Upon my arrival in Pasadena, I sought out the nearest bar, nestled in the heart of District 13, just west of the main venue. The place looked a bit lively according to the reviews, a bit too much for my taste, but it had decent ratings. What caught my attention, however, was the fact that they allowed smoking indoors. In an area where only a handful of bars still permitted this, it was a rare find. Technically, indoor smoking is illegal, but it seemed no one was in a rush to enforce this law. I couldn’t help but think that if a corporation had any reason to meddle with these small businesses, they would use any excuse, including this one, to shut them down. I’ve seen it happen before in my line of work.

I parked my car in the mega-structure parking garage situated directly above the bar. The parking system in this city was far superior to that of San Diego. They called it high-density parking. After scanning my badge for free city-wide parking, my car was swiftly loaded into the condensed parking area, a system that stacked cars efficiently on top of one another. Quite a nifty trick, I must say. I then took the elevator down to the ground floor where the bar, or rather Club Nexus, was located.

As I navigated through the city, I felt like just another face in the crowd, a silhouette against the neon glow from the street lights. The city was a sprawling metropolis, a labyrinth of towering skyscrapers and winding alleyways. The air was thick with the scent of street food and synthetic spices from the street vendors. The hum of electricity was my constant companion, as the city played to the beat of its own drum.

I made my way to the bar, a place of solace in this world of chaos. The streets were slick with rain, reflecting the kaleidoscope of neon lights. Holographic billboards flickered overhead, advertising the latest tech and synthetic pleasures. The city was alive, a pulsating organism of steel and light. Cybernetically enhanced individuals passed by, their mechanical limbs coming in all colors, a testament to their individuality in a world where humanity and technology have become indistinguishable. The divide between the rich and the poor was stark, evident in the quality of their augmentations.

Club Nexus was a beacon in the heart of Pasadena, its bright neon light spilling onto the wet pavement as I approached the double doors. “I hope they have bourbon,” I muttered to myself. The air inside was thick with smoke and the clinking of glasses. The bartender, a young attractive woman with auburn hair, gave me a nod of recognition as I took a seat at the counter. I surveyed the place before settling down. There were a few dancers up on stage, making the place feel almost like a strip club. I signaled the bartender. “I’ll take a bourbon, please. On the rocks.” After a few moments, she returned with my drink and slid it over to me. “That’ll be $25.50.” I slid my cred chip over the scanner, paid the establishment, and grabbed my drink. I nodded at the bartender and made my way through the crowd to find a seat. It was still early in the day, so there was plenty of seating available.

The establishment was bathed in neon light, attracting a much younger crowd, which wasn’t a bad thing considering they were probably at home sleeping off last night’s bender. I pulled out my data pad, flicked it to pop out the screen, and began to cycle through all the photos taken by LISA. I reached into my pockets, feeling around for my cigarettes without taking my eyes off the screen . I felt the pack brush against my hand within my deep coat pocket, so I secured them and pulled the pack out, instantly packing them in one fell swoop, and popped a cig into my mouth, followed by lighting it. I took a sip of my bourbon, which was a double. Kudos to the bartender, not a bad price either. I cycled through the pictures to see if any were captured of the so-called Nancy. Perhaps we could run facial recognition software to locate her.

She must know something, or else why would she flee like that? Going over each and every photo was a bit time-consuming, but I had a little time to kill, plus it was pertinent to the case. I polished off my drink and flagged over a cocktail waitress. She strolled over and asked, “What can I get you, stranger?” “I’ll take another bourbon on the rocks, please. This time pull my shit from the top of the shelf. Whatever that was, it wasn’t bourbon.” “You got the money for top shelf, hun?” I looked at her with an annoyed look on my face. “Just bring me the drink, lady. I have the creds.” A few moments later, she returned with my drink. I expressed my gratitude and left her and the bartender a 20% tip. “Why, thank you kindly, sir,” she said with a smile. She was a shorter girl, with brunette hair, fair skin, and green eyes.

I acknowledge the bartender from my table with a nod and take a sip of my newly served drink. As I raise the glass to my lips, a picture flashes passed my screen that appears to be a clear, concise image of Nancy. “Go back, LISA, and enhance,” I command. Sure enough, it’s a perfect picture of her. “LISA, send this file over to my data drive back at the station,” I instruct. I down the rest of my drink, stub out my cigarette, grab my coat, retract my data pad, and head out the door.

During the ride back to the station, I take a swig of mouthwash from my glove compartment and spray a hint of body spray to mask my scent. It’s not as if I’m the only cop in the department who enjoys a stiff drink a few times a day. The trick is not to make it a bad habit. After all, no one’s perfect, right?

