and then.”
Alyson looked at the device in his hand. “You’re the one who shuts down the Oct?”
“No,” Alex laughed, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he pulled the phone away. “I merely manipulate a city planning problem. It’s been that way for years. Bastards have been trying to fix it ever since the thing went online, and they’ve spent a fortune.”
“Oh trust me, I know,” Alyson said. “That’s part of the reason I wound up down here in the first place.”
“I guess you’re parents got dragged into fixing the Oct problem?” Alex asked. His voice rang sympathetic. Alyson assumed that she was safe, that she could walk out without facing a firing squad at sunset.
“No, just my mom; she was an accountant. The city hired her to find an affordable solution to the electricity costs relating to bringing the Oct up to full operation when the tracks were finished.” Alyson rubbed her temple with a careful thumb. “But she couldn’t fix something that was broken from the start. No matter how much she tried, and how many board meetings that ran until midnight, no matter how many times I got left at school for fucking hours while my dad was held at job interviews that went nowhere, nothing ever came together.”
“Did she lose her job?” Alex asked; quiet, almost at a whisper.
“She lost more than that,” Alyson said. “I lost more than that.”
Alex nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I don’t get to see how it affects the people on the top very often. It’s a shame that the bloody thing hasn’t done anyone any good.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s good to see that someone cares enough about the people down below enough to fight for them. All I’ve done is stolen the fuckers money,” Alyson said. She laughed, trying to drown cold memories, all poised for attack at the edge of her eyelids. “It’s a far more noble crime than my own.”
“If you really want to change things, then you’ll find a way. Unfortunately, I think you’ve got something a hell of a lot harder to do before you can do that.”
Alyson tried to step into the room, but Alex pulled her back, and shut the door. “You have to start living, rather than merely surviving,” Alex said. “If you just go out and keep enough cash in your pocket to eat rather than actually get by, then you’ll never get any further than that.”
Alyson stood in silence, falling against the doorframe. “I can’t just start over without cleaning Marina Dekare’s ID up. My specs are all over her file, and the police and whoever else will be chasing me down until I wipe the ID file clean,” she said. “Can I use your computer to do that?”
“That’s not going to do anything but incriminate you further,” Alex said. “You’re better off leaving it alone. If they were chasing you out of the hotel last night, the damage is done. You need to stay low, and find somewhere safe to hole up for the next few days. Seeing as the police are looking for Marina Dekare, they’ll find her in a few days, and you might be able to walk away from this.”
“Can I ask you for a favor?” Alyson said, still looking away from him.
“More than the whole “excuse my intruding” thing? Go for it.”
“My mobile, my good mobile, I mean… it was destroyed in the hotel last night.”
“You wanted to take one from me, I know.”
“You caught me,” she said, faking a laugh, throwing her hands up. “I need something to get me around.”
“No,” he said. “I think my hospitality and kindness were enough, considering the circumstances.”
The corner of her lip twitched, jutting up into her cheek as her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to let me leave here with nothing, knowing that the fucking law is after me, and that I don’t have any money?”
“That’s right. And I hope that you’ll extend me the same respect the next time you see the Oct locked in place on the tracks.”
Alex gripped her shoulders. “Like I said; find someone you trust, and hide. I know what you will do with a new mobile, and it’s not going to get you anywhere but arrested.”
She pulled herself from his touch, and walked back through his house in silence.
“I’ll walk you down,” he called out to her.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered.
“Come on,” he pleaded. “If I don’t walk you down stairs, then we’re both going to look suspicious after the way we came up here.”
She sighed, and opened the door. “Fine.”
He followed her to the door, and fished a piece of paper from his pocket. “Alyson,” he said when she opened the door.
She paused in the door frame, and looked back at him, malice seeping from her eyes. “What?”
“Take this,” he said, placing the slip of paper into her hand. “If you don’t have this figured out by morning…I might reconsider.”
“You might reconsider?” she said, cramming the piece of paper into her pocket. “That’s great,” she said, pushing the door open. “Asshole.”
