Night Shift

by B. K. Bass

  Dammit Frank, I wanted to say, but kept it to myself. Whatever we saw now would be through the filter of somebody talking to the police; and everybody had something to hide.

  She seemed surprised to see the badge, another sign she was home grown. After the initial shock, she grabbed a phone from beneath the bar and rang up the owner. She spoke in a hushed tone, and with the acid jazz droning through the room, I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Probably the usual. She put the phone down and said to us, “Mister Zaetsyev will be with you soon. He said to offer drinks, on him, and ask you to take a seat.”

  Somebody with more experience would have handled the invitations without all the ‘he said’ business. Either she was new, or a visit from the police was something that didn’t happen often here. Considering the judge in the corner, the latter was highly likely. Our visit was probably going to ruffle some feathers in city hall. I could almost see the vein throbbing on Captain Halsing’s forehead already.

  Frank got some sort of gin mixer with a pink umbrella in it, which he quickly discarded. With his tough-guy act, it was ironic to see him with such a delicate beverage. I took a glass of scotch straight up. The bottle looked older than my partner and I combined. The liquor itself proved that to be an understatement. One glass was probably worth more than one of my paychecks.

  We found a pair of empty couches in a corner where we wouldn’t have to watch our backs. I set my drink down on a steel table between them and lit a cigarette. Several of the patrons in the room were giving us the stink-eye, the judge included.

  “What’s the game plan?” Frank asked.

  I rolled my eyes so hard I could see into last week. “Oh, you couldn’t ask that before you flashed the bronze?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Well,” I explained, “the plan was to pose as potential clients and see what we could dig up.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh’. Now, we’ll have to take the more direct approach.”

  Frank swirled his drink in his glass and took a sip. “What about the business with Kristoff?”

  I took a draw on the cigarette and let the smoke out lazily, watching Frank stew with anticipation. After a sip of scotch, I said, “We’re working on that.”

  Frank’s brows furrowed. “I thought we were working on the dead bi—” he caught himself, “—woman from last night? “

  “We are.”

  “How can we be working on both?”

  I puffed the last of the cigarette and put it out in a fancy crystal ashtray on the table. Leaning forward to get closer, I quietly explained, “Somebody dropped her off, probably in a car with titanium bullet-proof paint, right?”

  Frank nodded. At least he was up to speed this far.

  “So, somebody with money ran into her, most likely at work.” I waved a hand around the flesh bar’s lounge.

  “Okay, I still don’t see how Kristoff fits in.”

  “Who do we know of that has a bullet-proof limo? Or actually, a handful of them?”

  Frank thought, then cursed under his breath. “Mayor Tomlinson. So, you think Kristoff is not only an addict, but a murderer?”

  I leaned back, polishing off the rest of the scotch while Frank processed.

  A slender man with perfectly quaffed hair, manicured nails, and a silk suit relieved the long silence as he greeted us with a thick Russian accent. “Gentlemen, how may I assist you today?”

  “You must be Mister Zaetsyev,” I said as I stood and shook his hand. “We have a few questions about your operation. Routine code enforcement items.”

  “Ah,” Zaetsyev nodded. He was quick to hide a frown of displeasure.

  He was good, but not good enough.

  His composure restored, the Russian said, “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order, misters...”

  “Jacobson,” I said, “and my partner, Jones. I apologize for the inconvenience, but you know how the city is. Bureaucracy rules the world, after all.” I put on my best I’m just trying to do my job smile.

  “Very well,” Zaetsyev said. “My office is this way, if you will follow me?”

  Frank chugged the rest of his drink and hurried to catch up with us as we headed into a hallway next to the bar. So far, the backup plan was going well. Next came the hard part: Asking the right questions to get the answers to the questions we couldn’t ask.

  Chapter Five

  Zaetsyev led us into a swanky office close to the lounge. He shut the carved wooden doors and gestured for us to take seats arranged in a conversation circle around a holographic fire pit. The room also held a massive desk, bookshelves, and the Russian’s personal bar. He selected a crystal decanter and a few glasses, poured drinks, and took a seat opposite from us. A large monitor on the wall framed his well-groomed personage and pressed suit. The display showed a view of gentle waves lapping a placid, white-sand beach, with palm trees swaying in the background. There were even sunbathers—devoid of any clothing.

  “One of your simulations?” I asked, gesturing at the panoramic screen.

  “Hmm?” Zaetsyev glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, yes. Indeed, it is. One of our vacation packages. Of course, this is just a static loop. The actual program is much more interactive. Maybe if you have time—”

  “No, thank you.” I interrupted with a wave of my hand. “We’re here purely on business. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course, mister...” He already forgot our names.

  “You can call me Harold if that’s easier. And this is Frank.”

  “Too kind,” the Russian said with a frown. I could tell the last thing he wanted was to be on a first-name basis with some bureaucratic lackeys. “You may call me Sergei.”

  “A pleasure,” I said as I pulled my phone out. I took a sip of the drink he’d poured, finding it to be a strong bourbon. Again, something I could never afford.

