Anarchy in New Enlgand (13 page)

What the hell was Trix doing with such a high-valued currency
, he thought? And if he had this much money nonchalantly misplaced under his mattress, why would he try to rob someone’s house? The drugs could account for some odd behavior, but it still seemed out of place to plan a robbery before even looking through your own apartment for misplaced notes. Themis placed the note into a clear baggy as evidence.

Before leaving Themis scanned some surfaces with a device that detected DNA. While there was plenty of Trix’s DNA on the bed and counter, there was no DNA on the wall receiver and none on the doorknob, as if they had been wiped clean. Themis cocked his head and squinted, thinking of an explanation for this, but a dark feeling came over him as things were beginning to look more sinister.

Just then his portable rang, it was someone from the CCS office. They had their warrant, though it took some tricky maneuvering since arbiters were wary of going against another agency’s ruling. If Barry Arbitration’s reputation had not suffered over the past couple of years, Corner Cop Security probably would have never gotten the warrant for the video surveillance.

Themis walked downstairs and through the wide hallway, bombarded by more ads, and made his way to the building’s security office with no windows, set in the center of the building, filled with screens that gave the room a dull glow. Themis showed his credentials, and began to download the video surveillance from the past month, but a chime went off indicating that the footage had been tampered with.

"Why is there an hour missing from the 28th, and an hour missing from this morning?" Themis asked the security manager. He was a balding man with a large stomach and hardened demeanor. He had a scruffy voice, and scruff on his face. He smelt like cigarettes, and Themis wasn’t sure if the smell of beer was on his clothes from the night before, or on his breath.

"I couldn’t tell you," the manager said hoarsely but loudly, with a hint of attitude.

"Has anyone else been in this office today?" asked Themis sternly.

"I took over at 5:00 this morning. Since then, just me." Themis just stared judgingly, and the security manager looked away apathetically, trying to make it look like he had something else to do.

Yet another piece of the puzzle not fitting together, Themis thought. Themis went outside to his car and turned on the telescreen inside; he was going to make some calls and see if he could get a warrant to search the security manager. If he was the only one in that room since 5:00, and the second hour of footage was missing from 7-8:00, then he must have had something to do with it.

"But what do you expect to find, sir? Even if he did have something to do with it, what would be on his person that would serve as evidence?"

"There is no reason for him to want that footage deleted, it has got to be someone else, so I might find evidence of a third party influence."

The arbiter on the screen shrugged, "Alright let me put in the call, I’ll get right back to you."

The arbiter had to make her case to the manager’s security company before they would agree to allow the search against one of their clients. A few minutes later Themis got the call that the warrant was approved. He walked back into the security manager’s office and showed him the warrant. The manager reluctantly emptied his pockets, and handed over his portable, which Themis had gained permission to search only the last 12 hours of communications.

"I’m gonna have to make a call to my security company," the security manager was saying gruffly, obviously angry about the search. "Assholes," he added under his breath before breaking into a small fit of coughing. "They ain’t gettin' my money no more."

Themis found no communications at all on the manager’s portable from the last 12 hours, except for a message from presumably the guy’s wife lined with expletives complaining about some broken promise. Themis looked in the pack of cigarettes to find only cigarettes. Opening the manager’s wallet though, Themis found ten one-unit AtlantiTrade notes, the same currency that he had just found in Trix’s room, and that was on Trix’s person. Themis took a picture for evidence.

"Where’d you get the cash?" Themis asked grimly.

"What, a guy can’t carry around some money?" the manager retorted aggressively; he was not going to cooperate.

"You generally carry around 350 bucks worth of untraceable currency?"

"I generally carry around whatever the hell I want!" the manager indignantly spat back, his voice wheezing in the middle at the peak of his frustration.

Themis tucked his lips together, and shook his head in angry agreement. "Ok. Ok. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon," and he walked out.

"Yea screw you," the manager yelled after him raising his voice as he slammed his office door shut behind Themis.

