“What did you do?” I asked Gilchrist.
“I found out you can get bumped out when one of your projects causes enough damage to your corporation. Especially when the damaging incident happens in spectacular fashion,” he said with a smile. “I convinced our board we should acquire a certain electronics firm that was up and coming in the field of guidance systems. All was well until the Mamoud Project ended in disaster. The crash was blamed on faulty electronics from our newly acquired company. True or not, that was that.”
He was talking about a sultanate in Asia that tried launching a space station a decade ago. A whole space station. Not in pieces to be assembled once in space, but complete and fully assembled. The heaviest vehicle to lift off terra firma in history they said. They made some statement about how their achievement would announce their presence on the world stage with authority. It did, the lift vehicle came apart many thousands of meters up and the whole thing came down on their figurative heads and their nation’s treasury. They were done for. Most government bodies only dream of space travel these days.
“You have enough creds to live wherever you want and you choose to live here?”
“That’s right,” Browne said. “I ain’t one to live in the lap of luxury. If they ain’t got something I want I have it brought in. If I get bored with the place, I take off for somewhere else for awhile. I always come back.”
“Young man, what made you so pessimistic anyway?” Dudley asked.
“Maybe I was born this way,” I said. “Maybe it was the war. Maybe I’m not pessimistic. Maybe I’m just honest.”
“What branch of the service were you in?” Browne asked.
“Army. Infantry.”
“Ah, the good old Gulf Confederation. A good way to see the world, the army. At least it was when we sent troops abroad,” Nance said.
“Yeah,” I said flatly. “I didn’t get to go on any tourist excursions. We were a little busy.”
“I would imagine,” Nance said. “You should be proud of your service.”
“Why? To serve in a pointless war is something to be proud of? Our service meant nothing. We killed and died in droves, and for what? The country we fought for killed itself while we were gone. We were taken advantage of because we were stupid. What is there to be proud of?”
“That’s an interesting way to look at it.”
“It is what it is,” I said. “The point I was making is that our war wasn’t necessary. It shattered lives and the end result was we made a bad situation worse. There is nothing to be proud of. I’m sure somebody made a ton of credits out of it though.”
“That’s an awfully jaundiced view.”
“Jaundiced? No, it’s honest and unvarnished. You can’t polish a turd and you can’t slap a coat of patriotism on despicable actions and magically make it something to be proud of. Remember, rose-colored glasses make for an even more distorted view than the jaundiced eye.”
“Whoa, there friend, life sure kicked you around some,” Browne said. “Lighten up and things go a lot easier.”
“You’ll achieve a more satisfactory outcome,” added Nance.
“What the hell do they medicate you with?”
I didn’t ask just to be snarky. I really did wonder if they were on something.
“I don’t know,” Browne said. “I’m sure it’s just what we need. Go on, son, ask your questions.”
“I understand you were involved in setting up the central computer for BluCorp.”
“True. It was my idea to isolate our most important systems and information.”
“Isolate?”
“That’s right. I liked to be involved in the day-to-day sometimes. Limiting the central computer was my idea. Hackers got one way in and out. You put eyeballs on that route and kick those that don’t belong in the balls. Why do you ask? You looking to try and hack in there?” he said with a wink.
“You might say that.”
He laughed. “I get it. You’re looking to set up something similar. We went with three levels of data classification,” he said holding up three fingers. “The more mundane day-to-day stuff got standard security like any other company might use, with standard data lines in and out. The corporate inside stuff we put on a central computer that had limited and guarded access from outside. The top level corporate and board level shit had no outside access. None. The trick is to recognize what to keep locked up. If it’s truly sensitive shit you have to keep it secure and only let those that need to see it be able to do that. Maybe it inconveniences people by forcing them go to a secure facility to access things, but we never had anything in there hacked either.”
“What about encryption and security programs?”
“It was pretty standard stuff when I was there. If nobody can get to the servers, there isn’t a need for anything elaborate. We did blackout most forms of communication inside the compound. Mobile phones, satellite communications, and radios won’t work in there.”
“So it’s that simple. Lock the stuff in a fortress and control who gets in?”
“Pretty much.” he smiled. “It’s not really a fortress in a real sense. Info-wise it is. The hardware is secure, but where the systems are located, well they are just buildings connected to an isolated and independent data network.”
“Then what stops someone from walking in and taking what they want?”
“Guards. Hire good, disciplined folks to secure all of the terminals in the center and it’s simple.”
“It was your idea to use mercs? They’re not security experts.”
“We didn’t use mercenaries when I was there. They brought them in when they expanded the place into a research center. You are absolutely right about them not being experts. We hired men who were ex-Gulf Confederation Army Military Police, people from the Security Forces and the Provost Marshal units, even a couple of hackers. The current security chief decided to bring in contractors.”
“Muckle?”
“That’s right. I can give you some names if you are looking for real security experts for your endeavor.”
“Thanks, but I think we have that covered.”
“I wish you well on your venture.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Why not? I’m not giving you any inside information, nothing that will directly harm them. It’s nothing you couldn’t figure out for yourself. I’m just speeding up the process for you. I harbor no ill toward BluCorp nor owe them any loyalty. I have no stake in them. They gave me stock and credits for my severance package. I sold every share I owned and never looked back.”
