Girl in a Fishbowl (Crowbar Book 1)

by Thomas A. Gilly

  For the next half hour, they went over more safety rules; tips for concealed carry, under what circumstances she should pull out her weapon, and the basic operation of the Glock 43. At the end of that time the detective finally allowed Terri to actually shoot the thing.

  Terri was holding the gun with both hands, her left eye closed as she looked down the sight with her right.

  “Keep the dot at the muzzle sight between the rear sights. Nice and steady. Pull the trigger when you are ready.”

  Even with the ear protection the report from the gun was loud. It surprised Terri, it was like there was an explosion in her hands—and she supposed that there really was.

  “Foda-se,” she said.

  “Watch your language.”

  Terri looked at the detective, surprised. “You know Portuguese?”

  “Just the swears. Finger off the trigger, put the gun down,” Martinez said. She looked at the target eight meters away. “A little down and to the left. You limp-wristed it. Keep your wrists solid, let your arms take the recoil. If you limp-wrist it you can actually jam the gun by capturing the shell. Okay, pick the gun back up and unload the mag at your leisure to get used to the recoil.”

  After an hour of shooting Terri was surprised at how exhausted she was. Her hands and arms ached, and she was getting rattled at hearing all this gunfire in an enclosed area. She was relieved when Detective Martinez finally said they were out of bullets.

  “Not bad,” the detective said. “Now I’ll show you how to field strip your gun and clean it. A Glock can easily go for a thousand rounds without a cleaning, but you should clean it anyway after every trip to the range.”

  They moved the gun and gun bag to a back table and Martinez walked her through the disassembly and cleaning. Terri never realized there was so much to owning a gun. She had just assumed that you loaded it and kept it in your purse. If you needed it you just pointed and pulled the trigger. You never see people cleaning their guns in the movies.

  As Terri was using a toothbrush to clean the inside of the slide, she said, “I really appreciate you taking the time to teach me all this. I imagine you must be real busy.”

  Detective Martinez grunted a laugh. “I’m on paid leave right now. Other than television interviews I’m just twiddling my thumbs all day. Anyway, your friend gave me about five times what this lesson would normally cost. She said she wanted you to be a killing machine.”

  Terri laughed. “Am I? A killing machine?”

  “Only if your target is within eight meters and standing still. You have a long way to go. I would recommend coming down here at least once a week and shooting one or two hundred rounds. Get to the point where it’s second nature, where the recoil doesn’t rattle you.” The detective leaned her elbow on the table. “But I have to give this to you, you seem to be taking this seriously. I’ve been hired by rich kids before to teach them how to shoot, and usually within five minutes they’re whining about why they haven’t shot their guns yet. But those kids are working to get their certification. Somehow you’ve already got yours.”

  “Yeah, that’s my friend Natalya. She gets things done.”

  “Well, whatever, it all comes up legit, however she got it done. I was worried you’d be a prissy debutant and I wouldn’t have the option of rejecting your certification if you failed. That would have pissed me off, even with all the cash I’m getting. Okay, the gun is clean. Now put it back together.”

  Terri wanted to talk to Detective Martinez about Conrad’s father. She knew that was going against the wishes of both Conrad and Natalya, but in her gut she felt it would be for the best. Her heart beat faster as she thought about telling the detective. Her fingers fumbled with the spring as she tried to push it up against the base of the barrel. “Should it be like this?” she asked.

  “It’s got to be firm. Good. Now put the slide back on the gun.”

  She pulled back the slide and felt the resistance of the spring. She let it go and heard the familiar movie sound of the slide locking forward.

  Should I tell her? Just tell her about it? See what she thinks? Then it’ll be serious. Then it’ll be real.

  “Detective, would you mind if I asked you some advice about something other than guns?”

  One of the detective’s eyebrows raised. “I hope it’s not dating advice because I’m the wrong person to ask about that.”

  Terri laughed nervously. “No it’s . . . more of a legal thing.”

  “In that case you’d be better off talking to a lawyer.”

  “Yeah maybe . . .” Terri was about to let it go when she blurted, “It’s about a missing person.”

  Both of the detective’s eyebrows were raised. “A missing person? You know someone who’s missing?”

  Now that she went this far she had to finish it. “There’s this friend of mine and his father has been missing for several days. He’s really worried about him, he never leaves for this long and we really don’t know where he went.”

  Detective Martinez picked up the gun, did a safety check, pointed it toward the target and pulled the trigger. Terri heard the click from the empty gun. The detective pulled back the slide to reset the trigger. “It’s kind of odd for a person to go missing these days. No sign of him on social media?”

  “Well, my friend’s father,” Terri was still uncertain about whether she should mention his name, “he’s a privacy nut. He doesn’t do social media. He doesn’t even do the internet, except for the Hardline. He doesn’t trust the authorities, any authorities, so my friend is hesitant to involve the police.”

  “Are there any other family members involved? Is he married?”

  “No, he’s a single dad, with just the one son.”

  The detective frowned. “How many days has he been missing exactly?”

  “Four. It’s really unusual, he really doesn’t go out.”

