He decided she was probably north of forty, but not by as much as she looked. She wore a gray business suit that revealed a thin, but not skinny, frame. Her short blonde hair might’ve looked severe on another woman, but she managed to wear it well. Her pearl earrings were just feminine enough to soften her overall look without going overboard. She the hands of a pianist—long and elegant—that busily pecked out that email on her Blackberry with great urgency.
There was something about her that he liked more than just her solitude or possible availability. He sensed a strength in her or maybe an intent sense of purpose, simply by the way she looked. Either consciously or subconsciously, women always put thought into how they looked. If that was the case, and Hicks believed it was, then he liked the way her mind worked.
The half-drunk glass of white wine at her elbow didn’t look like it had been touched it in a while and whatever the email was about, it was demanding all of her concentration. Judging by the look on her face, he was glad it wouldn’t appear in his inbox.
Hicks noted the absence of a ring on her left hand, not that he’d ever let a few ounces of gold and rock get between him and a good time. It was all just innocent chatting and flirting until it became more than that. And if it did, he let nature take its course.
He sat down two stools to her right on the other side of the curve. It gave him a good view of most of the bar and restaurant. He could see who came in off Lexington Avenue and who walked down the stairs from the hotel. He wasn’t expecting any trouble in a place like The Bull and Bear, but in Hicks’ world, trouble was never that far away.
The bartender, a brunette he remembered called Gayle, recognized him from the last time he’d been there about a month before. She knew him enough to be polite but not enough to be overly friendly and certainly not enough to remember his name.
“Long time, no see.” She laid a paper napkin on the bar. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a Laphroig, double and neat. Water on the side, please.”
He’d hoped ordering the Laphroig might get the businesswoman’s attention, but if it did, she didn’t show it. He’d found the name of the scotch was always a good icebreaker. And if that didn’t work, the smoky odor of the stuff usually did the trick.
She kept thumbing away at her keypad, paying no attention to him at all. Just like Tali. But he saw her expression soften just a bit as Gayle placed the double Laphroig on the napkin and the bartender took his card. He told her to keep the tab open.
The woman finally lowered her Blackberry and looked at his drink. “Which scotch is that?”
He noticed her eyes were an unpleasant shade of blue. “It’s called Laphroig. It’s got a real smoky flavor.”
She went back to reading her Blackberry. “Never heard of it before. Smells like an ashtray.”
“Beauty is in the palate of the drinker. On a cold night like this, there’s nothing better.”
“No thanks.” She began tapping away at her device. “I’ll stick with my wine.”
Hicks knew he had to strike the right balance. He needed to be charming without being too suave. Suave tended to put women on the defensive so early in the dialogue and he was far too intrigued by her to let her pull up the drawbridge just yet.
“In vino veritas,” he quoted. “And judging by the way you’re pounding away at that Blackberry, someone’s about to get a hell of a lot of truth from you.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Her eyebrows flicked up as she kept typing. “Don’t you just hate it when people tell you how to do your job?”
“It’s an occupational hazard with me. What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m a consultant,” she said; the response coming a little too quickly. “Organizational Psychology. Sounds like a lot of nonsense unless you’re familiar with what it is, but it’s important, believe me.”
“I’m sure it is.” Hicks sipped his scotch and felt warm as the smoky booze hit home. The temporary relief alcohol gave him was the only real emotion he allowed himself to feel. It was a safe emotion because it was easy to control. It came out of a bottle, and it could be kept there until he decided to have it. He liked it that way. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who enjoys wasting her time.”
“Now I’m curious,” she said. “Just what kind of an impression does a woman who enjoys wasting her time give? In your opinion.”
Hicks gave it some thought. “Someone who kills a buzz by responding to emails in a place like this. And all appearances to the contrary, I think you’d prefer to be enjoying your wine right now.”
“You’ve got a point,” she said as she turned the Blackberry off and tucked it in her suit jacket pocket. He noticed she didn’t put it on the bar or in her bag, which was on the bar next to her. Instead, she put it in the right hand pocket of her suit jacket, even though he was sure she was a lefty. Her wine was on her left side, but Hicks was sitting to her right.
She said, “What did we do before these damned things anyway?”
“We had conversations,” Hicks offered. “Real relationships and real lives, not all the virtual reality of tablets and smartphones. I remember when you had to go to the store if you wanted to chat on line.”
“I think we’ve gotten dumber as the phones have gotten smarter.” He watched her reach for her wine with her left hand. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”
Hicks was in a playful mood. “Take a guess.”
Her eyes narrowed as she gave him an appraising look as though he was a work of art or an antique. “Given what you’ve said so far, I’d say you’re probably a philosopher. Or a professor of some kind.”
“Let’s just split the difference and say I’m a philosophy professor,” Hicks laughed. “I wish I had it so good. Unfortunately, I don’t. I’m in sales.”
“Sales can be interesting, depending on what you sell.”
