The Odd Jobs

Prelude to Chapter 12 of The Found Arcana

Astrid astray

<<Saturday Afternoon - 14:00 - April 29, 2079 - Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex>>

Heather lives in the neighborhood, two streets away. She is a bit older, her husband is no longer with her, but Astrid is keeping her company. Astrid is a beautiful tabby cat with gray fur. Edie sometimes visits her, chatting about missing husbands and all things past and current, or playing Backgammon.

As it happens, one day near the end of april, Astrid is gone. Concerned, Heather calls Edie. Maybe the Highland Neighborhood Watch can help find her beloved pet? But Edie has an even better idea! There is this investigation agency after all. Let's find out what they can do. Surely, they will do this 'pro bono', right?

Well, SIS typically gets paid for their work, but doing a little favor that will get them more into the good graces of the neighborhood can't be a bad idea, either. And the last two weeks have been fairly slow, anyways. So, they accept and start thinking about how to find the missing cat.

Since their neighbors do not know much about their magical capabilities, they decide to try some mundane methods first.

AM immediately begins with a search for notes about found strays, but nothing recent comes up. There is a cat that fits the description currently in the animal shelter, she worked at for a bit, but it has been there for at least a month, already, so it cannot be Astrid. But maybe Heather won't notice? No, surely she will.

Tamarind sends out some of her drones that are cleared for the neighborhood, while Rachel simply heads out to ask some people on the street in the area where Heather lives, but it is looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Chances are miniscule, but you never know. Tamarind does have another idea, though. Sakura Security must have access to surveillance cameras throughout the neighborhood.

Bobby and Mato go and visit Sakutaro from Sakura Security at their headquarter. Maybe they can search through some of the security footage, of the public areas at least, if they ask nicely. Luckily, Sakutaro is very much a role model of customer service, and while the request is a bit unusual, it is not illegal to search through the material for a missing cat.

Since they can narrow Astrid's escape down to a few hours, it does not even take that long to find something. And there she is, full of curiosity, jumping into the bed of a white Toyota Gopher pickup truck, that is parked around the corner. Unfortunately, the truck drives off a bit later, with Astrid still on it.

Keeping an eye out on the area with her drones, Tamarind spots the truck again on the next day. It seems to belong to a small maintenance company. It's no problem for her to follow it back home later that day to a place in Snohomish.

The problem is little Phoebe, a fierce seven-year-old, who adopted "Mister Scratches" (as she calls Astrid, the parents didn't quite have the heart to tell her, that the cat is a she) when her dad arrived together with Astrid the other day.

A plan is quickly formed, involving Bobby as the cat's body double, waiting nearby to replace Astrid for a while. In the meantime, Raven invisibly watches the house from a safe distance with her binoculars, with Tamarind and AM on overwatch from the van, parked a few streets away. Mato is staying ready in a car in the vincinity.

After sending a magical suggestion to Astrid to get outside through an open window and around the house, the switch is made before the Bobby-cat gets brought back in to keep the family from searching. Meanwhile, Mato picks up Astrid, who does not like the whole situation very much. Good thing that his cyberarms are scratch-resistance. Phoebe was on to something with her name for Astrid.

With Mato busy keeping Astrid from running away, Rachel has to drive the car, and she is not a very good driver by any means. But it's good to get some practice.

Once Phoebe is asleep, Bobby escapes with ease. Before vanishing themselves, AM and Tamarind leave a subtle hint towards the animal shelter, maybe the family will pick up a new cat for Phoebe that way and everyone is happy.

Astrid can be reunited with Heather, who has prepared a delicious, big strawberry tart (with real strawberries) as a thank you for the team.

AM’s private Journal: Entry name: Carla and Francesco.
File created May 2nd, last update May 14th.

May 2nd:
The moon was a slither of light, and the street became utterly dark. Most lighting posts were destroyed in a gang war, and only a handful were repaired. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but my magical lodge is there, and I have been practicing my spellcasting abilities all day after an early boxing session. It has become late, and I decided to stay the night out of nostalgia—my heart races when there is a knock on the door. Trouble was conveniently elsewhere, playing at the Funhouse with the other spirits, so I did not have an early warning. I opened the door to an elegant woman in a cheap business suit who did not belong on Redmond Street at night stood at the door. Her eyes were heavy with worry, and her heart was weighed down by suspicion, as my astral senses confirmed.

