Govicide: Comply by Edward Dentzel - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

CHAPTER 13

 

Down the street, the four remaining Offenders slowed when they saw Hiss handle their comrade.

“Leave before you get the same treatment,” Locke took a few menacing steps toward them.

The four males heeded Locke’s warning and turned the corner.

Locke brought his attention to the inside of the building where it sounded like Hiss continued to rough the male up. A bang. A thump. The Offender cried out. Hiss yelled. The wall hushed their sounds.

Stepping through the doorway, complete darkness met Locke. His eyes needed a few seconds to adjust, so he stayed a few feet from the sidewalk. From his blurred inspection, the OWG equipped this building to be a restaurant in the future. A counter, stools, booths, et cetera. A thick layer of dust covered all of it.

When he grew accustomed to the reduced light, Locke still heard the Offender yelping and grunting. What was Hiss doing to him?

“Are they gone yet?” Hiss’ voice was calm, not even a hint of sounding out of breath.

“Uh, yeah, Govicide Agent Hiss. The Offenders are gone.” Locke directed his voice to the left, where Hiss’ voice originated. “Is everything all right?”

“All is well. Come sit with us.” The words still steady with no trace of haste.

Locke’s eyes adjusted a few seconds later, and he saw why Hiss wasn’t out of breath. Hiss and the Offender sat in a dust-covered booth on opposite sides of a table, hands folded and lounging back like they were old comrades.

“Govicide Agent Locke, pull up a chair and wipe that look off your face.You cannot look surprised if you are going to be an Agent,” Hiss shook his head, frowning.

Blinking a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, Locke did as ordered, dragging a chair over and sat at the head of the booth.

“Govicide Agent Locke, this is Robert Wolf. My best spy.”

The spy stuck out his right hand, rubbing his jaw with his left. “Govicide Agent Hiss, you have to teach this Agent to go easy on me. My jaw really hurts.”

“Quit whining, Robert. Govicide Agent Locke shake his hand,” Hiss commanded.

Locke hesitated, still calculating what just happened outside. He shook the spy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Robert. Sorry about the jaw. I didn’t know this was all a set-up.”

“So, what information do you have for me? Any more news about the cash that disappeared?” Hiss tapped on the table, dust pluming.

Robert spoke a few decibels below Hiss. “Word on the street is it went west. Not all of it, but most of it.”

“Wait a minute.” The tapping’s frequency and volume increased. “You have been telling me this whole time the cash went south. And that is what our WPS devices on some of the stacks said. But now, you are saying it went west?”

“Yeah,” the spy answered, watching Hiss’ hands.

Hiss pointed at Wolf. “It would be nice if you could keep your stories straight.”

“Hey, I am just telling you what I know now.”

“What changed your mind?” Locke asked.

“Am I allowed to answer his questions, Govicide Agent Hiss?”

“Only if they are good ones. And that is a good one.” Hiss nodded at Locke.

“Okay,” Wolf took a long breath, “because cash is slowly making its way back here. You cannot tell me that cash went to the Second Continent or over to the Fifth Continent and it circulated back so soon? No way.”

“How do you know the cash is back here?” Hiss sat up in his seat.

Wolf reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. Then another. And another. He spread them on the table, trying to flatten them at the same time. Hiss produced a small flashlight from his coat pocket to examine them.

Locke watched, feeling the tempo of his heart accelerate. Being this close to cash was un-mandated—unless you were an Agent. The use of cash killed subjects. The use of it withheld Credits from the OWG. The use of it kept many Goods and Services from the Masses.

If he were still a detective, being this close to cash--even in the same room--would be grounds for execution.

Wolf reached deeper into his pocket and pulled out a device. He set it on the table beside the cash.

The device was no bigger than the card used to swipe in their sex credits, and just as thin. A small antenna stuck out of one end, with a small red bulb the size of a pinpoint on one corner.

Hiss picked it up.

Rubbing his jaw again, Wolf buried his hands in his pockets. “I am sure you can scan the microscopic barcode on that thing. And I guarantee it will be one Govicide planted in the load of cash here. Oh, and it was still attached to this cash when I got it.”

“How did you receive this?” Hiss twirled the instrument in his right hand.

“You know I have my ways, Govicide Agent Hiss.”

“No, Robert. I do not think you understand.” Hiss’ left hand crept across the table, seeming to crouch in anticipation of grabbing Wolf. “Where did you get this? When the Offenders get a hold of these they usually destroy them. How is this one in perfect condition?”

