The Unsung Frame, page 20
part #2 of The Synth Crisis Series
“You know if we find him he’s dead, right?” Aaron said.
“Yeah, but if you get him alive, that would be better for both of us. I can pull his fingernails out, and you would be there to question him on his businesses,” Dhata said.
“You funny, detective,” Aaron said, laughing. “If you wasn’t playing John you’d make a very good hool. Still, we’ll see what we can do, alright? But if it’s easier to kill him, he’s dead.”
“Oh, wait, Aaron, one more thing,” Dhata said. “He wears a bracelet that I want. If you end up killing him, hold it for me. It has that tracker that I showed you. If the FBI finds it on a detective’s corpse, they will tie me up for conspiracy and then we all lose.”
“Consider it done,” he said and then hung up the phone.
Dhata leaned back and exhaled. Things are going crazy again, but I need to stick to the plan. I’ll let Aaron handle Cole, but I need to go, he thought.
The address that Michael Lawrence provided took Dhata to a community center in Riverview. The building shared a plot of land with a church and several other portable buildings. Both the center and the church were old brick constructs, the church appearing to have been abandoned for quite some time.
It was 6:50 p.m., and the lights on the street were on, but the lot maintained a darkness that they couldn’t penetrate. Dhata walked up to the large, multi-windowed community center, and tried to have a peek inside. But the windows were made of a translucent material that made it impossible to see.
He walked around to the front and found the door, but stopped when he saw what it was. He knew the buildings were old, but he was surprised to find a traditional wooden door with a handle.
He felt as if he had stepped back in time. No wonder no one was able to find where these soldiers were meeting. They had gone fully analog, beyond the grid, meeting in places like this. The synths had rebuilt human civilization, but there were still pockets where the old world thrived. He had stumbled into one of them, and it was a pleasant surprise. What older relics do they have inside the center? he thought. Is there a classical projector or a microphone?
He examined the handle and the door itself, wary of traps or an alarm of some sort. It was getting darker and he was growing impatient, so he threw caution to the wind and tried the door. “Of course,” he whispered when the handle wouldn’t turn, and he looked around again to see if anyone was there.
Pulling his revolver out, he looked around one more time, then kicked the door in with his cybernetic leg. The door flew open to reveal a classroom, with chairs in neat rows and a chalkboard. There was a thin layer of dust on the furniture, but it had been used recently, as evidenced by shoe marks on the floor and writing on the chalkboard.
The detective in Dhata made him wary of stepping inside, since doing so would add his footsteps to the ones that he could already see. He removed his shoes, and did his best to close the busted door, then walked over to the chalkboard to decipher what was there. There were some words in chalk, which read, “Open mind, open arms, open heart.”
The three steps to acceptance, Dhata thought. Seems a bit positive for a sinister gathering. He walked over to the teacher’s desk and opened up the drawers. Inside he saw printed copies of brochures for Legion’s satellite offices. There were contacts for everything that a veteran could need: healthcare, work assistance, and an emergency hotline.
There was also a map of sponsors offering services, and Dhata was humbled by the sheer number of them. Private clinics offered synthetic repairs, hotels offering rooms. There was even an escort service for the times when they needed company. This last sponsor brought a smile to his face, since it was so unexpected. He took one of the brochures and slid it into his coat, then continued searching for clues.
It was inside the fifth drawer of the desk where he found the contact card for one of their reps. Dhata pocketed this, then took the room in at a glance, trying to visualize what the meetings were like. It was too dark now, and he switched his ICLs to night vision, causing the dusky room to become a bright, monochromatic reality.
So, the soldiers would come in, and they would learn something from whomever. What could they possibly be learning from Legion? he thought. He walked out between the chairs, seeing lines on the floor from where they had been moved. They spent a lot of time here, talking, and sharing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were permanently cut off from Arch Brain.
