Deadrock (3 page)

"Okay,
down we go," said Max, training the VScope on the floor below. In the
first apartment he viewed a dozen Green Robes sitting on the floor and eating
from a communal pot. He moved on to see a child alone in a room, playing interact-toons,
and finally to a woman getting ready for her shower. He let the Scope remain
here perhaps a fraction of a moment longer than necessary.

"MAX!"
He jumped, sure that he had heard his Grandma's voice, and focused on the last
apartment.

"Bingo!"
he cried. There on his back balcony was Detective Look-For-A-Bird, crouched on
the canvas floor of a tepee, his long beefy legs folded in front of him.

"Whoa,
this guy's big," said Max.

Even seated,
Bird's barrel-chested frame took up most of the floor space of the tepee. How
am I going to keep a guy that size in line, he thought. He pushed the audio
button of the Scope and tucked the earpiece into his ear.

He watched as
Bird tossed his steel-gray braids over his shoulders and closed his eyes. He
heard Bird take several breaths, each one deeper and slower than the one
before. Then Bird opened his eyes and stared at each of the animal figures
painted on the simulated buffalo skin walls of the tepee, at last concentrating
on an owl.

Bird began to
chant in a rhythmic, trance-like voice. "With the owl be-come one.
Medi-tate until done."

This guy's a
goofwit, thought Max.

"Increase
by four, four minutes more, four is the sacred nuuummmber, " chanted Bird.

Max caught
sight of a bit of hempfoil next to Bird's foot. He zoomed in and read the
prescription form: "Meditate daily. Dosage, 4 minutes to be increased by
increments of 4. For relief of anxiety and guidance on the spiritual path."
It was signed by Shaman George Walks-With-A-Ghost
.

Suddenly, Bird
took in a sharp breath, raised his arms like wings, and spread his fingers
wide.

"Oh, boy,
he really thinks he's a bird," whispered Max.

"Soar
over the hills, look for prey, see movement in the grass, catch your meal
today!" chanted Bird.

What if we're
walking down the street and suddenly he decides he's a pigeon?
thought
Max. I'm going to be searching for clues and he's going
to be perched on a ledge, cooing and taking aim at the people below.

Bird swayed
his massive outstretched arms and ducked his head this way and that, then
froze, staring at a spot on the floor. "A mouse!" he whooped.

"What
mouse?" cried Max, searching the tepee floor with the Scope.

His head
downward and his arms in a rigid spread, Bird began his imaginary dive, squealing
out a whirring, diving whine as he whipped nearer the ground. At the last
possible second, he snapped his teeth and threw his head back, shaking the
invisible mouse.

"A
definite goofwit," said Max.

Bird relaxed,
opened his eyes, and smiled. "A very clear image today. Shaman George, you'd
be proud of me," Bird mused to himself.

He stepped out
of the flap of the tepee onto the surface of the tiny balcony. Facing the
rising sun, he settled into the lounge chair and began to rub his arm tattoo. "Sports
section," he said. Watching his eyes, Max saw him scan and rescan one
small area of text.

"A very
clear image, alright,"
Bird
bubbled. "An
omen, even!"

He shook his
wrist, then held his index finger to his ear and his pinkie to his mouth. "Sammy?"
he said, "Bird here. Give me two hundred credits on Mouse Trap in the
fifth."

"Ohhhhh!"
groaned Max. "Somebody get me out of this assignment!"

Grandma turned
from her WriteUp and gave Max a disapproving look. The leather of the old
armchair creaked as Max shifted uncomfortably. When Grandma looked at him that
way she seemed to be able to read his mind. All his well-planned arguments flew
out of his head.

"Okay,"
said Grandma with a sly smile, "out with it. What's eating you?"

Max stepped
gingerly over stacks of hempfoil manuscript sheets set in haphazard piles
surrounding Grandma's armchair. She lived and worked exclusively at the Broken
Heart Ranch now, only venturing into the cities for promotional tours or lunch
with her publicist. Over her long career she had written a score of
bestsellers, all biographies of infamous mass murderers.

Max nearly
tripped over the rolls of foil strewn from the hearth of the grand stone
fireplace where she kept her obsolete Print-Devil, and on cold winter nights
where she occasionally roasted a wild boar. He seated himself in the carved oak
rocking chair next to her desk.

