Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set

by Jason Werbeloff

  “Having one of those days? Those thirty-hour workdays when you don’t have a chance to eat, never mind shower? Try Deo-Killer. Eliminates odor-causing bacteria on contact. Comes in twelve enchanting fragrances. Warning: you’ll never want to shower again once you’ve tried Deo-Killer. Say “YES” now, for instant delivery to your door.”

  “Yes,” said Kage. “Deliver to Bubble PD. Outside main entrance in … Cab, what’s the estimated arrival time? … in nine minutes.”

  “Thank you for your order. We appreciate your business.”

  His glasses pinged to let him know that thirty-three credits had been deducted from his account. Available balance … fuck.

  “Apply for higher credit limit,” whispered Kage.

  “One moment please … Granted. Limit now set at fifty-thousand credits. Available balance, twelve-thousand, four hundred and sixty-se–”

  Kage tapped the arm of his glasses.

  Should tide him over until he solved the case. Weeks might give him an advance if he played his cards right.

  “Are your clothes more tattered than a Xicolian beggar? Do your shoes look like a Fengalese housefrog? They do? Come to ManScape today. Our expert staff will measure your dimensions. They’ll advise you on an outfit that will make even the coldest Venetian siren lose her will. With department stores in every quadrant of the Bubble, we’re never more than five minutes by hovercar from wherever you are.”

  Kage glanced down at the city. It was nearing midnight, and most of the Bubblers were asleep. Buildings simmered in a low, phosphorescent glow under the moonlit meniscus of the Bubble. As the advert for ManScape played, a handful of buildings lit up in bright orange.

  He was tempted to find one of their outlets. Redirect the taxi. Buy at least one change of clothes. But before he could say anything, the cab began its descent. He was at his destination – the jaundiced exterior of Bubble PD. It was one of the oldest buildings in the city. An ancient relic from before the forcefield was erected. Over the past half century, the building had been bleached a slick, yellow-gray from the daily sun filtering through the golden lens of the Bubble.

  “Helios Taxis thanks you for your –”

  The drone that greeted him on the street buzzed around him, trying to get a decent angle for a facegrab. “Delivery for a Kage Jackson. Please confirm identity.”

  Kage held up his polycarbonate identity card.

  “Confirmed.”

  A compartment at the bottom of the drone opened, and a blue-metallic box escaped. It hovered erratically until it found Kage’s waiting hand.

  “Deo-Killer thanks you for your patronage.” The drone let off an offensive bang, and shot up into the air, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.

  Right there, on the steps of Bubble PD, Kage drenched himself in Deo-Killer. Vanilla fragrance. He hadn’t bothered to check first. He guessed it wasn’t really their fault. Vanilla had been his preferred scent back then. Back when he’d been Kassandra. The advertisers didn’t know how much he’d changed.

  “Heard about the scene at the gore bar,” said a tall, slender voice behind him.

  Kage was smiling before he’d had a chance to face her.

  “I missed you, Una.”

  “Look at you, man. Turn around for me. Slowly.”

  Kage couldn’t help grinning.

  “Looking mighty fine, Detective.”

  “Doing my best. It’s been …” Kage’s smile tightened.

  Una drew on her cigarette. “Transitions always are. Look at my cousin, Svetlana. The surgery knocked her bad.”

  Kage nodded. He loved that Una smoked. Ancient habit. Almost nobody did anymore. Unless you counted virtual cigs, which Kage didn’t.

  Lazy wisps of smoke ascended the incandescent glare of the streetlights. In her leather pants and gothic blouse, the smoky halo that formed above Una’s head made her look like a fallen angel.

  Kage shook his head. “That gore bar’s something else.”

  “Never been,” she said. Stomped the cigarette on the sidewalk. Litter. She actually littered. Outside a police station. Fuck, he missed her. “But I hear so, yeah. Come show me what you got.”

  She led the way, her bootlegs frolicking about her ankles as she climbed the concrete stairs to Bubble PD. Why had he never asked her out?

  “Whewee! That jacket’s seen better days, Kassandra.”