“Oh well,” he whispered as he slid on his shoes. “Only way to fill in the blanks is to talk to one of the Legion.” He got back in his car and examined the contact card, then dialed the number of a man by the name of Edward Kraus.
“This is Eddie,” a deep voice said. “What can I do you for?”
Dhata uncharacteristically had to think about what his response would be since he hadn’t expected him to answer so fast. “Mr. Kraus, my name is Dhata, and I am an ally of the synthetic people—”
“Dhata? That what you say your name is? How did you get my number?”
“One of my friends—a synth—gave me your card after I told him that I wanted to help. He said that you are the owner of a company that helps our military veterans—”
“Legion,” Eddie said, “and I’m one of the owners. We have branches spread out all over the country.”
“Well, I know that you’re busy, sir, but I wanted to see if there is an opportunity for me to become a sponsor. I think that it’s honorable, y’know, what you’re doing. Everybody else is so caught up in their own mess, but you all are actually doing something.”
“You’re right,” Eddie said, “but I’m a little busy right now. Tell you what … you live in the area?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dhata said.
“How about we meet Monday evening, get a drink, and talk about sponsorship?” he said.
“Hey, Mr. Kraus—”
“Eddie, call me Eddie,” he said.
“Eddie, do you know a bar by the name of Empire’s Tavern?” Dhata said.
Eddie Kraus laughed. “Yeah I know that place,” he said. “It has those fine ass waitresses dressed in those old costumes.” He started to laugh like a naughty teenager, and Dhata chuckled despite himself. “I like you, Dhata. So you want to meet there? How does 7:00 p.m. sound to you?”
“7:00 on a Monday night? Sounds like we’ll have a crowd. I’ll be the big, dark-skinned man that everyone mistakes for a John,” Dhata said.
“Oh yeah, that’s how it is? Well, you can’t miss me, that’s for sure,” Eddie said. “I got glowing tattoos from head to toe. Had them done when I was a Marine—”
“Not trying to hide from anyone, huh?” Dhata said.
“Nope. You come at me sideways and you’ll be in for a fight!”
Dhata finished up the call and got off the phone, impressed. Kraus wasn’t what he expected at all. Looks like I’m bringing the revolver, he thought as he floored the accelerator to head home.
‡Chapter 23‡
Who’s Watching Whom?
There was a clear disadvantage with being a human stuck in the center of Ybor, but humans were at the top of the food chain, and only a synth deemed “crazy” would hurt you. The disadvantage Dhata felt now in the human areas of the city was something much more frightening. He wasn’t just dealing with synths like he was in Ybor; these were Johns, and any opportunistic hool willing to claim his bounty.
To say he had to watch his back was an understatement. Dhata Mays had to literally watch everyone. Eddie Kraus would be meeting him at the Empire’s Tavern, and he couldn’t risk being late. This was a break in the case, a chance at some answers, and he didn’t want to risk it.
As Dhata drove out to Empire’s Tavern, he felt waves of nostalgia wash over him. Just last year he had been a regular at this place; Lur was in Cuba, and Jason was still alive. He was a skiptracer working for the Johns, and spending his nights with synth Marys. Esti was alive, as well as Peyton, and there was relative peace between humans and synths.
He would come to the tavern and order dinner, and hang out late until it was closing time. They knew him by name, and he kept the place safe; he had considered it his home away from home. He was pleased to see that it looked the same, down to the rusted old hover car that leaned against the dumpster. The sign still needed repair—the tavern wench blinking as she spilled her martini—but it had been the same back when he was a regular.
Dhata scanned the area carefully before exiting the car. He was early for the meeting, and Jackson’s hools could be anywhere. When he made it inside, he was pleasantly surprised; not much had changed with the decor. It still looked like an old cabin, with a fireplace and wooden tables whose tops were modified to sync with the entertainment systems.
“Dining in?” asked a tiny woman waiting to escort him in. Her nasally voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he noticed her for the first time. Like the other waitresses, she was dressed like a medieval wench, but her hairstyle was out of place—a bob with purple highlights.
