5

The morning sun poured in through the window in the office as I sat at the little round table in my shirtsleeves reading the newspaper. Ada’s tapes spun around me and every now and again I’d look up and watch some lights flash and then I went back to my reading.

It was a nice morning. Quiet. I felt good. Ada was keeping to herself but I assumed she was busy working on the next job. That was fine. In the meantime I could sit and read the newspaper and learn about the state of the world, and as I read I thanked my previous self for being so thoughtful as to bring the early edition up when he had gone to bed. Reading the news was a good way of figuring out just what was going on in all that sunshine outside. One of the first things I did was have a quick shuffle through to see if I could find the name of the president. I figured that was a good baseline with which to start the day.

I found it on page four. President Kennedy was settling nicely into his second term and people seemed pretty pleased with how he was doing.

Good enough for me. Then I turned to the sports section and memorized a table of baseball results because I felt like it.

Ada was still busy doing hard sums so when I was done with the newspaper I folded it as neatly as I could and I stood up and went to the window. If I leaned a little to the right I could see past the brown brick building opposite and down to the street. There was a slice of brilliant blue sky above and people and cars moving down below and the world was turning and life went on and so far I didn’t have much to do.

That was fine by me. Every minute standing by the window was another minute for our covertly invested finances to grow with interest. It occurred to me that with no job to do Ada was probably counting it all.

Everyone needs a hobby.

I picked up the newspaper and I unfolded it and refolded it and then I had the strangest notion that I could go out for a coffee and maybe a paperback novel if there wasn’t anything else to do, and I was about to suggest the same to Ada even though I knew I couldn’t drink coffee, when I heard the sound. It came from beyond the door that connected the computer room to the main office and it was the unmistakable announcement of someone coming in from the hallway and closing the main door behind themselves.

“Ada?” I asked.

“Look lively, chief,” she said. “We’ve got company.”

“So I gather.”

I turned to face the door that led to the main office. Beyond that door was a large room with a polished wooden floor that was only partially covered by a thick rug. As far as my current memory tape went I’d never seen that room before in my life but I knew it was there all the same.

The sound of the outer door opening and closing was quickly followed by the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the office, not fast but not slow either, the owner of those particular shoes clearly on a mission to reach somewhere to sit. That somewhere was one of the two chairs in front of the desk that sat in front of the big louvered window. It was the kind of desk any self-respecting private detective would pilot, robotic or not, and had an appropriate amount of stationery arranged on the top along with a red leather blotter with just the right amount of wear and tear. The Electromatic Detective Agency might not be much involved in the detecting business anymore but looks were important.

The heavy footsteps became muffled as the potential client—one I would send packing, with the usual excuse that our books were full and maybe he could call again sometime next Christmas—hit the big rug, and then followed a series of other emanations consistent with someone pulling out a chair, sitting down in it, then adjusting the position just so.

“I’m assuming we’re not expecting anyone?” I asked.

“The diary is wide open, chief,” said Ada. “As it always is. You’d better get out there and find out what they want.”

“As you say, boss.”

I slipped my jacket from the back of the chair I had just been occupying and slipped it on. I left my hat where it was by the newspaper.

And then I walked up to the connecting door and opened it and stepped through it and then I closed it behind me.

The man in the chair looked up as I walked in and he gave me a smile that was as warm as a mortician’s slab. He was a good-looking guy heading somewhere toward his fiftieth birthday. His strong jaw was clean shaven and his piercing eyes were as friendly as his expression. He had crossed his legs with one knee a good deal higher than looked comfortable. His hat was black and small, a trilby, and he held it with the fingers of one hand with the other hand folded underneath and he tapped it against his knee to a slow beat. The hat went rather well with his suit, which was also black, and with his hair, which was a dark oil slick that swept back from an impressive forehead.

I didn’t know who he was but he looked like he meant business.

“Can I help you?” I asked, “Mister . . . ?”

“Daley. Touch Daley,” said the visitor. “And as a matter of fact, Mr. Electromatic, I’m here to help you.”