I quickly asked her in. Come in! A client? What else could she be? I bring her some tissues and seat her in the kitchen, suggesting a cup of tea. I came to sit with her and set the table. “Welcome to SIS...” I said with my practiced voice. However, I wasn’t expecting a client after dark, so I had already showered and switched to my pajamas that could double my running outfit if I was lazy. Her name was Carla, a recently wed woman. Her wedding ring still shines on her finger, another reason she shouldn’t be walking Redmond at night. Even if it is Touristville, and the Halloweeners are wiped out... It appears that her husband, Francesco, a successful businessman, had been acting strangely of late, disappearing for hours on end with flimsy excuses and returning home with a distant look in his eyes. "Please," Carla pleaded, her voice trembling slightly, "I need your help. I suspect my husband is cheating on me, and I can't bear the uncertainty any longer." So it happens yet again, the old story sometimes I feel like I am the only person that keeps it in her pants in this entire city. Marrying was not such a bright idea. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Carla. It is a bit pricey, I sigh. One grand paid in advance." I say, figuring out it is as much as I can get out of her. She nods and slides a credstick on the table after loading it with the right amount. She did not even haggle, perhaps I could have gotten more. “Just be discrete; nobody can know,” she whispers. As if there is anyone else in the house. She gave me a few details, and then she was gone just as she appeared. Her link number and credit on the table were the only real indications that she was ever there.

I looked at the credstick, and sighed. Delving into Francesco's digital footprint before I can sleep. I needed to get enough leads for the groundwork, tomorrow. Document the bastard in the act, and get poor Carla the closure she needed. I mean, she was embarrassed and desperate enough to pay a generous sum in advance. The least I could do is rush it as much as possible.


Entry 2: Updated May 14th.
We have done it a million times in the past. Mato meticulously analyzed Francesco's routines from the Trix data I extracted, searching for inconsistencies. It took us about two weeks to figure it out. As time passed, the evidence started to trickle in. Strange phone calls at odd hours, clandestine meetings – all pointed towards a covert affair. Carla's worst fears seemed to be spot on, and we’ll soon have bad news and pictures. Yet another shitty day as a detective...

We zoomed in on Francesco until we could catch him in the act! He had a secret meeting in a studio downtown. Francesco’s link was left at work, which is why it took us a while to catch him. The man is good at keeping secrets. Tamarind’s drones confirmed he entered the place. He’ll stay for a couple of hours and then back to the office and home. This is what he did last week, and as Mato notes perhaps the weeks before that—same time leaps of not answering messages between 22:00 to midnight.

The man does not break the routine; Raven and Bobby wait in the car beside the studio. Bobby covertly opens one of the windows to allow one of the drones to enter. Raven and Bobby are chatting; there is always much time to kill. At least I hope they were chatting - Bobby could have done his sleepless trance thing or changed into a dog, leaving Raven alone with her thoughts. I am not there; I don’t know. I am in the Trix working on the file, and we’ll hand it to Carla tomorrow from the comfort of my home.
From the drone feed: Francesco is dancing with another woman. He is dancing, and he is pretty good. Is that Tango? I don’t know how to dance. We take a few pictures of them dancing, waiting for a kiss, or better yet, catching them in the act; after all, he has an attractive-looking lady alone in a studio well after opening hours. Time passes and passes, and no kiss and no sex. They dance for two hours straight. He pays the woman and leaves.

Once Francesco leaves, Raven confronts the woman. Her acting skills are amazing really. “He has a wife!” I imagine her accusing the well dressed woman. The woman's reaction would tell us everything we need to know. I imagine the woman’s lips curl “and boy what a surprise he’ll have for her birthday.” then I guess Raven is looking puzzled “What?” and the woman explains ”They are going dancing together for the first time.” She hands her business card. “In case you want to learn how to dance.” Raven texts me that card. >>AM, we have nothing. Let's do more intrusive measures. They are only dancing but why so secret?
She means that I should hack his phone... I have about 20 minutes until he gets to his link, so the risk is minimal. I hacked and searched for messages and texts from the suspected number. We’ll need court-admissible evidence, so there will be no hacking, but let us see if there is hope. Two weeks is way too long for this thing.

