Deadrock

by Jill Sardegna

  "Oh, yeah, a great nickname – Deadrock."

  My name's Livingstone, he thought. My Granddad's name. And Dad's. The name Livingstone had brought honor to the force by those two men. But Max had been on the force for a less than a year when his dad was killed during a routine domestic disturbance call and he knew no one thought he was ready to inherit the family name.

  "They call me Dead-rock instead of Living-stone to remind me I'm not the cop my bloodmen were, Leo," said Max. They stepped over a chalk outline on the floor. The drawn shape had outstretched arms and the head flung back. Leo looked at the shape and sighed.

  "But we can still give you a good nickname," said Max. Something strong. How about Crusher? The Vanquisher?" Leo frowned. "No?" Max looked at Leo's glittering stunsuit. "Okay, how about Metallica?"

  "That has a nice ring," said Leo.

  "It suits you, Leo." Max pulled his filecorder from his pocket. "Now, come on, Metallica, let's go talk to the coroner."

  Chapter 3

  No sooner had Max and Leo returned from SoHo than Mayor Rhoades burst into the squad room shaking his arms. He planted himself in the center of the room and bellowed, "Chief Madison!"

  Chief Elaine Madison appeared at the door of her office, cool and collected in her perfectly tailored stunproof suit. "Mayor, what a pleasant surprise," she said.

  "Uh-oh," whispered Leo.

  "Yeah, she's got that 'polite-but-deadly' edge in her voice," said Max. The same edge he heard when she reprimanded him for gluing O'Malley's desk drawer shut with Liquid Anchor.

  The Mayor raved on. "Have you seen the latest Newsblots, Elaine?" he demanded. "Mayor's Great-Grandpa: Murder Victim or Thief? Oh, my opponent will have a field day with this!"

  "The boys in the lab are looking to identify the body but the capsule was damaged, Mayor. The body was exposed to the air. There's only so much they can do," said the Chief moving toward him.

  "It's the worst time to happen, " said the Mayor. "Three weeks from election. Do you think Wollman could have planted it in there?"

  "The lab says the skeleton dates back a hundred years. And so far, the passport looks valid," she said. She set her young, smooth face into a concerned but determined expression. "Come into my office, Mayor, and we can discuss this in private."

  She shot a warning glance around the squad room that was silent with 200 police eavesdroppers. Max, Leo, and the other officers immediately fidgeted with other items on their desks, looking busy while keeping one eye on the action in the middle of the room.

  "Oh, no!" said the Mayor. "Not again, Elaine. You're not going to sweet-talk me out of this one!" He backed away into O'Malley.

  "Your Honor, let me just say how personally sorry I was to hear about your great-grandfather," wheedled O'Malley.

  "But it can't be my great-grandfather!" the Mayor roared. He stumbled about the room desperately, bumping into officers and searching their faces. "Some of you old-timers must remember him!" he said, colliding into Max and rejecting his young face. He took Leo aside, "A tall old guy…gray hair?" he asked. Leo shrugged and shook his head.

  The Mayor sighed. "I remember Great-Grandpa taking me for walks in Central Park, the Zoo. If my real great-grandpa was dead inside that capsule then who was the guy taking me to the zoo? And all that paper money! Where did that come from? Elaine, you've got to get this cleared up and soon!"

  "We're working on it," the Chief said, reaching his side. She took his arm in a firm grip. "Come to my office and we'll assign the case right now."

  "We haven't got time for a routine investigation. I've built my campaign on the importance of family and Wollman will use this to destroy me! What about a Watcher?"

  The officers buzzed in reaction to the word.

  "Absolutely not!" barked the Chief. "We only go back in time in extreme cases. The risks are too great – someone could change history!"

  "Now you listen to me, Elaine," said the Mayor, shoving his face nose-to-nose with hers. "If I lose to Wollman you'll see just how extreme a case this is. You'll be out on the street and he'll have a group of philosophers in here debating about crime instead of solving it." The Mayor jabbed his finger at the scene outside the window. "Just look at that!"

  Outside, Green Robes picketed the police station, shouting about police corruption and calling for Mayor Rhoades to resign. The Chief ran her hand over her dark, glossy hair.

  "It's going to be tough to get approval for a Watcher," she said.

