Silenced Read online

  She stiffened and her lips pressed into a fine line of annoyance. I could spot that look anywhere. Many people have that reaction to me. I'm sure she had other plans for me. Not to mention, she wasn’t used to someone countering her orders.

  Her eyes focused on Jane, but she spoke to me. That trick might work when belittling her staff, but not for one whose ego was as large as yours truly.

  "I will check with him and give you a call back with his answer. This is such short notice," she said sternly, her smile waning a little.

  "No problem," I said, with a broad smile of my own. "Bye."

  I reached for the remote and clicked off the telemonitor.

  "I could’ve used some breakfast,” Jane said, her voice dejected.

  "Let's go get some," I said, as I picked up my satchel.

  Her eyes grew wide with surprise. "Aunt Belle asked us to-"

  "I know," I said slowly, making sure to highlight each word as I spoke. "We do not have time to get chummy with our client or anyone. We don't know who's responsible for Amanda's disappearance."

  "Everyone is a suspect. Even Aunt Belle," Jane said, nodding her head, her eyes brightening with that hungry, raw look inspectors get on a case. "Inspector Rule number two."

  "Excellent, you score a one hundred for today," I said, playfully slapping her on the back as she exited the room.

  She may make a good inspector yet.

  Henry's provided a full service restaurant, but only half of it was actually used. Restaurants went the way of other luxury items liked butter and dairy. Creamer was a powdery substance that was non-dairy and made from soybeans. The tables and booths bore cotton tablecloths, but none of the dinnerware was real or valuable.

  We weren't surprised that we were the only two people in the place at seven-thirty in the morning.

  A robotic waiter floated over to us. The oval, silvery thing wore an airbrushed gray suit. His head contained a brunette wig and a fake, painted on smile complete with white rectangular boxes as teeth.

  We sat down in a pale pink booth and he extended his waxy hands to each of us, providing a breakfast menu. The boxy handheld menus weighed more than my PDA, and appeared to do less. The monitor was some monochrome color and the menu choices were slim at best.

  The choices didn't inspire my hunger, or make me feel like eating.

  "Coffee, black," I said, my mind on the cigarette in the small, plastic travel box in my satchel. Whose was it? A regulator spy for Mayor Christensen? How else did she know where we were? There had to be a least a dozen or so rental rooms in the quad.

  The robot's hand retracted from the table, taking the pathetic three-item menu with him.

  "For you miss?" it asked in a stuffy, British accent.

  Why programmers consistently gave robots accents, I'll never know. Must be some private internal programmer joke.

  "Coffee, black and toast," Jane said around the still unlit cigarette in the mouth. Her first one of the day. It dangled from her lips as if disappointed it hadn't been lighted.

  It didn't wait long. As soon as the robot moved away, she lit it, her hazel eyes squinting against the smoke. She reached for the foghog. With her index finger she pressed the side button and it hungrily sucked the cigarette smoke into its round belly.

  "Let's start with the boyfriend, Nathan."

  "You handle that. I'm going to see the Memphis regs," I said, my eyes glued to the robotic waiter. I didn't like or trust robots. You never knew when one of them would flip and go berserk.

  Once a robot that cleaned house for a wealthy family in some affluent neighborhood in the Midwestern Territories caught a bad virus and killed everyone in the house with a vacuum cleaner. Bashed in their brains and then tried to clean up the mess with the murder weapon.

  Nasty thing.

  As if sensing my displeasure, the robot glided back over with two cups of coffee clasped in its hands. Jane took one look into her ceramic cup and decided against eating at Henry's restaurant anymore.

  "What is this?" Jane asked as she lifted a hunk of burnt toast from her coffee cup. Drenched in coffee, it was blackened nearly to dust.

  "Will this be all?" it asked and the door opened on his stomach, providing a keypad to enter a room number. The total cost was six SE currents.

  I punched in our rental room number and said, "End service."

  "Thank you madams," it said and drifted away.

  Jane shuddered and pushed the cup away from her. "I'm outta here. Going to see the boyfriend. I got his address from the files."

