CHAPTER 22
Closing the Hamilton files on the Homicide computer, Locke hit the keys hard, trying to smash them down through the bottom of the keyboard. Not only had he gotten no new information, now Hamilton knew about Jade’s pregnancy. And it wasn’t even through Hamilton’s guile. Locke made it easy by giving him the information outright. He was fortunate the Director disallowed Govicide Agents to see Hamilton. So, the information wouldn’t be passed on.
Unless an Agent cheated like he just did.
Or worse, what if Hamilton requested to see an Agent, realizing he could use Jade’s un-mandated pregnancy to get some leniency?
He hesitated at his keyboard pounding, expecting his stomach to start churning at any second. But it remained still and silent.
No. Something told him the killer wouldn’t voluntarily tell on Locke. He’d do it under torture—how could he not?
But, on his own accord without pressure? Hamilton insisted he wouldn’t compromise to the OWG. Telling on Locke would be a compromise—a way to gain favor with Govicide.
Instead, knowing the killer the way he did, he believed Hamilton’s own beliefs and hatred for the OWG would give Locke all the cover he needed for now. As long as Govicide was unmandated to be in Hamilton’s presence, Locke would be fine. However, if the torture started, Locke’s luck would run out.
But, he saw the paradox: The beliefs Locke hated the most were now the ones that would keep Hamilton’s mouth shut.
The System would register someone accessed Hamilton’s files. But it shouldn’t raise a red flag. Or even a yellow flag. The System stored the information the same as a Service being used according to a mandate. If one of the System Controllers were motivated, he’d find the record of the file usage. Otherwise, the breach would go right under the System’s nose.
Outside, in his automobile, he ruminated on how, once again, Hamilton had gotten the best of him. He wondered what might happen if the Director was in the same room with Hamilton. Would the killer get the best of the Director as well?
Not possible.
Or was it?
He noticed the passenger’s seat where he set the envelope and letter. The words howled at him. The Symbol—what did Hamilton call it?—on the envelope taunted him, its secret in plain view but undecipherable.
What had Hamilton said at the end? Something about turning the world upside down and Locke would see the U everywhere?
How was he supposed to turn the world upside down? It was impossible. He could stand on his head but for only so long.
Thinking for a moment, he watched an OWG bus go by.
An idea came to him. If he were upside down, the U wouldn’t be a U anymore. It would be a bump. Or a hill. Or a mountain.
Picking up the envelope, he turned it upside down.
And what did Hamilton say? When the world was upside down, he’d see the U everywhere.
Everywhere?
Locke roamed these streets for thirty years and never saw what Hamilton mentioned. So, how could the killer mean “everywhere”?
He must have meant in those other cities where the cash disappeared. In Dale City or Cornville or Red Star City. Cash had disappeared in Gambling City too but Locke knew these streets. He would’ve seen the Symbol by this time.
He gripped the key, ready to start the automobile, when a thought froze him. If the U was upside down, then it wasn’t a letter at all. Thus, a word wouldn’t solve the mystery. And the time he spent on the computer going through all those U words meant nothing. He banged the steering wheel.
Hoping he wasn’t wasting his time again, he started the automobile, setting out to find any upside down U’s in the city.
The best place to start would be in the area of the warehouse Hiss showed him. If the Symbol wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be anywhere. Locke made a left at the next block, figuring out how to turn the high beams on in the process.
Locke pulled up to the warehouse. He hadn’t seen one upside down U during his trip. Maybe he took Hamilton’s word, “everywhere,” a little too literally.
He got out of his car, leaving it running at the curb. He left the high beams on.
Locke walked down the street, examining the outside of the warehouse. There was no upside down U’s there. How big would one of them be? A foot high? Six inches? Two feet?
For several minutes, Locke searched the area. Light poles. Telephone poles. The sidewalk. Nearby walls.
If there were any upside down U’s, they’d be around this building. But he saw none.
Upon returning to his automobile, he kicked the front left tire. The pain darted from his big toe up through his ankle into his shin. He slapped the hood, yelling.
Slamming the door of the automobile, he sat in silence for a few seconds. When his anger peaked again, he punched the dash three times in quick succession. He screamed, hating himself for believing Hamilton. If a killer hated Agents enough to murder them, then he’d never tell one of them any truth.