  Una didn’t pause. Didn’t slow her walk. Didn’t look Teague’s way. “Fuck off, Shoulders,” she said.

  Kage’s chest burst with pride, but he kept his eyes to the wooden floor as they passed by the stunned Detective.

  “They gave me new digs since you were last here,” she said, and led him inside. “I call it, the Cave.”

  Holoscreens scattered through the air, vying for viewing space above and around Una and Kage. Each screamed silently for attention. Warnings and captions flickered across their ethereal surfaces.

  “Robbery on 4th and 6th,” yelled one of them in pulsing yellow letters. “Suicide cleanup required on the bottom of 16th,” flashed another. “Protest forming on Promenade South.”

  “Don’t you need to get those?” asked Kage.

  “Na. They generally take care of themselves. The AI routes them through to patrol cars and emergency services in the area. So … how can I help you?”

  “Could you track the victim’s movements today? Owner of the bar, woman with no hair sense, says he walks into Amputating Amy just after …” Kage tapped his glasses. “… at seven thirty-one.”

  Una gestured to one of the screens. It hovered forward. Lengthened and widened as she expanded the space between her pinched fingers. “Find closest camera to Amputating Amy, Promenade. Skip to seven twenty-five p.m. What’s your vic’s name?”

  “Lincoln Russell.”

  “As in …”

  “Yup.”

  Una’s face hardened. “Right. Let’s sort this out.” She turned back to the screen. “Facial recognition search on Lincoln Russell.”

  “Please disambiguate. Three Lincoln Russells have been foun–”

  “Brother is Mayor Donald Russell.”

  “Searching …” appeared across the screen.

  “So how’s it been? You know …” Una looked uncomfortable. “… the transition.”

  Kage realized Una could faux pas all she liked, and he wouldn’t mind.

  “It’s not easy. The …” Bizarrely, tears burned the backs of his eyes. “The testosterone isn’t working so well. Sometimes I –”

  “Match found,” flashed across the screen in red letters.

  Una placed a hand on Kage’s forearm. “Give it time,” she said. “You’re looking great.”

  Kage sniffed back a tear. “I … thank you.”

  Una squeezed his arm. “Definitely feel some tone there.” She winked. “Let’s sort this mess out, shall we?”

  She turned to the screen. “Zoom and track.”

  It was Lincoln, as far as he could tell. Kage recalled the swollen face lying on the mound of limbs in the basement of Amputating Amy. The laceration across the forehead. The hole in his head. It had been brutal. Personal. Maybe one of the Gutter kids had done it? One of the kids they used at Amputating Amy? Someone with an ax to grind.

  The screen displayed a man weaving through the Promenade crowds. Yes, definitely Lincoln Russel. He turned into an alleyway. The camera angle switched. Tracked the back of his head down an alley, and round a corner. And another. And that’s when they lost him. Two blocks from Amputating Amy.

  “Wait. Turn that back a second. There was someone else in the frame. There. About fifty yards behind him.”

  Una pinched her fingers, and the image zoomed. The camera angle was wrong. Could only see the back of the person’s head. A thick mop of black hair. Looked young. Squat, but good posture. Toned upper body, Kage mused silently.

  “Can you get an image of his face?”

  “Tracking him back to Canal Street …”

  “That might be him. Angle’s too hig
h, though. Trying to zoom further. It’s pixelated. This is as good as it gets.”

  Kage stared at a blurry face. Soft nose. Red cheeks. From this angle, the tinted glasses hid his eyes.

  “Resolution is too low for a facial recog search,” said Una before Kage could ask.

  “Alright. I’ve got another request, then.”

  Una cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on.”

  “Can you track Lincoln’s movements today? From this morning till he entered Amputating Amy tonight.”

  “Because he was the victim of a crime, I can give you the location of his glasses within an accuracy of a hundred yards. More accurate than that, and you’ll need a warrant.”

  “I’ll get on that warrant, but a hundred yards works for now. Can you run the tracking program?”

  “On it,” said Una.