">>He's not cheating," I exclaim, "He's been attending dance classes!" as I call Raven and Bobby back. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Francesco's mysterious disappearances were indeed in the arms of another woman, but they waltz and the tango together and nothing more. There is seriously nothing inappropriate in all their texting history—just meetings at odd hours when he can skip work and generous payments for a dance class. I research the woman to verify that she is indeed a dance instructor rather than a prostitute or something.

The next evening, we met with Carla at SIS. This time before dark. Carla's relief was palpable as the truth unfolded before her. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks as she realized the depth of her husband's devotion. Francesco had been keeping his passion for dance – a testament to his desire to surprise her at her birthday party. A birthday present of sorts. I gave her our file, leaving out anything I obtained illegally. Pictures of them dancing, the report of Raven from her confession, and a verification that the woman (Tara) is indeed a dance instructor.

I am usually very cynical, but it warmed my heart. What I can say is that it is so nice to deliver good news for a change, and they seem like such a cute couple. To imagine the overworked Francesco going out of his way to surprise his newlywed wife is painfully good. It gives me a little hope that not all married men are terrible, and hope is what destroys people. Then again, perhaps they'll have their affairs if we give them a few years. Let them get past their honeymoon phase.


How terrible of me to think; I’ll sign out now.

AM.

Seattle Metroplex, Downtown, Ares Entertainment Megaplex - April 16, 2079 - 2305h

It wasn't one of SIS core competencies, but providing personal protection was within the scope of the small agency. Especially for clients who didn't have the connections or the money to ask one of the major security and mercenary service providers.

Tica Tica was a native of Redmond and at the very cusp of escaping the crab bucket for good. Her trog rock inspired neo jazz performance together with her little little sister and brother had gotten the trio the attention of the matrix and subsequently an invitation to the Battle of the Bands. The Trix show was in its 25th season, but still a quick way to stardom.

All the Tica trio had to do was show up on time keep their act together and impress the judges.
Tica was sure that the last part was probably the easiest. Her former gang "friends" - especially the boss - were not amused to be abandoned and cut of from revenue. Likewise some of the competitors knew of the amazing act and had sent some very nasty and threatening messages.

The SIS team had discussed the job:
- preparation time: Zero, the show was this evening
- payment: A hope and a prayer, the trio didn't have yet a crumbled Nuyen to their name, but promised payment after receiving their contract
- risk: High, as the gang Hanged Romeos were not known for subtlety.

Of course the team decided to do the job, because it looked fun and was a chance to get into the AE Megaplex and behind the scenes.

Even without a plan, nothing went accordingly: The production company refused to let in more support staff than the band had members. For SIS that meant only Mato, AM and Raven were going with them - officially. Tamarind was content to stay in the parking garage and send out most of her drones with the equipment of the band. Bobby just turned into a cockroach and went in Mato's pocket.

The area was huge - thousands of people were around, involved in various shows and productions. Wage mages had a few lazy excuses for watcher constructs patrolling about and some retired KE personal were around for boots on the ground security. Not particularly reassuring.

Tica and her siblings were nervous. Just a minute before she had received another threat, that the three of them would burn. Mato had tried to reassure them that this was probably just an attempt to unnerve them shortly before their big show, but AM quietly informed the team, that according to her trace, the message had originated within 100m.

Quickly, it was decided, Mato would stay with the band to shield them if necessary. AM went into a broom closet, trying to pinpoint who had sent the message, while Rachel and Tamarind used their respective minions to search for threats.

Bobby had figured out a way to get around after seeing a bunch of support animals in attendance. He changed into a Labrador and asked Rachel to improvise a fitting vest for him to make him look official.

Afterwards, Bobby and Mato couldn't agree on who sniffed the IED first, but it was Bobby took it into his mouth and ran out into the studio where they were just putting a promo for Cannibal Love Island together.

Later, AM managed to get a copy of the file that showed the huge black dog bounding into the swimming pool where Istvan Beylie - one of the few Ghouls who made it in the entertainment circle - and the group of 12 bikini clad bachelorettes were engaged in a heated game if water polo.

Bobby managed to get out of the pool, before the device exploded. Thankfully, the incendiaries didn't catch and there wasn't much more damage than a huge plume of water, a leaking pool and a bunch of freaked out 20- somethings.

Meanwhile, Mato kept Tica from panicking and got them on stage. Tamarind found with AM's directions the two gangers that had disguised themselves as janitors. Rachel's spirit pinned them down until security arrived.

Tica made it through the first round and was invited for the next part, going of to Los Angeles.