  "Use their own words against them!" he said, gesturing to the gilt-framed portrait hung over the door. The ancient man in the portrait wore a somber, almost sinister expression above his long, green robe. The caption of the photo read, "NO QUESTION UNANSWERED, NO CRIME UNSOLVED".

  "This is a 'Question Unanswered' and certainly a 'Crime Unsolved'!" crowed the Mayor.

  "I have to see who's due for reassignment," she said, stroking her arm tattoo and staring straight ahead as she mentally scanned her files.

  The officers scrambled. O'Malley sidled past the Mayor and whispered in a confidential tone, "I'd love to help you, Mayor, but I'm working on something right now. Of national security…"

  Max pulled Leo to the far side of the room. "Gnartz, I'd hate to get stuck with that assignment," said Leo.

  "Can't happen," said Max. "We've got our sting all lined up."

  "Well?" demanded the Mayor. "Who's it going to be?"

  The Chief planted her feet, folded her arms and met the Mayor's gaze. "In my office," she said. The Mayor hesitated, then offered her his arm to escort her.

  "Let's go, Leo. Just to be safe, I think we'd better duck out a little early today," whispered Max.

  "Out of sight, out of mind," said Leo, slipping out the door.

  Late that afternoon Max relaxed in the silence of his apartment. The colors flashed in front of his eyes to the beat of his heart. He could hear his blood streaming along its path. His arms and legs grew heavy and limp, and his head nodded forward onto his chest. The theta waves started to kick in with their sudden intensity of light and hue, indefinable colors blinking and shooting in the boundless landscape behind his eyes. His cortex tingled with the overload of thoughts jumping to be read and just as he was about to lean the secret of life…the world butted in.

  "Door buzzes and mindbeeps…" he grumbled. He yanked the sensory wires from his neck and tossed the goggles onto the rathide sofa. Still loose from the instant relaxation of the brainwave equalizer, he trudged his way to the door of his apartment, past the hexagonal walls of mounted antique rifles, and an enormous plush toy buffalo head, past the potted saguaro cactus hung with lariats and cowboy hats, and under the feather headdress hanging from the steel rafters. He opened the front door and let in the Chief.

  "I just talked to Officer Ghantillam, our assignment officer," said Chief Madison. "Since when do you take it upon yourself to refuse assignments?"

  "But Chief, I had to! The Spinelli case is set to break in three days!"

  "I hand-picked you for this Watcher, Max. Besides, it's a chance for you to get some practical use out of those bean-chips of yours."

  Bean-chips, noodle-nodules, wit-whackers, cortex-crumbs – Max had heard them all. All those names for the infochips implanted in his brain when he was eleven. His dad had thought them a great idea, and so had Max. Grandma had not been so enthusiastic. One night, Max had crept out of bed to eavesdrop on their argument.

  "The boy needs time to grow – what's he going to do with a brain full of electronic knowledge? He won't need to go to school!" she had said.

  "Exactly! Think of the time he'll save!" said Dad.

  "Time for what? Work? Why do you think there's normally an age limit of twenty-one on the implants, Jack? It's to protect these kids."

  "But we can override the limit because of his IQ. He's smart, Mom, and he wants to do it! He wants to be a cop! Think of it – one day I might even partner with my own son!"

  "You're robbing him, Jack. You're making him a freak to kids his own
age and robbing him of his childhood."

  "He's my kid. I'll do what I want!" said Dad.

  And he did. Max got the implants and dropped out of the fifth grade with a brain that had earned a college degree. Several degrees, in fact. Sometimes Max surprised himself with what he knew.

  "Max," said the Chief, "you have a chip for American history, right?" said the Chief, eyeing the room curiously.

  "History of the Old West, Chief! Wyatt Earp, Billy the Kid! Dodge City, not Old New York City."

  "Close enough," she said. "Look at it this way. The Mayor's great-grandpa's been slandered. Imagine how you'd feel if they started saying your grandfather hadn't been Chief of Police, that he'd been a thief."

  Max swung himself into the canvas hammock that hung by the window and watched a jet-scooter zip past the ninety-third floor. "Leave Granddad out of this," he said.

  Madison leaned on the nearest seat, a saddle slung over a step stool. She smoothed her no-nonsense tone into a coaxing pitch. "But just for argument's sake, you'd want to clear Granddad's name, right?"