  "I'll be at the Memphis regs main office," I said as I climbed out of the booth. "Meet you back here at, say three or four o'clock?"

  She shrugged. "I've got to get an aerocycle."

  "Rent one?" I asked, thinking of the cost involved. “I’d assumed we fly my wauto.”

  "No, Aunt Belle has one I can borrow," she said. She stood up too. In her boots she was still shorter, but not by much. "Okay with you?"

  "Fine," I said, not at all worried about her using her aunt's craft. Free was good. "Later."

  She headed back to the rental room to contact her aunt. I walked outside to reclaim my blue wauto.

  I thought about the moon colonies and Amanda's supposed extracurricular activities. She might be on the moon, hanging out, to get away from her parents or to annoy them. Teenagers did stuff like that.

  Or so I was told. I felt too old to remember my teenage years, although I'm only thirty-two.

  Thirty-two is an old age in some circles.

  Especially the young.

  Outside, the sky clotted up with intensity and prepared for another rainsquall. I steered the wauto toward the downtown Memphis regulator headquarters according to coordinates supplied by the local internet website. It wasn't far from Henry's and I hadn't heard from the mayor. Not that I was going to wait until she had time to brief Captain Hanson on what to say and what not to say.

  It still bugged me that she knew where we stayed the night. Our arrival was supposed to be a surprise, something to keep everyone guessing. Yet Christensen knew, even down to the room number. I wondered if Jane had told her.

  But Jane said she hadn't told her and for now I'd have to believe that.

  The Memphis Regulator headquarters occupied a square section of the street. Only two stories high, it was wider than it was high. Built from brick and century old windows, it seemed more ready for a historical christening than it did a place of violation fighting.

  A paved lot held designated spaces for visitors and I set down the craft there and got out.

  The 350 remained locked in the glovebox and my pug was shoved under the front driver's seat. I didn't want them to know I'd come to Memphis armed. Entering regulator headquarters with weapons wouldn't put them in the best of moods, so I checked my internal honey balance. I could get through a little session of Q and A with the captain.

  Wearing my best it's-your-lucky-day-smile I passed through the two metal detectors and the security regulators, right on up to the desk clerk.

  The desk clerk's name was Herman and he appeared to be really bored.

  "Yeah?" he asked, his eyes trailing the latest ring of prostitutes back to the booking desks.

  I could almost see the drool dripping out of his mouth.

  "I'm here to see Captain Hanson," I said, my eyes not following the prostitutes, but trying to get the desk clerk's attention. I increased the wattage of my smile to it's your- incredibly-lucky-day smile. I wore my sky blue sweater and jeans with boots. Nothing screamed private inspector, but still I was a citizen, even a second rate one. He wasn’t even interested in the streaks of crusty scabs that streaked across my face, nor the now greenish bruise smeared on my cheek.

  The place bustled with activity. Regs shoved people through crowded hallways to destinations unknown and to discuss situations that many would later regret.

  "Who’s askin'?" the pale, scrawny desk clerk asked lazily. His brow furrowed as he caught a male, about fifteen years old sp
rint through the metal detectors toward the exit—and freedom. "Hey! Stop!"

  He rose out of his chair quite slowly to scream at the escaping youth, but the security regs apprehended the boy before he escaped. The youngster moved with such speed and agility, even I was impressed. Immediately, the boy was cuffed, shackled and led back down the hallway from which he'd come. Except this time he had an escort.

  "Keep an eye on him this time!" shouted the desk clerk, as he lowered himself back into his seat.

  The escorting reg flipped him off and snatched the boy along.

  The desk clerk's eyes moved back to me and he said, "What you want?"

  "Captain Hanson," I replied coolly. Obviously this clerk had attention deficit disorder for everything that moved, shouted or groaned in the lobby caught his attention. No other part of his body moved except his eyes and they were everywhere and on everything.

  Honey supply was now at seventy-five percent, my internal censor warned.

