Girl in a Fishbowl (Crowbar Book 1)

by Thomas A. Gilly

  “Thank you, and enjoy your pizza!” the Deliverator said. It turned around, lowered down into motorcycle mode, and sped away.

  Conrad walked back down to the bottom of the stairwell, opened the box, and grabbed a wedge of pepperoni, mushroom, and black olive pizza. His smart glasses, seeing that he wasn’t doing anything, played a commercial that appeared on the apartment door. In it, a man dressed in denim overalls and a straw hat was standing in front of a red barn.

  “Dumb cows make good eatin’!” The man exclaimed. “Hi! Farmer McCoy here at McCoy’s Farms. Are you sick of eating cultured meat? They call it cultured, but it don’t speak no French!”

  A large cube of meat fell from the sky, landing at Farmer McCoy’s feet with a fleshy thud and said, “Bonjour Messier!” McCoy kicked it off the screen.

  “They should call it vat meat, because that’s where they grow it, in giant metal vats! If you want a real steak, come on down to my farm, ‘cause dumb cows make good eatin’!” A cow with crossed eyes walked out of the barn and said “Derp!”

  “Here at McCoy’s we raise the dumbest cows possible, because they’re born with no brains! That way you have the best of both worlds! You can have an authentic prime rib and T-bone and tenderloin, while being completely humane, because our cows feel no pain. No brain no pain!”

  The cow agreed with another “Derp!”

  “So come on down to McCoy’s and order your delicious steak today!”

  Conrad wondered why Farmer McCoy was talking to him. It wasn’t like he could afford a prime rib or T-bone; all the meat he ever ate in his life came out of a vat.

  He then realized it was because Terri had called him yesterday. With so little to go on, the financial and personal assessment that determined what commercials he should watch was skewed because Terri had talked to him. She lived in a rarified world where people ate dumb cows all the time.

  “Hey you.”

  Conrad turned around, startled, looking back up to street level. The light was blocked once again by a silhouette, but this one was slim and girlish. He dropped his pizza into the box and stood.

  That was no augmented reality projection.

  “Is that Danny’s? I haven’t had Danny’s in ages. The only pizza at Stanwich is either some fancy boutique crap or Dominos. Can I have a slice?”

  Conrad had planned to have this pizza be his sole food source for tonight and the rest of tomorrow, but he managed to blurt out a “Sure.”

  Terri stepped down into the stairwell. She transformed from a silhouette into a three dimensional object—she was wearing jeans and a hoody with the hood up, the long end of a ponytail coming out from the left side over her shoulder and onto her chest. She sat on the bottom step at the other side of the pizza box and grabbed a slice.

  “Oh! I forgot how greasy these are,” she said and held the slice away from her clothes. “I think they’ve outlawed grease in Stanwich.”

  “I’ll get you a napkin,” Conrad said hurriedly, opening the door and going into the apartment. When he made it into the kitchenette he remembered that they probably hadn’t had any napkins for years.

  Whatisshedoinghere? Whatisshedoinghere? he thought frantically.

  He pulled a section of paper towel from the roll on the counter, and at the last second decided to get an additional section for himself.

  He went outside and handed her the paper towel, sitting himself back down. “Thank you,” she said, wiping her hand and taking a small bite. “Mmmm, I forgot how good this is.”

  Conrad picked up his own slice. She seemed so cool, so casual, like they hung out all the time—like it hadn’t been four years since they’ve been this close to each other. She took another bite and a long string of melted cheese connected her lips to the pizza. She smiled at him as she pulled the slice farther away and the string became thinner and more droopy. She had to use her other hand to break the string and bring it to her mouth. When she had the pizza under control Conrad said, as casually as he could manage, “What brings you to this side of The Bergs?”

  “We’re all graduated, you know? It’s really cool. Like we’re adults now. Thinking about that made me want to see the old ‘hood. Check out the Rocks, see if it still rocks,” she laughed, and for the first time Conrad sensed a little nervousness from her, from that laugh. He hoped she was nervous because she wanted him to like her again, because he wanted to like her, but he really had no idea who she was anymore.