Wolf sank deeper into the booth cushion, hanging his head then raising it again. “Alright, alright, Govicide Agent Hiss. I got, uh, the idea from my contact, uh, that they wanted to, uh, send a message,” Wolf stuttered.

“What message?” Hiss’ left hand remained poised to grab Wolf.

“Well, uh, he seemed to think whoever is moving this cash is one step ahead of Govicide. Ahead of the OWG. And the System. They have a way to detect the WPS’s within the stacks of cash and they just go in and take them out. And they want Govicide to know what they are capable of.”

Hiss’ left hand clicked on the table, its fingernails making small cuts in the dust. The seconds passed, the tapping got faster. Thinking the hand was about to strike, Locke prepared himself to intervene. Then, something caught his eye.

The flashlight illuminated one of the pieces of cash. It was not a “piece,” though. Looking at it, Locke remembered Offenders who used cash called each a “bill.” The light highlighted the edges of the bill where it lay wrinkled on the table.

What caught his interest was a triangle printed on it. While Hiss tapped his hand on the table, Locke reached over. Neither Wolf nor Hiss seemed to watch him.

When Locke touched the bill, he was overcome with an odd sensation, like all the dust in the room landed on his skin. His nerve endings flickered, feeling wrinkled like the cash in front of him.

It didn’t feel like he envisioned. It wasn’t paper. Locke corrected himself. It was paper, but not the kind a subject might write on.

The surface was textured, somewhat rough, like dry skin. But at the same time, the bill was smooth because he could run his finger across it and not feel the ink ridges, as if the ink soaked into the paper.

In varying shades of green, the ink was dark enough in some places to seem black. No part of the bill was white. Even where there was no printing, the paper bore a slight greenish tint.

Locke turned the bill over. The triangle was there, on the left side. But, it wasn’t a triangle at all.

It was a Pyramid.

Good thing the light in the empty restaurant was low. Locke felt sure his expression looked like a train was bearing down on him, and might arouse the suspicions of Hiss and Wolf. Locke glanced at both males. Hiss continued in deep thought, staring at the table. Wolf peeked at his watch as if he had somewhere to go.

Locke rubbed the Pyramid between his fingers. Hiss said something to Wolf but Locke stayed focused on the bill.

Hamilton mentioned the Pyramids. And now Locke found a pyramid on this cash. This wasn’t a coincidence.

Locke couldn’t recall what Hamilton specifically said. The surprise in front of him deflected his train of thought.

He held the cash close to his face. The word “ONE” spread in the center of the back. The bill measured six inches long and a little over two inches wide. In each corner the printer placed the number one, with intricate swirls around each.

A bird perched on the right side of the Pyramid. Locke wasn’t sure what kind. Its wings were spread and its head looked to the left. There were no other words on the back. He flipped it over.

The number one appeared in all four corners of the front, like the back. Swirls and patterns adorned this side, as well. Across the top were the words “Gold-Backed Note.” But most prominent of all was the picture in the middle: the portrait of an old male, older than anyone in the Masses. He had ruffled, gray hair, and faced slightly to the right.

A word was printed across the bottom of the picture in tiny letters. In the poor lighting, Locke couldn’t make it out. Somehow he suspected it was the name of the subject in the picture.

Without thinking, Locke grabbed the light.

“What are you doing?” Hiss broke Locke’s concentration.

“I wanted to see the word under the picture,” Locke answered, his voice cracking.

“The word is Washington,” Wolf piped up.

“Who’s he?” Locke asked, pointing the light into Wolf’s face.

“Hey.” Wolf raised his hand in front of his eyes. “We are not sure. We think it is the picture of the printer. Kind of a self-portrait. An ego thing.”

“This male seems too old,” Locke answered, pointing the light at the bill. “I think you’re wrong.”

Hiss added, “Our cash experts think it is because of the printing method. He probably looks a lot younger in reality. We have been trying to track him down since this cash showed up.”

Locke continued to examine the bill. He wasn’t sure whether to believe Hiss or not. It was plausible someone could be vain enough to put his own image on the bill.But it would put him in danger of getting caught.

A different conclusion flashed in his mind: the male in the picture didn’t exist.

Not now, not ever.

He looked too silly to be an real subject. No male would wear this hairstyle and frilly shirt for a picture in such wide circulation.