I waste no time and have LISA drop me off at the front of the station. I rush inside, not even bothering to initiate the parking process. I dart straight back to my desk, not stopping for anyone or even bothering to wave. I was in a hurry. I immediately pull the pictures and load them onto a small drive, taking them back to the tech department. On my way there, Sanchez stops me down the hall from where I'm headed. “Hey, hey, slow down there, my man. What cha ya got and where are you headed in such a hurry?” His relaxed demeanor brings me a sense of ease. “Yo, what’s going on, Sanchez? I’m headed back to speak with the tech department about using the facial recognition software. I need to track a witness, and you know who heads that department now, though, right?” Sanchez shakes his head. “Yeah, I know, homes. Your ex-partner and you have been on the outs ever since that case back in the day.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not get into that right now. Doesn’t your boy work in tech? The one who hooked up my LISA with the new response programs?” He nods. “Yep. Walk with me, Whyet. I’ll introduce you directly to him so you can bypass your ex-partner. I’m sure he’ll be your inside man if you just put in a good word for him with Captain Nelson. He’s really wanting to cross over into homicide where the action is. He’s getting tired of the cushy tech job. I told him he was crazy. But he insists he wants to be where the action is. I suppose I get where he’s coming from. Some days I love this job, and other days I fucking loathe it.” He continues to talk as we round the corner into the tech office. I walk past my old partner’s office, not even making eye contact. I hope he doesn’t see me, which may have been the case because it sounded like he was on the phone. As we rounded the corner, Sanchez walks up to his friend, shaking his hand, and introduces me officially this time around.

“Darrien, this is Whyet Thorn. I didn’t get to officially introduce you last time you did a little work on his glider. Whyet, this is my brother-in-law, Darrien. He might be a white boy like you, but he’s family, you feel me?” Darrien reaches his hand out in a friendly handshake. I shake his hand and tell him, “It’s nice to meet you, Darrien. So, I hear you’re trying to break into homicide or perhaps the NeoGen team?” His eyes light up. “Yeah, most definitely. I’m so tired of being cramped in this place. There’s no glory in this job, my man. I want to be out there solving investigations and stuff man.” “Well, your work isn’t going unnoticed. I’ll for sure put in a good word for you with the captain. I’ll formally turn in your application if you’d like. I really need you to look at something for me, Darrien.” Sanchez looks at us and says, “Alright, you two, I need to get back to my case, but now you guys are friends, so I’m no longer the middleman.” He walks out of the room flipping both of us off.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I hand Darrien the data stick. He takes the stick and slides it into his quantum computer. “So, what exactly am I looking at, Whyet?” “It’s a witness who supposedly goes by the name Nancy Warren, yet she is a ghost. We were unable to secure any type of ID on her, and the name she gave us was a false name. So now, I need you to run her picture for me through the recognition system.” “You got it. Hopefully, we’ll get a hit. I’ll search all databases.” He works his technical magic, and I take a seat and wait. He looks at me while he works and says, “It’ll take about 20 minutes to search all databases.” I grab one of the plushy balls on his desk and lean back in the chair. I begin to toss the ball up in the air and catch it, doing this out of boredom, of course. After about twenty minutes, he finally gets a hit on the picture. “Wow, interesting character she is. She must have been very nervous or very stupid if she was giving you a false name. Her name is Nancy Callahan. So shocking the only thing she could come up with was, what did you say? Nancy Warren? She most definitely must have been nervous because get this. She got a full ride scholarship to Carnegie in Pittsburgh. Why she turned down MIT to go to Carnegie is beyond my understanding, but it too is a great school for Computer Science, which she currently has her master’s in. Turns out she is no slouch in the coding department either. Damn, this girl could take my job easily if she put in her application. She could take my boss’s job, actually.” I chuckle a little about that on the inside, considering his boss is my prick ex-partner. “Whoa, wait, there is more here. Looks like she was caught up in some scandal at her school in her last semester while going for the credits to get her doctorate. Oh, damn, looks like there are some that say she only got the full ride because she was dating one of the leading counselors at Carnegie, the point which she tried to disprove by stating that she was accepted into MIT. Of course, since she was from the wrong side of the tracks, no one believed her. That counselor was fired, and she was bullied out of school. Damn that's a tough break.

In terms of current employment locations, there’s nothing available here. However, she does maintain an apartment in a dilapidated part of Long Beach. It would be wise to bring your firearm and badge if you plan on visiting that area." I extend my hand for a high five, an invitation he readily accepts. “Thank you, Darrien, you’re one bad ass white boy,” I say. He looks at me and retorts, “You’re one to talk, you're a white boy too.” "Only on the outside!" I say jokingly. We both share a hearty laugh. I grab my coat and make my way towards the door, taking care to avoid my former partner.