  “Is there any reason to believe that your friend’s father is in any danger? What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s a computer programmer and electrical engineer. He knows a lot about electronic security, so he has ways of avoiding surveillance.”

  “I can’t really do anything unless there is an actual missing person’s report, so if you want the police involved you should convince your friend to submit one. Where was your friend’s father last seen?”

  “We had someone try to track his movements using the public cams. I have a map showing where they think he might have gone; do you want to see that?”

  The detective frowned again. “Like I said there’s really no point unless there’s a report filed. If there is any reason to think he is in danger I would have to report it myself.”

  “I don’t know if he’s in danger or not,” Terri said. “But I am worried about him. I’m worried about them both.”

  The detective sighed. “Okay, you can show me the map.”

  With a few hand gestures Terri brought up the map that Natalya had showed her on her HUD. She then clicked on the detective and sent the map to her.

  Martinez crossed her arms and looked down at the map, which from her point of view was projected on the table. She then scrunched her eyebrows and leaned forward, evidently taking interest in what she saw. “You’re saying this was the best they could do to track his movements using the public cams?”

  “Yeah, like I said he’s good at avoiding detection.”

  “But you’re fairly sure he ended up somewhere at the base of Mt. Fuji?”

  “Yeah, although we have no idea what he would be doing there. It’s still a big area.”

  The detective thought for a few minutes. She then looked at Terri. “Tell you what, if you give me all the information you have about his, I’ll look into it myself. I won’t report it yet so you don’t have to worry about any official police investigation. And if I find anything I’ll come to you first. How’s that sound?”

  “Really?” Terri said, pleased but confused. “But why are you doing this?”

  “Like I said, I
have nothing much to do these days, it’ll keep me from getting bored.”

  Chapter 28

  Conrad was sitting on his couch, eating Chinese food from a plastic container with chop sticks. He was getting better using chop sticks, picking up each piece of glazed General Tso’s and deftly popping them into his mouth. Rice was still a problem though, he had to resort to his fork to get his fill of rice. He wanted to go to China someday, as well as just about every other country in the world. When he finally got to China he wanted to be able to eat rice with chop sticks like a native.

  As he ate he looked at the map Natalya had sent him showing the possible area of his dad’s movements. It didn’t tell him anything. Conrad had no idea why his father would head that way, toward Mount Fuji. It was all just a dead end.

  Maybe Terri is right. Maybe I should call the police.

  Dad would never speak to me again.

  Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

  He heard a click and a whir from down the hall. He stuck his chop sticks into his container of food and put it on the coffee table, standing and turning toward the sound. He saw nothing amiss. He walked around the couch cautiously and stepped into the hallway. No more sounds. He decided to check all the rooms, wondering what could have made the sound. As he walked by his father’s door he almost didn’t notice it—the electronic lock was now green, where it had once been red.

  Conrad turned to face the door. His dad’s room, his inner sanctum, where he had never been allowed to enter. Could it possibly be unlocked? Years of being told never to even try to enter the room weighed on Conrad, prevented him from lifting his hand toward the door knob.

  How did the door become unlocked?

  Conrad finally lifted his hand and grasped the knob. It turned.

  He expected alarms to go off and flashing lights, but the door merely creaked softly as it swung inward. He stepped inside.

  Each wall was filled end to end with worktables. Computers, motherboards, soldering irons, lamps, little trays with resistors and capacitors, peg boards filled with tools. In the center of the room was a leather Laz-E-Boy, the worn imprint of years of use leaving a ghost of his dad’s presence.

  Conrad was startled by his dad’s voice.

  “Hello Conrad. If you’re hearing this it means that I’ve been away for five days, which means I’m probably dead. If I died in the apartment I hope it wasn’t too traumatic for you. I guess these are my last words to you and there are some things that I think need to be said. I had long hoped that you would embrace my beliefs and accept my way of life, but I am starting to see that such a hope is too much to ask for. I want you to know . . . the way I am isn’t a choice. I want what’s best for you, I want you to live a good life. That’s why I raised you the way I did. I don’t want you to be like the rest of them, like animals begging their masters for the next treat. I wanted you freed from the Black Iron Prison. I wanted you to be a human being, standing tall and living for a higher purpose. Perhaps someday you will—you at least know you are a slave—that is better than most of them.

  “I’m sure you still have questions about your other father. You’ve been good about not asking me anymore, knowing that it upsets me. I appreciate that. We did love each other once, back when we both were trying to make the world a better place. To say that he sold out to the Man is an understatement. He became the Man. I won’t tell you who he is in case you don’t want to know, but if you do want to know, if you dig around here you’ll be able to figure it out.

  “I have left you some money, there’s” the voice changed to a computer voice, “ten thousand and twenty-three dollars and fifty-two cents,” the voice changed back to his father’s “in the safe. The safe will open if you ask it. I also have some quantcoins, there are still some markets that take them. The security has been removed from all of the computers—the security is up to you now.” His father made a deep sigh. “This hasn’t been easy for me, and I know it hasn’t been easy for you. A life of meaning is not easy. When we first conceived you we had big plans for a happy life and a happy family. It didn’t turn out that way. Just know that we had better plans for the three of us, and those plans didn’t pan out. I love you, I want you to know that too. I do love you and I know you will be a fine young man. Good-bye.”