  "Maybe, but I can't go now!"

  "You're assigned," she said, ending the debate. "You go when and where I send you."

  Max burrowed deeper into the folds of the hammock. "And if I refuse?"

  The Chief studied her hands and said softly, "I'd hate to take your badge over this, Max. After all, I'm the one who fought to let a kid become a cop, remember?"

  Max lay still for a moment, then dangled his legs over the side and rocked. "I remember. Okay, but Leo isn't going to be too happy about this, either."

  "Leo's not going. He doesn't have Watcher Clearance. He can complete the Spinelli affair without you. I'm going to put him with O'Malley."

  "O'Malley! They can't handle it," cried Max.

  "Enough! Look, I don't generally make housecalls. I only came here because of my respect for your family, so shape up!" She glared at him as he crossed to the wall covered with holograms of Clint Eastwood, John Wayne and Android Bob. He pretended to study their faces while he waited for the Chief to calm down.

  The Chief swallowed hard and fought her emotions. When she spoke, she seemed tired.

  "I need someone I can trust, Max. And after all, it's just a Watcher. All you have to do is witness the crime and bring the murderer to justice. It'll only take a few days."

  "But I need the points from the sting. Missing it'll cost me my promotion, Chief," said Max.

  "Not necessarily. You can take care of the murder quickly, return, and do the sting right on schedule. What do you say?"

  "When can I leave?" asked Max.

  "Just as soon as Bird's processed," said the Chief.

  "Bird?"

  "John Look-For-A Bird. He'll be your partner. He's just coming off of another assignment," said the Chief.

  "Just coming off a suspension, you mean! I heard he messed up his last Watcher. Caught gambling or something! The guy's a screw-up!"

  "He's a good cop," said the Chief. "He just made a mistake, that's all. You could learn a lot from him, Max."

  "First I'm a Watcher, now I'm a babysitter. I suppose you expect me to keep him out of trouble?" said Max, looking into the Chief's amused face.

  "Probably won't be necessary," said the Chief, putting her arm around Max's shoulder, "I heard he's reformed."

  The next morning, Max rose before dawn. He slid the heavy, slender box marked PARAVISION SYSTEMS from under his bed. It's just for self-protection, he told himself while assembling the pieces of the VisionScope. What if this guy really is a screw-up? I could get myself killed partnering with him.

  A wisp of an old argument echoed through his mind.

  "An illegal invasion of privacy!" his Grandma had said.

  "It's just a simple home-surveillance device!" his dad replied.

  "You track these poor people like a hunter stalking prey!"

  "'These poor people' are crooks! What good is technology if we can't use it to catch a crook?"

  "Even a crook has rights!" hollered Grandma.

  Max smiled as he remembered the endless round of debates his father and grandmother waged over police procedure versus citizens' rights. Max always found himself agreeing first with one, then the other, as they skillfully made each point. By the time one of them huffed out of the room, Max couldn't decide what he believed.

  No confusion today, Dad, Max thought, screwing the final lens in place. I'm siding with you.

  He fished the cold metal pipe of the VisionScope inside his shirt and took the Downtown Slide to the apartment building of his prey, John Look-For-A-Bird.

  Max hunkered down in the branches of the everberry bush across the street from Bird's building. He brushed back a thorny twig and cut his finger. Well, Dad always said surveillance wasn't for sissies, he thought. Not one for wisemen, either, Grandma had replied. A silver berry dribbled down the collar of his shirt, sending a chill up his spine. He trained the VisionScope onto the top floor of Bird's orange adobedon building.

  "Where are you, Birdie?" Max said to himself, scanning through the walls of each apartment in the rising morning light. He viewed a sleeping couple, then a worn young woman feeding a baby, then a man with long blonde hair practicing yoga.

  "Okay, down we go," said Max, training the VScope on the floor below. In the first apartment he viewed a dozen Green Robes sitting on the floor and eating from a communal pot. He moved on to see a child alone in a room, playing interact-toons, and finally to a woman getting ready for her shower. He let the Scope remain here perhaps a fraction of a moment longer than necessary.

  "MAX!" He jumped, sure that he had heard his Grandma's voice, and focused on the last apartment.