  "The captain is busy," he said effortlessly, not even bothering to pretend to check with Captain Hanson. The large telemonitor screen to his right showed row after row of logged arrests. It flickered and updated itself every few minutes.

  I gave him my smile again, but his attention waned.

  Honey supply at fifty percent and dropping.

  Clearing my throat, I said, "I am here about Amanda Christensen."

  The desk clerk's mouth opened into a wide yawn and he said, "Sure you are. Reporters have to wait for an official press conference…"

  Honey supply at twenty-five percent and definitely in the red. Future outburst and curse words, possibly violence were on the horizon.

  Mr. Personality here was ruining my chance to get through this without resorting to anti-social and disruptive behavior.

  I wanted to see Hanson and soon. To do that, I would have to get past Herman.

  "Okay, fine. Here's the deal. You have about three seconds to take me back to Captain Hanson or I'll break your face," I said calmly. I didn't raise my voice, but my irritation seeped into my message and the undercurrent of anger at last caught Mr. Personality's attention.

  "Are you threatening a regulator, lady?" he spat and then released a huge guffaw. "Ain't that right pretty? Silly woman…break my face…sure…Looks like somebody already put ya in ya place once…"

  "One," I said, counting mustn't be his forte. "Two."

  That wiped the smile off his face and he looked me in the eyes. Something there must have startled him because he said, "I'll see if he's in."

  "Thank you," I said as I swallowed the word, three.

  He picked up his ear piece and slung it over his ear. The microphone jutted out and down along his jaw line. I knew the range between mouth and eyes didn’t matter so much because the microphone was super sensitive.

  "Captain Hanson."

  His telemonitor flashed, but never showed the captain's face.

  "There's a woman here named," he stopped and turned back to me. "Your name?"

  "Cybil Lewis," I said slowly, my hands still folded in front of me as I leaned my elbows on the counter. I hadn't raised any suspicious glances from the surrounding regulators. My body language conveyed civility. Inside my irritation pressed against my fabric of restraint.

  "Cybil Lewis. Says she knows something about the mayor's missing brat, uh, kid," the desk clerk whispered, but it didn't sound anything like a whisper. I'm sure folks down all three hallways heard. A model of discretion, this one.

  He kept his head diverted away from me and when he ended the call, he swiveled around and said, "He will see you now."

  I nodded. “Where is his office?”

  He pointed in the direction of the stairs. "Go up to the second floor, make a left at the top and head down until you see his nameplate," the desk clerk said, his voice shaky, his eyes still not focused on me. "Here's a visitor's badge."

  He handed me a plastic badge with the word "visitor" on it. The frayed edges and scratched surface testified to its use. It must be the only one they had.

  I slipped it into my pocket and elbowed my way through the throng of people to the stairs. Taking them one at a time, for there was no room to move faster, I thought about what I would say to the captain. How would he feel about the mayor bringing in a private inspector to do what he had apparently failed to do? My toes would be more than a little sore if the situation was reversed. Not to mention, I had dealings with regulators in the past. They always seemed to have an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. For them, the world came down to black and white. Right and wrong.

  For me, the world came down to multiple shades of gray.

  That kind of ethic is what got me kicked out of the army in the first place.

  But that’s another story.

  The doors labeled as Captain Hanson's were broad and wide indicating a large office indeed. I took in a deep breath, still unsure of what kind of jerk resided on the other side. If his desk clerk was any indication of the type of people he hired as regulators, than he must be a complete idiot.

  The doors slid back and I stepped into a polished office of silver-tone and black. Wall to wall gray carpet, shiny silver-tone desk and gleaming black desk accessories and computer, gave the office a clinical, cold feel. His decorator must have been into contrast.

  From behind the long, but slim desk, a man rose from his chair like a king rising up from a throne with the knowledge that he alone ruled with absolute power.

  "Ms. Lewis, I presume," he said, his voice strong and soothing at the same time.

  "Yes," I said, struck nearly speechless by his handsome face. I expected a red-faced bubba with an overlapping stomach, limited education, and dirty fingernails.