He gave his standard answer. “I sell technology solutions to businesses. My clients tell me what they need and I help them find a solution that makes sense.” It wasn’t a total lie, and it was close enough to the truth so it was easy to remember after a couple of drinks. “It’s not as sexy as Organizational Psychology,” he flicked his finger against his glass, “but it pays well enough to keep me in Laphroig.”
“Sounds like you help people solve problems they didn’t know they had.”
“That’s the general idea, in theory. When everything works out the way it’s supposed to, which it almost never does.”
“If things always worked out the way they were supposed to, most people would be out of jobs,” she said. “All day long, all I hear are problems and that’s after everything has fallen apart. I just sift through the pieces, make recommendations and they pay me for my time. I’m never around long enough to see the good I’ve done, if any. There’s always another contract to fill and another company that needs help.” She seemed to have caught herself and rolled her eyes. “Listen to me grumbling. I can’t really complain, though.” She picked up her glass, again in her left hand. “Keeps me in white wine.”
Hicks drank as she sipped. He decided to let the silence between them grow. He knew they’d reached a critical moment. The conversation had either run its natural course and they’d go their separate ways or she’d find a way to keep the conversation going. He had a feeling she’d find a way to keep it going.
He took a casual look around the bar. A few new people had drifted in and out since he’d sat down, but no one had come in alone. No one was paying much attention to anything other than the glass in front of them or the person sitting next to them.
She asked, “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”
“People watching is my favorite hobby,” he admitted. “Everyone has a story and everyone has a reason for being here, even if it’s no reason at all.”
“You really are a philosopher, aren’t you? And what’s your reason for being here?”
“Good conversation and good company. Yours?�
��
“Work,” she allowed, “and maybe some good conversation as well.”
Just the kind of answer Hicks had been expecting. “Where’s home?”
She hesitated for an instant before saying, “Virginia. Alexandria, actually. Nice place, but it’s not New York.”
“Well, if it was, it wouldn’t be Alexandria. Where’d you go to University?”
This time, the hitch wasn’t as subtle, but she rebounded better. “I never had the grades for a university. It was Dallas Community College for me and proud of it. First in my family to ever get that far in school, by the way. Communications major. Never thought I’d wind up in organizational psychology, but here I am.”
Hicks smiled. “Life is like that. Who would’ve thought a philosophy major would end up selling computer solutions? So, how long have you been working in education?”
This time, there was no hitch. No pause at all, just correction. “Well, it’s not really education. It’s organizational psychology, which is kind of related, but not really.”
“It’s all psychology, I guess.” Hicks took a drink and put his glass back on the napkin. “After all, if you weren’t really a psychologist, you wouldn’t have been sent here to analyze me. Would you?”
She tilted her head just enough to show confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“This is a new one for Jason. They used to only send men to analyze men and women to analyze women. The whole opposite gender thing risks skewing the results.”
She appeared flustered. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, and I don’t even know anyone named Jason.”
“Maybe not,” Hicks said, “but you definitely work for the University. I’m just surprised they didn’t send a trained field agent to look me over. I’m curious. Why did they send you?”
He watched her take her Blackberry out of her suit pocket and put it in her bag as if she was getting ready to leave. “I don’t know how much you had to drink before you got here, but I think you’re past your limit already. You’re not making much sense at all.”
Hicks looked at his glass of scotch and focused on the facts. “The first mistake you made was asking what kind of scotch I was drinking. I asked for Laphroig, which could be bourbon or rye or even whiskey. But you already knew from reading my file that I only drink scotch. Then you put the Blackberry in your pocket instead of your bag. Most women put their Blackberry on the bar or in their bag if it’s near by. You didn’t. You put it in your right hand pocket even though you’re left handed.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Your bag and your wine are on the left side of you and you drink with your left hand. That’s not much to go on normally, but remember, I’m trained to see those things. You put it in the pocket closer to me because you thought your handheld could record our conversation better. That’s why I know you’re not a field hand because a field hand would know the damned things pick up sound anywhere. But you’re not familiar with the device, are you? I could tell by the way you were pounding the damned thing when I got here.”
“I don’t know what…”
“Your other mistake was that you hesitated when I asked you where you lived. You were going to say something else, probably Maryland, but forced yourself to say Alexandria. Nice place, but I’d wager you live in Maryland. Virginia’s close enough, though, but I wondered why would you lie about where you’re from? That’s why I asked where you went to University. You paused for just a second and said Dallas. But you don’t have a Texas accent and you would’ve had one if you’d spent enough time in Dallas to go to a community college. And you wouldn’t have lost it by living in Virginia. Softened it, maybe, but you’d still have it.”
She folded her arms. “Are you a writer? Because this is some good material you’re coming up with.”
