Houston, 2030

by Mike McKay

  “By pure chance? Same as your arrival to Sheldon-Res?”

  “Nearly so. The same day we met at the Korean place, I am, like, returning home from the Loop. On my skate, and on those dirt paths, the commute takes a lot of time, as you may imagine… Suddenly, Kim is overtaking me on his bike. He stopped and asked if I wanted a lift home. I did not mind. The skate wheels… They are not that good in the mud. He asked: where do you stay? So I told him: renting a corner, two hundred bucks per week. He said: it is probably eating all what you make with your bucket! Want to come live with us – for free? My brother, he said, married last year and moved out. We can give you an entire sofa. So I said: an entire sofa is too much for me. Any half of it will be perfectly fine. I don't need much space, not after my cruise on the Dumpster, ha! How did you put is last time: halved? And so, I ended up riding home on the back of his bike. Moving my things didn't take long. All my belongings went down with the bloody boat. My tooth brush – pretty much all I have.”

  “And how Kim's mom took your sudden arrival?” He remembered how Kim mentioned that his mother was exceptionally strict.

  “Oh, they argued for about half an hour. In Korean. But at the end she smiled and asked if I have any pajamas…”

  The door opened, and Deputy Kim walked in, breathing heavily from the speedy bike ride. “Mister Pendergrass! Sorry for keeping you waiting. You won't believe the thing I had to deal with, – all morning long!”

  “Tell us. By the way, I am not in-hurry. How did you know Kate makes such an excellent tea?”

  Kim flushed, but did not say anything about his newly acquired girlfriend. He moved on to the morning case instead, producing a hand-filled case report from his writing pad. “So the thing this morning. The husband beats his wife. The woman runs to her brother. He is some kind of bodybuilder. Big! About three times my size. The bodybuilder comes and beats crap out of the husband.”

  “It sounds simple enough,” Mark pointed out.

  “Give me your scribble, mate. I better type it in before it gets lost in the piles,” Kate said, sliding from the chair. She pulled the report from Kim's hand, crawled to the coffee table and pressed the tablet power button.

  “Not as simple, sir. That – was yesterday. And the Police was not involved. Yet! Today, the husband collects five of his buddies, they come to see the bodybuilder, and beat him. While doing work with their fists, they tell the bodybuilder something interesting. So interesting, in fact, that the bodybuilder, still covered in his own blood, runs to beats crap out of his own sister. I mean: the wife of the first guy…”

  “Oh, it is surely unusual!”

  “Whatever they have done, I could not find the ends of it. Gave them all a warning for nuisance. They can fight all they want, but why the neighbors have to suffer?”

  “Yeah, this does sound like a good tactics for such a case. The good news, now you don't need to type it in yourself. Although, it's not like you and Tan have diligently typed the reports in before,” Mark pointed to the pile of dog-eared paper reports on the table.

  “Some hardware trouble, sir.”

  “Hardware?”

  “Yeah! Since the touchscreen in our tablet broke few years ago, this Beat was constantly behind on the reports' entry. We asked tech support to fix it, but they say: no spares, and unlikely to have. They say, this model's screen is designed to last for five years, but our tablet is nearly fifteen. It's not like only us having all this shite, sir, – all the beats are the same. All in all, using the external keyboard at the scenes is not practical, so we would just fill the paper forms. Never had time to update the database with the full details…”

  “Never had time to clean either,” Mark pointed to the floor, smiling. “By the way, the civilians aren't supposed to have access to the incident database. It's confidential! But I am not the Sheriff's Office inspector either. You, guys, work very hard, and having the deputy's girlfriend helping with the data entry is perfectly OK with me.”

  At the word ‘girlfriend’ Kim flushed again. Kate continued typing, but gave Mark a smile and a little nod from behind Kim's back.

  “Never mind, Deputy. Back to business. There were some developments on the Monday case,” Mark pulled out the postmortem photo of the female victim. “What we've established so far, is that this lady was an unlicensed prostitute, and Mister Nicholas Hobson, the male vic, was her client for the night. The girl worked for a pimp named Joe Vo, apparently around the C.E.King Parkway area. We have indications that the girl's residence was around your beat, Kim, but no exact address. I'm afraid this will require an enormous amount of legwork! See, the vic's first name is Mel, but the surname – we don't know. The CSIs can run the name search, but there are too many possibilities. Mel could be short of anything: Melissa, Melanie, Melody, Pamela, and so on…”

  “Amelia?” Kate waved her hand.

  “Well, ‘Amelia’ also fits the bill. Why are you asking?”

  “Just saw this name and the surname, you have mentioned, together – on the same piece of paper. Amelia Hobson! Just a second…” She crawled to the area behind the desks and reappeared with a manila folder.

