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.