CHAPTER 3
The bus ride home was always the same.Locke took the 110 to the 230.The 230 to the 115.The 115 to the 117.The 117 to the 850.And then the 850 to the 330.The 330 dropped him off two miles from his living quarters.
He heard his transportation before he saw it. Although Locke was no OWG mechanic, it sounded like the engine on the bus wouldn’t last to see another week. Like Hamilton.
It sputtered to the curb, a puff of smoke joining the city air, then dissipating. The driver kept his eyes straight ahead, not acknowledging Locke. Tired, the detective did the same in return, catching the operator’s motion to close the door out of the corner of his eye. Locke slid his System card through the slot behind the driver so his location could be registered.
On a normal day—him remembering from two years ago--Locke stood for the entire ride. First come, first served. But today was different. Many of the plastic seats were empty, a factor of riding at a non-peak time.
Finding a cracked one toward the back, he slumped into it. With a jerk, a hum, then a stumble, the bus began its journey. A quarter of the way into the sky, the morning sun headed toward a cloud cluster. It would cook the terrain to just over ninety degrees before long.
Though his legs liked the break, Locke’s mind continued to work. He stared at the floor just in front of him, seeing a spider dangling by an invisible string from the next bench. It swayed in a tight, slow circle in rhythm to the bumps on the street.
This was the way Locke’s mind felt, like it was hanging by that same string. He tried to dismiss it as the long hours, days, weeks, and months catching up to him. But, a small part of him insisted it was something more.
And the small part was winning the argument.
It was Hamilton.
Block by block, Locke separated himself from the killer, but it felt like the murderer sat in the seat next to him. No, closer than that.
He was in Locke’s head.
Shutting the door just a half hour before had only cured part of the problem. That was the easy part, physically not being in the killer’s presence. Mentally though, Locke discovered forgetting Hamilton’s case would take a lot longer.
This was a new feeling. All the other cases left his mind within minutes. By this time on his journey home after solving a case, Locke already began looking forward to seeing Jade, sometimes forgetting the murderer’s name before boarding the fourth OWG bus.
Not now. Like a scratched record from one of the OWG’s musicians, the details, locations, names, and Hamilton’s words repeated over and over. And there was no one to turn the machine off.
He glanced out his window, only planning to break up his thoughts. A way to hit the refresh button.
But all the buildings in the distance mesmerized him mid-glance. Words from that broken record rotated inside him.
Sand and stones. Steel and concrete. Sand and stones. Steel and concrete. Sand and stones. Steel and concrete.
The Gambling City skyline had changed since the last time he gave attention to it. Now that he thought about it, when was the last time it attracted a look from him? Yes, he’d been gone for the last two years with only a few quick stops back. But even then, had he ever looked at it?
No, he didn’t think so.
Then, how long was it? Three years? Four? Five since he admired the buildings?
Thinking about it, he turned his head to the other nine riders. Six males and three females. Two white like Locke. The rest of them mixed race. All had their eyes down, as if in deep thought.
Locke shifted his attention to the skyline.
The Red Casino was not red anymore, more of a drab maroon. And the “C” didn’t light up. The Green Casino, when did someone break its windows? The Yellow Casino’s white top had turned to gray. Why hadn’t someone re-painted it?
A drop of sadness landed on his emotions then ran off. The OWG would fix all of those buildings when Govicide caught all the Offenders ripping it off. Those buildings would be perfect once again, Locke smiled.
Then, his frown returned.
All built within the last fifty years, as was every other building in sight. All of them built with known technology. Girders and cement. Rivets and welds.
Not one constructed with sand and stone.
There had to be a reason the OWG didn’t use those materials anymore. Nestled in an OWG Engineer’s book somewhere a legitimate reason spelled out why all other buildings were not like the Pyramids. Somewhere in the System the Pyramid plans existed.
Surely.
As Locke’s eyes scoured each building, they stopped on the “O” at the end of the Yellow Casino’s name.
That black O transformed into one of Hamilton’s eyes.
The eye contact. That was it. That was the reason Locke couldn’t let it go.
Specifically, the look Hamilton gave him as Locke raised his fist in the air.
In a piece of a second, Hamilton saw Locke’s weaknesses but Locke saw none in the prisoner. Locke saw a mystery, but Hamilton saw a male.
Locke hoped the incident hadn’t been so clear to Director Stallings. It didn’t really matter. He’d never see him again. And, in a few hours Govicide Agents would arrive to take Hamilton away.
But even if they hung Hamilton, chopped his body up as they did with Offenders who committed heinous crimes, and burned his parts to ashes, Locke realized there would always be something intriguing about Hamilton. He managed to make it to about 30 years old outside the System.