Hamilton--Free Enterpriser or not--hated the OWG for whatever reason and would say anything to corrode anyone’s belief in it. The OWG way was the only way. The only way that made sense. The only way that could work.
Shaking his hand to dissipate the pain, he put the automobile into drive with his right hand and did a u-turn in the street, the high beams passing over the front of the warehouse.
And there it was.
It had been in front of him the whole time. But it was bigger than he expected. A lot bigger.
Spray painted over the entire front of the warehouse was an upside down U. Each end started at on the sidewalk, forty feet apart. The top reached a point just a foot below the roof’s peak and curved back down. Painted black, it resembled an archway.
Locke punched the dash again. This time with excitement, not caring about the pain.
He jumped out, leaving the automobile parked sideways in the street so the high beams stayed on the Symbol. He replayed how he’d missed the gigantic Symbol days before, running through a mental checklist. It was daytime. Hiss had been to the warehouse many times before and knew the building well. They stood outside the warehouse for at least a minute.
With all those reasons, they should have noticed the large Symbol on the front. They wouldn’t have realized its significance, but it should have caught their attention.
On the other hand, the Symbol could have been painted in the past few days after he and Hiss left. Locke jogged to where the left side of the upside down U almost touched the sidewalk. He stood to one side so his shadow wouldn’t block the light.
The paint didn’t look fresh, though he wasn’t an expert. Scoured by the desert wind, the paint had been all but been sandblasted off in places.
After surveying part of the Symbol for a few minutes, Locke deduced it had been there months, if not longer. He kicked the metal wall, frustrated with himself for missing something so obvious. But, it was at least a small verification Hamilton had told the truth.
Were there more?
He examined the buildings to the left and right. Nothing.
He leaned against the passenger’s side door to think, tapping his foot. There was probably a Symbol or two on in the inside of the warehouse as well. But, he didn’t have a flashlight with him. He’d have to wait until daylight.
An OWG bus passed, missing his automobile by a few feet. Locke checked the bus for the Symbol but didn’t see one.
Locke knew much of Gambling City like the back of his hand. He’d grown up here. Had gone to OWG School here. In fact, until the Hamilton murders, he’d been out of the area only twice. He closed his eyes and visualized a trip around his town. He hoped some memory of a street or landmark would point him in the best direction.
In his mind, he traveled Gambling Boulevard to Collective Way. He made a right. He glided three blocks and made a left on Altruism Road. He traveled four stoplights and made a right on Bureaucrat Lane. None of these places seemed like the kind of location one of these Symbols would be found. Sure, Hamilton said they’d be found everywhere but Locke didn’t want to drive around all night.
There had to be a best place to find one. But where?
The location of the Hamilton’s first murder.
It occurred right outside an old abandoned airport, used before the OWG built the current one.
Locke sped his automobile down Gambling Boulevard. After five minutes, he made a left on Entitlement Drive, scanning for the Symbols. With no subject on the sidewalks, and very few buses on the streets, nothing obstructed his view. Many of the streetlights were out, so he relied on the headlights. If the Symbols were black like the other one, he could easily miss them.
After several blocks, he stopped at an intersection. On the nearest corner sat a fueling station for buses and transportation of the local OWG authorities. On the far corner was an OWG book store that dispersed all the new OWG publications. A blinking yellow light signaled caution to approaching vehicles.
Having been through this intersection many times, he blinked twice when he saw something on a road sign on the far side. As he got closer, he hugged to the curb of the road so his headlights shone on it. He slowed to a crawl when it came into view.
The Symbol.
The sign wasn’t large, so the Symbol wasn’t either. About a foot high and ten inches wide. The upside down U covered most of the surface area.
Slapping the steering wheel, Locke couldn’t stifle a laugh. Hamilton had told the truth.
He exited to investigate further, slamming the door shut, still smiling.
Yet, his somersaulting insides told him he shouldn’t be so giddy. They reminded him: Hamilton told him the truth . . . uh-oh. If he told the truth about the Symbol, then maybe everything else he said might be true as well.
One point at a time, Locke told himself.
The sign stood about six and a half feet high, forcing him to crane his neck. He reached up and touched it. This Symbol looked like the large one on the warehouse. Black but faded. He admired the work for a few seconds and then surveyed the surrounding buildings. The odds of someone noticing a subject spray-painting this sign were low. In fact, it was minutes after eight o’clock and the streets were empty. Locke could see OWG workers waiting for subjects at the bookstore and gas store.