The door slammed shut behind her, electronic locks sliding and grinding into place when it fell. Alex stood in the hall, and nodded before walking back upstairs, as if to acknowledge that she was correct.
V
Rich stepped into Martin’s car to the tune of an unidentifiable rock instrumental, all lightning fast drums and complex guitar riffs. He tapped the power button. “Not now,” he said. “Good call on the missing persons report. Have a look.”
Martin took the folder, and opened to see two documents. The first was a blonde with spiky hair, age twenty-nine, last seen in Austin, with a collection of meth possession charges attributed to the name of Sara Carpenter. Martin shook his head. “Not her,” he said, stuffing the document into the other side of the folder. The next page was a younger woman with thin brown hair that hung around her shoulders, high cheeks, and a sorrowed smile over fair skin. Her record was clean. The name at the top of the page was Alyson Reid.
“Here we go,” he said. “I’d put money on her being your Marina Dekare.”
“Shit, can you record that for me? I’ll need proof that you’d put money on anything.”
“Fuck you,” Martin chuckled. “It’s a sure bet.”
“Want me put an APB out on her?” Rich asked.
Martin shook his head. He closed the folder, and placed it in the back seat with the rest of his notes, all piled up in the passenger’s side. “I’m going to make a few calls.”
“Got a hunch, I guess?”
“That’s right.”
“God help us.”
“Yeah, He is. I’ll prove it in a few days,” Martin boasted. He pulled out of his parking spot, and drove away from town. “I’m all kinds of blessed, you’d best fucking believe it. You brought your lock pick, right?”
“Yeah, it’s in my pocket, right next to my grappling hook and x-ray goggles. Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Something,” Martin said. “Derrick’s guys are done, right? We’re not going to get there, and they’re still fucking around with their big boy toys, right?”
“They checked out about three hours after they got there,” Rich responded.
“No room for real police work, I guess,” Martin muttered. “What’s the latest from Central 1?”
“Same old stuff. They’re looking for your girl. It’s like they aren’t even doing the investigation.”
“Is Mr. Rojas with them, playing with his dick?”
“I think they got their own stooge. The Rojas guy didn’t even come back this morning,” Rich responded.
“Aww,” Martin moaned. “I guess I hurt his feelings. Should we send flowers?”
“Fuck him,” Rich laughed.
“Glad to know we’re still on the same page, boss.”
Martin reached the suburbs north of town twenty minutes later, pulling into a neighborhood of houses that looked were clones of each other, all made unique by a different shade of inoffensive blue and the gold number on the door.
“Suburbia creeps me the fuck out, man,” M
artin said. “Which one of these things did Tomas Dekare get stabbed in?”
“Take a left up here,” Rich replied.
Martin pulled into the driveway a few moments later. They walked around the house to the back door. Rich jostled the door knob, finding that it was locked. He reached into his pocket, retrieved his tools, and opened the door a few seconds later.
“That was a pretty shitty lesson,” Martin said.
“Shut up, and go do your thing,” Rich said.
Martin slipped out of his shoes after he walked through the door. The floor was cold on his exposed heel, sticking out of a gaping hole in his sock. The lights in the kitchen were dimmed, and the dismal sky did little to brighten the room. Martin clicked the light switch, and proceeded into the house.
Central 1’s work was present throughout. Markers were pegged in place around footprints made by triangular high heels. Martin traced the path made by the footsteps into the foyer and back out. He looked at the office on the other side of the kitchen, and at the stairwell. “I’m going to have a look at the office,” Martin said, diverting his path from the hall.
Rich followed him into the office. They both searched for triangular footprint markers, finding nothing but a mess of carpet rolls and glue, paint rollers and cans of off white, with the sticky drippings dried onto the edge, concealing the brand logos. Newspapers were torn and crumpled around in the corners. Martin climbed over the mountain of trash, and stumbled behind the desk. “Jesus, am I blind, or did I miss the part in the report where they think that these people got into a fight in here?”
“No. There’d be markers