Charlie scanned the pages of the dossier, pausing only to mull over the photographs. The profiles seemed very detailed, she agreed, but she, too, noticed something unsettling that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"So how do you want to do this?" she asked.
"This unit believes that we should find Heap first. There's no need to confront him, yet, but we can at least follow him and find out if he has a routine. In the meantime, this unit suggests that we do a bit of research on our friend Ms. Beame. There must be something we are missing or, at least, another approach we can try."
"Good idea. Do we have an address for Heap?"
Tommy flipped through the document's pages, his metal finger coming to rest on an indented paragraph containing a street address and apartment number. Charlie squinted and pulled out a small pocket notebook, copying the address on the blank top sheet.
"Got it," she said. "That's in the South Side, isn't it?"
"Yes."
She checked her watch. "All right, it's ten past seven. One of us can go check out his building and get a layout of the streets. The other needs to follow our landlord's roaming ex-husband if we want to keep this office."
Tommy stared at her with warm, glowing eyes. It was the same look he always gave her when there was something he wanted, pleading and somehow sad for something so mechanical. She knew which case he had his heart set on.
"Fine," she sighed, "I'll take sleazeball number one. You can take Heap."
"Thank you, Charlie. This unit won't be long."
"You better not be. I don't like what goes on on that side of town. Stay under cover, okay?"
Tommy tipped his hat and pulled the wide brim over his face. "Okay." As he bounded toward the door, he plucked his trench coat off the newly furnished standing coatrack and wrapped it around his thin, metal body, and he was gone, like a shadow in the night.
Charlie hoped he knew what he was doing as she made her own preparations. She pulled the old camera she hardly ever used from Tommy's desk. It was from back in the days she thought she wanted to be a photographer. This one used film--real film--something that could be touched and held, an actual, physical reminder of a moment in time. Sure, she knew the picture was never as clean and it required a certain amount of real work, but it felt more realistic. Besides, other than Tommy's built-in image recording capability, it was the only camera they had.
She grabbed her own jacket and hat--a baseball cap she'd had since she was a teenager--and stepped into the bathroom to make sure her hair was fully covered. It was a simple disguise, but it was effective. She'd be just another unremarkable, faceless body in the crowd, and she took to her own streets.
Two blocks to the west, on the outer rim of the Village, was a small, two bedroom house with a single light on. Charlie ducked behind some trash receptacles standing across the street and attached the proper lens to her old camera, snapping a single shot of the lifeless house before settling down to wait and watch. As she knelt there, peeking over a small mound of reeking garbage, she wondered how she'd gotten herself so heavily involved in the first place. This was Tommy's adventure, after all. It was like a game to him, albeit one he would take seriously. Why was she here instead of home? By now she could've taken a hot shower, fixed a light meal (tonight was pasta night, she immediately realized), and gone to bed early, ready to start the day at her garage once again.
"Damn trashy detective novels," she muttered to herself, admitting that Johnny Lightly's books had seeped into every corner of her imagination, like nicotine in her blood stream, interrupting every other train of thought.
Suddenly, the light inside the house went off, and one hanging outside over the front door lit up dimly, sputtering pale yellow light onto the porch. A small, round figure emerged from the house. His name was Chester Smedley, according to Linda, his ex-wife. Charlie snapped a few shots as Smedley walked hurriedly down the street, headed south, and, when she was positive the coast was clear, began to follow him at a safe distance, staying with the crowds that circulated through the city's sidewalks.
After several minutes, the familiar lights of the Village had faded into the distance, and the ones that now surrounded her seemed brighter, sharper. She was glad they were there, though, since the neighborhoods around her seemed to deteriorate. What had once been a lively street had gradually turned into a ghost town, with boarded-up, abandoned buildings and stores wrapped in metal bars lining the streets. She suddenly realized where she was--the South Side.
She quickened her pace, closing the widened gap between Smedley and her, when her target disappeared. She knew he must have ducked into one of the buildings, but on the edge of the old warehouse district, it could've been any of a number. She hadn't been seen, though. She was sure of that much.
She felt a drop of water fall against her cheek, the first drop of a rain cloud that began to move quickly and quietly through the night. The shower was light at first, pattering against the pavement as Charlie snuck around the corner of the warehouse closest to the position she'd last seen Smedley, but it became a full blown downpour, drenching her from head to toe.