"It's
like this, Grandma. I need a favor. A
little
favor."

"How
little?" said Grandma, piercing him with her
look.

Hmm, thought
Max. Perhaps just now isn't the best time to ask Grandma for help, especially
when she's facing a deadline for a new book.

"It's
about work. I need you to get me out of a dangerous assignment. I'm being
partnered with a real-"

"Maxie!
When'd you get home?" cried Mr. Louis, bursting into the room. "Why
didn't you stop by the kitchen and see me? Consider my feelings!" he said.

Max rose to
greet the big lug and was immediately engulfed in his embrace. Former "guest
" and trustee kitchen help at Tunkhannock State
Prison,
Mr. Louis was Grandma's chef, butler, and bodyguard. He had also served as Max's
playmate growing up, instructing him on the mysteries of breaking and entering,
cracking a safe, and cooking the perfect soufflé. He had the profile of a
punch–worn boxer and the smile of a cherub. Since his dad died, Grandma
and Mr. Louis had been odd, but effective, surrogate parents to Max.

"Don't be
too hard on him, Mr. Louis," said Grandma. "He's a working man, you
know. Very little time for pleasantries."

"We're so
prouda you, Maxie! Say, can I fix you a plate of something? How's about some of
those roll-up hors d'oeuvres you used to like so much?

"Not
Penitentiary Pinwheels?" said Max.

"You
remembered! I'll bring some in a jiffy!" Mr. Louis lumbered out the door,
leaving Max to try and regain his momentum.

"As I was
saying, Grandma, this guy I'm being paired with is a lunatic. He's got a
gambling record, too. We're assigned to this meaningless Watcher together and if
he messes up he could even change history!"

Grandma
narrowed her eyes. "I can't imagine Chief Madison assigning someone who'd
be such a security risk."

"Well,
the Chief thinks he's reformed but I know for a fact he hasn't."

Grandma leaned
forward. "And how do you know, for a fact?"

"Because
I saw him with my VSc- uh, I have my sources, Grandma. I
am
a cop, you know." Max reddened and hoped Grandma hadn't
caught the part about the VisionScope.

Grandma leaned
back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Well, it just so
happens I have my own sources, Max, dear. And they tell me you've been assigned
to a nice, safe Watcher to try to unravel this mystery of the Mayor's. It
sounds a lot better to me than having you going undercover to meet with Blasto
dealers."

"Oh,
Grandma! That drug sting will be perfectly safe!" He jammed his hands in
his pockets and paced before the fireplace. "Besides, if I have to take
this Watcher I could lose my promotion."

Grandma calmly
repinned a few stray silver strands of hair back into the sleek chignon at the
back of her long neck.

"So I was
wondering if you might be able to pull a few strings. Grandma, are you
listening to me?"

Grandma
fingered the assortment of torture devices that lay next to her WriteUp. She
closed her eyes for a moment,
then
let them wander to
the photos hanging on the dark paneled wall. In each, she posed with famous
felons or heinous murderers, and in one, she autographed a virtual book jacket
for a forcecuffed man entering the Atom Eliminator Chamber.

"See that
one?" she said, pointing to the doomed man in the picture. "Roy Dwayne
Blanding, the Cincinnati Slasher. Only killed the cruelest elements in society.
More than a few editors in the bunch, I can tell you. I hated to see him put
away. I think your granddad did, too."

"Grandma,
about this Watcher case,
do
you think-"

"There
were lots of things Max Senior hated about his job. Said it went with the
responsibility, though," she said.

"Maybe
you could call some of your friends in the department. Have somebody else assigned."

"Responsibility…I
always worried that you were too young to handle the unpleasant parts of being
a cop. That you were too used to getting your own way. I guess that's my fault.
I never liked saying no to you," she said.

"Then you'll
do it?" asked Max.

"Nope.
Not this time, dear."

"Why not?
Grandma, I've only got a few days to win this promotion!"

"You've
got eons of time to win this promotion and many more. Why, in the normal life
span of 135 years, that leaves you with at least 121 years to make lieutenant!"
she said.

"Not
funny, Grandma."

"I'm
sorry, Max," she said. "But you want it both ways. You want to live
and work like an adult but you don't want the disagreeable parts of adulthood."