The OWG claimed it wasn’t possible.
Locke heard of subjects going outside the System. The OWG mandated the Masses to call these subjects Offenders. But these subjects always came back or got caught in weeks. Staying outside the System was too tough. An Offender had to feed himself. Take care of health issues on his own. Find a way to get credits. Live on the street. Find transportation. The obstacles were too difficult for any human to survive.
Yet, Hamilton contradicted it all. The OWG Doctors found he had no health issues. On the day of capture he looked like any subject within the System. But miles better.
Hamilton was his own version. One of a kind. A mystery. Unique.
Like the Pyramids.
The thought popped into his mind. Locke dismissed it and moved on.
The interrogation couldn’t have impressed Stallings. Locke doubted any difficult implications would come from not getting substantial information from Hamilton. Director Stallings couldn’t have expected much more from a lowly Homicide Detective.
Locke taught the Agents how to analyze blood splatter patterns, preserve dead bodies, and other crime scene procedures. But, everyone knew Govicide had the best interrogators in the OWG. No other Department came close.
Locke’s opportunity was a courtesy, nothing more, as explained to him by a Govicide representative.
But, Locke felt like he let this opportunity slip away. Aching regret scratched at him like a hungry cat. With Gates’ confidence boost, recruitment into Govicide seemed possible. If those possibilities had existed, they were dead now, the result of Locke’s failure to get anything out of the serial killer.
There would be no flying in jets. Or eating better food. Or getting an automobile. Or quicker healthcare. All the accommodations Govicide Agents received for making sure the OWG could provide everything for everyone.
He’d have to remain content working in his current position. He wanted to do so much more for the OWG. Without it, where would he and everyone else be?
Dead.
Bus rides, bus stops, and sprints in between, he trudged the last two miles. As was his habit, he avoided the sidewalk cracks, something he had been told to do as a child. It seemed there were more and more to jump as he got older.
He passed row after row of one-floor buildings built in anticipation of a spectacular future, much better than current times. Each building was gray, the color of the concrete. Paint would be added later, the color being whatever the Exalted Ruler picked.
Like the casinos, he couldn’t remember the last time he really saw them. On the other hand, he couldn’t remember a time when these buildings were not there. When were they built? Twenty years ago? Twenty-five?
None made out of sand. None made out of stone.
The only other subject he noticed was a male rummaging through a trash bin. If Locke had more energy, he would have reminded him his actions were against an OWG mandate. A Govicide Agent could arrest him for trash picking. But, Locke’s steps didn’t divert from their pre-planned path, too attracted to the bed awaiting him. The male would be caught sooner or later. No one escaped the OWG.
Except Hamilton.
Locke reached his first-floor living quarters. It looked like every other subject’s in Gambling City. Built about thirty years ago, most were 900 square feet, the newer ones being smaller than older ones. One sleeping area. One shower room. Eating area. And a common area containing a video communication device.
All subjects received their living quarters from the OWG upon reaching the age of twenty-five.
Fumbling for his keys, his weary eyes zoomed in and out at the keyhole. Had his living quarters been one more block, he might have lain down on the pavement to sleep. Finding the keyhole, he opened the front door.
“Jade?”
Jade peeked her head out from the eating area.
“You said you’d be home at eleven. What happened?” Her eyebrows formed a V over her hazel eyes. She darted back out of sight.
He knew that expression. Something was up besides him just being late without calling. “You know I was interrogating Hamilton this morning. Just didn’t go like I thought it would.”
Locke took seven cautious steps to the room’s doorway. Jade stood at the sink, towel in hand.
“It never does, does it?” She threw the towel on to the counter and marched toward Locke.
“What’s wrong?” He spun in place as his twenty-three year old, five foot three tornado whizzed past, destination unknown.
No answer.
Her mother was black, her father white. All subjects under thirty were of mixed race. The OWG mandated twenty-eight years ago subjects of the same race couldn’t conceive. It believed this the best way to make everyone even more equal.
Some day soon, in about fifty years, there would be no “pure” race of any kind. No more black and white.
Nothing but tan.
“If this is the way it’s going to be with me being around more, I’m going to start hoping for another serial killer.” He heard her land on the couch, like all of her one hundred pounds hit it in a freefall.
Something was definitely wrong.
Around the corner he followed in her wake, finding her facedown, sprawled on the couch. She was not long enough to stretch from one armrest to the other.
Locke stopped in the middle of the room. He hadn’t noticed until right then how her legs, clothed in blue shorts, were almost the same shade as furniture. “This seems like a big overreaction to me getting home late without calling. Trust me, I have a very good reason.”