  "I'm Captain Hanson," he announced, his smile wide and his handshake solid. Manicured nails and soft fingers brushed mine as he let go. "Sorry about the incident down at the desk clerk’s station. Herman is, can I say, slow."

  I nodded and glanced around the capacious office decorated with minimalist in mind. The room contained his desk, a lamp and a telemonitor. Captain Hanson did not appear to be a pack rat or a collector of things. Except his left wall bore plaques and awards he'd been granted on one side, but the adjacent wall contained pressed leaves in wax paper that had been framed. The collection covered more wall space than did his awards.

  Obviously a man of substance and knowledge or one who wanted others to think so. What a bold statement of vegetation in a regulator captain's office…it was quite peaceful, the opposite of the violence involved in tracking down and arresting violators. No press releases or electronic clippings of current or solved cases, nothing that would distinguish his office from say a lawyer or an accountant.

  Off to the right of his desk, beneath the collection of leaves, were a table and two wrought iron chairs with black cushions. The set would be better suited for an outdoor café, not the meeting table in a regulator office. Perhaps his decorator was female.

  His eyes lingered on my damaged face, but he didn’t comment.

  I did say he was smart, right?

  "Please, sit, Ms. Lewis," he said as he invited me over to the table. His voice conjured goose bumps across my skin and my hand tingled where his had covered mine. Definitely not a good sign. The tingling indicated my attraction level. I must keep focused on the task of questioning him, not of bedding him. Come on, Cybil, hold it together for five seconds!

  Captain Hanson stepped over to the table with such grace that it made Mayor Christensen's movement look like a bull thrashing around in a glass shop. His shoes were standard regulator issued and he was clean-shaven. The aftershave was spicy and still somewhat refreshing. He wore a turquoise sweater and black dress pants. The blue in his sweater highlighted his crisp, cerulean eyes. Turquoise must be the Memphis Regulators' official color. I thought back to Mayor Christensen's visit to D.C. and her entourage of well-dressed thugs.

  Like a true southern gentleman, he stood until I sat and then took the seat across from me at the circu
lar bistro set.

  "Okay, now I know who you are. Your face was plastered all over the news files some two years ago. When Mayor Christensen mentioned your name, it had a funny familiarity, yet I couldn’t connect your face to your name."

  I blushed! Me, the usually boastful and rightly so, was stunned into blushing.

  "Well, yeah, but I had lots of help," I said quietly.

  He shook his head, his salt and pepper hair not losing its style. Cut short and feathered back, the style wasn't new, but it framed his face well and brought out his strong chin. "Don't be modest. You caught Governor Price. Never really cared for him, personally, but he was the boss."

  I laughed.

  Not only was he not a dim-witted, bumbling regulator, he was charming and likeable.

  He grinned and the bastard had two dimples.

  You know my affinity for dimples.

  "You obviously got my files on Amanda Christensen," he said. "What do you think?"

  "I still don't feel like I know her," I said, as I willed myself to stay on track. Yes, I was aware that he was picking my brain, but if this was going to work at all, I had to pretend to give him information first. Or else he’d never recipercate…quid pro quo in action.

  "What can you tell me about her that wasn't in the files you sent to me?"

  His blue eyes carefully watched me. His manicured fingers drummed on the table and he ran his hand through his hair. It fell right back into place as if it had never been disturbed. In thought he folded his large, blunt fingers on his desk as if the drumming hadn’t solved his dilemma.

  Older than me by at least fifteen years, I easily found him good-looking, which I usually didn't do with men nearly two decades older than me. Slight muscular build, small waist, and large hands, he must workout despite his age. Perhaps he was overtly vain and spent every waking hour when not at work, trying to starve off the aging process, like the leaves that still looked fresh, green, alive—youthful.

  "Amanda Christensen's file, the real file, takes more memory than I had to send to you," he said, his voice suddenly somber, but still pleasant. "She was a wild child. We brought her home many times and I'll be honest here, we didn't take her disappearance too seriously because she had run off before."