Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (14 page)

It was a yearly ritual that Tabby and her father would meet at her mother’s gravesite and have dinner afterwards. Tabby walked the half a mile to the cemetery from the train station under a blackening sky, the bright lights of the city dimmed as most of the buildings closed for the night. Along the way she saw hundreds of people preparing their containers to catch the precious liquid. Some looked at her as though she was stupid to waste the opportunity, but they did not know she was lucky enough to avoid the stricter water rations.

Whilst her mother’s anniversary always cast a somber glow, Charlie’s odd behavior was at the forefront of her mind. He was more stressed than usual, sullen and silent. She’d tried to pry more information out of him later that afternoon, but he rejected her attempts and eventually shut his door. It wasn’t often he descended into such a state, but she let him be, knowing he always swam clear of the muddy bottom and resurfaced. It gnawed at the back of her mind though. If things weren’t better the following day, she would approach him about it. And what of his suggestion that she take vacation time? He’d never done such a thing before.

They met at the wide entrance, tapered stone pillars, gabled gates, and a steel pointed fence leading away on ancient stonework. Beyond, a wide parking and walkway led from an ancient red-brick administration building.

It had been two weeks since she saw him, and his appearance surprised her—his pants hung around thin legs, his scruffy grey hair unusually messy. He had always neatened himself up for the anniversary, but this time, he hadn’t shaved. His flat blue eyes reflected a perpetual sadness, as though the death of her mother all those years ago had stolen their light and enthusiasm for life. In a moment of sadness, Tabby wondered if he would be around in another three hundred and sixty-five days without the drug trial.

She kissed him on the cheek and they hugged warmly. “How’s it going, Dad?”

“I’m all right. Battling on, you know.”

She smiled. “And your back?” He grunted. He needed cheering up. Tabby pressed her face into a smile, hoping it would favor her tone and infect him. He forced his own. “Did you get my pill prescription? I’m almost out.”

Her father lived on a daily concoction of prescription drugs for his various illnesses. Tabby wasn’t sure they were all valid, but it provided him a sense of purpose. Her responsibility was to ensure he had stock of these. “Not yet, Dad; tomorrow… I promise.”

A faint scowl crossed his expression. “Don’t let me run out.”

“Have I ever let you run out, Dad?” He looked away. “Any word on the trial?” He rolled his eyes.

“Where have you been today?”

“Around.”

“
Around?
”

He stopped. “What, I have to tell you what I’ve been doing?”

She eyed him. He was hiding something. “You sound like…” She let it go; no arguing on this day. “Never mind. I just worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, squeezing her hand and making the best attempt at a smile.

They wandered arm in arm down the narrow pathway, through the headstones and memorials, the stunning Manhattan skyline lit up in the background. A light rain fell, darkening the rocky pathway and covering the patches of grass in slick dew.

Now, on her father’s arm and nestled amongst the ageless dead, thoughts of her mother surfaced as they always did at this time, and again, a question formed in her mind that begged asking. Her father normally refused to talk about it, and she suspected the same would occur again this year, but she would try.

“Dad, tell me something about Mom before she died?”

Silence fell between them, filled only by the distant whir of electric engines through the streets and on the motorway. They walked on, past several mausoleums and rows of pale headstones bathed in soft lamplight. Tabby had finally accepted that this year’s response would be like the others, when her father spoke.

“What would you like to know?”

It caught her off guard and she took a moment to respond. “I was just thinking. I mean… there are so many treatments for cancer these days—the death rates are lower than they’ve ever been—but Mom still died.”

He cleared his throat and looked off into the distance towards the section of cemetery to which they were headed. “I’ve asked myself why so many times. We had good connections through your mother’s work. We chased the best doctors and the strongest drugs. Nothing worked.” He shook his head, teeth gritted. “She had one of the rarest forms of cancer the doctors had come across. We tried everything… I suppose it was a long time ago.”

Two things surprised Tabby: the apathetic man disappeared, and it was more than he had talked about her mother’s death in years. She sensed the pain and despair of failing to save his wife. She had watched him following her death, a man once indestructible, racked by tears and immersed in misery forever afterwards.

