Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (31 page)

Jennings had fallen asleep on the study sofa sometime after midnight while waiting for Isachenko's call. A little after three-thirty his holographic system sounded from the desk, and he sprang up, stumbling to where it lay. Isachenko’s large holographic head appeared above the screen, glowing blue in the darkness.

“Sir?” Isachenko said, and Jennings could tell from the flatness in his tone that it had not gone well.

“How did it go?”

“At two-fifteen this morning we entered the suspect's apartment using the fingerprint lifted from her office. Entry was clean and undetected. We conducted a search of the living room and kitchen area using thermal scanning technology; we weren’t able to locate the drive.”

Jennings felt his jaw tighten. “Not what I wanted to hear.” Bleary eyed, he walked to the drawer of the desk, snatched it open, and fumbled for a cigarette.

“We continued to search the surrounding area. At two twenty-three, the suspect woke and proceeded to investigate.”

Jennings lit the cigarette and drew on it, letting the silence drift. From here, it wasn’t going to be good, and he wanted Isachenko to feel his displeasure. “I know what you're next sentence is going to be, and I can’t for the life of me imagine how it's going to make me happy.” The big man gulped. That would have pleased Jennings had he not been pissed at the likely failure.

“She confronted our associate—”

“What do you mean 'our associate'?”

“I… had Trimboli enter the premises. He performed the sweep.”

“You weren’t there?”

“I waited outside, sir.”

He took another long drag, thinking about this. He suspected Isachenko had not entered the premises because Tabitha knew what he looked like and Trimboli was unfamiliar to her. Made sense.

“What happened next?”

“She attacked him and they fought.”

“I assume you disarmed the lights as we discussed.”

“Yes, we did. She… fought back and drove Trimboli from the apartment.”

“What?” Jennings said, yanking his cigarette from his mouth. “She’s a fucking one hundred and twenty-pound woman. How the fuck couldn’t you apprehend her?”

“Trimboli said she fought like a wildcat. Apparently she’s trained in a martial art.”

“I don’t give a fuck what she’s trained in,” Jennings spat. “You should have handled it.”

“I’m sorry, boss.”

Jennings threw the butt into the small tray of solution on his desk where it dissolved. He felt like another one. “So you didn’t find the drive?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s no help.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“Nothing for now.”

He hung up. Jennings should have taken care of it himself, but he would have killed her, and that couldn’t happen just yet.

Tabby limped into the office well past nine, ashamed that after years of arriving before eight o’clock, she had broken that commitment several times in the last month. She supposed she had a good excuse, but excuses were never part of the way she did things.

Her first order of the morning had been to contact the security company to upgrade her door lock from fingerprint entry to an additional retina scan. While the company had scheduled her move to the new apartment in the coming weeks, she was taking no chances in the interim. With the door more secure, she considered calling the police but eventually decided against it. Tabby was convinced the burglary related to the drive Charlie had given her. The police would ask questions, and she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself for fear the company might retaliate.

She had laid awake for hours after the intrusion, worried they would return and deep in contemplation about what she had learned the previous day. As Tom had predicted, she was no longer able to look at the world in the same way. Part of her wished she had taken his offer to bypass it all and carry on ignorant to the truth. The burden of knowing that so many people had died for no good reason—or reasons that were not justified on her moral radar—was difficult. She yearned for the old days, when Charlie had been alive and her day consisted of waiting to see if Tom might call or visit the office. That seemed like so long ago, another life of another person.

Still, she had a limited understanding of how the company actually worked and how long it might take for Tom to investigate her mother’s death. The potential answer made her anxious. What if her mother had been a casualty of the company’s actions? What if her death was preventable? If so, it would only make things worse.

Tom found his way into her office just after ten. “Jesus, Tabby, I’ve been looking for you all morning.” His concern felt good. “Where have you been and how are you after yesterday’s speech?” She explained in depth, from the burglary to having her security upgraded.

“Did you call the cops?” Tom asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Probably best you don’t. They’ll ask questions. And…”

“What?”

He sat and leaned in close to her. “I think Charlie died because he talked. If they find out you’ve spoken to the police, things might turn out even worse.”

“I guess so.”

“Listen, I didn’t get to finish what I was telling you yesterday.”

“Did you…?”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Find anything out about your mother?” He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m waiting for some information. Come past my office in an hour and we’ll go for lunch. It’s a surprise.”