  Still, he laughed along with her, and was disappointed in himself to hear nervousness in his own laugh. He hated the way his body often betrayed him and prevented him from being cool. There was about twenty-four seconds of awkward silence and chewing as Conrad debated whether or not to say The Rocks never rocked, it always sucked or I don’t think it ever rocked or rock around the clock tonight or jumping up and yelling at her I am a ROCK, I am an ISLAND!

  He had to say something soon or it would become too awkward and she would leave.

  “Rock,” he said, his mouth half full of pizza.

  “What?” she said.

  He then thought of something that might pass for small-talk that most normal people considered normal. “How did you get here?’

  “Natalya let me borrow one of the family cars. You want to see it? It’s the Porsche.”

  “Sure,” Conrad said, using his powers of deduction to determine that Borgans only had one Porsche, which actually surprised him.

  They got to the top of the stairs and there before them, parked on the side of the road, was a gray shiny piece of sculpture on wheels that somehow managed to look like the cross between a cheetah and a praying mantis.

  “No one else was using it tonight,” Terri said, as if that was sufficient explanation as to how she had been driven by something as out of place in the Rocks as a supermodel in an old folks’ home. Conrad realized that he was gaping at the alien artifact and closed his mouth. He suddenly became annoyed by her coming here and eating his pizza and acting like they were friends who do this sort of thing all the time.

  “Do you want to go on a ride in it?” she asked. “I don’t think Natalya would mind if we used it to take a tour of the ‘hood. I want to see if anything has changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed,” Conrad said, his voice hardening. “It’s all the same, except maybe a little more rotten. More run down.”

  She turned to look at him and he continued to look at the car. From his peripheral vision he thought he could see her mouth open like she wanted to say something, but stopped. He wanted to chase her out of there but he also didn’t want to hurt her feelings, if she had feelings that could be hurt, if she wasn’t just some puppet who thought whatever Natalya wanted her to think.

  “My dad is missing,” he said flatly.

  “What? Your dad?” Terri said, seemingly real concern in her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s missing. I mean I don’t know where he is.” His voice was rising. “We had an argument and he’s run off.”

  “How long ago?”

  Conrad turned back around and walked down the stairs. “I have to stay here and wait in case he comes back.”

  “How long has he been gone?” she asked, following closely behind.

  “Two days,” he said, standing in front of his door, not turning around.

  “He hardly ever left the apartment,” Terri said, coming down to the landing. “Do you think there might be something wrong?”

  Of course Conrad had thought about that. When he was growing up, how many times had he wished that his father just vanished? Just vanished so he could live a normal life—not have to live up to the crazy, impossible expectations of his father. Unable to share in the online adventures of other kids his age he had to make do with his imagination, and often his fantasies led to a life where fate had managed to rid him of the tyranny of his father. Sometimes he felt guilty about such fantasies—sometimes not.

  But now, now that the possibility was real—

  “He was pissed
off at me for getting the new biometric smart glasses. We argued about it, and I told him what I thought. I told him the truth. He’s real big on the truth and it’s a big truth and I put truth over compassion. And it hurt him and he’s gone.”

  His voice had broken toward the end and he cursed his body once more for betraying him.

  Terri took a step closer toward Conrad—within arm’s reach. “Have you called the police?”

  Conrad wheeled toward her, his eyes wide. “Heck no! Imagine how he would react if he found out I called the cops on him! He would get so pissed off he’d have an aneurism. And then he’d burn the apartment down . . . which probably would be a good thing.”

  “But he might be in trouble,” Terri said. “Have you tried looking for him?”

  He folded his arms and leaned his back against the door. “I’ve asked around, I mean, with people who he’s worked with. It’s not like he knows a lot of people . . . just the people he works with and . . . he still chats with some people on the Hardline but I don’t know who they are.”

  “Has he ever given you access to his computer?”

