3

It's hot. Very hot. Even while wearing the Maltech Body Armor that had some temperature control to help regulate your body heat, you still feel the sun beating down on you. Maybe it's psychological. Something about being in India, in the summer, in grasslands and desert areas, just makes you feel hot all the time.

My platoon is in some town twenty miles east from the border with Pakistan. We had been ordered in to help evacuate the town after a Pakistani artillery strike hit the town. My squad started at the south and we are working our way north towards the center of town. The other two squads are coming in from the north and east.

All around us you can see the destruction the artillery strike left behind. There were buildings that had once stood a few stories tall that were now piles of rubble. Burning cars were everywhere, many of them thrown all around from the explosions like toy cars in a child's bedroom. The air was thick with the acrid smoke of still-burning fuel.

My squad is moving carefully up one of the main streets of the town, our eyes and rifles scanning any standing buildings or vantage points that could be used as an ambush point. We reach an intersection and stop to make sure the way is clear before continuing on our way, crossing the street in pairs. As we reach the next corner, which had a building that still had two stories left standing with the rest collapsed inwards, I hear a voice in my helmet. I don't need to consult the alert on my Heads Up Display to identify the speaker as Lance Corporal Daniels.

“Sarge, I think I heard something.”

I give the squad the signal to halt. “What did you hear Daniels?”

“It sounded almost like a child crying. It was very faint, though, so I'm not sure. I think it was coming from this rubble.”

My squad groups up to surround the building and I appoint 3 other people to go in with me and Daniels to do a quick search. The rest of the squad stays out to guard us. The first obstacle is the rubble itself. It takes a few moments to find a safe way into the middle of the collapsed building. Daniels finds a hole in what was left of the west wall that enables us to climb through. I look around, scanning the surroundings. Much of the building had caved in from an explosion, but where we stood was a small section where the stairs had held up and left a slightly clear space. We make our way carefully through the mess of stone and steel, trying not to move too much and make the rest of the structure fall down around us.

Daniels alerts me that he heard the sound again, coming from a pile of debris. We carefully surround the mound of rubble and keep our senses alert for any trouble- it wouldn't be the first time a trap was laid out disguised as a person in need. Daniels and I start picking through the scrap, cautiously moving every bit of rock and steel beam so that nothing collapses. As we work, the cries get louder and the translator in my helmet shows me that the person is pleading for help.

After a few minutes of painstakingly slow work, we uncover a space and find a young girl in the middle of the clutter crying and begging for help. The girl looks to be about five or six years old, is very thin, and has long hair that is dirty and tangled from her time stuck in the rubble. Lying next to her, trapped under more fragments of stone and brick, is the body of an older woman, presumably her mother. When the girl looks up and sees me and Daniels, she starts screaming.

“It's okay, calm down,” I say to her in a voice that comes out sounding robotic as my helmet translates from English to Hindi. Despite me trying to calm her, the girl keeps screaming, and it takes me a moment to realize that standing there in my uniform with my helmet on probably looks very scary to the little girl. I take my helmet off and smile down at her, trying to tell her that we are going to help her.

The rest of my people work to free the young girl and her mother from the rubble. We have to work slowly, like a game of Jenga, removing bits and pieces in such a way as to keep the pile from falling in on itself. Eventually we clear enough to pull the little girl and her mother out. Daniels, who also knows first aid, examines the child and finds that, besides the bruising and effects of the lack of nutrition, she seems to be okay. The mother, on the other hand, is not so lucky. Daniels looks at me and shakes his head, giving me a quiet indication that the woman is dead.

I pull out a canteen of water and hand it to the girl. We watch as she slowly drinks the water, some of it spilling out down her chin. After she drinks her fill, I have one of my squad talk to her to find out what happened. She tells us that her name is Amita and that she and her mother became trapped when the building was hit by a bomb two days ago. They were trying to run out of the building when it collapsed around them.

“What about your daddy? Was he here too?” I ask.

“”No. My papa went to work and didn't come back. I don't know where he is,” she replied, her voice quaking and tears filling her eyes.

