Futuristic sky scrapers existed in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. An indoor stadium glowed down below as a basketball game could be seen being played through the clear dome on top of the building. Large signs on all the buildings displayed digital advertisements in 3D as the people speaking in the advertisements could be heard by passersbys. Flying cars passed over the stadium and the high rise lofts (occupied by the elite). Old brick buildings lined the surface streets. It was noisy, dirty and packed with poorly dressed people walking on the sidewalks and in the street. If you traveled a few blocks from the stadium, you saw a three story red brick building with old oak framed exterior windows : JT's loft. JT was fast asleep in his bedroom. His living room and kitchen area had food, clothing, and junk scattered throughout. It was messy that you knew that he had to live alone. As he slept, his CCD (a chrome plated version) named Cella, lit up and spoke. Supervising agent Z called from the agency. Cella’s in air virtual display projected “3:00 a.m.” just above JT’s head.
Cella announced, “JT, incoming call.”
JT, fast asleep, was awakened by the announcement and told Cella, “Let it go to message.”
Cella stated back, “JT, it's coded as urgent from the agency.”
JT tried to get his wits about him and wake up. He asked, “Time?”
Cella answered back, “3:00 a.m.”
“Ughhhh. Alright put ’um through,” replied JT.
Z was on the line and asked, “JT. That you, Iceman?”
JT answered, “Yeah, Z.”
“Yeah, you still selling your services to the one percenters? (referring to the very rich)”, asked Z.
JT quickly replied, “When I can.”
Z’s office was very clean and sterile. White exterior walls enclosed the office and clear glass interior walls separated the interior offices from each other. Men in business suits walked up and down the hallways. Inside Z’s office, television news was displayed on one of the glass walls. Z had fumbled with a laser pen between his fingers and said, “Have a job for you.”
“What is it?” asked JT.
Z replied, “Ice some BMIs.”
JT in a gravelly tone voice responded, “I'm retired. You can tell the agency to frack off.”
Z replied, “Can't. We had an incident.”
JT answered back, “Not interested.”
Z emphasized, “JT, this comes from the top.”
JT replied, “And?”
Z went on to explain the seriousness of the request. “We got a homicide. The suspect was identified as Quincy Terrack, one of the late model BMIs. He's in town, and is known to travel with four other BMIs.”
JT sat up in his bed to show his lack of interest. He yawned, then flatly remarked, “Cella, hang up.”
Z did not take no for an answer. “Don't hang-up. Listen, they'll cut off your pension. They're desperate.”
JT answered, “I'm not.”
Z reiterated, “They're not going to take no for an answer.”
“Okay, then tell 'um, yes. I won't do it. This shit never ends,” replied JT.
Z laughed and said, “Nope. But you can't be happy kissing rich people's asses forever.”
JT replied, “I had my fill of hunting down BMIs. The long hours, the fights, getting shot at, hit the head with bottles, seedy bars, and loose women. Okay maybe not the loose women, but the rest of it just got old. ”
Z stood up in his office and continued to talk, “No options, pal.”
JT realized he was going to have to play the game and cooperate. The game of shadows, hunting BMIs and putting them on ice would need to be played out once again. JT gave in and said, “Alright. What’s the time frame?”
Z replied, “In an hour, meet me at the Kings Café. I'll brief you then.” JT acknowledged him, “Okay in an hour.”
Cella disconnected the call and asked, “Everything okay?”
JT replied, “Cella. Warm up those old circuits girl. We're back in the game, my love.”
JT slowly got himself out of bed and worked his way to the bathroom. After his usual two to three days at a time of not shaving, he took out his laser shaver and swiped it over his face to remove his facial stubble. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a forty-five year old man with a strong jaw and rough, but handsome exterior. JT said to himself aloud in the mirror, “You still got it,” reassuring himself that he still had what it took to hunt BMIs.
JT finished cleaning up, taking a shower, and walked out his front door to go meet Z at the café.