Tek Money (2 page)

Looking away from the angry officer, Jake spotted Dan now. A lean black cop was holding on to the front of Dan's shirt, shaking him. They were down at the edge of the night sea.

Jake gave a quick shake of his head, turned away from Rudy and started down across the dark sand. “Get your damn hands off him, Drexler,” he called.

Detective Lieutenant Len Drexler turned and glowered in Jake's direction. He made a low snorting noise and let go of the young man. “We have what looks like a Tek killing here, Cardigan,” he said evenly. “Your kid is pretty certainly involved in—”

“Dan's not involved in a damn thing.” Jake grabbed hold of the front of the detective's jacket. “And even if he is, you'd better not rough him up. Now, without any further bullshit, tell me exactly what's going on.”

Drexler jerked back, freeing himself from Jake's grasp. “You're excited,” he decided, “so I'll excuse your manhandling me, Cardigan.” He moved nearer to the corpse. “This guy's a Tekhead, a heavy user—and it's my guess somebody slipped him a sizzler. You probably know what that is, since you used to work in the Tek trade. A sizzler is one of those special Tek chips thought up by your Teklord cronies to take care of users they want to get rid of. Initially it acts like your ordinary chip, giving the bastard whatever fantasies he orders up on his damn Brainbox.” Frowning, the officer kicked the dead man in the side. “Later on, though, usually in a matter of hours, the victim's brain starts to short out and crash. Before that there are all sorts of uncontrollable hallucinations. Witnesses say they heard this guy yelling and howling all along this stretch of beach while on his way to pay you a social call.” He kicked at the body again. “Jesus, you can practically smell the fried brains.”

Jake put an arm around his son's shoulders. “You okay?”

“Sure, sorry about the phone. These cops got here while I was in the middle of my call to you,” explained Dan. “Wouldn't let me finish or answer when you tried to phone back.”

“You know anything about him?”

“It's Peter Traynor,” answered Dan. “He tried to see you a couple of times about a year or so ago. I recognized him when I came out to see what the noise was about.”

“Traynor?” Jake's brow wrinkled as he knelt beside the dead man. The lean face was twisted in agony even now. “Yeah, it's Traynor sure enough. Looks like he went further down the chutes since I saw him last.”

“Isn't Peter Traynor an old Tekkie buddy of yours, Cardigan?” Drexler squatted in the damp sand beside Jake. “What was he coming to see you about? Picking up a new supply of Tek chips maybe?”

Jake, slowly, rose to his feet, pulling the black cop up with him by the collar. “Let's establish something for good and all, Drexler,” he said. “I don't use Tek and haven't for years. And, as you and all your gang know damn well, I was never a dealer. That whole charge was a frame and it's been cleaned off my record. If you're trying to pass yourself off as even a halfway competent cop, you ought to keep up with what's going on.”

“C'mon, Cardigan, everybody knows that Bascom bribed the right people to get your record fancied up,” Drexler told him, laughing. “The Cosmos Detective Agency is powerful enough in Greater LA to do things like that. Now, if I had a little more influence myself, I'd do an investigation of Walt Bascom and some of his trickier operatives. Notably you and that greaser partner of yours, Sid Gomez.”

“No, Jake.” Bev caught hold of his arm and yanked him back just as Jake was about to swing on the lieutenant.

Drexler took a few steps back. “Sorry I called your partner names, Cardigan,” he said in a murmuring voice. “Now, what can you tell me about Traynor and why he was coming to call on you?”

“I met Traynor for the first time years ago, before I went to prison,” said Jake. “Yeah, and I did run into the guy in some of the Tek parlors that we were both frequenting. I saw him again about a year or more ago, when he came by to ask me to help him out with some trouble he was having with his ex-wife.” Jake shook his head. “I knew the guy was still on Tek and I didn't want to get involved with him or his problems. I gave him the name of a divorce attorney in the Glendale Sector. As I recall, he came back a few times more to try to see me when I wasn't here.”

“Twice.” Dan held up two fingers.

“Tell me about tonight,” urged the police detective. “Why was he coming here? What'd he want?”