Themis knew that he couldn’t trace the cash since the bank encoded it for that very reason, but he did have cash that matched the note found in Trix’s apartment, which pointed to a third party manipulating the situation. Themis headed back to the office to try to start figuring out how this all fit together, and to catch his next lead.

Seven

Barry was pacing his office. It was only mid afternoon, but he was on his fifth glass of scotch; it was only 3 days until the BER report came out, likely shattering his business. And even if it didn't kill his business, the fact that he blocked the search of Trix's apartment's surveillance footage was sure to come back to haunt him. The only thing at this point that could save Barry Arbitration was if Drake's plan was implemented, but the catalyst had failed, and with it Barry's problem lived: Molly.

Drake hadn't answered Barry's calls since the night Trix was shot, almost a week earlier. Barry kept trying to get through but Drake always had some excuse. Finally Barry decided to go down to Drake's office himself. After all, he had delivered on his end of the deal and Drake had fallen short. Barry figured that Drake was probably just embarrassed at his failure and busy revising the plan. He was sure that Drake was just waiting to get things in order before giving Barry an audience; at least he hoped that.

As Barry left his office, his secretary closed a window on her screen; she had been looking for a new job ever since BA issued the abnormal hold on the video footage from Trix's apartment building.

Barry took the level 1 pod to Drake's office building, finishing one more drink on the way. When he got there he had some artificial confidence flowing through his veins; after all, he thought again, he was in the right and Drake should be the one apologizing. Drake's secretary greeted Barry as if he had been given instructions on how to deal with this situation, just like the calls. The secretary was a dark-skinned young effeminate man with product in his black hair, and a stylish wrinkle-free suit. He wore a triangular badge with many different small stones, arranged by color in horizontal rows.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barry, but you just missed Mr. Drake, can I leave a note for him?" The secretary said in a fake tone of disappointment.

"Oh I see," Barry sounded concerned, and was discouraged but not surprised.  "I'll just make an appointment then," Barry said with a quick smile which his eyes betrayed as fake.

"How is Tuesday at 10?" the secretary asked politely, avoiding eye contact.

"No that's too late!" Barry blurted out, placing his hands on the secretary's desk making him visibly uncomfortable. "I mean, it's rather important. I, uh, would prefer to meet with him today," Barry finished, in a much calmer tone.

The secretary looked quickly but pointedly at Barry's hands on his desk, and could no longer hide the annoyance in his voice, "Well I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Drake is all booked through Monday." He stared at Barry with his eyebrows raised and lips tightly closed, hoping Barry would take the hint to leave.

Barry obviously got the hint but didn't care. "I see..." he said slowly with his hands still planted on the secretary's desk as his eyes darted to Drake's office door.

Drake's secretary likewise darted his gaze to Drake's door, frowning in anticipation of Barry's next move. His eyes were trained on Barry, burning into him, eyebrows still raised.

Barry shot towards the door, quickly shuffling in a jogging like motion which made him look like an awkward duck.

"Sir!" The secretary exclaimed in his deepest tone (which was not that deep), jumping to his feet.

"SIR!" He yelled as Barry's hand turned the knob. The secretary slammed a large button on the side of his desk which automatically deadbolted the office door, but it was too late as Barry had just managed to swing the door open before the bolt shot out, suspended horizontally from the side of the door.

The secretary came hustling behind Barry his face blushing, "Mr. Drake, sir, I’m sorry I tried to stop him but he just came right in – "

"It’s okay, Benjamin, thank you, we’re all right," Drake said dryly without much emotion. His secretary left like an obedient dog, slightly ashamed for having failed his master. "Have a seat Barry," and Drake motioned toward a chair, interlocking his fingers and placing his hands in front of him on his desk. He didn’t speak, but just stared at Barry with his head tilted down condescendingly.

"Drake-" Barry said exasperated after a few moments of fidgeting in the chair, "why have you been ignoring me?"

Drake sighed and glanced to the side before meeting eyes with Barry again. Slowly he responded. "Barry… you know why I’ve been ignoring you, let’s not play this game."

