DETECTIVE MOXLEY, Part 3: “Lie Down with Squids”
“Bourbon,” said Moxley. “Go easy on the ice.”
Shebeiskowski waved the trashcan-shaped robot away when it rolled over to him. He looked around the darkened pub as if he expected his coworkers to be hiding under the tables. At this time of day, though, the place was deserted. If there was a human attendant somewhere, Mox couldn’t identify the hidden doorway.
He sipped his bourbon, which was surprisingly adequate. The pair had walked four blocks past at least half a dozen other bars before settling on this blighted place. Moxley hated Teutonic eateries. He was not a beer-drinker and disliked German food. Sheb had insisted they come here before he would talk.
“So?” Mox prompted.
“Look,” said Shebeiskowski, “this could get me fired, Mox. Ray was a friend. He isn’t flagged in the grid because I made sure to delete all his markers. It was the least I could do for him.”
“I don’t follow,” said Moxley.
“Neiring’s sister,” said Shebeiskowski. “Her kids, Ray’s niece and nephew. They were close to him. He had their threedies up in his cubicle. What would it do to them if he died a fugitive?”
“You can’t cover that up,” said Moxley. “You don’t have that kind of juice. Hell, even Lob couldn’t erase somebody from the public networks for more than a few days, and he’s the phreakiest phreaker I know.”
“Lob is going to get you arrested one of these days, Mox,” said the inspector. “I’ve warned you about this before. You realize he’s on the technological contraindication roster?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a felony for Lobby to be in the room with anything more advanced than a toaster,” said Mox. He shrugged. “I don’t judge.”
Shebeiskowski snorted. “I just wanted to keep it out of the news. As it is, somebody’s going to get hold of it eventually. But if poor Ray’s already interred somewhere and the family’s had a chance to mourn, I’m hoping it won’t sting them so much.”
Mox drained his glass and slapped it on the table. The serving robot was nowhere nearby, so he tapped a vapor tube from his pack and thumbed it to life. The tip blazed blue. Through a cloud of mist, he said, “So was it designer drugs? Loan sharks? What?”
The government inspector shook his head. “I wish to God I knew, Mox,” he said. “Ray was fine maybe two weeks before the end. Even when he started acting funny, I was hoping it was some kind of phase. Work stress, you know?”
“Why would you think it was work stress?” Mox asked. “Was he on a difficult case?”
“Not that I know of,” said Shebeiskowski.
“Then what?”
“That last week, when he started going nuts,” said Shebeiskowski. “He was breaking into homes and satellite offices that belonged to people we work with. People here in the building, the ones Ray would have the most dealings with. I figured he was coming unglued, maybe nursing some old grudges. You know how polite Ray was to everybody. Nobody’s that nice to your face unless he’s thinking he’d like to throttle you.”
“Yeah,” said Moxley. “I get that a lot.”
“No you don’t,” said Shebeiskowski. “People just tell you what they think of you. Nobody wastes manners on a private detective, Moxley.”
“That hurts, Sheb.” He sucked on his tube, causing the lamp in the tip to glow more brightly. “I want Ray’s case files. Whatever he was working on for the last two weeks. Can you get them for me?”
“I can’t do that,” said the inspector. “They’ll bring me up on charges if I transfer those to a civilian.”
“They’ll bring you up on charges if they learn you tampered with a public network,” said Mox.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I’m a whore,” said Moxley. “With sufficient motivation, there’s nothing I won’t do. Get me the files, Sheb.”
“Damn you, Mox. That isn’t fair.”
“Taxes aren’t fair,” said Moxley. “Marriage isn’t fair. War isn’t fair. Get me the files, Sheb. You want to know what why Ray killed himself as badly as I do. And you’re clearly not in a position to do anything about it.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” said Moxley. “Which is precisely what your superiors have done. Nothing. Ray’s behavior is no secret. But they looked the other way when you doctored the logs. If they were going to do more than sweep this under the rug, somebody would have called a press conference to get out in front of it. Spewed a lot of ozone about cultures of corruption and rooting out bad apples, or whatever it is people say. But instead there’s been nothing. Even if you wanted to look into Ray’s final weeks, they would stop you. That’s how this works. Let me have this. Let me find out why he did it.”
Shebeiskowski looked down for a long time. Finally, he said, “All right, you bastard. All right. But this can’t come back to me. I’m already on probation for that thing with the Sleeper Quarantine Squad.”
“Lie down with Squids,” said Moxley. “Get up with… Well. Get dirty.”
“Look—”
“I know, I know,” said Moxley. “Getting so a guy can’t execute a few recovering addicts without getting wrist-slapped for it.”
“You’re a douchelamp, Mox.”
“I’m worse,” said Moxley.
The server finally rolled his way and refilled Moxley’s glass from a discolored hose mounted to its frame. Mox frowned but threw back another slug anyway. Shebeiskowski waited for the robot to go away before he turned back to Moxley.
“You figure there’s an Oggy hiding inside?” Mox said. “Running his little legs off on a pair of pedals connected to the drive wheels?”
“That’s no funny,” said Shebeiskowski. “You know Public Works found one, right? Disguised as a sanitation robot. Ran the rounds every day with street rig. Just hiding right out on the street in front of God and anybody.”
Moxley shrugged. “Not my problem.”
“It will be when they put up a Tech Ghetto here in Hongkongtown.”
“Never happen,” said Moxley. “They’ll bring back the vigilance committees first.”
“We can hope.”
“That’s what I like about you, Sheb,” said Moxley. “I enjoy a man who’s free with his hatreds. Makes everything simpler.” He stood up and gathered his coat about him, pulling his hat down lower over his eyes. “Transmit me the files, Sheb. By tonight.”
“I hope you get mouth cancer.”
“Already did,” said Mox. “Twice.” He took a step toward the door of the pub, which chuffed open on automatic hydraulics.
The unmistakable ovoid of a high-explosive grenade rolled through the doorway at his feet.