  “Not that this visit is unwelcome,” Sergei said, “but it is unexpected. My usual inspection wasn’t to be for quite some time.”

  I’d taken the liberty of pulling up the last five years’ worth of files on Dreamworks before laying down this morning. As I suspected, each was a shining report of perfection carried out by the same city official. Also, checking the GPS tracking in the official’s city-issued car, I found he was a frequent guest of the establishment. Sergei hadn’t expected us because his usual inspector was also a client. Most likely, he traded free services for flawless reports.

  “I saw that in the records, mister Zaetsyev.” I fell back on the formal address to put the tension back on. “Unfortunately, there were some discrepancies in the reporting. Certain missing details. We were sent to clear those up and save you any further inconvenience.” I opened the transmission restrictions on the files and sent them to the receiver for the fire pit. Everything in this place probably had elaborate security measures, but nobody ever thought to encrypt a holographic fire. Suddenly, the reports were rotating lazily in the air between us.

  “How... unfortunate,” Sergei said, showing signs of being unnerved. “I’m sure they are simple clerical errors, no?”

  “No,” Frank growled, likely seeing an opportunity to pull out the bad-cop gruffness.

  “Sadly,” I agreed. “But we’re here to rectify that.”

  Sergei shifted in his seat; his yet-untouched beverage clutched beneath white knuckles. “I appreciate your diligence, gentlemen. What exactly is it you need to know?”

  “Your primary form of business is the rental of virtual reality suites. Is that correct?” I asked, perusing the most recent report on my phone while the assembled documents continued to dance in front of us.

  “Yes.”

  “So, the lounge out front is a waiting area?”

  “Yes, our clients are very discerning, and their time is valuable. As our services are in high demand, there is usually a queue for an available suite. The purpose of the lounge is to keep the clients comfortable during that time.”

  “I see.” I p
retended to make some notes on the hand-held screen with a stylus. Sergei seemed more unnerved by this. I was sure he’d never had a legitimate inspection before. He would probably want to ring the neck of the usual stooge who filled out the reports, but that would be after we were long gone.

  I continued, “And the VR systems are all tied to a central data farm? Is it on site, or remote?”

  “It is on site, of course.”

  “Of course?” I asked.

  “To protect our client’s privacy, mister Jacobson,” he said with an emphasis on my name. He wasn’t as absent-minded as he had been letting on, and seemed to be catching on to my game of cat and mouse. He wanted to be the cat, but it would not bother me. Frank must have caught this as well. He gave me a sidelong glance, but I waved a hand for him to relax.

  “Of course,” I said. “How foolish of me.” Again, I pretended to make some notes. “I assume you offer a variety of simulations—not just the tropical vacations?”

  “We offer a full range of services for our clients, yes.” Sergei was still being tight-lipped.

  Damn Frank and his swaggering in with the badge at the ready.

  “Could you elaborate?” I asked, holding my stylus poised over the phone.

  Sergei took a long drink from his glass. “We offer a variety of vacation packages, entertainment venues, adventure simulations, and intimate encounters.”

  “And these are all handled by artificial intelligence?” I asked.

  Sergei balked at this, setting his glass down with a loud clink of glass on the metal table beside him. “Of course not. I am sure you are aware the civilian development and use of AI is strictly illegal.”

  I wanted him to think I had slipped up in trying to trap him. I couldn’t care less if he used AI; but I was interested in the alternatives. “Of course, Sergei.” I pulled my smokes from my pocket. “Do you mind?”

  His nose wrinkled, but he nodded in begrudging ascent.

  I lit the cigarette and took a long draw, then let the smoke drift out with an elongated breath. I was giving him time to stew over the AI question. Rogue artificial intelligence programs had almost crashed the information infrastructure of the world when the three of us were just children. Since then, they were isolated from open networks and their development restricted to government experimentation only. On the surface, they were nothing more than curiosities in a lab. Most assumed they were in secret use. Of course, no government would be foolish enough to admit that to a distrustful public.

  “Well,” I continued, “what kind of programming do you use?”

  Sergei picked up his glass and narrowed his eyes. The answer to this was in the public records, but I needed to go down this rabbit hole. “Most of our simulations are static, such as the beach behind us. Adaptive programming introduces interactive elements that anticipate the needs of our guests based on experience with former clients.”

  “So, the adaptive programming handles your ‘intimate encounters’, as you put it?”

  “Give me a real woman any day,” Frank grumbled.

  Sergei laughed, put off guard by my partner’s simple interjection. “Indeed, my friend. I agree, but this is the one service we offer that’s not handled entirely by a computer. We have employees who interface with the system’s main server to add a human touch to our more personal encounters.”

  “And how many of these VR suites does the facility have?” I asked, backing off and moving to more basic items to give the Russian a break from the duplicitous grilling.

  “Dreamworks boasts twenty-four fully functional suites,” Sergei said. He sounded like he was falling back into salesperson mode, repeating the line by reflex. This is what I was waiting for.

  “Hmm...” I feigned interest as I scribbled on the phone with the stylus. “And these humans who interface with the computers: I’ve heard them called ‘drones’. Is this correct?”