"But other agencies are going over my head! I’m ruined! Ted’s release was frozen, and CCS got the warrant to search the cameras – which I tried to stop!" With this last statement Barry put his finger up, insisting he had done everything in his power to help the situation.

"Well that was stupid," Drake droned, bored.

"Stupid? STUPID?" Barry was in disbelief, raising his voice and sweating profusely, "Your Agents were on the recording! They would have been found out if I hadn’t delayed the search! Have you forgotten that
I
delivered on my side of the bargain! It is
you
who owes
me!
Yet I continue to bend over backwards – "

Drake raised his voice but remained otherwise calm and almost droll. "It’s over, Barry! I’m sorry, I truly am. But it’s over, and you’re finished. I’m not going down with you. I did all I could, but that druggie screwed up!" Drake shrugged. "That’s just the way it goes this time!"

"Well…" Barry was starting to hyperventilate, searching for something to say, some course of action to take to right this. "Well I certainly won’t release the evidence of AP’s wrongdoing now!" Barry attempted a triumphant tone which failed.

Drake raised his palms up while shrugging again with a slight head tilt, and talked softer in a comforting tone, "No one would believe you if you did, Barry." When Barry didn’t move Drake took out his mini-tab, "Tell you what," he transferred five thousand dollars onto a card which displayed the amount, and threw it down on the desk.

Barry looked at the money, his upper lip curled in disgust, and glared at Drake with greater disgust.

"Not enough?" Drake asked with fake sincerity.

"You might as well have dug my grave!" Barry growled, his dark tone showed he was accepting his fate, and realizing Drake was never his friend, despite his previous admiration for him.

"Now, Barry, you were screwed before I got involved... Just… well, maybe not quite
as
screwed."

Barry’s stare seared into Drake’s eyes while Drake looked back with the slightest of sympathy in his eyes, but strangely mixed with amusement. Barry shook his head, and stood up without taking the money on the desk. He took one more long look at Drake, nodding his head ever so slightly in cruel understanding with his jaw clenched. He turned around, and walked out of Drake’s office silently, shutting the door calmly behind him. Drake’s secretary looked at Barry with unsure eyes, not knowing what to expect, but Barry just walked tiredly out of the office without even noticing the secretary.

Stepping sullenly out of the NESA building Barry didn’t notice the men in casual clothing watching him from across the street. "He’s leaving Drake’s building," one of the men said to his CCS partner, nudging him into action. The team sent updates directly to Themis, along with any pictures or video they took.

Back in his office, Drake pressed a couple of buttons on his telescreen and Agent White appeared. Without introduction, Drake said, "It didn’t go so well with Barry. Let’s clean this up."

"Yes sir." replied Agent White, and the call was ended.

Barry stumbled into his house that night around 22:00, considerably inebriated. It worked out for Drake’s agents following him that he was drunk enough to leave the back door of his house, not just unlocked but, open. And perceiving the relative ease of this assignment, Agents White and Orange had let their guards down slightly, laughing about their target’s intoxication, which worked out for the CCS Officers following Barry, and by extension the Agents.

Barry stumbled into his bar room, and managed to take a seat on one of the stools at the counter, almost falling off but stabilizing himself by grabbing hold of a beer tap. He let his success at arriving home and seating himself at the bar process, and let out a satisfied sigh as a drunken smile crossed his face. He was that level of wasted where even the impending doom of a shattered business and probable confinement seemed like minor obstacles, to be solved in the morning.

The bar room was dark and full of shadows, with just one bright buzzing light Barry had managed to switch on over the bar. It was an antique light up Crown Royal sign that Barry had bought years earlier – the company that made Crown Royal, of course, collapsed with the rest of the economy in the 2020’s. The ceilings were high and the room was finished in stained mahogany. Barry reached across the bar and managed to grab a proper whiskey glass without breaking it; he snatched the bourbon whiskey on the second try – the first time only the top of the decanter came off in his hand, which amused Barry to the point where he burst into a light fit of drunken laughter.