“That I don't know.” He let his right hand drop to his side and Bev took hold of it. “He didn't vidphone in advance, if that's what you're asking. I had no idea he was going to show up.”

Drexler pointed at Dan. “Maybe the kid knows.”

“He didn't call here at all,” said Dan. “And we sure didn't have much in the way of a conversation when he did show up. I heard him out here, he was shouting and I thought he was with someone.” He shook his head. “When I came out, he was alone and he looked very upset and disheveled. I figured he'd fallen in the sand a few times. I said a few words to him and—well, that was when he died. I thought he had some kind of seizure.”

“Yeah, a rigged seizure.” Drexler's frown deepened and he scratched at his ribs. “We'll drop the questions for now, Cardigan, even though I got a feeling you do know what Traynor was up to tonight.”

“Just so your feelings don't inspire you to bother my son again.”

“I got a robot forensic team due any minute,” the lieutenant told them. “Why don't you and Bev and the kid take a hike along the beach? Stay away a couple hours. I'd truly appreciate that.”

Jake said, “Okay, we'll keep off. But remember that Traynor never got inside my place. I don't want you or your goons in there either.”

“Got something to hide?”

Before Jake could reply, Bev tugged him out of range of the policeman. “Let's take that walk,” she advised. “Come on along, Dan.”

3

T
HE COPPERPLATED ROBOT
waitress at the AllNite Neptune Cafe had been in service there for close to seven years and hadn't gone in for a tune-up in nearly two. She was as amiable as ever, but sometimes moved with a slight wobble and now and then you could hear her inner workings whirring and sputtering. When Gomez, his dark curly hair and moustache dotted with night mist, came strolling into the long, narrow seaside restaurant, she straightened up, making a chuckling noise, and went lurching up to him. “Hiya, stranger,” she said. “Long time no see.”

The detective smiled and returned her hug. “
Buenas noches
, my love,” he said. “I'm hunting for my
amigos
—did they drop in here?”

“If you mean Sourpuss,” she said, nodding her coppery head in the direction of the rear of the place, “he's back there with his son and a pretty blonde who ought to know better.”

“Now, now,
chiquita
, Jake, at the core, is nearly as jolly as you.”

“Not tonight.”

Gomez eased around her and walked through the nearly empty restaurant to the booth Jake was sharing with his son and Bev. “For lack of anything better to do,” he explained as he slid onto the bench next to Jake, “I was monitoring the cop channels on my skycar dash and thus heard that some poor
hombre
was found dead on your doorstep. When I arrived on the scene, the amiable Drexler told me he'd shooed you elsewhere.”

“Yeah, we were just starting to talk about what happened, Sid.” He tapped his forefinger absently on the side of his plazmug of nearcaf. “You knew Pete Traynor, didn't you?”

“Much better than I wanted to. A
burrito
, stubborn and stupid—at least as far as Tek was concerned. You were wise,
amigo
, to cross that guy off your guest list.” Gomez smiled across the table. “Evening, Bev. Daniel.”

Dan nodded, smiling back. “I was filling them in on what I heard Traynor saying,” he told Gomez. “I didn't share any of this with Lieutenant Drexler.”

“He's not the sort of
pendejo
who invites sharing.”

“I heard somebody shouting out there and I figured he was drunk or drugged on something,” continued Dan, resting both elbows on the tabletop. “He—and I didn't catch everything—was talking to people, imaginary people. One name he yelled was Flanders. He said something about not having anything to do with what happened to this Flanders. And he called out to Amy. Oh, and somebody named Denton or Dennis.”

Gomez asked, “Did you actually talk to him before he expired?”

“A little, yeah,” answered Jake's son. “He'd been shouting Dad's name, too, which is why I went out to take a look. I recognized him and it was obvious something was wrong. He looked sick, disoriented. He knew who I was, too, and he told me it was important that he talk to you, Dad.”

Jake asked, “He didn't say about what?”

Dan shook his head. “Well, he started to say something about some kind of hijacking. But he had that seizure—or whatever it was—and just died.”

Bev put her arm around the young man's shoulders. “Rough thing for you to go through.”

“Not that bad,” said Dan. “It was all the cop activity afterwards that really got me upset, Bev.”