Hicks went on. “You’re obviously not used to field work because you’re a little rough around the edges. You didn’t put your phone in your bag because they don’t allow bags in the University’s Behavioral Analytics Department in Maryland. You put your Blackberry in your pocket because you didn’t want me to get a look at it because I might recognize it. You put it in your right pocket because you thought it would make it easier for OMNI to hear us. And most damning of all, you never asked my name because you already knew it.”
She blinked. Twice.
“Now, if I’m wrong, I’ll pay for your drink and walk out the door. But if you leave, I’m going to give the Dean a full report on just how you screwed up and, my guess is, your equipment will be terminated before you reach the corner and Jason will be in a hell of a lot of trouble for wasting University resources like this.” Hicks finally looked at her. “How’d I do?”
She didn’t react. She didn’t even blink. She simply sat still with her arms still folded across her chest. She looked around at various people at the bar and then back at her glass. “This… this isn’t…” Her hand quivered as she reached for her wine.
Hicks subtly slid it away from her. “Calm down. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to burn you with the Department, either, so long as you do exactly what I tell you. I already scanned the room and no one is shadowing us so it’s just you and me.”
She looked at her hands. “But the hotel cameras?”
“I checked them a long time ago. They face the street and the cash registers, not the patrons.” He had another question on his mind. “Now you’re going to tell me who sent you.”
“But they’re still tracking our phones.” She struggled to keep her voice a whisper. “They’ll know we were here. And my handheld is on.”
“Let me see it.”
She dug it out of her bag and handed it to him. “It’s not my normal device. They gave it to me today before they sent me up here. There’s an icon I had to select to start recording, but…”
Hicks found it and togged it off. “That’s what you were banging away at it when I got in here, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “It didn’t seem to be working.”
He handed it back to her. “That’s because it isn’t. These old concrete buildings make it tough for OMNI to get a signal.” He smiled. “Even the University technology has some limits, which I find refreshing, in a way.”
She dumped her handheld back in her bag like it was on fire. “But they’ll know we met, right?”
“They’ll know we were in the same bar together, but they don’t necessarily know we spoke. The security cameras don’t point to the patrons, remember, so there’s no immediate danger. But you’d better tell me who you work for and who sent you so we can figure this out together.”
She reached for her glass of wine again and, this time, Hicks let her take it. “You were wrong about one thing. I don’t work in Behavioral Analysis. I work in the Field Analysis Department in Maryland.” She took a sip and shook her head. “Christ, you picked up on that fast. Your file said you were highly observant, but I didn’t know you were that good.”
“Skip the flattery and tell me who sent you.”
“I don’t know who ordered you to be observed and that’s the truth,” she said. “The order came in through the system yesterday morning with an information package on you and an assessment date starting today. I only got off the train a little more than an hour ago.”
Hicks knew she wasn’t lying. Her supervisor would’ve known who’d ordered the observation, but not necessarily her. “What did they want you to find out about me?”
“General appearances and impressions,” she told him. “Your state of mind. Your mood. How you conduct yourself in social situations. Are you chatty in situations where alcohol is involved? Do you say too much or too little? Your superiors seem to be concerned that you might be showing signs of field rust and are in need of a sabbatical. I’ve read your record and god knows you could use it. Moscow. Tehran. Guatemala.”
Hicks wasn’t interested in going down memory lane with a total stranger. “How did you know I’d be here? Not just where I
was, but where I’d go. Hell, I didn’t even know where I was going until I got over the bridge.”
She set her glass of wine on the bar. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”
Hicks pulled out his handheld. “Then update your resume, sweetheart, because you’re going to need a new job.”
“Okay, okay.” She slumped, ruining her perfect posture for the first time since he’d gotten there. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but I had an educated guess.”
“How?”
“It’s part of a new system the University is putting in place. It’s called Coherent Speculative Analysis. It measures metrics of faculty personnel based on their actions in the field. It takes all the data of where they go, what they do, and when they do it, adds in factors like stress and mood, and uses it to predict what a subject might do next. It takes time to build up a composite, but after a while, it can be a fairly good predictor of movements.”
Hicks had heard rumblings about that kind of program within the University for a while, but had never heard anything concrete about it until now. It wasn’t enough that the University was already plugged into almost every network device on the planet. They were spying on their own people, too. “Go on.”
“Your metrics predicted a strong likelihood that you’d come here after what you’d done today and where you were driving from,” she explained. “It also took your past actions into account and, since you hadn’t been here for a while, I took a gamble you’d stop at a bar in midtown. When I saw you had begun to look for a parking spot in this area, I took a gamble and came here.”
Hicks hated being predictable, even when a supercomputer was doing the predicting. “Jesus. They don’t even trust their own people anymore.”
“They never have. This program has been in development for over a decade and it’s finally starting to become reliable.” She took her glass of wine. “You’re right about me reading your file. I know about what happened to your agent and, believe it or not, I have helped field personnel deal with that kind of loss in the past. That kind of thing is never easy, and I can only imagine what you’re going through.”
Sympathy For the Devil Page 14