The team did not tell anyone about the bomb and instead decided to let the security guys have the glory for apprehending some trespassers.

All agreed it had been a fun outing, but next time they would just have some fun dancing at a club.

<<Tuesday Noon - 12:02 - May 2, 2079 - Bellevue, Seattle Metroplex>>

Mato emerges from two weeks in a vat receiving gene therapy. His genes are now aligned with his reaction enhancers, allowing him another fraction of a second to act. How was it?

"A lot of downtime," he says. "You're floating in a vat. It's easy to drift off, but with the sleep regulator I don't need much sleep. Luckily they had trodes all over me to monitor me, one of which was able to provide DNI to a commlink outside the vat. So, I got a lot of reading done."

He's reviewing the agency's books for April. "The installment payment from the Hacker's Club kept us in the black for the month," he says mostly to himself. "Without it we would be balancing ¥5,000 of income against ¥2,000 in office space and ¥9,800 in residential costs. Don't need a math SPU to see that doesn't offset. It's really these large projects that pay our bills. It does feel strange when 95% of our working hours only earn us 5% of our income."

Feeling like he can't turn down work, even distasteful work, he accepts a typical job: catch a cheating spouse. Mr. Johnson is convinced that his husband is having an affair and wanted evidence. However the husband, Mark, is a security consultant and thus quite adept at covering his trail.

Or is there nothing to find? Mato, having kept notes for all these months about the extramarital affairs that SIS has investigated, knows that women are correct in their hunches 80-90% of the time. The female intuition is strong when it comes to detecting that something is off. But the male clients have a track record closer to 50/50, often suspecting something when there was a more mundane explanation available. Maybe there won't be anything to find, Mato thinks hopefully.

AM, magically enhanced, finds that Mark's commlink is clean as a whistle. Tamarind - trailing Mark with a leapfrog combination of Beauty, Pellipers, and Aunties - spies that Mark's commlink doesn't match the model of what AM hacked. Ahh, a second commlink. The burner is more revealing, and includes a hotel reservation for one day - a Tuesday, in a hotel not far from Mark's home - which is enough of a lead to investigate.

That's how Mato finds himself looking up at the hotel, a modern column of glass and steel. But the hotel has decent security to protect its corporate guests, and Mato doesn't feel like being inside will be helpful. What he really wants to do is look in the window, which is why he turns around and studies the much older brick building across the street, the one whose roof will have a good angle on the reserved room.

Why can't Tamarind do this with her drones? Mato wonders. Dramatic license is the real answer, but we'll say it has something to do with powerful jammers that Mark uses combined with Tamarind being occupied elsewhere.

The question now is how to get to the roof of the brick building. Mato, having been stuck in a vat for two weeks, is eager for some movement. He's been working on his parkour recently and only yesterday mastered the kip-up technique that Cutty taught him. His hydraulic jacks give him an advantage, as do his retractable climbing claws. He steps into the alley.

Mato studies the building, eyes tracing a route along balconies, window ledges, and mortar lines, identifying potential handholds and footholds. With a confident push-off, he launches himself up to a fire escape, his body a blur of controlled movement. Retractable claws dig into a rough ledge, arms pulling him up with superhuman strength. Legs scissor, finding purchase on a narrow protrusion, propelling him upwards like a spider scaling a wall. Each movement is precise, efficient, a silent conversation between Mato and the unyielding brick. Heartbeat a steady rhythm in his ears, Mato ascends, a fleeting silhouette against the noontime sky.

Reaching the roof, Mato finds what he's looking for: a clear sightline into the hotel room, where Mark is in flagrante delicto. What's curious though is that Mark's enthusiastic partner is a woman.

"Oh, Mr. Johnson's not going to like this," Mato sighs, setting his cybereyes to record. He zooms in with his vision magnification. He doesn't take much effort to stabilize the image; clients often feel that a certain degree of shakiness made the footage more authentic, and thus less likely to be fake. He sets up a laser mic, aiming it at the window, but Mark has set up a small sonic generator to create vibrations in the glass, defeating the mic.

If he's smart enough to do that, why isn't he smart enough to close the blinds? Mato wonders. Perhaps he got distracted.

Mato does not enjoy being a Peeping Tom, even if he is technically a professional Peeping Tom. He zooms in on Mark's face in the throes of ecstacy, but feels nothing himself. Mato's cybernetic enhancements are so thorough that his humanity hangs by a thread. He long ago left behind strong emotions, and there's no longer a driving instinct to reproduce. All this romping around the hotel room is just mechanics to him, biophysics in motion.