  Conrad snorted a laugh. “It’s still locked in his workshop. I think it’s rigged to explode if anyone other than him tries to open the door.” He gave her a look and sighed. “I really don’t know what to do.”

  “You know who might be able to help? Natalya. If you don’t want to go to the police, she knows people who can find your dad.” Terri smiled hopefully. “We were just talking about you today. As a matter of fact she was feeling bad about how she treated you that time you came to Stanwich. She was saying she wants to make it up to you. How about telling her about your dad and seeing if she can help?”

  Conrad’s lips pressed hard together. He felt so helpless. He had no resources of his own . . . nothing. He didn’t have the normal resources and connections that even the average person had, the accumulated connections they made after being online for years. And now his only way of finding his own father rested on Natalya, that spoiled rich kid who represented the worst of wealthy privilege and indulgence—the one who took away his Terri, took away the only real person he knew and brought her into that cookie-cutter factory of shallow heartlessness beyond the Bergs.

  Despite all the lessons his father had tried to teach him about life, it seemed that the only lesson that mattered was the one that his father hadn’t even been aware he’d been teaching—that moral integrity is indistinguishable from powerlessness.

  “Alright,” Conrad whispered. “So she feels bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, she said she wanted to get together. Would that be alright? For dinner or something.”

  “Yeah sure. You really think she’ll help with my dad? What will she do, hire a private investigator or something?”

  “I’m sure. How about you respond to my texts? I’ll text you later with the plans and we’ll get together. And who knows, maybe your dad will be back tonight. If he comes back you text me, alright? I’m worried about him too, alright?”

  “Yeah sure,” Conrad said.

  “Okay, I’ll set it up with Natalya,” Terri said, backing up the stairs. “I’ll contact you soon. Do you think if she wants to go to dinner tomorrow you can make it?”

  Conrad laughed humorlessly, “Yeah I’ll check my calendar.”

  “Okay, I’m going to head back. Good seeing you again. Really. I hope everything is okay.”

  “Alright,” he said, watching her turn once again into a two-dimensional silhouette before she disappeared completely from view.

  Chapter 8

  Terri sat in the leather bucket seat of the Porsche as it hummed through the deserted streets of the Rocks, gently swerving occasionally to avoid the potholes, the sway rocking her head and her fixed staring eyes as the white electric street lights passed over the transparent roof of the car. She was breathing hard and shaking. She would have loved to have stayed with Conrad, to just sit there and talk and eat pizza together. But she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t stay because it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real because she had an agenda.

  The buildings grew larger as they moved toward the Bergs—more colorful lights, more traffic, more pedestrians. Soon the peaks of the Bergs loomed above her, lit by numerous spotlights, the bases in darkness—the peaks appearing to float on empty space. The car was heading for Everest Tunnel.

  “Beautiful job!” said the blue image of Natalya that had appeared in the seat beside her, making little soundless claps with her hands. “I loved the way you downplayed the invitation to dinner. The invitation was barely there, couched in the possibility of me helping him. You barely gave him a crack to suspect any ulterior motives. Bravo my dear!”

  Terri’s dark eyes continued to look up. “I hate to think of it like that, like we have ‘ulterior motives. You make it sound nefarious.”

  “We have to be careful with this one. He’s like a rare, delicate specimen brought up from the bottom of the ocean. If we don’t decompress him carefully he might explode. He’s a brooder. He likes to brood. He’s got a dark cloud over him.”

  Terri sat up and looked at Natalya. “His dad is missing!”

  They entered the tunnel and Terri felt the shifting suck of air pressure—like entering hyperspace—the straight lines of light stretching along the ceiling of the tunnel to the distant exit ahead.

  “Yeah!” Natalya exclaimed. “What the fuck is up with that? How can someone really be missing in this day and age? Is he really really missing? Is it possible to be really really missing? I’m going to get my people on this. If my people can’t find him it will radically affect my view of reality. I mean to the core.”

  “Conrad used to brag that his dad had a way of moving through the city that could avoid the surveillance system.”