"Damn." She hoped her camera was waterproof.
"So how do you want to do this?" she asked.
"This unit believes that we should find Heap first. There's no need to confront him, yet, but we can at least follow him and find out if he has a routine. In the meantime, this unit suggests that we do a bit of research on our friend Ms. Beame. There must be something we are missing or, at least, another approach we can try."
"Good idea. Do we have an address for Heap?"
Tommy flipped through the document's pages, his metal finger coming to rest on an indented paragraph containing a street address and apartment number. Charlie squinted and pulled out a small pocket notebook, copying the address on the blank top sheet.
"Got it," she said. "That's in the South Side, isn't it?"
"Yes."
She checked her watch. "All right, it's ten past seven. One of us can go check out his building and get a layout of the streets. The other needs to follow our landlord's roaming ex-husband if we want to keep this office."
Tommy stared at her with warm, glowing eyes. It was the same look he always gave her when there was something he wanted, pleading and somehow sad for something so mechanical. She knew which case he had his heart set on.
"Fine," she sighed, "I'll take sleazeball number one. You can take Heap."
"Thank you, Charlie. This unit won't be long."
"You better not be. I don't like what goes on on that side of town. Stay under cover, okay?"
Tommy tipped his hat and pulled the wide brim over his face. "Okay." As he bounded toward the door, he plucked his trench coat off the newly furnished standing coatrack and wrapped it around his thin, metal body, and he was gone, like a shadow in the night.
Charlie hoped he knew what he was doing as she made her own preparations. She pulled the old camera she hardly ever used from Tommy's desk. It was from back in the days she thought she wanted to be a photographer. This one used film--real film--something that could be touched and held, an actual, physical reminder of a moment in time. Sure, she knew the picture was never as clean and it required a certain amount of real work, but it felt more realistic. Besides, other than Tommy's built-in image recording capability, it was the only camera they had.
She grabbed her own jacket and hat--a baseball cap she'd had since she was a teenager--and stepped into the bathroom to make sure her hair was fully covered. It was a simple disguise, but it was effective. She'd be just another unremarkable, faceless body in the crowd, and she took to her own streets.
Two blocks to the west, on the outer rim of the Village, was a small, two bedroom house with a single light on. Charlie ducked behind some trash receptacles standing across the street and attached the proper lens to her old camera, snapping a single shot of the lifeless house before settling down to wait and watch. As she knelt there, peeking over a small mound of reeking garbage, she wondered how she'd gotten herself so heavily involved in the first place. This was Tommy's adventure, after all. It was like a game to him, albeit one he would take seriously. Why was she here instead of home? By now she could've taken a hot shower, fixed a light meal (tonight was pasta night, she immediately realized), and gone to bed early, ready to start the day at her garage once again.
"Damn trashy detective novels," she muttered to herself, admitting that Johnny Lightly's books had seeped into every corner of her imagination, like nicotine in her blood stream, interrupting every other train of thought.
Suddenly, the light inside the house went off, and one hanging outside over the front door lit up dimly, sputtering pale yellow light onto the porch. A small, round figure emerged from the house. His name was Chester Smedley, according to Linda, his ex-wife. Charlie snapped a few shots as Smedley walked hurriedly down the street, headed south, and, when she was positive the coast was clear, began to follow him at a safe distance, staying with the crowds that circulated through the city's sidewalks.
After several minutes, the familiar lights of the Village had faded into the distance, and the ones that now surrounded her seemed brighter, sharper. She was glad they were there, though, since the neighborhoods around her seemed to deteriorate. What had once been a lively street had gradually turned into a ghost town, with boarded-up, abandoned buildings and stores wrapped in metal bars lining the streets. She suddenly realized where she was--the South Side.
She quickened her pace, closing the widened gap between Smedley and her, when her target disappeared. She knew he must have ducked into one of the buildings, but on the edge of the old warehouse district, it could've been any of a number. She hadn't been seen, though. She was sure of that much.
She felt a drop of water fall against her cheek, the first drop of a rain cloud that began to move quickly and quietly through the night. The shower was light at first, pattering against the pavement as Charlie snuck around the corner of the warehouse closest to the position she'd last seen Smedley, but it became a full blown downpour, drenching her from head to toe.
"Damn." She hoped her camera was waterproof.
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