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PJ RAN BACK OUT OF my office to her desk, and when she appeared an instant later, she literally flew out the window—100 stories up! We watched as Punch Judy went after every slip of paper fluttering down to the ground below. I wasn't sure if she was trying to impress me to get money, or if each of those messages represented dollar signs to her, which again, meant getting money.
"Who are you?" I asked the man standing next to me, both of us watching the jetpacked PJ flying around outside, like a super heroine.
"I'm here to fetch you and bring you to a private cafe to meet a mutual friend."
"Who's the mutual friend?"
"I believe you call him The Mick."
I actually never knew his name. Run-Time had three executive vice presidents—the two nice and female ones; one Lebanese and the other West Indian; and the one big Irish male, who wasn't nice. If you dealt with the female ones, then you were in Run-Time's good graces, which is why I never spoke two words to The Mick in all the many years I was friends with Run-Time. Since I didn't know what I could possibly have done to warrant a meeting with The Mick, I was intrigued.
"Okay."
"I hope you're not as trigger happy in public places as your secretary."
"How did you get in here, anyway?"
"I believe it's called walking through the front door."
"We're still working out the kinks with our external security measures."
"I see you have a ways to go. Shall we go?"
"Let my secretary fly back in here first."
Just as I uttered the words, PJ flew into the office, almost hitting the ceiling, and landed. A wad of messages was clutched in her hand.
"I got all the messages," she proclaimed.
"And you blew out my window."
"So, we're even now. You blew it out first, and now I have. Even."
"But I'm the one who has to pay the bill to fix it each time."
She shook her hand holding the messages. "Get some clients in here. I'll make the calls if you're busy."
"Your boss has a client call to go on now," the man said.
"Oh," PJ said. "Go on then," she said. "I'll take care of the window."
"And," I said, "show me how to do that super girl with the jetpack thing, because I hear, all the time, people doing that and splatting on the pavement."
"Oh, because they're stupid," PJ said. "They jump out the window and then push the button on their jetpack. They watch too much fake television. We have hover technology, not anti-gravity. Anti-gravity is fantasy fake stuff. No jetpack can stop your fall after the fact. You never see base-jumpers do that or acrobats. No jetpack engine is more powerful than Earth's gravity. You start your jetpack, while you're standing still, and then you can fly. That's how you do it."
"Well, you can show me when I get back. And figure out why the door..."
"And I'll figure out why the door was open for this man to walk in like that."
"I'm sorry," the man said. "I didn't mean to walk into your place of business."
"Let's go," I said to him.
The man took me to some hole-in-the-wall eatery I had never been to before. An awaiting hovercar with its own driver took us there. I never saw the name of the place, but I knew it was on the edges of the city of Neon Blues.
The man led me into a virtually empty, diner-style establishment. The Mick was at the furthest booth away from us, facing us with his back to the wall. As we approached, I could see he was sipping something from a coffee cup.
"Mr. Cruz, have a seat." He motioned to the space opposite him.
The man, who led me in, nodded at the VP and walked back the way he came. I sat down.
"Want anything to drink, alcoholic or not, your choice," he said.
"No thanks. I'm good. Well, are you here on Run-Time's behalf or yours?" I asked The Mick. "'Cause I don't think we've ever talked before."
"We haven't. But then, you weren't a detective before. And you hadn't involved yourself in...delicate matters."
"I remind you; it was Run-Time who brought me into this case, both of them."
"Mr. Cruz, you are precisely right, which is why I'm here. My boss wants to hire you again."
"For?"
"He wants to hire you not to proceed with the case any further."
"You mean the Easy Chair Charlie case?"
"Is there another?"
I hesitated. "Well, the Carol case is concluded, so no."
I wasn't offended that Run-Time sent The Mick to tell me this, rather than do so directly at his offices. Run-Time wanted nothing to do with this, and I noticed that everyone seemed to know who I was—the Mayor, police, Feds, and Interpol, even—which meant I was being monitored. I didn't forget that Run-Time was scared—an emotion I never saw on his face, ever. He had to keep his distance from me, but still had to communicate with me.
"Mr. Cruz, let's not play games. I don't like to play games, but you seem to."
"I don't like games either."
"I think you do. You're obviously put off by my boss' request, so tell me what we need to do for you to comply with what he's asking you to do. My boss does nothing without a good reason, and if he's asking you not to investigate this any further, then there is a very good reason, even if you don't know what it is."
"I don't like secrets."
"Why? You have secrets. I have them. My boss does. The entire city does. What's wrong with secrets? Every question of the universe can't be known. I ask the question again; what do we need to do or how much do I need to pay you to proceed no further?"
"Run-Time's a friend, so you don't have to pay me anything. My only question is, am I going to be brought in on this secret at some point?"
The Mick hesitated. "Maybe."
"Maybe."
"Mr. Cruz, let it be, and my boss will bring you in if necessary. You say you're a friend. You've known him longer than I have. Has he ever left you out in the cold before?"
He never had. "Okay, you've convinced me. I'll leave it alone, but that doesn't mean that others out there will leave me alone."
"Which is why my boss may have to bring you in. Things will be monitored, and we'll be in touch. I'm sure as a now-famous detective, you can find other cases to occupy your time."
"I'm sure."
"Good."
The big Irishman got out from the booth and stood. Rather than shake my hand, his arms hung at his side, and he gave me a slight bow, Japanese-style, to say goodbye. He walked out of the place, leaving me alone at the table.
I looked at his empty cup on the table and realized I didn't even have enough cash to pay for a cup of coffee for myself. If I was a now-famous detective, why was I less than broke?