The deed is done. Mato turns to leave before Mark - no longer distracted - can look out the window and see that he is being observed. Perhaps it wouldn't really matter, as Mark will soon find out from Mr. Johnson, but Mato prefers a "leave no trace" ethos in his work. He goes to the edge of the building, drops down a body length onto a ledge below, then does so again, then drops 6 meters to the alleyway, letting his hydraulic jacks absorb the blow. He walks out of the alley, composing a message to deliver the bad news as gently as possible.

The grime was feeling thick on Tamarind’s spirit today.

At first Tamarind had disliked the high-stakes jobs that SIS got involved in. They seemed unnecessarily risky and high-profile, something that she’d learned were dangerous when she had supported smugglers. It was one operation getting too high profile that had resulted in her getting caught, burning her old life, and tangled up with Captain Razak’s schemes.

But then she’d done the math. What those paid, versus what the routine cases paid, how much time those took versus what the routine cases took, and maybe most importantly the emotional toll that they took versus what routine cases took. Dealing with the tarot cards or investigating politicians was stressful and dangerous, but those cases had been well paying, fairly quick, and hadn’t been too depressing.

By contrast there was what she’d been doing lately, which was drone tracking of suspected marital infidelity. AM provided most of the hacking of links and vehicles to lay the groundwork, but drones were the best for actual photo and video proof in many cases, which was why she was on her fifth case in three weeks.

Two of the targets had been innocent adultery so far as SIS had found, but one of those had instead been hiding a gambling addiction that was about to lead to the life of the client and target collapsing disastrously. The one who had been taking dancing lessons was heart warming, of course.

Of the two who were confirmed to have been cheating, one was having an affair with a friend’s wife, the other with a subordinate at work. SIS just passed on the evidence and let the client do what they wanted with it, but both situations seemed likely to destroy multiple relationships, friendships, and/or careers. SIS didn’t make these people do what they were doing, it didn’t accuse them, really had nothing to do with the situation other than making it clear that there was a situation. It wasn’t their fault in the least. But yet she couldn’t shake this grimy feeling in her spirit from exposing people’s secrets and handing often angry clients a match that could blow up so many lives.

+ + + + + + + + +

This latest case didn’t look like it would be any more cheerful. Every case was different, but also so much the same.

The client this time was an orcish woman, who said her husband had told her he was getting extra hours at the bus maintenance deport where he worked – but she’d checked, and that wasn’t true. Her husband was the most baby-faced orc Tamarind had ever seen, and she had hoped that he was innocent, that maybe he’d started hitting the gym or picked up a part-time job to bring a bit extra.

But sure enough AM had traced his car to a worn out neighbourhood near the Sea-Tac airport. It was a neighbourhood full of low rise apartments, houses that had been turned into multiple apartments, and the sorts of businesses that eked out a small profit off people who couldn’t afford a place in any better neighbourhood. It reminded Tamarind a bit of Butte Below, but with rain clouds providing the gloom instead the cavern roof.

Two days ago she’d filmed him entering a particular eight-unit apartment building. She hadn’t been able to follow him in with a drone– he’d been quick to shut the door behind himself. But she’d gotten a number of drones into the building shortly after, and had spotted the apartment he’d come out of. Later AM had worked her magic and had found a link in the apartment, a link which was suspiciously empty of content. And then the link had been turned off entirely. A bit more investigation had revealed that the attached ID was almost certainly a low quality fake due to the complete lack of public history attached to the name. It was certainly all consistent with someone taking pains to cover up an affair.

Around noon today, Tamarind had managed to catch a few images of a woman going into the apartment. Human, likely close to Tamarind’s age but not so weathered. Tamarind thought she had a hard look to her eye, but that might have been the lighting or it might have been her projecting. Tamarind really tried not to think about the relationships of their clients nor their targets, but she couldn’t help imagining that this woman would be a cruel dominant partner, enjoying her power over an orc.

Their target had left work not long ago and should arrive soon, so Tamarind was sitting in a small bar down the block, practicing messing with RFID and AROs on her bottle of non-alcoholic beer while she waited for an opportunity to slide a drone into the apartment. Today she’d get the proof that would close the case, and tomorrow she could wallow in some fresh grime. AM messaged that their target’s Nissan Jackrabbit was about five to six minutes away, and Tamarind put aside her beer and straightened up as she checked in with various drones.