But, more to the point, Locke knew who could tell him for sure: Hamilton. He would know this subject and if Washington ever existed.

“Govicide Agent Locke? Govicide Agent Locke?” Hiss shook Locke’s right arm.

Locke jumped. “What?”

“Were you listening?”

“Uh, no. I was thinking about this cash.”

“Robert is going to stay here in the city. Tomorrow you and I are going to take a ride to Cornville where this cash ended up.”

“Cornville? What? Oh, okay. Sounds good to me.” Locke shrugged. “I think Hamilton might know who the male on the cash is.”

Hiss frowned, several more wrinkles appearing.

“I’m serious.” Locke’s voice echoed off the empty walls.

“You know him?” Wolf asked, the words long and slow. He slid a few inches toward Locke.

“I got to interrogate him when Govicide brought him back to Gambling City,” Locke answered.

“What is he like?”

“Well, he’s--”

Hiss pounded his fist on the table, causing a cloud of dust to evacuate the surface, “Hamilton is an Offender against the OWG.”

Locke’s head circled in a split second to his partner. After Hiss asked him about Hamilton’s words after visiting the Gambling City warehouse, Locke believed Hiss’ touchiness regarding the killer had subsided.

Obviously not.

But, if Locke could have finished the sentence he would have said Hamilton was a contradiction, someone who shouldn’t exist but does.

The dust cloud blew away before Wolf spoke up. “So . . . are we done here? I gotta see a female about some sex credits.” Wolf started to stand up, reaching for the cash as he did.

Hiss grabbed Wolf’s hand. “Not so fast, Wolf. The cash goes with us.”

Wolf backed away from the table. “Okay, okay. Sorry, Govicide Agent Hiss.”

Hiss stood. “Where do you want it?”

“Want what?” Wolf walked toward the doorway. Hiss followed him.

Locke watched, rising from his chair. The cash and the WPS were still on the table. He grabbed them.

The Agent and spy stopped at the doorway.

“We have done this before. Do not play stupid with me.”

“Oh, right,” Wolf sighed. “Like I said, I am going to see a female, so anywhere but the groin. And not in the face, my jaw is already hurting because of him.” He pointed at Locke.

“You got it.” In one motion, he punched Wolf in his stomach. The spy stumbled out the doorway onto the sidewalk.

Locke grimaced as Hiss followed Wolf out into the light. He had no problem with violence. His scarred fists attested to the fact. But, in all those instances, it was with a purpose. The extracting of information. The throwing of fear into witness and suspects. The art of intimidation.

But, what Hiss and Wolf were doing was different.

Yes, Hiss needed a convincing way to separate Wolf from his comrades. It was a good plan, even fooling Locke.

But now, no one else was there. Just the three of them. Surely no one outside except the limousine driver who didn’t matter. No need to continue the hoax. They got what they wanted.

Yet, they continued--Locke corrected himself--Hiss continued. Wolf had no choice but to go along.

Locke came to a conclusion. Hiss liked to inflict pain even when there was no purpose. The new Agent ground his teeth hoping they wouldn’t allow any stray words to escape his mouth.

Examining the interior one more time, the new Agent stepped outside.

He wasn’t surprised at what he saw.

Hiss stood over Wolf, shouting as if the their conversation never happened.

“You tell all of your comrades we are watching. Govicide is everywhere and we are here to make sure everyone gets everything.”

Wolf got up and ran down the street, throwing a glance over his shoulder before rounding the corner.

As Locke predicted, no one besides the three of them, and the driver, were on the street. In the end, Hiss and Wolf had staged it for an audience of zero.

“What did you think?” Hiss brushed the dust off his suit. He yanked out a black handkerchief and wiped his brow.

“I think Wolf gave us some pretty good information,” Locke answered, running his fingers over the cash in his pocket.

“That is not what I meant. What did you think about how we set this whole thing up? Pretty clever, huh?”

“Yeah. Very.” Locke kept his head turned so Hiss wouldn’t see his eyes rolling.

“You better clean yourself off before we get in the limousine. I do not want you to get the interior dirty.”

Locke’s eyes fell to his suit. At least Hiss was right about one thing. The new Agent was a mess. The haze of dirt rose from the fabric as Locke patted himself down.

“I think a train leaves early for Cornville tomorrow morning,” Hiss added as the driver opened the back door for him.

Locke finished brushing the dust off.

He wished he could brush off his increasing doubts about Hiss with as much ease.