  Sergei harrumphed. “A lurid term used by the common folk and disreputable establishments. We, in the more enlightened circles of the industry, prefer to call these employees ‘virtual assistants’.”

  I tapped a finger on my chin. “So, how many of these virtual assistants are in your employ?”

  “Six,” Sergei said, “although only two are working at any given time. It is shift work, I’m sure you understand.” Now that he was on guard about the AI question, he was more than willing to share information to clear any suspicions he was lying about using them.

  “Indeed, I do.” I made some genuine notes on the phone of this instead of aimless scribbles. Knowing how many girls worked for Sergei was a starting point to finding out who was missing. With luck, our body belongs to one of the ‘virtual assistants’ that were supposed to be working tonight. “Might we have a brief tour of the facility, including your server farm? Just to make sure everything seems to match the paperwork, of course.”

  “Naturally,” Sergei said, “this way.” He stood and led us from the room.

  We walked down hallways lined with frosted glass doors, some of which slid aside as we passed. These vacant suites revealed a single reclined chair beneath an elaborate system of interface equipment. A visitor would don a bodysuit that would simulate tactile feedback over their entire body. This would attach to the harness above the chair. The user would also wear a massive helmet complete with visual and audio inputs. It was as immersive an experience as one could achieve without having interface ports surgically implanted. Of course, some guests had these, and there were accommodations for them as well. The procedure was expensive and intrusive, but the level of immersion could completely trick the mind into thinking it was somewhere else.

  After perusing the long hall of identical rooms, most occupied, we reached a heavy security door in the building’s rear. It was at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway which itself was behind a locked door. “Quite a bit of security,” I said. “Have you ever had problems with unauthorized access?”

  “No, of course not,” Sergei said as he scanned his wrist ID near the door. This opened a panel in the wall to reveal a retina scanner. As he waited for the scan, he added, “This building was designed and built to my specifications, with security for our servers of utmost importance. This is the reason we attract such exclusive clientele.”

  “Like politicians?” Frank asked. He was obviously tiring of my bait and switch techniques and getting bored with the long game. I shot him an angry glare.

  The security door slid open with a soft hiss and cool air wafted out to meet us. “Sometimes,” was all Sergei had to say in answer. “It will be cold inside, to protect the computers, but not uncomfortably so.” With this, he led us inside.

  The room contained rows upon rows of computers lined up in racks and connected with neatly bundled cables. Lights blinked on and off as the electronic brains spoke to each other. The machines were hard at work entertaining their guests. Monitors filled the walls and hung on booms from the ceiling, all displaying different fantasies playing out in the suites. In the heart of the room was a massive console set with both manual and VR interfaces. Flanking the behemoth were two VR couches, one occupied by a young woman.

  “One of your virtual assistants?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, indeed. This is Magdela,” Sergei said.

  She was a beauty—even more attractive than our Jane Doe—but in a way that screamed class rather than eccentricity. She had long, raven-black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her makeup was mostly subtle, except bright, ruby red lipstick and nail polish that popped against her pale skin.

  My breath caught in my throat for a moment, then I noticed something out of place: The other seat was empty. It looked like our patience had finally paid off. “Should there be another girl there?”

  The Russian frowned and stepped to one of the manual interfaces. An amber-glowing holographic display floated before him, responding to his touch through some hidden sensors. “Where is that damn girl?” he muttered.

  “Somebody didn’t show up?” Frank asked. Hi
s patience was clearly wearing thin, but he was sticking to the plan.

  “Yes,” Sergei said. “Evie should be here. She is one of my more reliable employees. It is not like her to be late.”

  “How late is she?” I asked, trying my best at a conversational tone despite my eagerness for the information.

  “Hmm? Oh, almost two hours.” Zaetsyev checked the display again for some information, probably deciding who to call to fill the empty chair.

  “Looks like you need to solve this. I think we’ve seen everything we need to, so we’ll let you get back to work. Nice place. Seems to be on the up-and-up.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Sergei said without turning. “You may show yourselves out.”

  “Of course,” I said. “We’ll have to review some accounting records from our office. We’ll be in touch after that.”

  Sergei waved a hand in dismissal.

  We showed ourselves out, as requested. The car was still out front, with the agitated valet hovering nearby and giving us dirty looks. As we climbed in, Frank asked, “So, our Jane Doe is this Evie?”

  “Probably,” I answered.

  “I guess we check her place next?”

  “I think I can handle that. You up for some office work?”

  Frank groaned. “Does this have to do with the accounting you mentioned?”

  I turned the car around through a gap in traffic and headed back towards downtown. “Yeah, you need to pull up Evie’s client list from the city network at HQ and follow the money. That’s how we’ll find our list of suspects.”

  “And meanwhile, you get to rummage through her underwear drawer?”

  I shot him a grin. “Something like that.”

  Chapter Six

  It was getting late, and I was tired of driving all over the place. Frank and I stopped by another javamat before I dropped him off at headquarters, then I headed back east towards Fontane. The residential borough between Berdino and the coast hosted some of the swankier neighborhoods in the city, but still had its share of sardine can tenement buildings.