  “I want that!” Natalya exclaimed. “That would be awesome if I could move about anywhere in secret. That would freak my father. Freak! Just pop up anywhere. Bam! Here I am! Does Conrad know how to do that?”

  “I don’t think he knows all the particulars. I don’t know.”

  “We’ll have to talk to him about it to help him find his father. He’ll have to tell us everything he knows about it. It’s the only way we can help him. Oh! Sergei got us reservations to the Green Inn. He said he practically had to break someone’s legs to get them, but I’m pretty sure he was exaggerating. It’s like every time I ask him to do me a favor it’s like the trials of Hercules.”

  Terri’s palms started to sweat at the thought of Conrad and Sergei meeting each other. Conrad was her first kiss—and Sergei was her first . . . well, her First.

  Thinking about it brought back a memory—two years ago, bumping into Sergei the next day—a swirl of confusion about what it all meant. Sergei, without breaking a beat, winked at her and bent in close to her ear, whispering, “You were fantastic last night.” That was the last time he had acknowledged it, and the last time she acknowledged it, and everything had gone back to normal.

  The two personifications of her two different realities—her two different lives—were going to be seated together for dinner. Like matter and anti-matter—there was the possibility of mutual annihilation. Sergei was usually completely in control of himself in social situations—witty, observant, and mindful of the emotional states of others. But if he ever felt slighted in any way he could become deviously cruel. At any given party or social event she would always get a sense of relief, a sense of comfort when he arrived, because she knew he would always be on her side in any altercation or argument, and pity the poor slob he focused his anger on.

  What would Sergei make of Conrad? What would Conrad make of Sergei? And would either one of them be jealous? She felt a guilty sting of pleasure at the thought of their possible jealousy.

  The car left the tunnel of the mountain and entered a tunnel of trees, cruising under dark branches still spare from winter, filled only with buds that hadn’t yet spread themselves into leaves.

  “Oh good! Sabu is chef tomorrow,” Natalya said. “We can ha
ve him plan out our menu for us. That way we don’t have to worry about ordering anything. Just bypass that whole ordering process. Boys can get so bossy during ordering, trying to show each other up. Sabu’s selections are so sublime, the integration of his flavors transport me to whole new tiers of sensation that I don’t think ever even existed before! Is Conrad a gourmand?”

  Terri thought about the pizza slice she had just eaten, that being about the most sublime meal she had seen Conrad eat. That or General Tso’s. “Not really.”

  “It might become part of my mission to make him one. There’s one idea, sort of a My Fair Lady kind of deal. I can bring this mysterious unschooled peasant into high social circles and make him the toast of the town. What’s the original of that? Oh that’s right, Pygmalion, by Shaw. Yeah. You can be Colonel Pickering. Supercalifragilistic—no wait, wrong one. ‘The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.’ That’s the one. Maybe we should cancel dinner. Or have it in the condo, in secret. Can we really keep him hidden until we present him to society? I guess it depends a lot on him—what is he willing to put up with? And he’s a brooder. ‘Where is that bloody rain? In Spain! In Spain!’ Sergei already got the reservations and he would be so pissed if I cancelled. So fucking what, right? Still, I do want to be seen with him while he has virtually no record whatsoever. See what kind of splash—test the waters. See the world through the dark mirror that other people see in him. See what people speculate about me while they speculate on him. See? There’s an immediate payoff. Right there I can get immediate results just by going out to dinner with him. We have to all agree not to post any feeds from the dinner. From what you said he should be okay with that. Right? See what other people say. We’re in an alcove; it won’t be too easy for others to eavesdrop. Okay then, it’s settled, we proceed with the dinner!”

  The Porsche left the forest and headed toward the lighted center of Stanwich—the Helix—where the traffic and the pedestrians and the glowing fronts of the clubs and bars and shops became steadily more extravagant and insistent and flooded with a pulsing primal electric hum. A rotary surrounded the Helix and the Porsche joined in the counter-clockwise procession of vehicles like supplicants taking turns in an eternal prayer circle.