Phantoms Don’t Kill - chapter 1
A short blog novel, © 2009 Brian Kelly
The diner was the perfect setting for a phantom to meet with a client. Large enough to have a crowd to blend in with, but not so large that it would be a priority for the man to monitor. With cameras in all urban areas that include face recognition software, it is impractical to escape them. The trick is to avoid the grid algorithms that cause you to be noticed and your activities to be elevated for constant monitoring. Phantoms are expert at avoiding detection by the algorithms. That is how they move on and off the grid, providing off grid services for clients that lack the skill set or nerve to do it themselves.
My client was a stunning lady with sharp features, shoulder length black hair, and piercing blue eyes. I was struck by the contrast of the black hair and bright blue eyes. I was initially distracted, then worried. In my line of work, stunning good looks are rarely a good thing. Stunning good looks usually are a distraction, meant to get you to drop your guard. Now on full alert, I casually scanned the diner looking for anything out of place. I avoided looking directly at any of the cameras, of course, as the grid algorithms quickly elevate anyone that takes notice of them.
No one in the diner seemed out of place, so I returned my attention to the client seated across the booth from me. She wore layers of clothing, not for warmth, but for style. A blouse with a low neckline that revealed the layers beneath. Carefully chosen, this lady had style.
A typical phantom job involves a bit of smuggling, often stuff that would be legal if done on the grid. A politician may want to obtain some toys for his mistress, but not want the publicity. The only illegal aspect is doing the transaction off the grid. Serious crimes such as murder are off limits for a phantom, as they would end your career. Off grid or not, a murder would trigger an investigation that would track you down. Phantoms are basically good guys, just working to avoid the watchful eye of the man.
“So, what is it you are looking for?” I ask.
“I want you to find someone.” She answered, and handed me a picture.
I looked at the picture. It was a picture of herself. I said “I found her, she’s sitting right across from me, that will be $500, my half day minimum.” I said it dryly and with a straight face.
“She’s my twin sister stupid.” She was clearly not amused by my wit.
“How long has she been missing?”
“Two weeks. Her name is Kate.”
“Why don’t you go to the Police?” I asked.
“Because Kate is a phantom like you. Imagine if you dropped out of site for while and someone filled out a missing person’s report on you. Your days as a phantom would be over. I need someone who can look into it discreetly. I can afford your usual rate.”
“And why do you think it is anything to worry about? Perhaps she’s just gone of grid for a bit?”
“We’re twins. We each have a sense when the other is in trouble. And we’ve never gone more than a week without speaking. If she had a job that she expected would keep her off the grid for this long, she’d have told me.”
“Did Kate tell you what she was working on?”
“She said she had a milk run. A client wanted some Cuban cigars, and she was going to complete the connection.”
“Any other details you can think of?” I asked, wondering if I was wading in deeper than I could swim.
“She owns a boat named ‘Drifter’. She keeps it at Bahia Mar slip 232, but I checked yesterday and it was not in its well. I didn’t ask around. I don’t know how long it has been gone.”
Every fiber of my body was arguing with every other fiber. I don’t trust stunning babes. And missing persons are not my specialty. On the other hand, a job is a job. And there isn’t anything illegal about finding somebody. Plus, I like the water and I like boats. After pondering for a while, I finish my coffee and offer to see what I can find out. “Give me three days, breakfast here, same time, leave the cell phone home.” The face recognition algorithms can be managed, but the GPS of the cell phones generate data that is too easily processed.
“Thank you. By the way, I’m Pauline. You can tell us apart by the hair. I’ve always worn mine down to the shoulder, and Kate wears it just to the collar.” Pauline seemed to defrost a bit, as she rose from her seat and left the diner.
My coffee had been refilled, and as I worked on the second cup I worried. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just been suckered.
- the MuseTags: phantom
