcrete insulation, the temporal hum of the fusion generator pushed a mild static through the air.
The mens’ voices were su
bdued.
“I know you wanted to talk shop, but I’m glad you understand,” said William. “I needed you to hear me say it, I’m sorry.”
He took another drink and set his mason of vodka on the glass holodesk beside his rifle. He was grateful for the low lights.
Dax sat in the second control room chair, his patient demeanor radiating as though he were a man of the cloth, “She wanted you. Just because she is bonded to me doesn’t mean she can’t be with another.”
“You oughta hate me.”
Dax glanced at the vaporjoint glowing in his own hand, then calmly locked William’s eyes, “It’s not like you had a choice in the matter. Besides, if all it took was another man’s hands on my woman to make me feel threatened,” he gestured at the dark aquarium, “would I be able to create all this?”
“I suppose not,” conceded William. “It wasn’t my intent. You know Tara.”
“You’re worried about Dorothy. You know, surely, about the girls?”
“That’s different.”
“I suppose the four of us will have to sit down at some point soon and have a chat, like adults. But tonight, let the ladies dance, and…” Dax eyed his Rodeo Drive joint with a smile, “Let us inebriate ourselves!”
William grinned, “Hah! This is the good stuff. To a peaceful night.”
Dax nodded, “To a peaceful night.”
“So tell me. This new tech?”
“Did you read the stream I sent last week?” asked Dax, genuinely curious.
“Been a little busy, boss.”
“Ahhh.” Dax puffed the vaporjoint, causing its synthdiamond tip to glow blue, “What say we have Joan paraphrase for us?”
“Do it,” said William, raising his glass with a smile.
Dax turned towards the aquarium and tapped his combud, “Joan, darling?”
Both men turned their chairs and faced the colossal curved glass wall of the dolphin habitat.
Several seconds passed. The music faded. A silver flash moved swiftly through the water. Bubbles filtered upwards, barely visible. This time, a flash came close and William caught a glimpse of her form as the SimulSun© lights booted. The whitish-yellow sand began to glow beautifully beneath the thin shadows of waving kelp. A cybernetic starfish clung to the inside of the glass. The creature’s rotary-bristled mouth scraped steadily away at any algae deposits. Joan was fastidious about, if not somewhat preoccupied with, habitat cleanliness.
Absorption: Phase 03 (The Eighteenth Shadow) Page 8