“A better reason than being pregnant?”
Her voice muffled by the cushions, Locke didn’t catch the last word. To him, it sounded like “pungent.”
“Being what?”
“Pregnant. Pregnant.” She turned her head toward him, free of the pillows. “Pregnant!”
“Pregnant? Who’s pregnant?”
“Are you trying to upset me, Michael? Because so help me . . .” Her voice faded as her face dropped into the pillows again.
“Wait . . . ,” his hands found a nice position on his hips, “ . . . you’re pregnant?”
She answered by nodding, rubbing her nose deep into the fabric.
“Huh . . .” Maybe it was the result of being up almost twenty-four hours straight. Or, it could have been the interrogation still weighing on him like fifty extra pounds. Or, like most males, he just didn’t know how to react when his girlcomrade gave him this kind of news.
Or, maybe it was all three. But, “huh” was all he could muster.
He stood there, eyes moving around like they were following a fly.
This wasn’t bad news. Not by any stretch. He and Jade always planned to have a child at some point. More, if the OWG allowed.
But, given Jade’s behavior, there was more to it. He had a suspicion of why. “Are you positive?”
“I’ll take another test tomorrow to be sure. Those things can be wrong sometimes.” She revealed her tan face again, blossoming red from ear to ear. “But, pretty sure.”
Locke nodded once then sat down on the edge of the couch beside the small of her back. “But, there’s something else you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
As she rolled on to her right side, he brushed her shoulder-length hair from her left eye. “Tell me, Jade. What’s the problem?”
With eye contact Locke would have loved under any other conditions, she answered, “I think we conceived during non-sex credit sex.”
On cue, his back teeth ground together like the gears in an old OWG bus. His suspicion was correct.
The Population Control Mandate--the Masses called it Sex Credits--started just a few years after the OWG’s inception. Fearing overpopulation, the first Exalted Ruler mandated it. Every month, each subject received four permission slips or “sex credits.” If subjects lived under the same roof together, the four slips counted toward both. As a couple had sex, they registered the acts via computer. After they used their four, they had to wait until the next month to receive four more. Four, according to OWG studies, seemed to strike a nice balance between restricting subjects’ emotions that sometimes caused males and females to act in un-mandated ways, and the need for the Masses to procreate to keep the OWG going. Un-mandating contraception also helped in controlling people who wanted to chance cheating the program.
However, Locke heard the program still had its issues. The lack of contraception didn’t stop all subjects from having un-mandated sex. The most the OWG could do was penalize subjects it caught having un-mandated sex. The penalties were severe. Sexual banishment for months was a given, along with a year’s restriction of the regular credits subjects received from month to month.
Getting pregnant during this kind of sex? The penalties were right up there with committing govicide. In fact, subjects caught conceiving during un-mandated sex seldom lived longer than a year after their punishment. Nobody could live without the help of the OWG.
Except Hamilton.
An abortion could get subjects back into the warm cradle of the OWG but most of the restrictions would continue. Either way, abortion or not, a subject’s life expectancy dropped by decades after such punishment. Suicide and starvation were eventually the two main causes of death.
All this ran thru Locke’s brain in seconds, surprising himself he could recall the entire sex credit history but he couldn’t remember when the buildings down the street had been built. Of course, sex credits were important. Buildings were not.
He rubbed his eyes, picking out something in the corner of his left one.
“You checked the computer?” Locke asked, tapping his right foot on the shag carpet, synchronizing it to his grinding teeth.
“Uh-huh. The test said I’m six weeks pregnant. And six weeks ago, we entered nothing. In fact, we didn’t enter anything within two weeks on either side because you were away. We aren’t gonna be able to lie. The System will know.”
Locke smirked. “Now that you say that. I remember it. We did it—“
“--on the eating area counter top.”
“Exactly.”
“You just wouldn’t keep your hands off of me.” She shook her head.
“Don’t start.” He pointed at her.
“All hot because you were on the verge of catching that killer, Hamilton.” The words flew at Locke fast.
“Don’t give me that. You wanted it to do it as much as I did. Don’t blame me.” His pointer finger got a little too close to her nose.
She grabbed it. “One more inch and I’ll break it. You know I’ll do it.”
Jade was not to be tested. He pulled it back and she let go. On a good note, the prospect of pain focused him.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Locke rubbed his eyes again. “Looks like we really let the OWG down.” In saying that, it hurt more than any broken finger could, a dagger right to the gut. “Well, since we’re loyal subjects of the OWG, we’ll just have to take our punishment. The OWG gives us everything. What choice do we have?”
