She thought of the older case that Riverton had linked to the Trident Taskforce, the ex-security guy who had fallen off the grid for two years, then turned up dead. Had he been involved with this underground drug-tech movement? Is that where Dancer was now? Or was Dancer dead and they just hadn’t found his body yet?
Based on the soundbite, Ford had asked the AI to process a warrant to take a closer look at Randy’s Retrotech. Though Riverton found no rap sheets for the brother and sister who now owned the store, it had found discrepancies in its sales data. Earnings reported did not match recorded sales, which led Riverton to calculate that stock was missing from the inventory. It didn’t appear to have been erased, it was simply never officially recorded in the first place.
So the question remained: had Randy’s Retrotech been selling Dancer’s neural tech, and was that what had gotten their father killed? And, if so, who wanted to cover their tracks so badly they had to erase any knowledge of this neural drug-tech ever being in existence?
Further updates to the Trident file from Sorensen confirmed that so far this drug-tech experience had still not shown up in other cities, which was good, Salvi thought. It lent weight to the idea that whoever was behind this was based right here in San Francisco, or at least, Silicon Valley and surrounds, and it meant the purveyors of this drug-tech experience wanted to contain it here. At least for now. If this grew to a national network, it would be that much harder to stop; akin to stopping an electric bicycle versus a Cylin train.
Noble had confirmed they were still unable to trace the tech and reiterated once more they needed to get their hands on one of the devices. One of his undercover agents, a detective by the name of Preston, had found a contact who’d offered to take him to a known source of supply, but the neural device he was sold was not the same as the ones they sought. Preston had to buy the tech anyway and let the guy go so as not to blow his cover.
It was a long, slow process. They were chipping away at this case, but for every piece of information they revealed, just as many dead ends arose. She sighed and moved over to the apartment’s windows, glancing down at her own a few blocks away. How much longer would she be stuck here? Away from her home, away from the hub, away from Mitch. Just when she’d restarted things with him, they’d been forced to stop again. Still, it was hard for her to think about her own situation when she thought of the Chief’s missing daughter, and of Caine, strung up on that wheel, tortured. Whoever had done that to him was a sick fuck, and they needed to be taken off the streets.
A message sounded on her burner phone, startling her. She moved back to the table and grabbed it.
It was from Chaney. She straightened.
“I hear I missed you tonight. Sorry about that. I’ll be popping by The Dream Bar tomorrow night if you want to buy me that drink.”
She smiled and immediately contacted Ford.
Salvi entered The Dream Bar in a slinky, form fitting dress that instantly drew the required attention. She didn’t want to be too obvious, so she didn’t sit at the bar, and instead took a seat at one of the sunken tables. If Chaney was interested, he’d find her.
She ordered an exotic cocktail from an attractive young woman, then sat back and glanced about at the clientele at the nearby tables. She saw a few business suits, some well-dressed couples and a group of guys laughing at something they were viewing on their enhanced glasses.
Salvi drank slowly, leveraging every ounce of her patience, waiting for him. It took a little under two hours before Chaney showed. He stepped down into the sunken enclosure and sat opposite her; handsome, suave.
“Not at the bar,” he observed. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“No, I’m solo tonight,” she smiled.
“Just tonight? Don’t tell me you’ve given him another chance?”
She laughed and finished her cocktail. “No. He won’t be getting another chance.”
“Good to hear.”
“So, I owe you a few drinks,” she said.
“I said they were on the house.” His eyes shone at hers.
“I like to pay my way. I’m good for it,” she winked.
“I’m sure you are.”
“So, what are you having?” She hit the service button on her table.
The young, attractive waitress came back over.
“Oh, hi, Lance,” the waitress smiled.
“Jamie,” he greeted her, then nodded to Salvi. “What are you drinking?”
“I already have another of these coming,” she held up her cocktail, then looked at him. “But he’ll have a…?”
“Scotch on the rocks,” he relented.
“On my account,” Salvi said quickly.
Jamie looked to Lance to confirm it and he nodded.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, sitting back in her seat. “So tell me, where do you find so many good-looking humans?” She threw a glance to a passing waiter.
He laughed. “Oh, they’re mostly models and actors, but there are some among them who are studying to be lawyers and doctors and future presidents. They just need to afford their tuition and playtime hobbies.”
Salvi nodded. “So what about you? What’s your story? Single, married, complicated?”
He smiled. “Two of the above.”
“Hmm,” Salvi mused. “My guess is single and complicated.”
“How very astute.”
“Why complicated?”
He shrugged. “I work a lot.”
“I’m also complicated. And married.”
He paused. “Married?”
“That’s the complicated part. My husband and I, we have an open