The Agents sauntered into the barroom, their shadows waltzing slowly on the wall. Barry was mumbling to himself, having poured his whiskey with relative success, wetting the bar top a bit in the process. His gaze seemed to rest at about bar level, which could account for why he didn’t notice the Agents in the mirror on the wall behind the bar. Standing in the doorway across the room, the Agents were surprised that after a minute Barry had still not noticed them.

Agent Orange shrugged at White with a smirk, grabbed a seat in one of the large maroon leather armchairs by the fireplace, leg crossed, and continued to watch Barry with an amused smile. After another 30 seconds or so, Agent White interrupted the mumbles.

"Hi Barry."

Suddenly the mumbling stopped, but it took Barry another few moments before he unsteadily swung around on the stool, and focused his eyes on the Agents with his head bobbing, and a hand on the bar for support. He gave a large hiccup which turned into a snort and chuckle.

"Gentlemen." Barry started quasi-politely, closing his eyes for a moment. Then opening his eyes, he continued with renewed energy, "Gentlemen! Of the esteemed – " he trailed off again. Another hiccup. "The
honorable…
Mr. Drake’s employees… thugs… hitmen… true renaissance men!" Laughing, Barry raised his glass – sloshing a bit onto the floor – to the Agents, who wore amused smirks, and then slugged down about half of the oaky liquid. "Please –" hiccup "– please, help yourself to a drink fellas," Barry theatrically added, actually lighthearted, gesturing to the bar, and turned around back to face the bar, planting his elbows on the surface. Every so many blinks he would appear to momentarily doze off, just to open his eyes with a jerk of the body or a hiccup.

"Don’t mind if I do," Agent Orange obliged as he fluidly stood up, and quickly crossed the room to the bar. He pulled a 16 ounce beer glass from under the bar, and filled it with the darker of the two beers on tap. He raised the glass to Barry, and with a crazy kind of smile and half closed eyes, Barry raised his glass as well. The two began to drink, and finished at the same time, pounding their glasses back to the bar triumphantly. Barry again started to chuckle, and Agent Orange joined him – laughing
at
Barry, not with him.

By this point Agent White had crossed the room and taken a seat next to Barry at the bar, observing the other two, amused. As Agent Orange laughed heartily – his straight white teeth on full display – he looked back and forth to White and Barry. White was smirking which showed his dimples, and shaking his head in mock disapproval. Orange raised the decanter toward Barry and cocked his head, nodded toward the whiskey, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

"Hit me!" Barry said, his eyes barely open, and Agent Orange poured Barry a tall glass of whiskey, before filling his own beer glass a second time at the tap.

"So, Barry," Agent Orange began as he topped off his beer and pushed the tap back into place, foam crowning the glass with just one thin white drop trailing down the side, "Did you ever manufacture that evidence against Atlas?"

Barry started mumbling and got louder as he spat out, "Atlas!" then sunk back into unintelligible mumbles. "I was gnnn… gunn… release when thah bech mol murd durd."

The two Agents exchanged another amused glance.

With a chuckle, White quietly commented to his partner, "I hope you didn’t get him
too
drunk."

Orange just shrugged with a smirk, as White turned to Barry and spoke.

"So that would be… on your safe drive?" he questioned.

Barry raised a finger as if he was going to make a point, but then put it down. He took another sip from his glass and again raised his finger. This time he stumbled to his feet and crossed the room to the doorway. Leaning on the door frame, he turned around to the Agents who hadn’t moved, but were staring at Barry blankly. Barry gave them a rapid shaky beckoning wave with the hand that wasn’t on the doorway supporting him. Understanding, the Agents quickly followed, Orange taking his beer with him.

In the kitchen, Barry put his finger against the DNA detector to allow a screen on the counter to light up and welcome him. "Izall ontheer" Barry stammered before collapsing into a kitchen chair still hiccuping every few seconds. White took his place at the screen and began typing and clicking. Orange stood in the doorway leaning against the trim, sipping his beer. A few minutes later White finished what he was doing, and wiped off the screen with a special cloth, before he clicked a button to make the screen recede back into the counter. Orange finished his beer, and licking his lips spoke to Barry who was nodding off at the table.