“Uh-huh, but I’m not sure yet. Those tests can be wrong at least twenty-five percent of the time. But, tomorrow, if the thing’s positive then . . .” Jade’s gaze fixated on the far wall.
“Maybe we can skip tomorrow . . .” His thoughts drifted away like a leaf on a stream. He fixated as well. But not on a wall. An idea, one that he could not put in words. He felt he was forgetting something.
Jade ruined the silence a moment later, “You never did tell me why you were late.”
“Is that important now?” Locke asked, his lips almost curling into a smile.
“Try me. Anything to get this pregnancy thing out of my head.”
He turned toward her as she leaned her head on the armrest. “Okay . . .well . . . I got to interrogate Hamilton like you knew I would.”
“And how did that go?”
“About as well as you telling me about your pregnancy.”
“Michael.” She slapped him.
“The reason I was late was that the Govicide Director watched the entire thing from the headquarters in the District via a video camera. And I had to wait over a half an hour. I didn’t start until like nine forty.”
“The Govicide Director, really?” She grabbed his right hand.
“Yeah, but like I said. It didn’t go so well.”
“Why not? What happened?”
“Do I really have to tell you? I’ve been trying to get that killer out of my head for the last hour.”
“Yes, you do.” She squeezed his hand.
Where to start? “This male, Hamilton, was strange. There’s just something about him.” Locke scratched his chin. “I get the feeling this male has a lot to tell. Not just about why he did what he did but . . . it’s like he knows something.”
“Everybody knows something,” Jade responded.
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
Slipping his hand out of Jade’s, Locke stood up, all the Hamilton energy returning to him. Sleep seemed as far away as next week. He walked over to the computer then back.
“Like he knows something I don’t. No, that’s not right.” He shook his head like a bad taste sprouted in his mouth. “It’s like he knows something, a lot of things, the OWG doesn’t.”
“Nobody knows more than the OWG, Michael.”
“I know . . .” Another leaf on that stream. Just to say there was anything--let alone a subject--more knowledgeable than the OWG was grounds for imprisonment, just like having non-sex credit sex. Yet, Locke said it without hesitation.
“You’re just tired,” Jade answered, propping herself up on her elbows.
“He was talking about the Pyramids and how nobody knows how they were built. He said they’re thousands of years old.” Back and forth, couch to computer. Computer to couch he marched.
Jade laughed, sitting up. “Sounds like he should be in the OWG psych ward.”
“But he’s not. I know he isn’t. How could a nut have no OWG record of existence? Not one fact says he exists except he was sitting right in front of me. How could he move around the world with no effort? How could he eat, live, bathe, travel with no entrance into the System?”
“You know Offenders do that all the time.”
“But not for years. And really, he’s been doing it since he was born. It’s not supposed to be possible. Subjects eventually need the OWG. But this male didn’t.”
“If you ask me, he sounds like a Free Enterpriser.”
“Now who’s crazy?” Stopping mid-stride, Locke’s head fell to one side. “Next thing you’re going to say is the OWG Claus, the OWG Bunny, and the OWG Fairy are real.”
“The Free Enterprisers are coming after us.” Jade’s voice rose as she flicked her fingers at him. “We better watch out. They’re right outside the door right now.” She pointed to it. “They’re gonna come and take our medicine away, our electricity, our food--”
“Our sex credits?” Locke asked.
Jade’s smile disappeared.
That wasn’t the smartest statement he ever made. “Sorry, Jade.”
“I’m trying to forget about that. Just like you’re trying to forget about the Hamilton case. No more talk about either at least until tomorrow.”
Locke flopped onto the couch, the cushions swallowing him. “Those are the nicest words I’ve heard all day.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m so tired. I need to get some sleep.”
Jade escorted him to their sleeping room a minute later. He fell asleep on their bed still wearing his shirt, pants, tie, and shoes.
The phone rang like a bus horn in Locke’s ear. He bolted up in bed, taking a quick look out the window. Night had fallen.
The phone rang again.
He looked at his bedside clock. 8:25pm. He could hear . . .
The phone rang a third time.
. . . the video communication device out in the next room.
Another blaring ring.
He rolled over to the phone on the nightstand.
“Hello.”
“Locke?” It was Gates.
“Hey, Captain.”
“Somebody just called me . . . ” Gates left the sentence hanging.
“Yeah. Who?”
“Director Stallings, uh, wants to . . . er . . . talk to you.” Gates tripped over his words, sounding as surprised as Locke became.
“Me? Why?” Locke rubbed his forehead, anticipating a headache on the horizon. “What could he want?”