"But a
Watcher is meaningless! It requires no brains at all!"

"Just my
point! A good cop needs more than just a superior brain, Max. He needs
instinct, timing,
experience
. And a willingness to
follow orders." She rose and took him in a begrudged hug.

"Look at
it as a sort of mental vacation. A Club Med lobotomy, if you will," she
said.

"You're
just full of jokes, today," said Max, finally allowing himself to be
comforted.

"I'm a
regular Joan Rivers," she said.

"Who?"

"Never
mind. Before your time," she said.

Max kissed her
cheek and headed for the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he decided to give
it one more shot. "I just hope my crazy partner doesn't get me shot. You
probably couldn't live with the guilt," he said.

"Oh, nice
try," she chuckled. "But I guess I'll take my chances seeing as this
is just a Watcher."

She walked him
down the long, cork-lined hall where Mr. Louis joined them with a tray of hors
d'oeuvres.

"Farewell
forever, Mr. Louis!" Max said dramatically.

"Hey,
Maxie, take a snack with you. I call it Take the Rap Rumaki!"

Max and John
Look-For-A-Bird barely had time to meet before they were ushered through the
arched entry of the Holoround Theatre. The mammoth theatre swallowed up the hundreds
of police officers assigned to Watchers like a whale skimming plankton. The
building had once been a popular sports arena before the current government
banned all competitive play.

A Guide led
Max and Bird to one of hundreds of treadmills built into the floor.

"Welcome
to the Holoround Theatre," said the Green Robe Leader speaking from a
podium. His voice bounced and echoed off the walls of the immense room.

"He's
speaking too close to the ExplodeMic," whispered Bird to Max. "Pretty
soon he's going to get some loud-"

EEEEEEEEhhhhh!

"Feedback!"
said Bird.

The crowd
covered its ears and groaned at the fading,
wailing wall
of sound.

"What'd I
tell you?" laughed Bird.

"Sssshhh,"
said Max.

"My
apologies," said the Green Robe Leader in softer tones. "Here,
through the wonder of holopods, we will simulate typical experiences you may
encounter in your Watcher cases. If you will just step onto a treadmill, we can
begin."

A Guide led
them to their tandem treadmill. Bird's moccasins caught on the edge and Max
grabbed his arm just in time to keep him from falling. A million cops in the
New York City Police Department and I've got to get the King of Klutz, thought
Max. This is going to be one fun assignment.

"We
fervently believe that all crimes must be solved. But as time travelers, we
must keep the Policy of Non-Involvement utmost in our consciousness," said
the Green Robe Leader.

The lights
dimmed, the room flickered with blue light and the walls seemed to disappear.
Max had to fight the urge to "ooh" or ahhh" with the responding
crowd. He didn't want to seem like an immature little kid.

"Oooohh,
I just love this part!" said Bird.

Max scowled
and motioned to him to grab hold of the handrails. They began moving forward on
the treadmill at a steady pace.

The room lit
suddenly to reveal a scene just four feet from each treadmill. A holobotic
troopernaut stepped cautiously into an alien ship. Her weapon out and ready,
she looked right, left, but not down – where the banana peel lay in her
path. Bird reached out to warn her but was instantly restrained by their Guide.

"Remember
that life flows according to its own plan and within its own purpose," said
the Green Robe Leader.

The troopernaut
slipped and fell to the floor as laser fire crackled just over her head. She
rolled to cover, spied the enemy, shot, and hit him. Bird applauded
enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd and the scene faded and disappeared.
Max tugged at Bird's arm to alert him to the start of another scene.

The room lit
to Venice in the sixteenth century. A rich merchant strolled along the canal,
counting his money and unknowingly dropped a gold ducat. In a moment of
forgetfulness, Max bent down to retrieve the coin. The Guide gave him a warning
glance and Max froze in place, then slowly, nonchalantly, straightened up. Out
of the corner of his eye, he looked to see if Bird had noticed. No problem,
Bird was completely intrigued with the drama.

"You must
never interfere," said the Green Robe Leader to the crowd. "For
truly, one man's loss is another man's gain."

A penniless
monk wandered onto the Venetian path and found the coin. He jumped for joy,
crossed himself, and ran into a building marked, ORPHANAGE. Bird smiled and
bobbed his head at the justice of this.