She hadn’t even finished that check when the apartment doorway into the hall opened up, and the woman stepped out. Tamarind ordered the remote control toy-mouse that she’d stuck in a light fixture to briefly buzz around, and of course the woman looked up at the sound, trying to place it. While she was distracted Tamarind took control of the Kanmushi that had been clinging to the side of the doorframe. With the ease of long practice she had it move at a steady but reasonably brisk pace into the apartment and up against the inside wall.

In the blurry video that Aunty-1 was sending from inside another (unfortunately dirty) light fixture, it looked like the woman was frowning, but without further investigation she closed the apartment door and walked out of the building. What was this about? Shouldn’t she have been waiting for their target to meet her there? Tamarind moved the Pelipers from their semi-random following of approved major delivery corridors, with Peliper 1 coming to perch on the roof of the apartment building where it could survey the street below, and Peliper 2 running a wider radius, hopefully able to follow if she got into the Jackrabbit with their target and moved to another location.

Meanwhile, she had her Kanmushi in the apartment scan for signs of anyone else, and finding nobody start looking around. It was a bit hard to tell in the feed from the little bug drone, but it looked like the apartment had a fresh coat of paint and furniture that was in fairly good condition. As she’d figured based on windows, the apartment had one bedroom, and after the little drone scuttled there it found a neatly made king sized bed. Something felt off, and after a moment she realized what it was – there was no dresser, only a wash stand. Otherwise the apartment seemed reasonably furnished, and the bed looked pretty decent, so this made her start to get worried.

Glancing back at the Pelipper she saw that the woman was entering the bar. Tamarind got the feeling that drek and fans were getting in close proximity.

+ + + + + + + + +

The woman briefly talked with the bartender, their discussion masked by the ten-year-old pop music playing on the sound system. She acquired a beer, then wandered over to the small seating area … and straight to Tamarind’s table. The way that the woman moved, Tamarind had no doubt that she knew how to fight, and seen in person her thinness looked more athletic than underfed. Double drek. Tamarind wondered how long it would take Bobby to fly here, if she sent out an urgent appeal?

“I haven’t seen you around in here before. You move into the area recently?”

Tamarind had been practicing lying to the mirror, but she knew that her skills were still questionable for bluffing a five year old, and she certainly didn’t trust them with a cynical adult. Best to stick to the truth as much as possible. “No, just needed a place to hang out for a bit.”

“Not exactly a popular place with non-locals. You must have a reason for being in the area. You a cop?”

“What? No! Like the Pawns would take me, anyway.”

“You better not be lying to me. And you better give me an explanation.”

Tamarind did have a back-up story ready, she just wasn’t sure how well she could sell it. “I-I-I just needed to be kind of near the airport. See, I’m minding some drones that are watching it, for any of a few particular private jets to arrive or leave. There are people who will pay a bit for that info, sometimes.”

The woman sneered “Drones watching the airport? You need a better story than that, sister. You sure you aren’t working?”

“I am working, minding my drones!”

“Don’t play dumb. Are you sure that you aren’t hoping for some guy to come along and offer to buy you a drink? And that maybe you could turn that into a couple of drinks, then an offer to pay you to go home with him?”

Tamarind just stared at the woman for a long moment, trying to absorb this twist in the conversation. It finally hit home, the woman was accusing her of being a prostitute. Tamarind broke into a laugh, and finally managed to gasp out “Me? Sweetie, the last time someone offered to buy ME a drink, Gene Simone was still president!”

The other woman was markedly not laughing. “You aren’t so bad. Most of the guys who come here after work would only care that you have the right hole, no matter what they thought of your looks. But two things. One, you didn’t ask permission to work here, which is probably going to get you into trouble soon. Two, with a bit of guidance you could do a lot better. You are native, right?”

Tamarind was too bewildered to even guess if she should be honest, and besides it was all over her face. “Yes.”

“You speak any Salish, or whatever they call it?”

Tamarind was beginning to feel like the two of them were trains on parallel tracks. Near, but never meeting. “I speak some Sioux languages.” In AR from Pelipper-1 she’d just seen her target’s Jackrabbit race into the small parking lot serving the building, and their target unfolding himself from the sub-compact then dashing into the building.

