Petty Crimes & Head Cases

by Lola Beatlebrox

  Carl and I burst out laughing.

  “And you’re off the clock,” said Carl. “Let’s go play ball.”

  “Wait!” I said. “You didn’t tell me if Mrs. Oscar’s gas stations were robbed.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why disable the security system?”

  “That’s what’s so weird about this. There seems to be no motivation and the vandal had to drive all over town. If he was on a shooting spree, he could have taken out all the security cameras on Main Street but only the Oscars’ gas stations got hit.”

  “Weird.”

  “Come on, sport,” said Carl, hefting the football. My men went outside. The Law of Fast Forgetting was at work again—they didn’t take their dishes to the sink.

  A week later Rabbi Josh’s wife, Sharon, arrived for a massage with Annabelle Davina. They disappeared into my massage room while I was doing computer work.

  Accounting is the bane of my existence. My computer system is linked to my bank account, but there are glitches and inconsistencies that drive me crazy. I could print out reports, but then I have to comb the pages to find all the mistakes. It takes time that I don’t have.

  The phone rang.

  “Citrus Salon.”

  “Tracy, this is Katherine Putnam.”

  “Katherine! How are you?”

  She giggled. “I’m engaged!”

  “To the Man from Gujarat?”

  “Deepak.”

  “That’s awesome, Katherine!”

  “We wondered if you and Carl would like to come over Saturday night so you can meet him.”

  “What a nice invitation. What can we bring?”

  “Wine is always good. Seven o’clock?”

  “Seven.”

  “See you then.”

  I put down the phone and smiled. Our flaming red-haired Katherine had found true love with a tech guru from India. What were the odds of that?

  Annabelle Davina emerged from the massage room, leaving Sharon inside. “I now know the season ending of ‘Vagabond Planet.’ It’s a shocker.”

  “Do tell!”

  “I would be reneging on the pact I’ve made with the screen writer,” she said. “I can’t violate her trust.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “You’ll just have to watch it like everybody else.”

  A few years ago Sharon gave us the scoop on the grand finale of The Sopranos. We were prepared when the screen went black in the last minute of broadcast, but the whole country thought they’d lost their cable signal right at the climax. People were left panting, and the show’s creators were laughing up their sleeves.

  It was Climaxus Interruptus.

  Sharon came out from the massage room and Annabelle handed her a glass of sparkling water. Her face glistened and she looked wrung out. She carries such tightness in her shoulders that Annabelle must pummel and knead to get all the tension out.

  “Hi, Tracy,” she said.

  “Hi, Sharon.”

  Annabelle glided away as Sharon and I sank onto the sofa. Sharon flopped back like a prize fighter after the twelfth round. I didn’t say anything.

  After a while, she said. “How’s everything with you?”

  “Good,” I said. “You?”

  “Good now.”

  I let her rest some more.

  “How’s Jamie?” she asked.

  “Wonderful. He’s building a robot with laser eyes.”

  She laughed.

  “He goes to Make-It Camp after school,” I added. “They’ve got kids building all sorts of things.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Silence.

  “What else is new?” she asked.

  I’d been waiting for this. I had found it best to tread lightly with Sharon after a massage. She’s a very private person and hates probing questions.

  “Carl’s working on a case about security cameras,” I told her. “Someone disabled them at all the Oscar gas stations.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Their security experts think they were shot out by a laser. You ever heard of that?”

  I waited.

  “It’s not possible,” she said, half-rising from her prone position. “I had the researchers on my show check into it. No one has been able to perfect the technique, even the military. It’s the stuff of science fiction.”

  “Which you thrive on.”

  “I’m not going to reveal my show’s secrets. You and Annabelle know too much already.” Sharon took a deep breath and nestled back into the sofa. “But I could be persuaded with chocolate.”

  I smiled. “Hershey’s, Belgian, or Godiva?”

  “Belgian.”

  I rose. “And herbal tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Peach berry Jasmine or Snow Geisha?”

  “Snow Geisha.”

  When Sharon was sitting up and taking nourishment, I resumed my tap dance. “Chocolate good?”

  “Divine.”

  “Tea okay?”

  “Hai, arigato.”

  “Science fiction interesting?”

  “You sly thing.”

  “Humor me.”

  “The problem is that the laser beam must be aimed into the camera at precisely the right place. To do that, a robber must look at the camera, which will then record his face. So, he has to disable the camera before he can disable the camera. It’s counterintuitive.”

  “What about wearing a mask?”

  “That’s a solution, but if the guy’s out in the open someone’s bound to see him and other cameras can capture his image too. My plot calls for the perfect crime. Zap! I don’t exist.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Sharon sipped her tea. She’s a big woman, in her forties, with smooth auburn hair. Last year she won an Emmy. She and Josh went to Hollywood where they hobnobbed with the stars but couldn’t wait to get back to the solitude of their ski chalet. I couldn’t imagine what her life was like. All I knew was that she needed a massage twice a week and Annabelle was the only one who made her feel better.