His regrets about his performance in Hamilton’s interview stampeded in a tight circle just behind his forehead. If the Director wanted to talk to him, it could only mean his interrogation was even worse than he thought. He knew it hadn’t gone the way he wanted but he doubted it was that bad. He wasn’t a Govicide Agent after all. The Director couldn’t expect him to perform to their level.
The punch . . . the thought echoed above the stampede . . . he should have punched Hamilton.
“It has to be about the interview today.” Locke slapped the bed. “He’s gonna give me a hard time about it. I knew it. Some deductions are coming my way.”
“Well no, not exactly, Detective.” Locke pulled the phone back from his ear. Whatever the news was, it was bad enough to rattle Gate’s cool exterior. “He . . . how do I put this? He wants you at Govicide Headquarters in The District tomorrow.”
“What?” Locke caught the phone before it dropped out his hand.
“Locke? Michael?Are you there?” Gates shouted.
“Yes. Yes, I’m here. Just a little stunned.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Why would he want me there to discipline me for my horrible interrogation? It doesn’t make any sense. He must really be angry to use all those Goods and Services just to ream me out with me standing right in front of him.”
“I think it is for another reason.” No stumbling this time.
“Then what?”
“Detective, you worked for me for over twelve years. You are smarter than that.”
Locke herded the regrets into a solitary corner and allowed his brain to work for a moment. If it was not for disciplining him, it could only be for . . .
“Could this be it, Captain? They want me for Govicide?” He fell back on to the cushions of the bed, pulling the phone cord to its maximum length.
“I think if they were going to do it, you would be a perfect choice. The way you handled yourself during the Hamilton case. The way you stayed on his trail despite not having the luxuries the Agents had.”
Gates made a good point. Many times Locke had almost given up, but once he latched on to a puzzle, a hint, a clue, he had a hard time letting go.
“What time does the train leave?”
“No train. Jet,” Gates answered.
Slapping the bed several times, Locke kicked his legs up in the air. “Jet? When does the jet . . . what do you they call it . . . take off?”
“Departure time is nine tomorrow morning. They said to be at the airport at eight forty-five. Go to the Govicide counter inside.”
“You ever been on a jet before?”
“Cannot say that I have. Probably never will, either. Must be a heck of a view from up there.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“OWG luck to you, Detective Locke.”
“Thanks.”
They hung up. Locke jumped up and pumped his fist. “Thank you One World Government. Thank you.”
Trying to control his emotions, he checked himself in the dresser mirror. He wanted to look good when he told Jade the great news. Tightening his tie then re-tucking his shirt, he tried to flatten the wrinkles. No success.
Jade sat on the couch. The VCD was on but she wasn’t watching it. Instead, she was reading the book, OWG Soup for the Masses.
“Hey, how did you sleep? Who was on the phone?” She looked up from her book.
“I slept well.” Sitting down on the couch beside her, he grabbed the remote and turned the VCD off.
“Hey, I was listening to that.” She closed her book but kept her finger on the page.
“Gates called.”
“What did he want?”
“Big news. Big, big news.” His cheeks hurt, trying to suppress a foot-wide smile.
“Are they going to let you pull the lever on the gallows to kill Hamilton?” The OWG often allowed the Masses to take part in executions.
“No. Govicide Director Stallings wants to see me at their headquarters tomorrow. In The District.”
“Why?”
Locke straightened his tie. “Let’s just say Gates doesn’t think they’d want me there for a bad reason. Govicide can discipline anyone from any distance.”
Jade leaned forward. “He wants to interview you to be an Agent?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my OWG, oh my OWG.” The book fell into her lap, her hands ending up on her cheeks.
Locke picked her up and they jumped around hugging each other.
“When do you catch the train?”
“No train, Jade. They’re flying me. I’m going to ride on a jet for the first time. I leave tomorrow morning at nine.” The travel plans amazed Locke even more when he reiterated them.
“See? You did great work with Hamilton today. I knew it.” Jade hugged and kissed him again. “You know what we should do?”
“Don’t you think we’re in enough trouble regarding that as it is?”
“Not that.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll quiz you from the OWG Manual. I mean, I’m never gonna be able to sleep now. Let me help you study. I think he’s gonna ask you questions about it.”
“That’s a great idea. You get the Manual and I’ll get out of these clothes. Meet you back on this couch in five minutes.” He kissed her and darted into the bedroom.
Not one of the Masses would consider this going overboard. Getting to work in the Govicide Department was the pinnacle. Even working as a Govicide receptionist or paper pusher in the Hall of Increased Mandates had tremendous advantages. The Agents, of course, were on the frontlines of making sure everyone received everything.
And Locke was only one interview away from joining their ranks.