An hour later Tabby left for the thirty-second floor. Arriving at Tom’s office, she stood outside watching him through the window. He sat before a sizeable floating screen, moving information and images about while simultaneously talking through his internal Bluetooth. She wondered how much more she wanted to know—especially about her mother—and decided she’d come too far.

She stepped in front of the doors and they opened. Tom ended the call and leapt from his seat when he spotted her.

“You all set?” Tom asked, slipping on his gray suit jacket.

“I guess so.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled, and for an instant she was taken back to a time before Charlie’s death, when Tom’s presence had filled her with feelings of desire.

She noticed Tom’s tie was slightly skewed. Without thinking, Tabby reached out and adjusted the knot and straightened the length. Tom didn't move. Her fingers lingered on the silk and there was a long moment between them, a connection where they both saw what might have been under other circumstances. Tabby wanted that moment to last forever.

But then her hand fell away and she broke the connection. Tom cleared his throat and buttoned his jacket. “Shall we?” he asked, signaling towards the door. She nodded.

They left the office and took the elevator, making small talk about Tabby’s busy few days. They passed through the lobby and out into the open air. Outside the building, Tabby felt free, as though she wasn’t sullied by the activities that went on within.

They walked towards the curb. “Does everyone know?” Tabby asked, shielding her eyes from the glare, despite the overcast day.

“What goes on?” He shook his head. “No.

They stopped at the curb as the traffic passed, a soft wind tickling the ends of Tabby’s yellow hair.

“How has it been?” Tom asked.

“Overwhelming.”

“You still want to quit?”

She frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Thought you might have given in to all the tricks. Most people can’t resist.”

Tabby pulled her hair to one side of her head and down over her right collarbone in a thicket. Tom’s eyes followed it. “What do you mean?”

He waved his hands. “They pamper and impress new executives. Load them up with wealth for the first two weeks before revealing the true nature of the work. By that time, most people have an easier time accepting their future actions because of what’s at stake. They’ve already got you spending the money and many don’t have a choice after that. It becomes a way of life, and you accept it.”

“I have a different motivation.”

A shiny black Mercedes withdrew from the line of steadily moving traffic and pulled into the curb. Tom opened the door, smiling. Tabby crouched and slid across the seat. She couldn’t help but feel almost like it was a date.

They rode in silence as the AI vehicle followed the traffic and negotiated the streets. Tabby stared out the window at the city they called home, and perhaps for the first time, she saw it knowing more of what went on behind the façade. Spider webs of cracks—and sometimes deep gashes—covered the pavement. Empty buildings with their dark windows and chipped brickwork; water leaking from rusted guttering after an early deluge. Large sections of glass had been used to modernize the look of some properties, but on closer inspection, Tabby saw it couldn’t hide the falsity of age and decay. Many of the businesses that had once decorated New York City had long ago closed. It was a shadow of the great metropolis it had once been. The economic downturn in the early twenties had robbed the region of income, driving people towards less expensive living areas.

They reached a place in the city near the big tower. It took Tabby a moment to realize they were going to it—the restaurant that had been on her bucket list since she was a little girl. She tried to suppress the flash of excitement, respectful of the circumstances, but Tom spied her smile and returned it. She was reminded why she had found him so attractive since their first meeting. It struck her then that Charlie would have laughed at this—the two of them together. It filled her with bitter sweetness. The car shifted out of traffic and pulled into the curb.

“I thought it was impossible to get into this place,” she said.

“It is,” Tom said. “But… working for the company has its perks.”

She remembered following its construction, the world’s tallest building coming to New York City, hoping and wishing one day she would get to eat there yet knowing the chances were slim. It was unaffordable for the average person, even for the moderately wealthy, and rumor was you had to know somebody to secure a seat.

They left the vehicle, and a waiter greeted them as they passed through a massive revolving door and into the most majestic foyer Tabby had ever seen, full of gold touches, glass, and polished wood in the most elegant way imaginable. Despite the city's poverty, it would always service an upper class element that needed restaurants like Ginger's. She wanted to stop and take it all in, but Tom drew her by the hand towards the elevator. She spun as they waited; the purpose of their visit and the burden of her new life momentarily forgotten. She realized she might never be back, and wanted to savor every second of the journey.

As the doors opened, a giant African-American man in a suit filled the doorway. A stunning raven-haired woman held his arm as they exited the elevator. Tabby caught herself staring, only to realize it was Frank Drexel, who had once been a prominent basketball player for the New York Knicks before the NBA had ceased competition. Tom guided her inside and the grey-haired porter smiled.

