Part 31 (1/2)
”Absolutely.”
”None of your political slogans?”
”Not for you.”
”But no pink, right?”
”Wouldn't dream of it.” Brian looked at Richard. ”I hope you're memorising all this. If you buy her a present, it can be anything but pink.”
”I don't” His face was warming. ”Er...”
”Maybe a pink face face is all right.” is all right.”
”You're both stupid,” said Opal. ”I'm going. I'll be back later.”
She started towards the main shop, then stopped, perhaps remembering the noxious aerosol spray, and headed for the back door, which she slammed open, stormed through, and hooked backwards with her heel. ”ing boys,” ”ing boys,” floated back as the door banged shut. ”Something I said?” asked Brian. floated back as the door banged shut. ”Something I said?” asked Brian.
Bright suns.h.i.+ne. Stinking black bags filled with household refuse, stacked outside houses, waiting for services that would not come until the strike was over. That would mean the union and management sitting down to negotiate, pulling their thumbs out of their b.u.t.ts and talking to each other like actual human beings, abandoning the chip-on-shoulder resentment that was the national pastime. Josh had fought in Zimbabwe, in the former Somalia, and on the ice-covered steppes of Siberia. Every conflict was awful; each had provided glimpses of ordinary people, sometimes working heroically to keep their families or neighbours from starving, often amid surroundings that made Britain a paradise in comparison, every house an imperial palace.
People should have some f.u.c.king grat.i.tude.
In a small park with pollution-stained gra.s.s, Josh sat beneath a tree, working his phone. His new querybots were popping up a richness of data, hits tagged gekrunning, freerunning or both. Among the surveillance data, none crossmatched exactly with the search argument Opal, but among the myriad currents of microblogs, he found something related an avatar called OpalKid273, who had posted today:
nite run *2nite* ru up 4 it? nu route nu s.h.i.+rt nu trx!!!Most of her subscribers were in the run_gek_run run_gek_run forum. Hyperlinks had been bidirectional since Semantic Web, but few users realised the ease with which querybots could heuristically backtrack. Philip Broomhall had asked how it was that Josh c.u.mberland could do more than the police; the truth was that it did take many eyes to search for a missing youth, but Josh had an army of observers they just weren't human, they were code. forum. Hyperlinks had been bidirectional since Semantic Web, but few users realised the ease with which querybots could heuristically backtrack. Philip Broomhall had asked how it was that Josh c.u.mberland could do more than the police; the truth was that it did take many eyes to search for a missing youth, but Josh had an army of observers they just weren't human, they were code.
In the gekrunning subculture, night runs were a feature; and tonight's run, according to the forums, was an unofficial part of the Mayor's Festival, set up years ago by some politician called Boris Livingstone, or something he didn't bother checking. Perhaps, if OpalKid273 was the right person, she would have Richard Broomhall in tow tonight. His best inductivereasoning bots were searching for links between the avatar and real images, ready to notify him in near-realtime if she appeared.
Bringing himself back to the real world, he scanned the park, the stunted trees and rust-patched playground, noting shadows and geometry, angles of movement, and the thirteen people currently here, none paying attention to him or close enough to attack. Then he raised the phone.
”Call Big Tel.”
”Hiya, mate,” Terry answered in a second. ”How's tricks?”
”Usual. Are you free tonight?”
”Had a busy morning, loads of legit fares, plus a little observation job at the same time. Putting my feet up now.”
”So if you and your taxi were on standby for a callout, that'd work?”
”Depends where it is you're talking about.”
”South Bank, or close to it.”
”Easy enough from the Old Kent Road. Give us a buzz and I'll be there. Prep for trouble?”
”A fourteen year-old lad. I might be able to handle him.”
”Watch out for him squeezing zits at you. The old pus-in-the-eye trick.”
”Jesus, Tel. You were a kid once yourself.”
”Yeah, I had a strong right hand and poor eyesight, from all that p.u.b.erty.”
”And look how you turned out.”
”Suave and sophisticated. A gentleman, like.”
”Pretty much what I was thinking.”
”Later, pal.”
”Later.”
He wanted to phone Suzanne, but her phone was bugged. Except that he could always introduce a little misdirection. In his phone's Favourite Apps, he opened a hotel and pub guide, then tapped an improbable series of keystrokes on the pad, stared at the lens so it could read his retina pattern, and placed the call. His signal now carried sneakware that subverted the GPSID system, changing the coordinates of his phone as logged in the data tier. So long as he and Suzanne were careful with their words, it was safe.
”Hey,” he said.
”Josh. You're doing OK?”
”Yeah.”
”Any luck on... you know.” She was being circ.u.mspect, but if the police were monitoring the case, they knew what he was working on.
”Maybe Richard has a friend, maybe not. If I can find this person, it might help.”
”That's good.”
”Suzanne? Are you OK?”
”Disciplinary hearing. I've been served notice.”
”What do you mean, disciplinary hearing?”
”Mr Broomhall has taken legal action through the
professional a.s.sociation I belong to. Apparently, that does not preclude the possibility of further action through the courts, it says here.”
”s.h.i.+t. Are you suspended?”
”No, but they tried for that. The review board agreed that the case was serious, but not that the initial evidence was so strong that I needed to be kept from seeing clients in advance of the hearing. They advised me to let my insurance company know what was happening, and not take on any new clients.”