  The folder was entitled ‘UNSOLVED 2027,’ and the report Kate had mentioned was the fourth from the top. A dual rape. The victims: Amelia and Jasmine Hobson.

  “Oh, it is one of the places Kim and I visited on Wednesday,” Mark scratched his head, “the hut was empty. We had a talk to the neighbor, some old military man. To our excuse, we were looking for a male vet, and not for a prostitute… As far as the name goes, it could be a perfect match. Obviously, it's a bit freaky: the hooker's surname is the same as the male victim's… So our man is her – what? Brother? However, Natalie said, the DNA profiles are different.”

  Kim nodded. “No way they could be direct siblings. The girl was clearly Asian, and the man was White. Well, they could be step-siblings, and from different parents. Another thing is interesting. Why a step-brother would go to a pimp and pay to hire his own step-sister for a night?”

  “I can imagine one possibility. Let say, they wanted to break away from the Vo's gang. Then, if Vo does not know Amelia has a step-brother, it would give Nick some advantage. You got to remember, he was a vet with a prosthetic leg, and would not stand a chance against Vo's ‘boys’…”

  “I am afraid, it's a bit far-fetched, sir. But…”

  “As far-fetched as it is, we should go and re-visit the place, top priority. If it's a dud, we always can come back to the Beat and decide to do something else. But if we are lucky, we can save ourselves literally days of walking around. Good somebody started doing the Beat paperwork, after all,” Mark smiled to Kate.

  “OK, let's ride on, sir,” Kim stood up readily.

  Kate gave them a mockery salute. “Good luck, gents! Myself, I will finish this typing, lock the Beat and go do some skating. If I fall behind on my daily collections, the Salvation Way will wrestle my bucket away. Besides, I desperately need a smoke, – and better do it on the Loop. The smell tends to stay for long time, and this is no good for the Police reputation.”

  “Your To-Ma-Gochi again?”

  “No choice, Mark. My legs are killing me. Especially the left foot. A phantom pain. Today is a bit worse than usual. Perhaps, the weather is changing…”

  Mark nodded. William also complained about feeling his missing arms once in a while. But now – not as often as before. Some said, the pain would go away eventually, others thought it would stay for the entire life.

  Chapter 11

  As they got on their bikes, Mark asked Kim: “Do you want a bit of good advice? Not as the FBI to the Police, but as a man to a man?”

  “Sure, sir,” Kim confirmed readily.

  “First, I have to ask: have you… hm, slept with Kate?”

  Kim flushed again, now even more than back in the Beat. “…Yes,” He finally managed to whisper.

  “How is she? I mean, in bed?”

  “I… I can't really compare, sir… See… I am… a virgin.
Was – a virgin. Till the yesterday night! I know, for a twenty five year old it's quite queer…”

  “Oh, there is nothing wrong or queer of being a virgin till twenty five. Back before the Meltdown, many people were. Take myself, for starters. I met Mary in 2006. I was – twenty four. She is the only woman I ever had. Never mind virginity, man, I am about Kate.”

  “What about her, sir?”

  “I wanted to say: good choice, man. She is a survivor type, with a character. And looks like a fine material for a girlfriend… Or a wife – if you are ready…”

  “You… really think so? Well, strangely enough, my Mom said the same…”

  “Did she give you hard time for bringing a skate-bound legless girl home?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” Kim admitted, “but mostly to show who the boss is. Knowing my Mom, she agreed on Kate staying with us far too easily… And she called Kate exactly this: a survivor type. Only – in Korean…”

  “I guess, my advice was not too necessary, then. I am sure your Mom understands life better than I. She is a strong personality herself.”

  “I do appreciate the second opinion.”

  “By the way, don't forget to invite me to your wedding…”

  “Hey! Absolutely!”

  “What I can do for you, guys: I can talk to some brass back at the Station. Your beat is long overdue for the third deputy position. What is the latest estimate for the Slum population – six, six and a half thousand?”

  “Almost seven,” Kim confirmed.

  “No chance Major Ferelli will agree to have another deputy in here, – the budgets are bloody tight. But for an assistant position: a civilian, and a vet, – who knows, you may get lucky. To be frank with you, the pay is a joke, something like fifty grand per year, but still more than Kate can collect on her Salvation Way program.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kim nodded, “this would be so cool…”

  I must talk to Major today, Mark noted. While I am still in the FBI, and not an unemployed former Agent-in-Charge.

  Soon later Mark and Kim were standing in front of the same little hut of the Hobsons family, which was deserted, same as the last time. As expected, the old man, who was telling them about his military service in Kuwait, was on exactly the same spot, across the narrow muddy path, which served here for a proper street.

  “Good morning, sir,” Kim approached the old man. “We were here on Wednesday. If you don't mind, can we ask you few more questions today?”