“Yeah, I’m meeting someone. Can you seat me facing the door?” he said. “That table by the fireplace, is it alright if we go there?”
“Of course,” she said, too excited, as if he’d told her she’d won some money. He followed her in, past the crowd of diners as they made their way towards the back of the building.
Though the walk was short it felt like an eternity as Dhata anticipated someone stabbing him, but he made it there safely. He thanked the girl, then sat with his back to the wall.
“What’re you having?” she asked, as he removed his hat and set it on the table.
“Neutron Zombie, but make it an ultimate,” he said, and she nodded her approval and disappeared into the crowd.
Way too packed in here for my liking, he thought, but when he reached down and touched the butt of his revolver, it made him feel better. Most of the televisions were showing sports, but the big one above the bar was playing the news. There was an older news reporter standing outside of Ariana’s home with squad cars flashing their reds and blues.
He touched the menu panel on the table and paged over to the television controls. He found the sync, slid his finger across, and accepted the prompt to connect. Suddenly he was hearing her words through the implant node near his ear.
She was saying, “… Predicting a gangland shootout, with Detective Garcia now missing in action. Police are urging anyone who has information on the shooting to call their hotline immediately—”
“Dhata Mays?” said a deep voice, and he glanced over to see a large black man with white ink tattoos glowing on his trunk-like arms. He looked to be ex-military, and wasn’t trying to hide this fact, though he dressed like a man coming off of a golf course.
“Eddie Kraus?”
“The one and only,” he said, and Dhata stood up and shook his hand.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me. I think that you can be of great help,” he said. Just then the waitress was back with his drink, and turned to Eddie and smiled.
“Are you guys, like, ex-football players or something?” she said, and Dhata and Eddie exchanged glances.
“Just genetic freaks, Tyra,” Dhata said, noticing the name on her nameplate. “We all can’t be small and cute like you.”
Tyra twisted her lips and cut her eyes, and it was hard for him not to laugh. “Exactly,” Eddie said, “and I’ll have a Guinness. Oh, and some of your deviled eggs.”
“You got it, handsome,” she said playfully, then went off to collect his drink.
“Let’s cut the shit, Dhata. You’re not a sponsor. I looked up your name and you’re a John. Who hired you to catch me? Was it Falcone? I’m caught up on my payments, I brought the receipts. Wait, before you answer, can you ease up off the piece? I have more money if that’s what he wants.”
Dhata couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Who the hell is Falcone? he thought. “You’re right, Eddie, I’m not a sponsor, but believe it or not I’m a potential friend. You run Legion, a company that helped the man I’m investigating, so I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”
“Oh,” Eddie said, seeming embarrassed. “Man, you had me thinking that this was it. Who wants to die in a place like this? After everything I been through, can you imagine?” He exhaled audibly and then began to laugh, and Dhata realized that he was serious.
“I don’t know a Falcone, unless you mean Sally Falcone, and as my friend I can make a phone call and remove that two-bit stim slicking tick. It would be my pleasure if you tell me what I need to know, and what I need to know is simple. Do we have a deal?”
Eddie Kraus looked around skeptically and then said, “Sure man, what you need to know?”
“I take it you’ve heard about the suicide bombing at the shuttle port,” Dhata said.
“Of course I did, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. I worked with that soldier, Jordan Crane, but you probably already know that. He was a good dude, Dhata, one of our success stories. It felt like a kick in the teeth when I learned it was him. What happened, man? Do you know? Why would Jordan strap himself live and blow up innocent people?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out for over a month, Eddie. Do you know his wife, Natalya Crane? You said you worked with him, so I assume you do,” Dhata said.
“Listen, Dhata, I take this very personally, so I’m gonna lay it all out and you can tell me, alright? Legion, my company, we formed it to help vets. When I served and got out, they didn’t have anything like it. We had to rely on ourselves, and it was tough, man. It would’ve been nothing for any of us to go blow up a shuttle port. Fight, risk your life, and your country don’t have your back. I formed Legion to fix that, and we’ve helped hundreds of men and women.”