  Conrad didn’t want to cry but the tears came anyway. He held back sobs and his chest heaved, but he refused to let them out. The sobs forced their way through anyway.

  Chapter 29

  The unmarked patrol car parked itself in front of the Harray Hotel. Two-Guns stepped out wearing a light leather jacket and her green fedora. She had her personal smart-glasses on instead of her police issue. This part of the neighborhood had been dominated by strip-malls, industrial parks, chain restaurants, and mid-quality business hotels before the Great Urban Suck, and had been overlooked by any modern development, especially since the dirty bomb. The four lane road continued on straight into Mount Fuji two hundred meters ahead. Parking lots still took up most of the landscape, much of them covered with solar panels on raised platforms. Half of the buildings were boarded up.

  The Harray Hotel had once been a Marriot or Holiday Inn or some such, but now a large white board covered the previous logo with the new name painted in red. Kalid Harray owned three reclaimed hotels—perhaps he considered himself an aspiring Walter Borgan. His hotels were some of the cheapest in the city and popular with unlicensed prostitutes and black market dope dealers. The authorities tended to ignore victimless crimes where it would cost more to prosecute the perps than the back taxes they would gain if they were legit.

  The sliding glass door had once been automatic, but someone had welded on a handle to the metal frame. Two-Gun’s grabbed the handle and slid the door open. The lobby was empty of people. The carpet was splotched with random water stains—there was a distinct mildewy smell. A wide-screen television was mounted on the front counter and it turned on as Two-Guns came close. Kalid Harray himself appeared on the screen dressed in a white suit.

  “Welcome to my hotel ma’am! Our clean and affordable accommodations are at your disposal, including free Wi-Fi and a health spa! How long will you be staying with us?”

  Two-Guns didn’t say anything. She just looked back at the image of the man who smiled expectantly. After twenty seconds Harray said “Welcome to my hotel ma’am! Our clean and affordable accommodations are at your disposal, including free Wi-Fi and a health spa! How long will you be staying with us?”

  It was a bot. Two-Guns was sure there was a human somewhere in the back room so she held up her badge and said, “Just looking around. I won’t be needing any help. Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

  She found the stairwell and proceeded up to the fourth floor where Armin Shubert had been staying. Stepping into the hallway she saw Shubert’s room had been the one closest to the stairwell. It was easy to spot, it had yellow police tape barring entrance with a big X. That was okay, she didn’t want to look in the room anyway—they had already gone over it with a fine-toothed comb.

  The doors were equipped with old-fashioned card-key locks. Two-Guns strolled down the dim hall, looking at each card key slot. At the fifth door down she saw what she wanted, a plastic card sticking out of the lock with the words “Do Not Disturb” printed on it. She stopped at the door and listened. She could make out muffled voices, one male, one female. She knocked on the door and the voices went quiet. After few seconds she knocked again, harder.

  “We have another hour left,” the female voice yelled out.

  “McGee’s Rocks police,” Two-Guns said. “I have some questions.”

  She heard some movement and a door inside the apartment slammed shut. The female voice said, “I’m just here with my boyfriend. There’s nothing going on.”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions about Armin Shubert, this isn’t about you at all. I’m just wondering if you’d seen him when he was here in the building.”

  Some footsteps approached the door.

&nb
sp; “Hey! You’re that cop!”

  The door opened a crack—the latch still in place—and Two-Guns saw half of a woman’s face.

  “It is you!” She said. She turned into the hotel room. “Hey Vic! It’s that cop that killed that guy at the Helix!” She turned back to Two-Guns. “Wow! So you’re investigating that guy? That is so cool.” She closed the door, undid the latch, and opened it all the way. “Come on in! Can I get a selfie with you?”

  Two-Guns stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. The sheets on the bed were ruffled from recent use. A condom wrapper was on the floor next to the bed, as were a man’s pair of pants and shoes. Vic was apparently in the bathroom. The woman was in a yellow bathrobe, her blond streaked brown hair wet from a recent wash. Her face was thin and her smile revealed a crooked front tooth that crossed in front of another. She sat on the bed.

  “You’re investigating the guy you killed, that is so cool,” she said. “I saw some of the footage, you were badass! He had that big freakin’ machine gun and you just had that little pistol. You are a badass! Hey Vic, come on out, it’s okay! She’s a celebrity!”

  “I’ll just stay here,” Vic said from the bathroom.

  “Suit yourself,” she said. “You won’t get a selfie with her!” She extended a hand to Two-Guns. “I’m Ginger.”

  “Detective Angel Martinez.” She shook her hand. “So, you’re here with your boyfriend. Do you two come to this hotel often?”

  Ginger gave Two-Guns a knowing look. “I come here sometimes. It’s cheap and the Wi-Fi really works. And we’re right next to a mountain! It’s like we have a view!”

  “So, did you meet Armin Shubert while he was staying here?”