  Kage wasn’t optimistic about the warrant. Mayor’s brother found dead in a gore bar? The Mayor would be wanting to squash that soon as possible – the less information about his brother’s whereabouts the better. And Bubble judges were notoriously politically sensitive beasts.

  A map popped up on the screen. A thick blue line traced across the city.

  “Color becomes warmer through the day,” said Una, standing back.

  The line crisscrossed Bubble Central during the morning, turning from blue to green to yellow as the day progressed. All the way through to late afternoon. That’s when the line became orange, and dashed to the top the map. By the time it had reached Amputating Amy, the thread was jugular red.

  Kage remembered the stockbroker’s biceps. His toned stomach. He reached involuntarily for his arm. Stopped himself.

  “You have any gym or sports club membership info for the vic?”

  Una typed at a virtual keyboard that hovered in the air wherever she went. “Yup. Looks like he belonged to three.”

  “Cross-reference his known locations today.”

  “Already on it,” she said. “Yup. Winston Hotel. They have squash courts at the top of the building. Heard it’s ostentatious as fuck.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a security feed from the Winston rooftop, would you?”

  Una smiled. “Would need a warrant for that …”

  “Uh, how about a street cam of the entrance to the Hotel. Maybe we would see the vic walk in. See if anyone followed him?”

  “That I can do.” She typed at the keyboard. “Got it.”

  Sure as day, there was Lincoln Russell. He’d looked a whole lot fresher that afternoon. A high-end taxi deposited him on the street corner outside the Winston Hotel just after lunchtime.

  “Could you run that camera forward? Thanks. Yeah. Oh, wait. Stop there. That guy. Yes. Him.”

  Same mop of black hair. Soft nose. Same cheeks. Not as red though. Terse lips. Couldn’t be older than twenty.

  Same bad camera resolution.

  Una pulled up the previous facial image. Pinned them side by side.

  “I’d say he’s the same guy. But the AI’s giving only sixty-seven percent probability of a match. Not enough for a definitive match at this resolution.”

  “It’s good enough for now,” said Kage. “One last thing. Any way to find out who this guy is?” This case could be closed by tonight, thought Kage. He knew in his gut that this was Lincoln’s killer.

  “No match in the facial recog database.”

  His heart dropped.

  “No match? Is that possible?”

  “Unlikely, but it happens. The perp could’ve had plastic surgery recently to modify his face. Or had a recent face transplant.”

  “Run the footage outside the hotel. There. See, he swipes his credit card when he walks in. Could you get the details of that transaction? That would give us his name.”

  “That’s … uh bending the rules a little. I’d have to hack the hotel’s records. Unless you can get me a warrant.”

  Kage looked down. Shifted his weight from foot to foot. Blood and dried skin flaked off his shoes.

  Una furrowed her brow, but there was mischief in her eyes. “Stays between us, yeah?”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Shut the door,” she said.

  Una’s fingers were a flurry in the air. Pointing, zooming. Menus flashed across the hoverscreen.

  “Card belongs to a Thomsin Sparling,” she said. A boy’s face leapt onto a side screen. Una shuttled the image across to stand beside the two faces of the killer.

  “AI gives a forty-two percent probability of a match among all three faces. Fairly high, given the poor resolution.”

  Kage stepped closer to the screen. Closer still. Until his nose almost passed through the shimmering ions.

  “I think it’s time to pay you a visit, Thomsin Sparling.”

  He was about to walk out, when he turned back. “You know where I can get a quick change of clothes?”

  *

  “Occupation sensors indicate he’s home, but he’s not answering,” sang his glasses.

  “Ring again.”

  Kage’s taxi hovered just outside Thomsin Sparling’s apartment. Bubble Central. One hundred and thirty-seventh floor. Obscenely high.

  Kage glanced down at the ground. From this height, the Bubblers walking on street level were little more than maggots inching along the belly of the city.

  What had happened to the testosterone order?

  “Check post box,” he whispered.

  “Empty,” replied his glasses a moment later.

  Kage sighed.

  “Ring the apartment again.”

  “The occupant is not answering.”

  “I can see that.”

  He’d paid a small fortune for the testosterone, with the promise of delivery the same day the funds were transferred. And they’d been transferred yesterday.