Dhata held up his hand. “Wait, if that came off accusatory, that’s not how I meant it to be. Let’s reset, alright? I respect our men and women in uniform. Tell me what you remember of Crane, and what you know of Natalya, his wife.”
“That girl, Natalya was part of something new that we were doing for a while.” He paused as if he was struggling with what he wanted to say next. That was when Tyra appeared with his drink and eggs, and he looked at her as if she were an angel, floating down to save his soul. When she was gone, he took a sip, then leaned back and regarded Dhata carefully. “What kind of man are you, Dhata Mays? How do I know that you’re a good person?”
“We can start by the fact that I’m not getting paid for this,” Dhata said. “I’m not a John, but I was one for years, and I quit the force to help synths. Never was in the military, but I bet we can trade war stories. Your enemy was clear and defined, while mine were gangsters, corrupt Johns, and professionals. You have those fancy, glow in the dark tattoos to hide the wounds on your arms; I had to replace a leg with cybernetics. You want to trust me because there isn’t anyone else looking into Jordan Crane. Not the police, and not the FBI … they grabbed his wife and closed the case. I’m all we got, and I am one man, but I got as far as learning about you.”
Eddie popped an egg and then washed it down, looking at a waitress’ posterior as she walked by. Dhata glanced at his left hand and saw that he was married. He wondered what sort of woman could tie down Eddie Kraus.
“Man, it’s embarrassing, but you’re right. I need your word that what I tell you won’t come back on Legion,” he said.
“What you tell me stays here,” Dhata, said pointing to his temple. “I’m not a reporter, I’m just a skip, looking for the next link.”
“So, a few years back one of our handlers told me that he found us a new sponsor,” Eddie said. He looked around and then leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It was a Russian connect. Girls, y’know, human Marys. Now, I don’t agree with prostitution, and the human sex trade is deplorable, but this was different.” He took another drink and looked to be struggling with his explanation. “They said that it was a win-win, for the Marys and our guys. We introduce the girls to the vets, and they would pay us a nice chunk of change.”
“Seems naïve. Didn’t you think that was too good to be true?” Dhata said.
“Yeah, but we figured what could it hurt to get them fellas some action? These weren’t dirty streetwalkers; they were professional girls. Most wanted a way into the country, and were down with marrying a synth war hero.”
Dhata cussed. “What? You brought in Russian Marys to marry our vets? Did you consider the implications, the possibility that they could be spies?”
“These were human women, Dhata. They needed sponsors to get into the country.”
He said it as if it was common sense, as if Dhata would have done the same thing. The skiptracer tried to see it from his side, without the knowledge of what Natalya Crane was. The big man was all about helping people, and assumed the Russian women were innocent.
“Hey Eddie,” Dhata said, feeling pained about telling him the truth. “Natalya Crane, the woman that Jordan eventually married, the same woman who for some strange reason is now under FBI protection. She’s a synth, a synth turned cyborg, and I think that she was responsible for Crane. What about Tyler Fort? Was he with a Russian Mary too?”
“Tyler,” he said quietly. “That was my man. Yeah, he went home with one of the girls, but it didn’t work out in the end.”
“Anybody else that you know of?” Dhata said.
“No, after Crane got hitched, the Russians pulled out of the program, said they found a better opportunity. Cool thing about that was that we got to keep the money. It helped us extend the program, so now we’re helping vets all the way up in New York.”
Dhata noticed that the cyborg thing didn’t faze Eddie Kraus. Either he didn’t know what a cyborg was, or he couldn’t grasp what it meant. This man is just a businessman. He can’t see past expansion and UCCs, Dhata thought. “So, the member of your group who put you in touch with the Russians, where’s he now? I think that I should have a talk with him next,” he said.