“It caused quite a stir when you did that, didn’t it, Ned?” Gilchrist said.
“I suppose it did, but I was through with them just as they were through with me. Hell, son, this used to be Texas. Some folks say it still is. Some folks say this whole continent is still the United States of North America, or whatever it was called. This isn’t those long-gone places. Things change. People change. Businesses change. The corporation that I worked for is different now. It’s the way of things. I’ve moved on and BluCorp has too.”
A strawberry-blonde nurse brought the men a pitcher of lemonade on a tray with four glasses. I stepped aside to give her space and noticed the four men ogling her. She was certainly worthy of it. She smiled at me as she passed by on her way somewhere else, one of those smiles that made you feel privileged to be near her.
“Hoo boy!” Browne said, head cocked sideways as he leaned out to watch her walk away.
“What?” asked Dudley.
“That girl is a perfect example of how life ain’t fair. She’s smart as hell, sane, and put together like that? If there’s a balance in this universe, then there’s at least a couple of gals got terribly screwed over.”
“Now I see why you like it here,” I said.
Browne winked at me and said, “You’re getting there, son. You come back anytime.”
I went back inside and looked out at the four men. Gilchrist was shuffli
ng a deck of cards as Browne poured lemonade and all four of them seemed happy as larks. They were a little bastion of fun and happiness among the unhappy masses. I still thought it must have been drugs.
On my way out I thought about the place and I came to the conclusion it was a nice place to visit gramps, but you wouldn’t want to live there, unless you were one of the four crazy millionaires.
Despite Fell’s objections about me going to meet Lawton Muckle, my gut told me to go feel the guy out. I trusted my gut more than I trusted Fell so I grabbed a skycab and had it drop me off near the hotel.
The convention halls were on an upper floor, so I took the elevator. I was alone until the elevator stopped a few floors up and a man stepped inside. He nodded a greeting then punched a floor higher than where I was going.
I recognized the man from somewhere, a vid interview or something. Looking at him, I thought I got a pretty good read on the guy. I did that when I was bored and elevator rides are boring.
A once over told me a few things. He was born into a family of substance. It showed in how he carried himself. He was sly and subtle. He liked to show off his wealth, but not like some pimp that hits it big. Sly and subtle like I said.
The understated, but expensive watch was an example. The tailored suit and pair of shoes that cost more than an average joe makes in a couple of months. Nothing flashy, but anybody who knew what to look for would be impressed, and that’s exactly why he dressed and accessorized that way.
He was the marrying kind. I figured he’d been married several times for different reasons. An arranged marriage by mom and dad when he was young, then later some arm candy to impress, and a handful of other reasons. A handful of other wives too, but never married for love. Get married and divorced, repeat, over, and over, like a golf ball bounding its way down a paved road, going damned neared forever before it stops. But what the hell did I know. I didn’t play golf.
The guy saw me looking at him.
“Do I know you?” he asked in a friendly tone.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “You do look familiar though. Maybe I know your wife?”
He smiled. “Which one?”
Bounding down the road.
The elevator doors opened to my floor. “This is me,” I said.
“Good to see you again,” he said. It sounded genuine.
“Same here. Love the watch,” I said as the doors closed. He smiled a sly smile.
I found out from a passerby where the conference center was and made my way there, joining a small group headed the same direction. I was relieved to see nobody was wearing top hats and tails.
I walked into the conference center and found the room where the charity luncheon was being held. The sign at the door said it was to raise money to help starving third world children somewhere learn how to read or something. It was one of those affairs with ice sculptures and silk table clothes on the buffet tables, china plates and metal silverware for the consumption of fad foods, uniformed wait staff, and a roomful of self-important blowhards patting themselves on the back for all the good they were doing. There was also the obligatory string quartet in a corner of the room.
I’d been in the third world. It’s different there. The poor were genuinely poor and just as desperate. The rich and powerful in the third world were every bit as desperate as the poor, but for different reasons. They were desperate to stay rich and stay powerful. They were desperate enough that they’d send out thugs to stand on necks or put a slug through someone’s brain if they felt they had to. They were desperate enough to burn down their nation and their own people along with it to stay in power.
The same thing could happen in Gulf City or elsewhere in the modern world. That very same third world desperation might set in under the right circumstances. If things went sideways and it got bad enough we’d do the same. Until then, we’d go on thinking we’re better than the savages in those shitholes and keep holding charity benefits to raise money to send air conditioners to places with no electricity.
It will take more than a few charity luncheons to make the world a better place, but I was sure somebody involved in putting on that shindig would end up better off, and they sure as hell didn’t live in the third world. One more reminder that I was in the wrong racket.
A man approached me as I entered. He carried an air of eagerness and a clipboard with paper stickers edged in blue attached to the surface, just waiting to have a name scrolled across them.
Arlen Shawww, read his nametag, complete with three w’s.
I was willing to bet he was proud of it because he thought of it all on his own.
“Good day, sir. I am Mr. Shawww,” he said, pronouncing it as Shaaaah.
