It Looks Like You're Writing a Letter
Chapter 9

He didn't really feel anything when thepronged dart hit the senator's chest. As the warmth of the heat blast hit hisface and Rigsby's body was engulfed instantly in flame, he watcheddispassionately. The aide, Shelworth, was still writhing on the floor, tryingto crawl towards him with his torso severed just above the hips by afragmentation grenade he'd tossed into the room ahead of himself only 13seconds ago. Rigsby collapsed like a house of cards, curling at the edges. Thestench of burning flesh and hair clogged the spaces between the atoms in theroom.

He walked over to Shelworth, and slit histhroat with a flick knife he'd taken from his boot. Shelworth's heavy headslumped into the thick cream carpet and a crimson pool blossomed from his neckwound.

Time was of the essence now. The senator'svital signs would be monitored every minute and an alert would soon be flaggedon his staff's arm pieces, flashing red screens and incessant buzzers untilthey flocked to his side. All they would replace, thanks to the advancedincineration technology used by the PID, would be a charred mass in acongealing pool of fat - some of which no doubt would be dripping from theceiling in the room below. The senator's arm piece would be utterly destroyed,but the data would not - being stored in real time on a remote server for hissecurity. While it would most definitely identify his attacker, he would belong gone by the time the building security started looking for him.

He took one last look around the opulenthotel suite, saw a table of food and took a bite out of a tuna sandwich. It wasgood, so he took another, and still masticating walked to the door. Checkingthe corridor was clear he walked out closing the door behind him.

Walking towards the stairs, he passed amaid hurrying by with fresh linen. She barely looked at him. He pushed open thedoor to the stairwell and started down the ten flights to the parking garage inthe basement. By the time he was at the fifth floor he could hear alarms andcommotion from each floor he passed.

Reaching the basement, he strolled acrossthe parking lot to where his vehicle was parked. He opened the drivers doormanually, and slipped inside.

"Where is he now?" asked Stilson.They were still driving and had been for hours. The seats of the vehicle hadmoulded themselves to fit their bodies perfectly, but somehow still managed tobe uncomfortable.

"Uhhh... Still heading east, just leftShawnee. I wonder where he's planning to get to."

"He knows we're going to replace him, he'ssmart enough to realise that as soon as the Senator's biometrics stopped, hispeople would scan who was in the room and the chase would be on."

"You think he's going to disappearagain?"

"It's possible. He did it before."

"I still don't get it - he went to seeKruke, then vanished. Then he shows up hundreds of miles away, is thatpossible?"

"Yeah. He could have taken a privatecopter, and gotten to Oklahoma City overnight from Tulsa. If he had a powerfulenough Grid blocker to pull off the Wichita job in plain sight, fuzzing outwhile in the air, in transit, overnight is no big deal. The Grid still doesn'tcope too well with high speed transport."

"So that's why we're not going to seeKruke right now?" Doherty's tone was cautious.

"It's not a priority, we caninterrogate him later if needs be. He was only really useful to us when we didn'tknow where Griffen was - now we do, so we have to reprioritise."

Doherty couldn't tell if Stilson wasgetting annoyed with him, but he decided to change topic to be on the safeside.

"Any news on that promotion, Stilson?"A few months ago, Stilson had applied for the head of Grid tactics role,working closely with the techs and developing new algorithms to trackindividuals and fill in the gaps where the Grid was still letting people slipthrough the net.

"No, not yet."

"You think you got it?"

"Ah... I don't know Doherty. I think Iwould have heard by now."

"I still don't understand why you'dwant to go and work in a lab with those fucking geeks all day. Wouldn't youmiss the field work?"

Stilson looked out of the side window,Doherty couldn't read his expression. "I don't think so. I don't reallyenjoy the face to face, human contact stuff."

"You can tell." Doherty's tonewas chiding, but it was obvious to everyone that Stilson struggled to connectwith people, innocent or guilty.

"Go to hell, Doherty," snappedStilson, testily. Then he mellowed. "You're good at all that touch-feelystuff, I'm not - never have been. I don't understand what makes people tick, Idon't understand why they do such terrible, unthinkable things to each other.The first time I interviewed a murderer, I remember it to this day. Old guy, inhis fifties. Had enough of his old lady so he beat her skull in with a hammer.I asked him why he did it, and he told me she always burned his steak. I said 'isthat any reason to kill her?' and you know what he said to me?"

Doherty shook his head.

"'It was good steak'. So this guy, he'dbeen married to this woman for thirty years, she'd put up with his shit, hisdrinking and womanising and all the rest of it, and he just decided to snuffher out and that was that. That day, I just sort of lost any respect I had forthe human race. Now nothing they do surprises me, and when I'm talking topeople out there I just feel sad. Because I know, sooner or later, every singleone of them is going to do something deplorable, and most of them won't care."

"That's a bit of a generalisation,Stilson," said Doherty. "There's a whole lot of good, decent folk outthere, but in our line of work we don't get to interact with them. We get tospend quality time with the murderers, and the murdered, the robbers and thevictims, that's it. Maybe you should get more out of your time outside work.What do you do for fun? We've been partners for years and you never talk aboutwhat you do when you're not on shift?"

Stilson shifted uncomfortably and squintedthrough the grimy windshield. "Not much. Read a lot."

"Any girlfriends? Boyfriends?"Doherty's tone wasn't mocking - he was genuinely interested.

"That's private."

"Come on! We're partners!"

"That's private - partner."

Doherty looked deflated. "Well, ifthat lab job is what you want, I hope you get it. You do realise the other labguys are people too, right, and you'll have to spend time with them every day,and there are plenty of them?"

"Yes, Doherty - it will be fine.OraCorp doesn't employ murderers, last time I checked."

Doherty laughed out loud. "MikeMcKenzie, last month? Came at you with a crow bar and you shot him? Ring anybells?"

Stilson looked offended. "You knowwhat I mean. That was self-defense, perfectly within protocol."

"I'm just yanking your chain, partner."

Doherty checked his arm piece to see wheretheir prey's flashing avatar was on the map. "He must be in some kind ofvehicle, estimated 90mph currently. He's in a rush to get somewhere, I'll tellyou that."

"I'm not surprised. Any visuals?"

Doherty waved, gestured and scrolled. "Nothingmatching his description at all, I've scanned his entire route. It looks likehe stopped at a grocery store in Henryetta, didn't buy anything, not even arecharge. Just peeled out and carried on."

"No recharge?"

"Nope."

Stilson furrowed his brow. "Keep aneye on him. If he's in a car, he's going to need to recharge before too long.We might be able to head him off."

"And why would a man on the run stopat a grocery store, and risk being visualed, and not buy anything?"

"Any number of reasons. Could havebeen meeting someone - how long was he there for?"

"Ninety one minutes thirty twoseconds."

Stilson pulled a face. "Let's keep movingsouth, if he carries on east we should be able to cut him off, or get on aproper pursuit vector before too long."

"Two hours, it's saying here."

"That's fine. I can put up with twomore hours of your conversation."

Doherty looked offended, then grinned.

The Five and Zero truck stop and grocerystore in Henryetta was a new development, built on the site of a very similarbusiness five years ago. It had one gas pump left, an antique just for show,and a bank of ten recharging stations. They were the new type that couldrecharge a medium sized saloon car in about five minutes flat.

The proprietor, when he took the lease on,was assured a steady stream of traffic from the Oklahoma road a few miles awaybut it turned out this was a lie. He was struggling to keep his head abovewater, and the lease tied him in for a minimum three years.

Sometimes a whole day could go by without himseeing a single vehicle pull onto his lot. Sadly, today was one of those days.