“I’m sorry to bring it up in such detail. I know it hurts.”

“That’s all right. You were still a little girl. I suppose you don’t remember much.”

“I remember it was a horrible time.”

“It was.”

“I’m just glad you were okay in the end.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. “If we’re honest, I’ve never really been okay, have I? You know that. But I do the best I can.”

Tabby squeezed his arm, a deep ache in her chest. They walked on in silence, linked by love for each other and a woman taken too early from their lives.

Eventually, they found the grave in the far corner of the eastern section, close enough to one of the pathway lights to still be able to read the inscription.

Cassandra Louisa Marks

1986 – 2023

Forever loved,

Forever missed.

They stood together for a time, lost in their own thoughts, watching the plot of grass under which she had been buried. Tabby concentrated on being strong for her father—standing tall and stiff, willing him to be the same. She felt his body convulsing with long held grief, fighting back the memories and loss. She hugged him and he reciprocated, refusing to let go until finally they separated. Her father moved away, allowing her time with her own thoughts.

Tabby felt guilty for not demonstrating her grief. There were no tears or sniffles. She felt sad, and missed her mother, but she had long ago buried it, leaving a hole full of sadness in her being. She lived with it every day, and the anniversary was just another in a long line of them.

They swapped places and her father stood alone, Tabby a ways back watching darkness fill the remaining evening as her father sobbed over his wife’s grave. His soft voice carried to her, and though his words were muffled, she imagined them. He climbed down onto his knees, the wet grass soaking his trousers. From his pocket, he took something and handled it as he knelt over the plot.

Tabby turned away, watching lights from buildings on the next block. Eventually, he stood and staggered back to her, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, and she led him along the dark pathway towards the entrance.

“What were you holding just then?”

“A piece of a necklace your mother gave me many years ago. She had one half, and I had the other.” He held it up. Tabby had never seen it before. It was a dull silver piece about the size of a dime, though split in half, with a jagged cut of separation. “I suppose I’ll give it to you when I…”

They had passed beyond most of the gravestones and almost reached the wide area inside the entrance gate when her father stopped, eyeing something in the distance beyond the fence. “Don’t move.”

Tabby found a dark figure standing beside one of the pillars holding something near their face. They lowered the object and Tabby knew instantly it was a camera. They were taking photos. She started towards them.

“Wait, Tabby. Don’t get too close.”

But she was running. The person raised the camera again and took another snap, then started along the street and disappeared into the darkness.

Tabby sprinted for the entrance, but by the time she arrived, the person had disappeared. She searched the immediate area for signs of their presence, but street was silent and empty.

Her father arrived puffing, his old legs clumsy and awkward. “Who was it?” he wheezed.

Tabby shook her head. “I don’t know.” She was about to ask why anybody would want to take photos of her, but then wondered whether she had been the target at all.

Charlie felt more optimistic in the morning before breakfast with Tom.
He
would make sense of this. He had provided good advice in bad situations before—perhaps not such grim circumstances, but he would know what to do, would know how Charlie should tackle the problem. After all, Tom was the one who had approached Charlie with his dissatisfaction about working for the company in the first place.

Their destination was an exclusive eatery in Midtown where they were both members and often went for lunch. It had a private section reserved for members, and their profiles had been set into the restaurant’s database so each time they visited, their preferences were recalled.

Charlie took an elevator to seventeen and, after exiting, pressed his thumb to a shiny keypad at the entrance to the room. His dining preferences appeared on a colorful screen for review. In a female voice, the machine said, “Will a guest be joining you this morning, Mr. Billings?”

“Thomas Bright.”

“Mr. Bright is not here yet. Your waiter will assist you to your preferred seating arrangement. Please take care at all times. Your health and safety is our primary concern.” Charlie loved the irony of that.