I kneel down in front of her. “Don't worry, we'll get you somewhere safe.” I hold out my hand towards Amita and she takes it, allowing me to lead her out. Another of my squad mates delicately picks up the mother and carries her out with us. We meet up with the rest of the squad and I quickly bring them up to speed as to what happened, and let them know that we will be leading Amita to safety.

After regrouping, we continue heading north, going slowly and listening out for any other people who may be in trouble, or trouble that may be waiting for us. Using the well-practiced eye movements for commands, I bring up the map on my HUD and see that the other squads are already in place around the town square. I open up a communications link to our lieutenant.

“Lieutenant English, sir?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

“My squad is in place on the south side of the square, sir. We picked up two extras, one alive, one not.”

“I understand, Sergeant. The transport VTOL is on its way, ETA about eight minutes.”

We hunker down and wait for our ride out of town to arrive. About a minute before it's supposed to touch down, I hear the tell-tale whine of the VTOL's engines. I watch as it comes in from the east, skimming over the rooftops, its wide, vaguely whale-shaped body being propelled by the two turbofans on both sides of the aircraft. The Goose is about one hundred yards out when all of a sudden a streak of fire comes seemingly out of nowhere and slams into the left turbofan of the VTOL. It begins spinning out of control, smoke trailing from where the rocket took out the engine. I look on in horror as the Goose loses altitude and spins our way.

“Get to cover!” I pick Amita up in my arms and run around to duck behind an abandoned car, the closest thing to protection I could find. I look up and see the aircraft careen towards us, hitting the top of the roof of the building on the corner, sending chunks of rock flying through the air. A big hunk of stone falls through the air towards me and Amita. I put my arms around her and push her to the ground to provide protection. I hear a crash right behind me and then everything goes black.

***

I woke up with a start and quickly sit up in the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. I looked around, a bit disoriented. It took me a moment to realize that I was in Montana's apartment. A sliver of light is coming in from the hallway, and falls across the bed. I can see Montana in the light- the smooth skin of her upper back that is uncovered by the sheet, and the sensual contours of her body that is made even more alluring by the way the sheet seems to cling to her body. I sat there in the bed, a grin on my face as my eyes traced along her body.

I looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was 5:30 am. I decided to get up and get started with my day. I walked out the bedroom and into the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face and looked in the mirror. I rubbed the black sledgehammer tattoo on my right arm, the dream once again flashing through my mind. I went back into the bedroom and threw on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. As usual for my runs, I only took my knife along for protection.

My morning run didn't take that long, and I saw the same people I usually see- the young blonde trophy wife who stays in shape to please her husband, the middle-aged lawyer who runs because his midsection is getting wider, a couple of police officers who are doing it for their jobs, and even a some college kids who do it for health and fun. I recognize all of these people in passing, and greet them with a smile and a nod.

By the time I get back upstairs, it's just after 6 and Montana is just getting out of bed. I watch as she walks down the hallway out the bedroom, barefoot and wearing an oversized t-shirt that comes down to her thighs, her eyes barely open and her hair still a little messy. I give her a kiss on the cheek and go into the bedroom to take off my sweats and take a hot shower.

The steam and heat of the shower help calm me down and loosen my muscles ofter the run. It also gives me time to go over the little bit of information I have on the Jaime case. I know it's not much at the moment, but sometimes going over it helps me see things that I may have overlooked before.

I get out the shower and the smell of bacon and eggs wafts in from the kitchen, making my mouth water. I quickly get dressed and head into the kitchen. Montana has a plate waiting for me at the table. I grab a glass of orange juice to go with the food and sit down to enjoy the meal. I turn the TV on to the early morning news to see what's going on around the world. I see that's it's the same stuff- dirty politics, countries threatening war, and crazy people running around scaring others. As much as I don't like hearing about it, it's stuff like this that also keeps my bills paid.

After eating, I put the dishes in the washer and kiss Montana goodbye.

“I'll call you later,” I say as I fasten my holsters and put my guns in their place.

“Stay safe out there cowboy.”

“You know I don't go out looking for trouble. He just seems to like harassing me,” I respond with a smirk.

“Yeah, but you don't have to keep playing games with him when he shows up.”

“But then what kind of fun would I have?”