The canals faded
away and the room lightened, placing the two detectives in the steamy, lush
greenery of Paradise. Bird stretched up to pick an apple off a tree but Max caught
him mid-reach. The Guide nodded approvingly.

"Any act
you make," said the Green Robe Leader, "may have a permanent effect
on all eternity!"

From behind a
veil of flowering vines, Eve appeared. She plucked the apple from the tree, and
handed it to Adam, who stepped out from the shrubbery. Bird shrugged at Max and
saluted the fading First Family.

The next
morning, Max tapped his foot impatiently and waited for Bird outside the Time
Passage Room. Trust this guy to be late, he thought. On the other hand, if he's
really late, maybe they'll let me go alone. He closed his eyes and wished, Oh,
please, Bird BE LATE! Unfortunately, when he opened his eyes again, he saw the
tall detective ambling toward him.

"Is that
what you're going to wear?" Max said to him.

"Sure,
what's wrong with this?" said Bird. He dusted the knees of his jeans and
smoothed the wrinkles of his plain white shirt. At least the shirt has buttons,
thought Max. It would be hard to explain InvisiSeams in the twenty-first
century.

"Well, it's
too late to change now," said Max. "Maybe we can get you something to
wear when we get there."

Here we're
supposed to blend right into the early 2000s and this guy's going to stand out
like a red dress at a funeral, thought Max, tugging at the waistband of his striped
hiphugger pants. I don't mind the bellbottoms so much but this low-slung waist
is going to drive me crazy. How inconspicuous will I be with my pants down
around my ankles? He gave Bird a second look. Not as noticeable as this guy, he
thought. What made him think he could get away with those moccasins?

"At least
borrow some of my beads," Max said and offered Bird a strand with a peace
sign attached.

"Groovy,"
said Bird.

"That's
it," said Max, somewhat relieved. "I'm glad you did some linguistic
research, anyway."

The two
entered the Time Passage Room, passed through a tunnel of plastic detector, and
waited on the platform by the transporter tubes. Chief Madison waved at them
from behind the clear wall of the control chamber. She pushed a button and
talked to them over the intercom.

"We've
got the date narrowed down, Max, but we can't be sure it's the exact day the
murder took place," said the Chief. "You'll just have to find the
time capsule and wait it out."

"Not too
long, I hope. The Spinelli deal won't wait forever," said Max.

"Oh, we'll
have fun, Max," said Bird. "I always like to take a tour when I get
to a new city. You know, we could see the Statue of Liberty before they
shrink-wrapped her, and Radio City Gallium Hall, and…"

Max gave the
Chief a pained "Why Me?" look.

The Chief smiled.
"You two just get the job done as soon as possible. Try to establish some
kind of cover so you can watch the action. And don't forget the Policy of Non-Involvement
– you don't want to change events."

"You were
going to remind him about the gambling," Max prompted the Chief.

"Right.
Bird, remember, you're still on probation so no gambling of any kind," she
said.

"A closed
chapter in my life, Chief," said Bird.

"Ready
for passage!" called the pilot.

Bird and Max
grabbed their gear and each stepped into a clear, rhinoleum tube. The doors
slid shut, locked and sealed with a clang. Max's breath began to condense in
the tube and he felt a sudden stab of claustrophobia. He looked through the
misting rhinoleum over at Bird, whose large frame crammed his cylinder and left
barely a quarter of an inch of space above his head.

A kelp hot dog
in a casing, thought Max.

Bird tried to
raise an arm to wave at him, but had to settle for a smile and a wink.

"Keep
your arms next to your body and remain as still as possible during passage,"
said the pilot, activating the controls. "Passage to New York City circa
July 2015 should take place in two minutes, forty-three seconds. Ready…transport!"

Max closed his
eyes and felt his molecules bubble and dance. For all his feigned outward
indifference, inwardly, Max awaited the experience of time passage with
delighted expectation. He never got over the liberating, exhilarating sensation
of becoming one with time and the universe. As he entered the downward spiral
that would draw him into the wheel of time, the last thing he heard was Bird's
voice.

"I'll
give you five to one odds, Max, that we make it in two minutes and forty-FOUR
seconds!"