Just when I thought my luck couldn’t get any worse, I hear his voice as I round the corner. “Thorn!” I pretend not to hear him and continue walking. “Thorn, I know you can hear me,” he calls out. I stop, tilt my head, and ask, “What the fuck do you want, Allen?” “I want you to stay away from my team. If you need something, you go through me,” he responds. I reply, “Ensure that I receive my tech evidence promptly, and we won’t have any issues. Got it... Allen?” He retorts, “You’ll get it when it’s done. Quality work takes time.” I mumble, “Whatever,” under my breath.

Without wasting any time, I head back to the glider where I had earlier instructed LISA to warm up the car from inside the office. “LISA, set the destination to 105 North West Park Drive, Apt#103, Long Beach,” I command. The engines’ propulsion lifts us off the ground as we take flight. We have about a 30-minute ride to our destination. I pull out my TK blaster and check it for ammunition. We’re good to go, locked and loaded. I reach behind the back seat, grab my vest, and put it on. My badge is ready in my pocket, concealed for now, because we’re not exactly popular where we’re headed.

There are quite a few older Neogen models in this area. They work essentially for living expenses and are required to maintain employment, or they’ll find themselves on the wrong end of my gun. We begin our descent when we reach the sector. Upon landing, I ensure to set Lisa in non-lethal defense mode. You never know what someone might do to your glider in these parts.

I conceal my K&C (Kefler and Calloway) standard issue blaster. I’m about to walk into the lion’s den. I’m a figure of quiet strength and determination as I step into the sprawling apartment megaplex, a monolith of concrete and steel. The air is thick with tension, the stench of fear and desperation clinging to the graffiti-covered walls. It’s a hive of illegal activity I can obviously sense that, and a hotbed of crime and vice. The air is thick with tension, the stench of drugs in the air, and a sense of desperation resonates within theses very walls. As I walk deeper into the labyrinthine complex, a group of five men, hardened criminals I can tell, block my path. Their eyes are cold, their intentions very clear. They’re most definitely looking for trouble, and just so happens they found me.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to speak with an old friend,” I say. The extremely muscular one looks me up and down. “You’re not welcome here. You look like a cop. Turn around and walk your ass out of here while you still can,” he warns. “Come on, guys, I can’t do that. The apartment I’m looking for is somewhere in this vicinity. I won’t be here long. I’ll be in and out,” I respond. The large one steps closer to me and pokes his finger in my chest. “I’m not going to say it again. Turn.. around.. and... get the fuck out of here!” He taps my chest harder and harder with each word. I can feel the anger bubbling up within my chest.

I think to myself, ‘aww, screw it.’ When his finger hits my chest one last time, I grab his finger with my left hand and snap it like a twig, while simultaneously headbutting him right at the bridge of his nose, breaking it. I spin him around, placing him in a headlock with my left hand, and pulling out my blaster with my right hand, holding it to his temple. I look his compatriots right in their eyes as I aim my blaster at his head as if he were my hostage. “Now, listen to me. I’m an LA police department agent, and I’m looking for Nancy Calahan!” Several of his friends have guns pulled. I press the gun tighter to his temple. He squirms in my arms and lets out a sound of discomfort. He puts his hands up, signaling for his guys to put their weapons down. “Hey man, look, we can work something out, right?” I angle my face into my badge, which has a built-in microphone, and say, “LISA, deploy security drone to my location.” Within 30 seconds, my security drone arrives with flashing lights and all. I didn’t think I’d needed it because it makes such a scene, but I needed something to have my back at this point.

I hear a female’s voice from behind the group of men. “Step aside, guys! It’s that cop from earlier. Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have used the name Nancy I'm suck an idiot when I'm under extreme pressure, not that it would have made much of a difference anyway. Look, officer, whatever your name is, I didn’t see anything, alright? And I’m telling you the truth,” she says. “Hey, I just want to talk. Maybe something might jog your memory,” I respond. She rolls her eyes at me and says, “So, you’ll get out of here if we talk?” “You have my word,” I assure her. She ponders for a moment and strokes her chin. “Alright, you have five minutes. But you gotta let Jackson go,” she says. I look at her with untrusting eyes. “Tell your crew to drop their weapons first,” I demand. She complies and tells them to do so. Once their weapons are down, I let go of her friend, and she invites me inside. “The security drone stays here. So, I’ll warn you, if you touch it, damage it in any way, or anyone around it, it will kill you,” I warn. The group of men part like the Red Sea as I walk through them, round the corner, and enter her apartment. Finally, I feel like we’re getting somewhere.