“The kind that involves me,” she says, flashing me her mischievous smile.

I'm on my way downstairs to my car when I get a call from Grant.

“What's up Hunter? Got something for me?”

“You know it, Duke. I ran down the guy in the holo. His name is Maksim Kozlov. He came over from Russia in '28 and has been mostly under the radar.”

Something in Grant's tone let me know that there was more to the story. “What else did you uncover?”

“Well, here's where the problem might be,” Grant said, hesitating. “His sponsor for a visa, and the reason why he's even been on the radar that little bit, is his cousin, Semyon Kozlov.”

It took a moment before a bell went off in my head. “Wait, Semyon Kozlov? THE Semyon Kozlov?”

“Yes, the same one who is allegedly the king of Brighton Beach.”

“Shit,” I said with a sigh. “You were right about that being a problem.”

“Exactly. If he is doing anything dirty, chances are Semyon knows about it and is covering it up. And even if he doesn't know, he might not appreciate you going after his family.”

“Yeah, but there's a girl out there who might be in trouble because of this Maksim guy, and I'm getting paid to find out what happened. If Semyon is involved, I'm just gonna have to deal with it,” I said, with determination in my voice.

“Okay, but be careful. I'll send the info to your phone. You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I do. Thanks, Hunter. I'll let you know what happens,” I say before hanging up. Thirty seconds later, my phone chimed to let me know the data from Grant had been received. I took a look at it and saw that Kozlov lived out in Brighton Beach. I brought up a map of the area and saw that he lived on a street that ended a couple of blocks away at the actual beach. I knew that because of the location of his house and it's proximity to the beach, he and his neighbors enjoyed a certain amount of privacy and seclusion. I also knew that any car that wasn't known to the people who lived there would be immediately noticed, so that limited my choices for how to go in and spy on Kozlov.

I put in a holocall to the office and D picked up on the third ring. I could see that this time she was wearing a deep-purple colored shirt and black pants. Her hair was a plum color to match the shirt.

“D, it's seven in the morning and you're at the office. Don't you ever sleep?”

“You know that's a silly question, Trace,” she replied, keeping her voice monotone.

I gently shook my head. “Anyway, what time is that guy you mentioned yesterday coming in for his appointment?”

“He said he would be here at ten.”

I took a moment to think about the time and distance, and knew that there wouldn't really be enough time to head out to Kozlov's for surveillance and still come back to meet this man, so I decided to wait until after the meeting to go out to Brooklyn.

“Okay, I'll be up there shortly.”

“And I'll be right here in my usual spot,” she said with a smile. I ended the call and made my way out the building.

I hopped in the car and made the quick drive downtown to the office. I walked in and saw D at her desk. She looked up from whatever she was working on at her computer and graced me with a wide yet forced grin.

“Had a good night?” she asked as soon as I walked in.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did,” I responded, smiling.

“And how's Montana?”

“She's good, thank you for asking,” I said, with an air of fanciness. I walked into my office, took off my jacket and holsters, and sat down at my desk. After turning on my computer, I bought up a satellite image of Kozlov's neighborhood to get a more detailed look at what I had to deal with. I spent the time going over the image and planning different ways of surveillance until the comm on my desk chimed. It was D, telling me that the appointment had arrived, and fifteen minutes early. I gave myself a few seconds to compose myself before telling her to let him in.

The door opened and in walked a middle-aged man. He was kinda tall, maybe about 6'3” or 6'4”, and had a stocky build. He was fair-skinned with a round face, attentive brown eyes, and his hair in a buzz cut that still showed the beginnings of a receding hair line. The guy was dressed casually, in brown slacks and a simple yellow shirt.

I stood up to greet him. “Good morning, I'm Trace.”

“Brian Fuente,” he said, shaking my hand.

“Please, have a seat Mr. Fuente,” I responded, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. “So what can I do for you Mr. Fuente?” I asked after we both sat down.

“Well, Mr. Trace, I came here because I heard that you are sort of, well, like a fixer or something. You know, you can help people with their problems.” His nervousness was evident in his voice.

“Some problems are easier to solve than others,” I said with a chuckle. I find that humor is a good way of helping potential clients relax in front of me.