  "Bingo!" he cried. There on his back balcony was Detective Look-For-A-Bird, crouched on the canvas floor of a tepee, his long beefy legs folded in front of him.

  "Whoa, this guy's big," said Max.

  Even seated, Bird's barrel-chested frame took up most of the floor space of the tepee. How am I going to keep a guy that size in line, he thought. He pushed the audio button of the Scope and tucked the earpiece into his ear.

  He watched as Bird tossed his steel-gray braids over his shoulders and closed his eyes. He heard Bird take several breaths, each one deeper and slower than the one before. Then Bird opened his eyes and stared at each of the animal figures painted on the simulated buffalo skin walls of the tepee, at last concentrating on an owl.

  Bird began to chant in a rhythmic, trance-like voice. "With the owl be-come one. Medi-tate until done."

  This guy's a goofwit, thought Max.

  "Increase by four, four minutes more, four is the sacred nuuummmber, " chanted Bird.

  Max caught sight of a bit of hempfoil next to Bird's foot. He zoomed in and read the prescription form: "Meditate daily. Dosage, 4 minutes to be increased by increments of 4. For relief of anxiety and guidance on the spiritual path." It was signed by Shaman George Walks-With-A-Ghost.

  Suddenly, Bird took in a sharp breath, raised his arms like wings, and spread his fingers wide.

  "Oh, boy, he really thinks he's a bird," whispered Max.

  "Soar over the hills, look for prey, see movement in the grass, catch your meal today!" chanted Bird.

  What if we're walking down the street and suddenly he decides he's a pigeon? thought Max. I'm going to be searching for clues and he's going to be perched on a ledge, cooing and taking aim at the people below.

  Bird swayed his massive outstretched arms and ducked his head this way and that, then froze, staring at a spot on the floor. "A mouse!" he whooped.

  "What mouse?" cried Max, searching the tepee floor with the Scope.

  His head downward and his arms in a rigid spread, Bird began his imaginary dive, squealing out a whirring, diving whine as he whipped nearer the ground. At the last possible second, he snapped his teeth and threw his head back, shaking the invisible mouse.

  "A definite goofwit," said Max.

  Bird relaxed, opened his eyes, and smiled. "A very clear image
today. Shaman George, you'd be proud of me," Bird mused to himself.

  He stepped out of the flap of the tepee onto the surface of the tiny balcony. Facing the rising sun, he settled into the lounge chair and began to rub his arm tattoo. "Sports section," he said. Watching his eyes, Max saw him scan and rescan one small area of text.

  "A very clear image, alright," Bird bubbled. "An omen, even!"

  He shook his wrist, then held his index finger to his ear and his pinkie to his mouth. "Sammy?" he said, "Bird here. Give me two hundred credits on Mouse Trap in the fifth."

  "Ohhhhh!" groaned Max. "Somebody get me out of this assignment!"

  Chapter 4

  Grandma turned from her WriteUp and gave Max a disapproving look. The leather of the old armchair creaked as Max shifted uncomfortably. When Grandma looked at him that way she seemed to be able to read his mind. All his well-planned arguments flew out of his head.

  "Okay," said Grandma with a sly smile, "out with it. What's eating you?"

  Max stepped gingerly over stacks of hempfoil manuscript sheets set in haphazard piles surrounding Grandma's armchair. She lived and worked exclusively at the Broken Heart Ranch now, only venturing into the cities for promotional tours or lunch with her publicist. Over her long career she had written a score of bestsellers, all biographies of infamous mass murderers.

  Max nearly tripped over the rolls of foil strewn from the hearth of the grand stone fireplace where she kept her obsolete Print-Devil, and on cold winter nights where she occasionally roasted a wild boar. He seated himself in the carved oak rocking chair next to her desk.

  "It's like this, Grandma. I need a favor. A little favor."

  "How little?" said Grandma, piercing him with her look.

  Hmm, thought Max. Perhaps just now isn't the best time to ask Grandma for help, especially when she's facing a deadline for a new book.

  "It's about work. I need you to get me out of a dangerous assignment. I'm being partnered with a real-"

  "Maxie! When'd you get home?" cried Mr. Louis, bursting into the room. "Why didn't you stop by the kitchen and see me? Consider my feelings!" he said.