Gomez waved away the copperplated waitress, who was heading for their booth with a drawn electronic orderpad. “Give me a few more minutes to gather my thoughts and order, dear lady.”

“You got it, Sidney.” She ground to a halt, tottered, and withdrew to the front of the cafe again.

“It sounds like they slipped this Tek addicted
hombre
a sizzler,” observed Gomez.

Jake said, “That's what our chum Drexler thinks, too.”

Gomez gave a shrug. “Even a nitwit can have a right notion occasionally,” he said. “Traynor was apparently having hallucinations about things that were on his mind. I assume his nocturnal visit wasn't announced in advance.”

“Nope, I had no idea he was coming by—and I don't know what he wanted to talk to me about.” Jake leaned back, took a sip of his nearcaf. “In spite of his Tek habit, the guy was a pretty good weapons technician. Last I heard, he had a fairly responsible job with Gunsmiths, Ltd., out in the West Hills Sector.”

“Those
cabróns
cook up a lot of the nastier weapons used by our esteemed nation—and for a whole stew-pot of less esteemed countries around the globe—to exterminate their current shitlist entries,” said Gomez, rubbing at his moustache. “Could it be that the late Pedro Traynor was agitated and het up about a hijacking of some of Gunsmith's engines of destruction?”

“Something stolen from an outfit like that,” said Dan, “that could be dangerous all right.”

“The thing is, Traynor's dead and gone,” said Jake. “So we'll probably never find out.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Bev said, “Flanders. We started working on a case a few weeks ago—my agency gets a case every so often, even though it's nowhere near as big as the Cosmos outfit you guys work for—a case involving a Wes Flanders, who was gunned down in the Casino Strip in the Hollywood Sector. He worked for the Banx Card central office. We haven't solved it yet and neither have the police. I'm wondering if he could be the Flanders your visitor was referring to.”

“I didn't hear any first name,” said Dan. “But this Flanders
was
killed recently and Traynor apparently thought somebody was trying to blame him.”

“Is there a pattern here, folks?” inquired Gomez, making another shooing motion at the robot waitress, who seemed on the verge of rumbling toward their booth again. “A banker and a weapons technician—what's the link?”

“Probably isn't one,” Jake said. “As for Amy—that has to be Amy St. Mars, Traynor's erstwhile missus.”

“Of the St. Mars Ponics agriculture empire?” asked his partner, sitting up straighter “There's a family with
dinero.
”

“The same, yeah. They divorced about a year or more back. Traynor came to me to help him prove she wasn't treating their two kids right,” said Jake, his fingers circling the mug. “He hoped to get custody from her—but I didn't want to get tangled up with anything like that. For one thing, it would've been impossible to prove he was any fitter a parent than Amy.”

“Well, we've checked off most of the names you heard, Dan,” commented Bev. “Except for Denton/Dennis. Anybody got a suggestion on him?”

Jake shook his head. “You know, why don't we simply forget all about this?” he suggested to them. “Traynor and I were a hell of a long way from being pals. Okay, he died—assassinated apparently—on my doorstep, but I sure don't feel any strong desire to avenge him. Unless it starts to look like Dan and I are in danger, I'd just as well back off completely from this mess.”

Bev asked him, “Aren't you even curious, Jake?”

“Not especially, no. Tekheads are getting knocked off with considerable frequency in these parts.”

Gomez said, “But usually not so close to your hearth and home,
amigo.
”

“Even so,” said Jake. “I'd like to pass on this one. Especially since nobody is paying us to poke around and investigate.”

After a few seconds, Gomez signaled to the robot waitress. “Long as we're here, I think I'll have a vegetarian fish sandwich,” he decided.

4

T
HE DARK-HAIRED YOUNG
woman with the lazgun resting on her knee was thin, at least fifteen pounds underweight. She was sitting, slouched slightly, in a tin slingchair out on the shadowy deck in front of Jake's place when he got back from seeing Bev Kendricks home. It was nearly two A.M.; the law had long since departed and hauled away the body of Peter Traynor. The wind had died to a warm whisper.

“You're Jake Cardigan, aren't you?” she asked, not getting up.