“Well, I don't know how easy my problem will be to get rid of.”

“Just tell me what happened, and we'll go from there.”

Mr. Fuente began to tell me about the situation he was in. He and his brother Reynaldo were owners of a store in the Bronx. The community they worked and lived in was patrolled by a private security force. One night, Brian and his brother stumbled upon a drug deal going down between some of the security officers and a local gang. Both the gang and the officers saw them and Reynaldo wound up in the hospital with serious injuries. Brian went into hiding before coming to see me.

“Mr. Fuente, I can help you with this. It may take a little time, but you're gonna be in good hands. As a matter of fact, let me make a phone call right now.”

I turned on the holophone on my desk and dialed a number I knew by heart. The person on the other end picked up and, after taking a moment to recognize me, smiled wide and said with a heavy Jamaican accent, “Hello Brother Trace!”

“Hi Reverend Dixon. How you doing this morning?”

“God blessed me with another day to do his good work, so that's all I can ask for.”

I gestured to Brian. “Reverend Dixon, this is Brian Fuente. Brian, this is Reverend Clebert Dixon, the pastor of Voice of God Church in Harlem,” I said by way of introductions.

“Reverend Dixon, Mr. Fuente here is in some trouble, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could do me a favor and hide him for a little bit until I help him with his problem.”

“Brother Trace, after all you've done for me and my members, it would be no problem.”

“Thank you, Pastor,” I said before hanging up the call.

I looked up at Brian and explained why I made that call. “A few years ago, Reverend Dixon got into some trouble with a real mean group of people down in Miami. I helped him get out of it and establish the church. Ever since then, if I need a favor like this, he's usually willing to help me out.” Brian nodded in acknowledgment.

I gave Brian the address to the church and told him to go there as soon as possible. “Reverend Dixon is a good guy. He'll take care of you until this is all sorted out.”

Brian got up and we shook hands again. After escorting him out the office, I went back and put on my holsters and jacket. I told D I was leaving and then went to drive to my apartment to get some equipment I would need before driving out to Brooklyn.

2

I exited the store and pulled out my phone. I dialed up D's number as I began walking down the street towards where I parked my hovercycle. Since I was walking down the street, and didn't necessarily want the entire neighborhood knowing what I was talking about, I decided not to start a holochat with her, but instead made it voice-only.

“What's up Trace?” she asked without any greeting.

“I have a major lead. I talked to this woman at a store in Jaime's neighborhood and got some valuable information.” I quickly ran down to D what I found out from Abby.

“That's good,” she said, with little emotion.

“Yeah, so now I have to make a stop. I'll be going over to Jackie's to have a chat.”

“Do be careful. Try not to get in trouble over there this time.”

“Hey, that incident wasn't my fault. Tequila just doesn't mix with some people.”

“Yeah, but that guy's coccyx will never be the same again.”

I said goodbye to D and hung up the phone. I got on my hovercycle and headed back to the bridge and Manhattan. The sun was setting, the sky turning a purple-blue as I made my way uptown to Harlem. I watched the scenery change very noticeably as I went along, from the corporate high-rises of midtown, to the expensive apartments around Central Park, to the more modern but smaller apartment buildings of the Harlem area that sprung up in the past twenty years. It felt like you could see the change of the city just by looking at the buildings.

I finally made it up to 129^th Street and managed to find a parking space for my hovercycle across the street from my destination, “Jackie's.” It was a local bar and lounge that got a good amount of business, but I go there because of the bartender, and because I know the owner.

I walked in the front door and saw quite a few people in the place, probably grabbing some happy hour cocktails. There was a stage in one corner of the lounge area, and this evening a small band was playing back-up to a woman singing a slow ballad. She was wearing a black off-the-shoulder dress, the bottom of which came down to her knees. The dress was tight on her form- I could see the outline of her hips and thighs from where I was standing. She was wearing a pair of black heels on her feet. Her honey colored hair was pinned up with a red flower stuck in it. Her look was a very classic one, a throwback to an earlier time.