He stood with his marker ready to scribble my name onto a sticker and slap it onto my jacket.
I forced a smile on my face. “Good day to you, Mr. Shaw.”
His marker stopped before it made it to the sticker. “It’s not Shaw, sir. It’s Shawww, with three w’s.”
I glared at him for a few seconds, but it seemed to me he was used to that. “My apologies,” I replied. “What can I do for you, Mr. Shaw.”
I was hoping he would get frustrated and leave, but I wasn’t that lucky. He got indignant. “It’s Shawww. Please do me the courtesy and pronounce it correctly,” he said with some visible irritation.
Irritation. Now he knew how I felt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw. You see, I have a speech impediment,” I said. He looked a little chagrined. “I am unable to pronounce bullshit, made-up, names.”
He glared at me and walked away. No sticker for me.
The uniformed woman standing nearby armed with a tray of butter laughed and tilted her head my way.
“Too blunt?” I asked.
“Not if that was the reaction you were going for,” she replied.
“Have you seen an unpleasant little man around here? Goes by the name of, Muckle,” I said.
“Not recently,” she answered. “He comes to almost all of these sorts of events. He likes to orbit around the governor or any of the ultra-wealthy. Probably over there somewhere,” she said pointing with her free hand to where the string quartet played.
“Thanks,” I said. “You do this often?”
She smiled. “No, usually I carry trays of ice water.”
I smiled back. “If I find something that needs butter on it, I’ll seek you out.”
I weaved my way through the crowd heading in the direction the butter maiden indicated. The crowd was a mix of people from middle-class to high society, people who were do-gooders or just wanted to suck up to somebody.
I overheard snippets of conversations, people talking about how reading is fundamental, a trio discussing someone named Marion and her awful dress, a pair lamenting a stock that dropped a quarter of a point. An awful lot of them came off as people who had led easy lives. Lucky them. Part of me was envious of them and part of me felt sorry for them, in equal measure.
I saw Muckle at the same time he saw me. He was pretending to be interested in what a matronly woman in an expensive dress was saying to him. He excused himself and walked toward me. “Mr. Johnson, I presume,” he said offering his hand along with a fake smile.
I’d heard that voice before. It was one of the voices in the dark that gave instructions to mama’s boy Rex in the Belvedere. “Work his grape,” he’d said. So it wasn’t just Arc Tau, there was a BluCorp security angle that also wanted me worked over.
“Mr. Muckle,” I replied as I took his hand. He squeezed hard. Gene was right. Little man syndrome.
“I’m glad you could make it. I know you are out of your element, but these are nice people, just mind your manners. Quite a soiree isn’t it?” Muckle said with a sweep of his arm.
“I suppose,” I said. “The adhesive nametags are a bit plebeian, don’t you think?” I got called that once. I had to look it up in a dictionary.
Muckle scowled at me. “Let’s not be rude, Mr. Johnson. Remember where you are.”
&n
bsp; I think he was worried I might cause a scene. “You have some questions for me I believe,” I said.
“Yes. As you know, I am head of security for BluCorp. We are working with the police concerning the kidnappings of Charles and Beverly Savan. I understand you were looking into the identity of a witness in relation to this case. A lady who saw or heard something in an establishment in High Town the night Charles Savan was kidnapped.”
I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but I hoped this was an opportunity to steer him clear of Sarah if that’s where he was still looking.
“That’s not a very accurate description of what I was doing. I worked with a GCPD detective in chasing down a number of leads including a rumor about a witness as you described. That’s all it was, a rumor. There was no woman who had all the answers. There were four real, flesh and blood women in close proximity to Mr. Savan and none of them had anything pertinent to add to what we know.”
Muckle looked intrigued. “We talked with three of the women. There was one we never caught up to, Savannah Pupil was her name,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “I spoke with her twice. Her story was the same as the other three. It wasn’t difficult to locate her, even for a simple private investigator like me. How many times did you try? It took three visits to her apartment, and she was at her place of employment. Two out of four ain’t bad. If at first you don’t succeed, Mr. Muckle,” I said with a hint of condescension.
He scowled again. “We thought that was the case. And what of another woman I keep hearing about? A woman who does know something?”
I laughed. “As I said, she’s a myth. A Red Light rumor that has everybody searching and coming up blank. Cops, Langtry, and now BluCorp,” I said shaking my head. “You idiots are so clueless. You want an easy solution to a problem. A magic girl with all the answers. It’s almost like you think you can wish her into existence. Wishing won’t make her appear anymore than wishing will get these people to accept you,” I said gesturing at the crowd.
His eyes turned mean. “You think you can do better?” he said leaning in close to me.
“You assume I want to, Muckle. Because you want it, you assume everyone wants it. You don’t fit in any more than I do. We didn’t go to finishing school or get private jets as graduation presents, you and I. I’ll bet half the wealthy people in here don’t truly fit in. Maybe another couple of generations and their grandchildren will, but it won’t happen in our lifetime. You’re a functionary. You provide a service. You’re a useful prole, which puts you one rung above me on the social ladder. I’m almost useless,” I said with a smile.
The Lowdown in High Town: An R.R. Johnson Novel Page 19