“Good enough, customers wouldn’t really care. We dress you up more native, get you a good working name like you are a mystic wise-woman or something, and you could do decent. I’m not talking quick dips from the scum in this place, I mean setting up arrangements with repeat customers, gentlemen of some means who would feel sophisticated, and willing to pay well for the privilege. You could start off small with just one, but when you get the hang of stringing them along you could work up to a stable of four or five. I provide clean and secure apartments and help set up the arrangements.”

Tamarind struggled not to laugh, as it all began to make sense. This woman was a pimp of sorts. No dresser in the apartment because nobody lived there. And their target was not having an affair with this woman, he was her customer. “I have a job already, really!”

“A lot of people do, but are looking to make a bit more on the side. One or two discreet sessions a week can be a good supplement to your income, and if you do well you’d have the option of quitting your grind and going full time.”

In AR Tamarind noted an auto-cab from a better company than she’d expect around here drop off a human male with a greying beard and a well cut suit. He straightened his jacket then went to the door and after a moment entered. Suddenly she had no doubt which apartment he was headed to. This made more sense -- their target wasn’t a client, he was a part time sex worker.

She was about to make excuses and then run out of the bar. Then it hit her, she wasn’t really under a threat, and she very much wanted to get her Kanmushi back out after it finished gathering evidence and that would be easier if she was nearby. And this woman was running what seemed like a less predatory racket than many, in a tough and dangerous business. “No, really, I do work with drones, sometimes just food delivery, but whatever other work comes along too. I have a deal with ‘Little’ Tony so that I don’t get in trouble for doing deliveries. I’m impressed by the business you’ve put together though, this must be challenging! I assume you have an arrangement of your own to deal with, for starters?”

The woman didn’t quite smile, but her face softened. “Of course. I’m not stupid, and if you did partner with me you’d be safe because of it, without ever having to deal with them directly. Little Tony wouldn’t have any idea about your other revenue stream. It’s a good deal, so good that I’m getting interested in why you aren’t interested.” Tamarind was sure she heard a threat in that comment.

Tamarind mentally grabbed a few seconds of video showing baby-face and older gentleman already removing clothes, and forwarded it to team matrix storage. Maybe most days she had to be as much of a fly-on-the-wall as her Kanmushis, but maybe today she could go to sleep feeling just a little less filthy.

“Look, it sounds like you are good at a tough profession. I don’t want to make your life tougher. I’m not a cop, but I am a private detective. And based on the evidence that I’ve gathered and filed already, your ‘partner’ in unit 2e is about to have a lot of issues with his wife. I’m guessing this won’t be the first time that any of your recruits have had this sort of problem, so hopefully you knowing in advance will let you plan how to keep it from blowing things up.”

The woman looked Tamarind over, then commented “Ballsy. Or stupid. Or you have tricks that aren’t obvious. Or you are a good bluffer.”

“I have three drones mounting tasers with me, and I have already moved the incriminating video to my agency’s files.” She ordered Uncle to fly up from where it had been resting between her feet, and hover by her shoulder “That is one that you can see.”

The woman gave her a calculating look, then asked “You got a name, detective lady?”

Tamarind realized that she really should have a fake name ready for such situations. Then she remembered that Tamarind was a nickname anyway. “Tamarind. You?”
“You can call me ‘Singapore’. You told the wife yet?”

Fake name for fake name. Fair enough. “Nope. Have to put it all together, write up a report. Probably ready tomorrow, maybe the day after depending on how late I get back to the office tonight and how hung over I am in the morning. Then have to arrange an open time to meet with the wife, could be another day. You know how things are, it is amazing how slow things can go sometimes. My co-workers will deal with it if I’m slower than that, of course.”

Singapore gave a crooked smile, and commented “Of course. Two days? I can work with that. Looks like you are about to break your dry spell on nobody buying you a drink.” She held up two fingers to the bartender.

“Sweet. I’ll call a co-worker to come pick me up later. And I’m curious, how do you find your ‘partners’? Surely they don’t all just wander into this bar? You must have a real instinct for that part of the business!”

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me how to avoid snoopy drones messing with my business.”

The bartender arrived with the beers, and Tamarind held hers up to knock together. “Deal.”

<<Mato, could you swing by ‘My Uncle’s Place’ in a couple of hours? 259 8th Avenue South. I’m probably going to be drunk, hopefully unharmed, but not trusting walking to van safely.>>