I made my way over to the bar, listening to the words floating out of the singer's lips. Her song was one of loss and betrayal, made all the more sadder by the emotion she put into each and every note. I sat on a stool and gestured for the bartender to come over. Montana smiled when she saw me, her whole face seeming to light up, and came over to my end of the bar. I smiled back, half because I was glad to see her, and half because of what she was wearing. Montana had on a black low cut blouse that displayed her ample cleavage, and black form-fitting pants. I made sure she saw me tilting my head to look at her ass when she walked over to me. She laughed and playfully hit my hand. Her light brown skin seemed to glisten underneath the light at the bar.

“What's up T, how you doin' tonight?”

“I'm alright, Montana. How's Harlem's best bartender doing?”

“It's still a little early, but it'll probably start getting busier soon. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah, I'll take a shot of Jack Daniel's.” I watched Montana turn around and grab the bottle of whiskey to start pouring my drink. She gave her backside a little wiggle for my enjoyment. I smiled.

“Is Grant back there?” I asked when she set the drink in front of me.

“Yeah, he came in about an hour ago.”

“I'm gonna go see him for a minute.” I downed the shot of Jack and set the glass on the bar. I pulled out some bills and reached out to give them to Montana. She leaned forward, practically shoving her cleavage in my face, and flashed me a wicked grin. I gently placed in the money in her shirt and winked at her. Montana stood back up and went to continue her business.

“Can I tip you like that?” I heard another customer yell out from down the bar.

“No, honey. Trace gets special privileges,” she responded, turning back to wink at me.

I got up off the stool and walked towards the back of the lounge. I made my way down a well-lit hallway, passing a couple of doors on both sides of me. I knew that the door on the right was the storeroom, and the door on the left was an old closet space that was converted into a changing room for any performers that came through. At the end of the hallway was a heavy oak door. I knocked on it, and a few seconds later it was slowly pulled open. A dark, round face with a bald head peered out at me from the other side.

“What's up, Tony. I'm here to see Grant.”

Without saying anything, he closed the door. I heard muffled voices behind the door before it opened up again. Tony moved to the side, allowing me to enter. The office was not very big, but the lack of clutter made it feel spacious. The walls were wood paneled and pictures of various singers and celebrities were hung around in frames. Grant always tried to give a chance to up-and-coming singers, and many of them remembered him when they got a contract.

Grant was sitting at a medium-sized wooden desk. He was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and black pants. His dark hair was cut very close. On his cinnamon-colored right bicep was a tattoo of black sledgehammer. He gazed at me with those eyes that were always alert, and had gotten us out of trouble on more than one occasion.

Grant stood up and smiled when I came into the office. We embraced each other and laughed.

“What's going on, Trace? I didn't expect to see you here tonight.”

“I know, but I'm working on something and I could use your help,” I responded.

“Uh oh, another big case?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I pulled out my holochip and proceeded to run down the case to Grant.

“I can see why you came to me, Duke,” he said, calling me by my old nickname. Grant took the holochip and made a copy of the Russian's image.

“Who better than Hunter himself to track someone down?” I responded.

Grant smiled at my use of his nickname. “Don't worry, buddy, I'll see what I can do.”

“You have a way with things out like this. That's why we're friends.”

“I thought we were friends because I saved your ass overseas.”

“You saved my ass?” I asked with mock incredulity. “The way I remember it, that guy was aiming at you with that big-ass rocket.”

Grant laughed. “Only because he was aiming at you first, but I shot at him and distracted him.”

“Yeah, and you missed. I'm the one that actually got him.”

“But he would have blown your ass to heaven if it wasn't for me.”

I shook my head. “Alright, just get back to me as soon as you find anything out about this guy.” I took the holochip back and pocketed it.

“No problem, Duke.”

“Don't worry, Tony, I can escort myself out,” I said with exaggerated flair. Tony just looked at me without responding, the same robotic look on his face as usual.

I walked out the office and made my way back to the front. I leaned against the bar and waited while Montana finished making someone a martini. I waved her over when she was done.

“What time you getting off tonight?”

“Midnight.”

“I'll come back and drive you home.”

Montana smiled mischievously at me. “Oh, you gonna be a gentleman tonight?”