A small, floating robot body without legs or arms appeared at the entrance and said, “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

It led Charlie across the room to his favorite table against a wall of windows peering out onto the city. Skyscrapers, far larger than the Janefield building, poked up hundreds of levels into the sky, glistening and reflective in the morning sunlight. But it was the smaller buildings where communities of people lived growing their fruits and vegetables on the rooftops that Charlie loved to watch. It was a daily tradition for many families to pick their food requirements early, as the sun came up, before parents left for work and children for school. Now, he watched small children holding baskets, parents stretching high and wide on their vines and into the plots, filling the containers with green and red, yellow and white vegetables. Since the first rooftop garden had appeared in the earlier part of the century, the idea had taken off; now, many people were self-reliant for their produce. Without it, they would not have enough money to buy directly from stores. Charlie enjoyed watching people living their lives in the buildings and on the streets below. He supposed it was kind of like how the company was to the world, unaware of its existence and connection to the life of every person on the planet.

Tom arrived wearing a blue, pinstripe suit and tie on a white shirt with envious style. He sat as another flying robot arrived with coffee. Charlie took it, shifting in his seat, determined to begin as they normally would. “How was the trip?”

“Same as the other regions. The clients are unhappy. Numbers are down. Many of them are asking how long Fox will last.”

Charlie sipped his latte. “I doubt he’ll let it get to that.”

“Maybe. You didn’t have Tabby call me for breakfast to talk about my trip though, did you?” The robot beeped and Tom took his coffee from the tray.

“No.” Charlie spoke slowly. “Samantha’s name came out on a list yesterday.”

Tom sat forward, frowning. “
What
?”

Charlie put his coffee down. “It’s them.”

“Who?”

“Whoever is doing this. Fox. Jennings.”

“It’s not Fox. He’s got the same sort of pressures. Maybe Jennings.”

“How do I get her off it?”

Tom’s expression hardened. “It’s like Dom’s wife all over again.”

“And you know what happened to him, after that.”

Tom put his coffee glass down harder than he intended and it clunked on the table. “It’s all right. We’ll work something out.”

Charlie’s voice climbed. “It’s certain now that they know about us.”

Tom lapsed into silence, his brow furrowed. Finally, he said, “Maybe.”

“Did you tell anybody about Jennings’ behavior?”

“Fox. He spoke with Johanna and I the other day, just before we found out about Bryce. He thinks Jennings is up to something.”

“What does
up to something
mean?”

Tom cleared his throat and leant forward. In a low voice, he said, “He said he thinks Jennings is working against him. Trying to make him fail.”

“But how does that affect us?”

“We haven’t worked that out yet, but Fox thinks it might have something to do with those loyal to him.” He tipped his head forward. “And you’re one of them.”

Charlie let the anger come. “Would Jennings be so obvious? Surely the hierarchy wouldn’t let that happen.” Tom shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not giving up. I need to find a way to get her off this thing. If I don’t approve it, they might come after me. Try to pin a ‘breach of contract’ on me. Do you know anyone who hasn’t approved a list?”

Tom shook his head. “Normally you just check the details and hit approve.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “We need to weigh this up carefully. Come up with a plan.”

“What did Fox say?”

“Keep an eye on Jennings.” He hesitated, glanced at Charlie then back at his food.

“What?”

“Fox also told us to keep an eye on you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. The whole loyalty thing.”

Charlie glanced around, checking for people watching. There were none. “I just want out of this place, Tom. I don’t give a shit about the money, or the material things; I’m not going to lose my wife.”

Tom nodded, his brow knotted. “Listen,” Tom said as the robot arrived with his breakfast. Old school twentieth century stuff: bacon, eggs, sausage on toasted white bread. The WHO had put most of that stuff on the dangerous foods register now. Under different circumstances Charlie would have been drooling, but a sickly feeling had replaced hunger. He thought Tom would have a simple solution, but there wasn’t one.

“There’s a guy in the water division. Karl Atherton. You need to talk to him. He’s been through this and he’s still working for the company.”

Charlie felt a stab of hope. “What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details. He’s on two, I think. Go and talk to him. See what he says.”

Charlie nodded. He still had three days to work this thing out. He wasn’t giving up. Perhaps this Karl Atherton might help. “Thanks.”

“We’ll get through this, Charlie. After Atherton, you need to speak with Fox. And if he can’t help…”