The whole area looked . . . dead.
He remembered having the feeling before but couldn’t place it.
Up the street were empty OWG buildings, built for the day when subjects would populate them. He noticed the large parking lots for automobiles. Somewhere inside his head—maybe it was just a dream, Locke remembered as a kid seeing more automobiles on the road than there were now.
No, he must be imagining it. The OWG insisted the present was better than the past. And the future would be better than the present. And the way it was to happen was for the Masses to work for the OWG. Harder. Faster. Longer. Even if that meant less monthly credits so the OWG could be more secure.
Yes, there were more vehicles now than in the past.
Seeing movement in the nearby OWG Book Repository gave Locke an idea. Maybe the worker inside saw somebody hanging around the sign in the last few days. Or weeks. Or months. Someone who appeared out of place. A subject carrying a spray can wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
A minute later, Locke entered the building. Everything a subject needed to know about the OWG could be found here. And the books were relatively new. The OWG burned any book older than ten years to keep the current publications fresh and interesting. This kept workers busy re-stocking shelves.
He estimated there were at least five of these around town. Subjects came here to pick up their other required reading material since it was too much work for the OWG to deliver all required information. The only book that got delivered, without error, was the OWG Manual. The System kept track of what every subject read and sent out messages if subjects got behind in their mandatory reading. Each book—hardbacks, paperbacks, and pamphlets—could be gotten for about a half-month’s worth of credits.
The old female in the aisle limped from shelf to shelf, stocking books, some too heavy for her to carry more than one at a time. It seemed she hadn’t heard the door open. He approached her from behind in aisle number three.
“Book worker.” He tapped her on the shoulder.
“Oh, my . . .” Her hand came to her chest as she dropped a thick hardback. It crashed to the floor. “You scared me . . .” She noticed the badge and his black suit. “Govicide Agent, I am sorry. I did not hear you come in.” She bowed.
“It’s okay, book worker.” For a moment, he realized how easy subjects could enter, take their books, and exit without depositing any credits if she was this deaf. He’d pass the information along. “I have some questions for you.”
“Please, anything for Govicide,” she steadied herself by grabbing a shelf. “It would be such a pleasure to help. Anything I can do.”
“The bus stop out there,” he pointed. “Have you noticed anyone hanging around there? Kind of suspicious-like?”
“That bus stop? The bus stop I get off at every day? Suspicious? You mean like an Offender?”
He noticed a wheeze in her voice. Most likely a lung ailment. At her age, the OWG wouldn’t help her. Very soon, it would make her expire.
“Possibly.”
“Really? I had no idea there were any Offenders around here. If I knew, Govicide Agent, I would turn them in. I know how to be a good subject of the Masses,” she nodded.
“I’m sure you do. But have you seen any one?”
“No. Nobody suspicious. Will I be in trouble?” One side of her face clenched, recoiling.
“No, not this time.” He patted her bony shoulder. “How about the spray painting on the bus stop sign? How long has it been there?”
Her gaze moved past him and out the front window. “Spray painting? I never noticed that.”
Locke didn’t feel so bad now not having noticed the one on the warehouse.
“Well, it’s on there. Looks to have been there for days, if not weeks.”
“Huh. No. That cannot be.” She must have remembered who stood in front of her because her eyes darted around and she twisted her hands. “But, I mean, you are Govicide. And you are always right. I guess I was not giving it attention. I promise to the OWG to do better next time.”
Therewon’t be a next time for you. The more he talked to her, the more he knew this was true. The OWG would make sure of that.
“Of course, you do. But you’re sure? I’m not angry with you. I just need the truth. You haven’t seen it?”
“No. And I am sorry.”
“I know you are. Thanks.” He motioned to leave, then stopped. “Let me get that for you.”
Locke picked up the thick book she’d dropped and placed it on the shelf.
Outside, he stopped on the sidewalk, scratching his head. This female never noticed the Symbol on the sign. Same stop. Every day. And it never caught her eye. That was even harder to believe than Locke missing the one on the warehouse.
What was wrong with her?
The scary part? If he asked the next hundred subjects who got off at that stop, he didn’t think they’d claim to have noticed the Symbol on the sign either.
What was wrong with them?
What was going on?