“Ain't I always?” I asked, winking at her.

She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “Alright, I'll see you later.”

I walked out the bar and back to my hovercycle. By this time I was hungry and needed to get something to eat. I decided to go to one of my favorite spots, Mama T's Kitchen. It's a soul food restaurant that was started fifteen years ago by a woman I knew and was now run by her twin daughters Samantha and Alli. A few years ago I had done a favor for one of the twins, who was in a relationship with an abusive boyfriend. After a brief hospital stay, the boyfriend left her alone and I was always welcome at the restaurant. I tried not to take advantage of the discount they always gave me, but sometimes I couldn't help myself.

There was a parking facility a couple of blocks away from the restaurant, so I left my bike there and walked to Mama T's. I was met at the door by their robot greeter, who they named Robby. I told him that I wanted some food for takeout and walked over to the order area. I knew exactly what I wanted, the meatloaf with mashed potatoes, gravy, butter beans, and southern sweet tea. This was the kind of food that, if you ate all day every day, would give you a heart attack, but you would have a smile on your face from the heavenly food.

While waiting for my order, I put in a holocall to the office. D answered on the first ring.

“What were you doing, waiting for me to call?” I asked playfully.

“Yeah, because I have nothing better to do than sit by the phone and wait to hear your voice,” she responded, her voice flat.

“Anything new happen?”

“A guy called and made an appointment to come in tomorrow. He has a case for us. Other than that, nothing.”

“Alright, well I'm getting something to eat, and then I'll probably just relax for the rest of the night. I'll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow, Trace,” she said before disconnecting.

By this time my food was ready. I paid for it and left the restaurant, saying goodbye to Robby on my way out the door.

I drove downtown to my Murray Hill neighborhood and parked in the three-story garage near my brownstone. The weather was pleasant, so I was able to walk at a leisurely pace. I arrived home, hung up my coat in the closet, put the holsters in their proper place, and settled down in front of the TV with my dinner. The food was still hot as I proceeded to dig into the meal, wolfing down the soft moist meatloaf and buttery mashed potatoes.

On the television, I settled on a game show where teams of two had to answer questions for money. The gimmick to this show was that the contestants had to answer questions about their partner that could reveal potentially embarrassing information. It was supposed to be an update of an old show called “The Newlywed Game,” and I thought that it must have made for some awkward trips back home for some of the people on the show.

I spent the night watching TV until it was time for me to go pick up Montana. I grabbed my gear and my jacket and headed out the door. I decided this time to take my car, a hovercar that had strong, straight lines, a longer hood section, and a tail fin on the back. Ever since they started making hovercars, apparently a lot of the American companies figured that since gas mileage wasn't an issue, they could start making cars again that paid homage to the older muscle cars of the previous century. Mine was a Ford Talon that was painted black with dual white stripes painted down the middle of the car from front to back. Even though it used a fuel cell engine instead of the old combustion engine, I still felt a since of power when driving the car.

I made it back uptown with fifteen minutes to go until Montana ended her shift. I decided to wait in the car listening to the news radio. There was the usual stuff about local crime and politics, and it seemed to me that sometimes you couldn't distinguish between the two. I only gave the radio half my attention, with my mind still working on the case and trying to figure out what, if anything, the Russian from the video could have done to Jamie.

Montana walked out the door a few minutes after midnight and saw my car. I got out and walked over to the passenger side to open her door.

“You're always such a gentleman,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

“It's one of my many charms,” I responded before closing the door. I got back in the car and started driving to Montana's apartment. She lived on the west side, along Riverside Drive near Columbia University. She said she preferred working where she did instead of at a bar closer to home because she didn't like dealing with all the college kids.

I arrived at her building and managed to find a parking space right at the corner.

“Oh, you're parking the car? I guess that means you're coming upstairs?” she asked, a grin on her face.

I returned her gaze. “Is there any reason why I shouldn't? Is your husband up there?”

“Why, Mr. Trace,” Montana said with an exaggerated southern accent, “I am not that kind of woman.”

We got out of the car and I wrapped my arm around Montana's waist as we walked into her building.