  “Never mind, never mind, gentlemen. Ask your questions. Fire away. While I was in the Army…”

  “Does this girl look like your neighbor from that hut across the road, sir?” Mark pulled out the female victim's photo.

  “Just a moment, just a moment, gentlemen. Not as fast,” he searched his pockets and finally shouted into the open door of his own little hut: “Isabella, Isabella, darling, have you seen my glasses?”

  “My eyes are not as good as they used to be,” he admitted to Mark. A moment later, a mid-aged woman appeared on the porch holding the requested optical instrument. The glasses were missing both earpieces and had only one, and very thick, lens.

  “Perhaps, you are asking the wrong person to check your photograph, officers,” the woman said. “My father's eye-sight is not just ‘not as good as it used to be.’ It would be more honest to say: ‘non-existent’!” Kim gave Mark a flabbergasted glance. The last time they asked the old man their questions, they automatically assumed he could see the opposite side of the narrow street from his permanent observation post! To their excuse, the old man was so locked on his Kuwait military adventures, the short interview back on Wednesday was not too easy.

  “Perhaps, you can check the pictures for us, ma'am?” Mark handled the woman the photos of Nick Hobson and the female victim.

  The woman picked up the prostitute's picture right away. “Oh, this is our Amy all-right. Although, now she prefers that everybody call her Mel. She is usually at home till about lunch time. Strange, she is not here today. Well, hence you have asked… I have not seen her lately! Now, you made me wonder… The other three: the second girl, Jass, and two boys – they come home after dark and leave at sunrise. But – I have not seen light in their hut either. Not as if I looked on purpose, if you understand what I mean. We don't spy on the neighbors.”

  “Of course. Have you seen the man at all?” Kim asked, pointing to the second photo.

  “I am not sure. There was a man visiting them last week. I think, it was around Thursday. Unfortunately, I can't tell if it was the man from the photo or not. Would not lie to you, officers. Don't know.”

  “Mel and Jass. Do you know their full names, by chance, ma'am?” Mark asked. Considering their blooper three days ago, he was careful not to miss any facts.

  “Amelia, I believe. Her sister's full name is Jasmine.”

  “Amelia and Jasmine Hobson?”

  “Amelia, I am hundred percent sure. But – not quite Hobson. Often, she prefers a different surname. ‘Han,’ ‘Khan,’ or ‘Khai,’ or something like this. Asian. I don't know how it's spelled.”

  “Strange. In the Armed Forces' Career Office database this address was listed for Hobsons, not Khans. That is why we came here first place,” Mark pointed out.

  “The three younger kids are Hobsons. This surname is from their father, – he was White. Mel is his step-daughter. And so, she likes that Asian surname.”

  “Do you know this family quite well?”

  “We are not too curious about the neighbors, if it's what you mean. But – cannot live thirty feet away for ten… no, already eleven years and don't know them at all.”

  “Could you tell us?”

  “Well, we came to Houston in 2019. We are from New York, originally. And this family was also from the Big Apple. Robert and Rae-Ann Hobson, they both worked for some ‘stripping’ business, – do you remember those?”

  Mark nodded. The so-called ‘stripping’ companies were booming for several post-Meltdown years. As the commercial property market collapsed, many office buildings, especially downtown high-rises, were standing unoccupied, or worse: attracting poor squatters, winos, or drug addicts. The ‘stripping’ workers, or ‘strippers’ for short, would be called to demolish the unwanted structures and recycle all more or less usable materials within. The same companies later on fell electric power poles and dug out unused water pipes and underground cables.

  “So Rob was helping everybody with the slum construction. He always told us how to get better materials for cheaper prices,” the woman continued, “he was a great neighbor, no complains…”

  “Your father told us he was killed in some industrial accident, right?” Mark asked. No wonder, he thought for himself. Although right after the Meltdown the safety rules were strict, and the companies used cranes and proper personal protection equipment, the collapsing economy made the corrections. Soon, the ‘stripping’ workers stopped using the mechanical lifting gear, coveralls, face masks and other ‘unnecessary stuff’. Their methods became crude and dangerous: after stripping off wires, pipes, glass, plasterboard and timber, cut the metal with gas torches, then push it out of the window. Often – from thirtieth floors! The accidents were more than common, with fatality score running into several hundreds every year. Never mind: the business was profitable, and the pay was better than one could get digging landfills or growing veggies. There was no shortage for volunteers to fill the ranks of the killed ‘strippers.’ The late Rob Hobson was a lucky man if he managed to survive in this business for whole seven or eight years!

  “Yes, that's right. This was around 2024. Rae-Ann went into depression. She died about a year and a half later, in 2026. The doctor said it was lung cancer – from asbestos. Myself, I think it's from her depression. So they say, the mental state and the immune system are linked.”