  “Josh is still investigating the security problem at the Temple,” she went on. “Somehow all our security cameras were trashed at the same time and Stealth-Techt hasn’t been able to tell us why. Our insurance company wants us to install a radical upgrade.”

  “Why?”

  “Hate crimes.”

  “Hate crimes?”

  “The incidence of hate crimes against Jews has risen significantly, about 17 percent. That’s right behind hate crimes against black people, which have increased 21 percent. Surveillance cameras are the first line of defense.”

  John Lennon’s song popped into my head. “We could live as one if there were no religion.” But that’s not the way the world worked and I couldn’t tell him so because he was dead.

  Annabelle flowed in. “How do you feel, Sharon?”

  “Divine,” she said, “but Tracy here is making me think too much about work.”

  Annabelle quoted Lao Tsu, one of her favorite ancient philosophers. “‘Too many words cause exhaustion; better to abide in stillness.’” Her eyes were downcast and her presence was gentle. “Lao Tsu also reminds us that ‘Peace is our original state.’”

  “I keep trying to get back to my original state, over and over again,” said Sharon, leaning back on the sofa.

  “And I haven’t helped,” I said. “I’m sorry, Sharon.”

  “Don’t worry, Tracy,” Annabelle said. “Lao Tsu also says, ‘Revere the unity of all-that-is, carry out your daily activities with compassion; if you do not limit your compassion, you yourself will not be limited.’”

  If only people allowed the world to work that way.

  On Saturday evening Carl and I drove to Katherine’s house. She lived in a small cut-stone cottage dating from the late 1800s. Katherine led us to the kitchen where the Man from Gujarat was pouring glasses of red wine.

  Deepak was five foot four inches tall and a bit pudgy. He had beautiful soft b
rown eyes, dazzling white teeth, and a ready laugh.

  “We’re going to have an Indian wedding right here in the U.S.A.,” Katherine said, as Deepak handed me my wine glass. “The ceremony will be traditional Hindu. There will be an elephant and everything.”

  I imagined Katherine riding an elephant and the thought boggled my mind.

  “My mother is ordering a silk wedding sari from India,” said Deepak. “Katherine will look beautiful.”

  Indian saris make all women look feminine and elegant. I wish I could wear one every day. “Where will the ceremony take place?”

  “In the big valley.”

  Carl helped himself to cheese and crackers. “I’ve heard Indian weddings last a long time.”

  “My whole family is coming from Gujarat,” said Deepak. “We have booked two floors at the Little America hotel for a week.”

  The price tag for that investment staggered my mind. I had to sit down. I was looking around for a chair in Katherine’s tiny kitchen when she said, “We want you to do the hair, Tracy. Will you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about hairstyles for Indian weddings,” I said.

  “My sister-in-law will be arriving from Mumbai,” said Deepak in his beautiful Indian accent. “She will take care of the Indian girls and you can get the American girls ready.”

  “Then I accept.”

  “This calls for a toast,” Carl said, raising his glass.

  We honored a couple whom I never could have guessed would get together. Katherine is a sweet girl but she’s no looker. Local guys were always judging the outside of the package. Deepak was smart enough to value what’s inside.

  “So, Deepak,” said Carl. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an artificial intelligence programmer for a video game company.”

  Carl browsed through the carrots and celery. “What’s that about?”

  “I simulate the intelligence of enemies and opponents by developing the logic of time,” he said.

  I had no idea what he just said.

  “Simulation substrata requires script sequencing and program pathology is contentious foraging.”

  Ditto, Deepak. “How did you get into that?” I asked.

  “I started playing video games when I was very young. There’s not a whole lot to do in Gujarat and the internet opened the world to me. I found it invigorating to play games with people in America and Europe and China. When I went to the Indian Institute of Technology in Delhi, I worked with the smartest people I ever met. They introduced me to artificial intelligence and I found my niche.” Deepak swirled his wine glass. “What do you do, Carl?”

  “I’m a policeman.”

  “Ah, yes, Katherine was telling me. You and Tracy solve crimes together.”

  “She’s my eyes and ears.” Carl put his arm around me.

  “I heard about the identity theft case,” Deepak said. “Botnets also steal personal information. They are insidious.”

  “I’ve never completely understood botnets,” said Carl.

  “When a computer is penetrated by malware, control of the computer goes to the creator of the botnet. Bots scan the environment and propagate themselves within the vulnerabilities. Generally, the more the replicated botnets, the more value-added to the botnet controller.”

  Katherine read my face and jumped in. “It’s pretty simple, Tracy,” she said. “If you’re at a website and a pop-up window says ‘Such and such a site wants you to allow access your location,’ click no. If you say yes, you may let some bad guys into your computer and they’ll get into all your stuff. These “bots,” as they’re called, could sneak around inside looking for your private information or they could just make annoying ads pop up every time you surf the ’net. It all depends on what the bad guys want. Either way your security has been compromised and you’re defenseless.”

  Deepak kissed Katherine on the cheek. Her eyes shone like a starlet’s.