1

It was a clear autumn afternoon in New York City. I would have preferred spending my time outside, enjoying the weather or working a case. Things just didn't work out that way, though. I was going over some notes on a case that had grown cold, while hoping for something to happen to break the boredom. Although I enjoyed my job, going over notes and doing paperwork was a part of it that I hated.

I was saved from my own mini-hell by a chime from the console on my desk. I pressed a button and the face of my friend and assistant, D, hovered in front of me. I knew she was in assistant mode by the serious look on her face. “Trace, a woman is here to see you,” she said with very little emotion in her voice. She once told me that she thought clients took her more seriously if she didn't smile while in their presence. I laughed at the thought of her trying to intimidate people in this way, especially with the bright green hair that she had.

“Okay, let her in,” I responded. I closed the file on my computer with the notes and watched as the doors slid open. A dark-skinned woman walked slowly into my office. She was wearing a light blue blouse with a black skirt and black open-toed shoes. Her wavy hair was cut around her ears. She had an athletic body. I could tell that she spent a lot of time exercising and taking care of herself. She walked with the grace of a trained dancer, a quiet power in her stride. What stood out to me the most, though, was the look of sadness and loss in her light brown eyes. I stood up and introduced myself, extending my hand. She shook it and said her name was Faith. Her hand had a slight tremble to it. I motioned for her to take a seat in the chair in front of my desk.

We sat there in silence for a moment before faith took a deep breath and started talking. “I have a problem, and was told you are the best person to help me with it.”

“What sort of problem?”

“My sixteen year old daughter has gone missing. We haven't seen or heard from her for over a week now,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

“Have you gone to the cops?”

“Yes, and they made a report, but they say there isn't much they can do. They say a lot of teens run away from home, usually because of drugs or a boyfriend, and return home eventually. But I know my Jamie isn't into any drugs. She is a good child.” Faith paused, trying to maintain her composure. “I know this isn't something she would do.”

“Do you have a picture of her?”

Faith reached into her purse and pulled out a holochip. I took it from her and pressed the button on it. Instantly, a holographic image of Jamie flickered to life. She had a mahogany complexion and wavy hair like her mother, but longer, down past her shoulders. She also had her mother's eyes, and a nose I assumed came from her father. In the image she was wearing black jeans and black-and-blue sneakers. She also had on a varsity sports jacket.

“What sport does she play?” I asked Faith.

“She was on the basketball team. That's how we first realized something was wrong. Her coach called us last Wednesday when she didn't show up for practice after school.”

I spent the next ten minutes getting as much relevant information from Faith on her daughter as I possibly could. The last thing we talked about before she left was my fee. With that done and Faith gone, I rang D to come into my office.

D walked in and sat down. Even while wearing jeans, sneakers, and a simple blouse, she looked inhumanely neat. I wondered briefly how she even managed to keep that green hair kept in such a neat ponytail. Instead, I told her about the case and everything Faith told me. “So where are we gonna start?” she asked.

“I figured we could start at the school. Check out her friends, teammates, and coach, see if they noticed anything. I'll also check along her usual route that she takes to get home. She doesn't live far from the school and walks to and from there everyday.” We sat and brainstormed for a few more minutes before I let her go and start doing her part of the investigation. I walked over to the closet and pulled out my leather shoulder holster. I strapped it on and made sure to check that my two pistols, Smith and Wesson .45's, were loaded and the safeties were on. I also slipped my small knife into a sheath above my right ankle. I checked myself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door to make sure everything was in place. My image stared back at me, with its shaved head, neatly-trimmed goatee, black jeans, and black shirt. Pulling on a black leather duster, I exited my office.

I made my way to the underground lot of the building where my office was located. Since the weather was pleasant, I had rode my hovercycle in today. I hopped on and pressed my thumb to the starter button. It took a second to scan my thumbprint before turning on the electronics. I leaned forward and repeated the voice-recognition phrase that I set up for the bike. The computer acknowledged my identity and started the hover engine with a high whine. I slid the helmet over my head and turned the bike to exit the parking structure. I turned east down W. 72^nd Street and then headed down Broadway.