“Just don’t do that every time you see someone famous, okay?” Tabby shook her head.

They stood in silence as the elevator ascended to a height Tabby had never experienced beyond an aircraft. More wealth surrounded her; mirrored glass, gold trim, and polished walls of wood. The perfect balance of regal and class.

She stole two glances at Tom, finding his soft blue eyes and infectious smile. It came to her then that she had dreamed of this moment early on, a chance to be alone with the tall, corn-haired man and his charming words on a dinner date. One could argue she was getting it. It struck her that Tom might have organized this specifically for her—for them.

The elevator stopped on level two hundred and eight six. Tabby fell out of her daydream.

They were led to a place near the window through a sea of tables filled with patrons murmuring in low voices. Tabby couldn’t find an empty seat. She tried to catch the faces of the clientele, but Tom moved too quickly, and by the time they reached their seats, she didn’t dare look back. She managed a head spin as the waiter pushed her chair in and caught sight of a television star three tables away. He was looking at her. Tabby searched beyond and found others doing the same. Her gaze shot back to Tom, and again he was smiling.

“You stand out in a crowd. But I’m sure you’ve always been told that.”

Tabby felt her cheeks flush. “Not actually. I…”

Tom smiled. “Never mind.”

He ordered wine, a pleasure Tabby had rarely tasted. She looked around as though they might get in trouble for breaking the law, but the room was full of red and gold glasses.

“How is there so much alcohol here?”

“Money can buy anything and the world is full of this kind of corruption.”

Tom selected starters from a traditional physical menu. “Would you like me to order the mains?”

She tipped her head. “If you know what you’re doing.” His lips curled at the edges. “Which,” she added, “I’m sure you do.” Tabby couldn’t recall Scott ever ordering for her.

“So tell me about your background—your family?”

Tabby sipped red wine. “My mother died when I was a child, as you know. My father’s still alive, but he’s sick—I don’t want to talk about them, though. Tell me about you.”

Tom began to talk in a low, hypnotic voice, and it was a minute before she realized she wasn’t even listening, but rather staring at the movement of his features.

“… Tabby?”

“Huh?”

Tom pointed to her plate. “Try the whitebait. You won’t find it anywhere else in New York.”

She did and it was incredible, succulent and full of flavor after she took Tom’s further advice and squeezed a drizzle of lemon. They ate in silence for a time, stopping to wet their throats or spot their lips. Tabby kept her head down and glanced around, though most people were now concentrating on their meals.

“I don’t want to spoil this meal, but I guess I need to know more about what you told me. I need to understand the why. Why did this happen? How did it happen?”

Tom placed his knife and fork onto the edge of the plate, removed his now famous pen device and pressed the button. “If you look back thirty years there were already concerns about how the world was going to support itself in the future. People were preparing for doomsday scenarios, lack of food and water, all sorts of apocalyptic endings. But I honestly believe that it never became as bad as the experts predicted because of the company’s existence. Some will argue that without this self-regulation, the world would have become a much more terrible place.”

“That’s easy to say. Maybe it’s a way to justify it all.”

Tom shook his head. “If you look at the charts before the 2019 collapse, you can see why. The world’s population was on an unsustainable trajectory. Medicinal treatments had significantly advanced. The laws had evolved to save more lives. From 1900 to 2000, the average life expectancy had almost doubled. Cancer rates fell. Birth rates lifted. Doctors managed to get traditionally terminal illnesses under control so those afflicted would no longer die so young. In the nineteen eighties there was a disease called AIDS—Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. It killed millions in between its discovery and the twenties. But now, you barely hear about it.”

“Governments could no longer support the ageing population. There were too many mouths to feed and too much necessity for government services that had been the pillars of the economy for so long—those mainly associated with health—began to dry up. Gone were the days of waiting for medical services, queuing at hospitals, and overworked emergency personnel. Unemployment rose. Quality of life dropped. People were living longer, too long in many instances, because countries, governments, and infrastructure weren’t set up to support the ageing, longer living population.”

“It sounds wrong though. People being punished for living longer.”

“Maybe. The world has always been a tough place though. It’s said that some countries had entertained the idea of population culling before then—India, China, indeed Russia. We think they were doing it as early as 2017 after their economy fell apart. By 2019, the global population was too big to manage. We were all headed for disaster. If the company hadn’t acted then, most of those left alive would be jobless and starving. As it was, the world’s major economies collapsed, people had no work. They were penniless and starving.”