  “Asking for your location is just one example,” said Deepak. “There are many more ways a botnet can breach your security. Most of the time you don’t even know it. You just need to keep your anti-malware updated. The security companies are developing defensive logarithms all the time.” He smiled and his brilliant white teeth gleamed in his brown face. “It’s a constant battle between the bad guys and the good guys. Like my games.”

  “Carl’s working on a security breach case right now.” I turned to him. “Is it okay to tell them about it?”

  “Sure, it’s been in the papers. Two security systems in our area have been permanently disabled, we think by a guy with a pen laser. We have no idea how it’s being done.”

  Deepak appeared to be absorbing this information. He sipped his wine, then topped a cracker with cheese. He took so long, I didn’t think he was going to respond. Then he said, “Pen lasers do not disable cameras permanently. There’s usually a bright red flash on the digital image, but when the laser is removed the camera is not harmed. It should keep recording.”

  “These cameras had to be tossed,” Carl said.

  “Interesting,” he said, looking as captivated as if he were playing a video game with a crack opponent in China.

  “In each instance, the camera recorded a picture of a figure whose entire body was obliterated by a glowing light,” Carl explained. “Then the picture went completely black.”

  “Very interesting.” Now Deepak looked as if he were playing with two gurus in China.

  “The security company is baffled. The state police techs are too.”

  “Extremely interesting.” He looked as if he were playing with a gang of four.

  “You know something, don’t you, Deepak?” Katherine nudged him.

  His face split into a big wide grin and his brown eyes glinted. “Perhaps I do. You see, the technology community is very, shall we say, eccentric?”

  Katherine poked him with a carrot stick.

  “All right,” he said, “we’re weird. There’s a guy here in our city who has been studying laser disabling technology for years. He was obsessed with Star Wars. Not the movie, but President Reagan’s laser fighting in space. Do you remember that?”

  Sure, I remember. I was in diapers then.

  “And he was fascinated with the Gulf War Stingray,” Deepak continued, “a weapon with laser beams that fired at anything glinting in the desert sun. He is ‘rabid,’ as you say here in America.”

  How about that—a rabid laser techie.

  “What’s his name?” asked Carl.

  “I can’t remember. I would have to make some enquiries for you.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Carl said.

  “No problem.”

  We discussed other things—Hindu gods and Indian mothers and the rising real estate prices in the big valley. Katherine served chicken curry, Basmati rice, and cucumber raita with tangy yogurt sauce. Delicious. She was going to make a wonderful Indian wife.

  Monday rolled around, my favorite day of the week. The salon was closed and I had reserved the afternoon for my special time with Jamie. We went to Gymboree, a gymnastics place on Main Street. It was equipped with trampolines, balance bars, rock climbing walls, and acres and acres of spongy surfaces to land on.

  I could buy Jamie an hour of instruction or let him loose by himself. He decided on free play and I took off my shoes, too. By the time we finished our hour of constant movement, I was exhausted but Jamie wanted to keep going. I bought him an hour with a teenaged counselor who looked like she could take it, and waved bye-bye.

  Main Street was a zoo. Traffic was stop-and-go as usual. The state highway dumps out onto Main Street and resumes again at the other end. I saw more oil tankers trailing “pups” than mama dogs have pups at the animal shelter.

  I walked past the gas station and ogled the rooflines of Mrs. Oscar’s convenience store. No cameras were perched on the building, under the eaves, or over the gas pumps, and I assumed her new security system hadn’t been installed yet. I crossed the street, strolled up to
my main competitor’s salon, and peered inside the plate glass. Mrs. Alcott was sitting there reading People magazine.

  No way!

  I subscribed to Architectural Digest just for her! I remodeled my powder room so she wouldn’t be offended every time she went! There she was, processing in front of a plate glass window where anybody could see her looking absolutely hideous. Then I remembered—locals avoided Main Street because of the traffic, so my competition was advertising deep discounts.

  Mrs. Alcott wanted the discount, and she’s supposedly wealthy. Isn’t that just the way the world works?

  Sassy’s boutique was next. When I opened the front door, a loud buzzer made me jump. Sassy rushed to greet me, arms wide with a big hug. “What brings you here?”

  “Just passing by,” I said.

  “I’m glad you did. What can I do for you?”

  “Just looking,” I glanced over my shoulder. “Who’s watching us?”

  She laughed. “We don’t have to worry. Big Brother is no longer here.”

  “What a relief,” I said.

  “Someone disabled the security system.” My eyebrows went up. “It happened yesterday. I was in the back getting a layaway dress. My customer said a man came in. There was a blinding flash of light, and then the light—the light, mind you—seemed to open the door, and go outside.

  “Weird.” I said.

  “Totally.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “My customer couldn’t describe him.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “The chief came himself.”

  “And?”

  “He’s mystified.”

  “Who’s your security company?”

  “Stealth-Techt.”

  I wanted to call Carl right away, but I’d left my cell phone in the car.

  “Now I can look at my cell phone when I want to,” Sassy said, “and go to the bathroom whenever I need to. It’s liberating.”

  “I guess God gave you an early Christmas present.”

  “He’s my guardian angel.” Her hands arced in a large circle. “He’s a big circle of light.”