The traffic was fairly light, so I was able to make good time down to the Brooklyn Bridge. I always enjoyed driving around the city and passing through the different neighborhoods. Every section of the city had its own feel, its own rhythm that people like me enjoyed. As I made my way across the bridge, I took a moment to take in the view of the revamped Brooklyn Navy Yards. There was a lot of activity in the yards, especially after the government took control back of the area at the beginning of the Indian-Pakistani War back in 2019. That one was a real mess, but one of the highlights for me was that first time shipping out from right here at the Navy Yards. I was younger, and the idea of going to fight for my country's allies seemed like a grand adventure at the time.

I exited off the bridge and made my way south towards Atlantic Ave. and the Boerum Hill neighborhood. It was a pleasant upper-middle class area with a lot of small commercial businesses and brownstones for one or two families. I cruised around the neighborhood on my hovercycle for a while to get the feel for the area and the lay of the land. I found a place to park my vehicle and made my way to the main street, Atlantic Ave.

I walked around to some of the shops on the street, showing a holopic of Jaime to the people in the stores. Quite a few people recognized her from the neighborhood, and a few more recognized her from the brief newsflash about a missing girl from the area, but none of them had any real information about what happened to her.

I made my way down the street and entered a convenience store. Feeling thirsty, I got a bottle of water and took it to the counter. There was a young woman at the cash register. She stood about 5'5” with a thick build, wavy dirty blonde hair, round brown eyes, pale skin, and a bored look on her face. Her shirt bore the image of a giant robot smashing a building. She was leaning on the counter reading a technology magazine when I placed the water on the counter. The young woman gave a cursory glance at me and the bottle before asking, “Is that all, Sir?” She couldn't have sounded more bored if she was watching water evaporate.

“Actually, yeah, you might be able to help me,” I answered. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the holochip with the image of Jaime on it. “Have you seen this girl around here?”

The woman squinted her eyes as she studied the image. “Yeah, that's the girl who's been missing for about a week, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is. Do you know her?”

“Not really. I mean, she came in here often, so I knew her in passing as a regular customer, but I didn't really know her.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about her the last time you saw her?”

The young woman looked up blankly towards the ceiling. “Well, not her, but there was this kinda weird guy who kept staring at her the last couple of times she was in here.”

My heart started racing when I heard this, but I kept my face impassive. “What do you mean weird?”

“He just had this look, ya know? Like, pervy. He looked at me and her the same way, like he was picturing us naked or something. It made me feel dirty.”

“Do you remember anything else about this guy?”

“He was about six feet tall, maybe a little taller, and kinda thin, especially his face. Oh,” she said, snapping her fingers, “and he had a Russian accent.”

“Do you have security cams in this place?” I asked her.

“Yeah, one behind the counter aimed at us, and one aimed at the door.”

“Do you think I could see the footage from the last Wednesday, when she disappeared?”

The young woman looked at me with reluctance written all over her face. “Well, I don't know if I should...”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a $50 bill. “Look, um,”

“ Abby,” she said.

“Abby,” I repeated, nodding. “I'm looking for this girl, and it would help me out a lot if you could do this for me,” I said, smiling. I slid the bill across the counter to her.

She hesitated a moment before taking the money. “Come on,” she said, gesturing with her head towards the back of the store. I followed her through a door into a small room with a computer. She sat down and brought up the security camera footage. The holographic image of the front of the store hovered in the air next to us. After a few minutes, we were back at the day Jaime disappeared. I saw the Russian guy Abby described walk into the store, and a minute later Jaime entered. She bought some juice and chips before leaving. The Russian guy followed about thirty seconds later, apparently in the same direction as Jaime. I asked Abby to go back and pause the footage at a good spot where we could clearly see the Russian's face.

“Can I get a copy of this?” I asked.

“Yeah, give me a nano.” Her fingers danced across the keyboard, and I quickly had an image of the Russian loaded onto the holochip. I thanked Abby as we walked back to the front of the store. I took the bottle of water and left. Now that I had a pic of someone who may have been involved in Jaime's disappearance, and knew that he was Russian, I knew where I had to go next.

Coming Soon...

I am currently working on the first entry of this blog. If all goes as planned, it will be up by the end of the week.