  Well, shit.

  The door slid open, and a young man in a base-white smartshirt stood in the entrance. “May I help you?” he asked, eyes hard.

  “I’m looking for Thomsin Sparling.”

  The boy’s gaze didn’t leave Kage’s.

  “I’m Thomsin.”

  “My name is Kage Jackson. I’m a private detective consulting with Bubble Police Department. May I come inside? Ask you a few questions?”

  The boy shifted from foot to foot. Jittery? “What’s this about?”

  The boy had the same mop of black hair as the suspect on the street-cam footage. The same sunburnt cheeks. Thin lips.

  “It really would be better if I came inside.”

  Kage glanced down again at the ground below. Thomsin stood in the doorway of his apartment, while Kage sat in the cab. Emptiness, and the promise of a sheer drop, yawned between them.

  The boy clutched one hand in his other. His lips were pale. Bloodless. “Now isn’t a good time.”

  “It really won’t take long.” Kage signaled to the cab to move closer to the building. Now only a foot of empty air separated him from the boy. “You’re welcome to come down to Bubble PD with me instead?”

  The boy blinked. Kage couldn’t be sure in the shadows thrown across the boy’s midnight face, but he thought he saw the flicker of a smile. “Those aren’t my only options. Come back tomorrow. Now isn’t a good time.”

  Kage was so close now, he could smell the boy’s deodorant. Vanilla. The same scent Kage wore. Strange.

  He tapped his glasses and stared at the ‘WAIT’ button in the top-left corner of his glasses, to let the cab know to hold its position. “We’ll be done in just a few minutes,” he said. Kage stepped across the gulf between them, elbowed past the boy, and into the apartment.

  Vanilla drenched the room. Typical teenager, thought Kage. No finesse. No class. They found a fragrance they liked, and sprayed it to death.

  Kage hid his irritation. Stuck out the palm of his hand to the boy. “I appreciate you giving me your time.”

  The boy’s hand was slick in Kage’s. But rough at the same time. As though Kage were stroking snakeskin dipped in oil.

>   Kage stepped further into the apartment. Recessed lighting suffused the living room with a yellow-blue glow that struck him as unnecessary. Opulent. The hovercouch, with its perfect right-angles, made him slightly nauseous. That couch, no doubt Gutter leather, would’ve cost more than a month’s rental at Kage’s last apartment.

  “You live alone?”

  The boy nodded.

  Kage noticed now just how pale he was. Beads of sweat lined the boy’s brow.

  “Where were you this afternoon?” asked the Detective, and sat on the couch. It was absurdly uncomfortable. The square cushion bit into his back at just the wrong points. Opulence and comfort rarely intersected.

  Daniel wiped his forehead. “What’s this about?”

  “Oh, routine investigation.”

  Dirty dishes on the table. A stained throw on the floor. No housekeeping? Odd in a place like this.

  “Umm. I may be wrong,” said the boy, sitting the couch opposite Kage’s, “but I don’t think private detectives are consulted for routine investigations. And …” The boy whispered something to his glasses. “… twelve-thirty in the morning seems an odd time for a routine chat.”

  Kage regarded the boy again. There was more color in his cheeks now, although they weren’t as red as they’d been in the footage from this afternoon. He still clutched his right hand.

  “What happened to it?” asked Kage.

  The boy swallowed. “Happened to what?”

  “Your hand.”

  “Burnt it.”

  “Really? How’d you do it? Let me take a look. Had to do a month’s medical training to get my PI license.”

  The boy’s lips thinned. “No need,” he said. “Got bandages somewhere. Once you leave …” The boy paused. Let a second pass. “… I’ll fix it.”

  Was the boy grinding his teeth?

  A cat jumped onto the couch beside Kage. Sniffed his leg dubiously. Kage hadn’t had a chance to wash with anything more than wet wipes since he’d left Amputating Amy. Una had found him some clothes at the station, but he still reeked. The Deo-Killer only worked so well. The cat must’ve smelt it. The rot. The limb pit under the gore bar.