“No, Alan, I’m just eating and keeping an eye out. But nothing’s happening. Whatcha need?”
“We handed over – excuse the pun – in the nick of time. I just had an IPD officer show up with arrest on his mind – and probably a beating, judging by the way he handled his baton – and I think he was really looking for you. He asked about you by name. Wanted to know if I knew you, or if you were in our Investigations division.”
“Oh. And?”
“I lied through my teeth, of course.”
“Thanks for that.”
“No problem. What are friends for?”
“Heh.”
“But you should know – the guy said they had an arrest warrant out on you. They’re trying to smear you, apparently.”
“So what else is new? Arrest is the least of my worries with that bunch.”
“I’ll bet. They don’t seem to know who you’re working for, though. He asked if you were in our division, and when I said no, that I hadn’t seen you in the department at all, he speculated that you might be ‘free-lancing,’ as he put it. Private investigation or the like, I suppose.”
“Huh. Okay. Well, keep an eye out, and make sure you report that to Colonel Peterson.”
“I’ll do that in a couple minutes, here.”
“Good. Thanks again.”
“It’s cool, Nick.”
Bronze stayed in the Fire Water Bar, getting and staying drunk, until well after dinner. This meant that the four Imp City investigators had to play tag a bit, and even leave him unwatched for a while – at least, from inside the bar.
And after Compton’s encounter, they all watched Ashton a little closer.
But finally Bronze settled his tab in VR, then had the bar host call a taxi. Fortunately, Weaver was at a table close enough to hear the conversation, and waited a full minute, then called for a plainclothes transport in VR, himself. He paid his own tab, such as it was, and left the bar before Bronze.
“Pretty sure he’s headed home,” he notified the others in VR. “Unmarked transport on the way.”
“We could just follow him,” Ames said.
“Not when he’s in a taxi.”
“Good call, Hugo,” Ashton praised the younger man.
The unmarked transport arrived first, as Weaver intended, and by ones and twos, they climbed inside. The windows were tinted so the number of passengers – and their identities – could not be seen, but that was not unusual for the vehicles of more important citizens of this part of the city.
“What do you guys need?” the uniformed driver asked.
“See the guy getting in the taxi over there?” Ashton pointed at the decidedly inebriated Bronze practically pouring himself into the taxi with the help of the bar manager. “Follow ‘em, but don’t look like you’re following ‘em.”
“All over that one,” the driver said with a grin. He pulled out, into the street.
In the end, Bronze was indeed headed home. The taxi dropped him off at the posh high-rise condo building, and the unmarked car eased to the curb a little distance away. Bronze stumbled out of the cab and into the lobby entrance, and vanished.
The five Imp City officers sat and watched, as the lights on a certain floor came on, a few at a time, and moving in a wave across the floor.
Fifteen minutes later, the last light on that floor went dark.
“And Joey Bronze just crashed hard,” Ashton decreed. “I wouldn’t want his head in the morning.”
“Now what?” the driver asked.
“It’s been a long day,” Ashton said. “If you could take us back to Headquarters, it’d be great; we all need to go home and crash, too. Tomorrow starts early again.”
The others groaned.
The next day, Bronze was out of his condo at about the same time as the previous day. Once more, he headed southwest to the Fire Water Bar for a late lunch, heavy on the booze, lighter on food, chatting once more with the bartender and manager for well more than an hour after he finished eating.
Then he ordered a cab and headed farther east, toward downtown.
Ashton had arranged for a transport to drop them off at Bronze’s building, then meet them at the bar – and his teammates ensured that he was both well-disguised, and remained out of sight of any roving IPD officer.
So they were not caught off guard when their target departed in a taxi. They easily trailed him into downtown, and watched as he entered a posh and very exclusive, members-only dinner club.
“That’s a problem,” Ames noted. “I don’t think anybody, anywhere in the entire Imperial City Police Department, is gonna have an in for that place.”
“I don’t think we have to get in,” Ashton said with a wicked smirk. “After I got a feel for some things yesterday, I made sure all the perp team leads were outfitted with some special security hacking apps. We don’t have to go inside; once I get into the club’s security system, we can all sit back and watch.”
“And stay well out of sight in a parking garage,” Compton realized.
“Yup. Lemme get started, here. Hugo, see if you can find us a nice out of the way spot to sit and watch,” Ashton addressed Weaver, who was behind the wheel.
“Yes, sir!” the younger man exclaimed, enthused.
Bronze Gets Busy
“Annnd…there we are,” Ashton said, after sitting silently in VR within the parked car for long moments. “Check out channel 112.”
“Got it,” came the chorus of responses within seconds.
Ashton had arranged a virtual room in channel 112, in which the interior of the exclusive dinner club was laid out as a three-dimensional map of sorts. The observer, once in the room, could zoom in on this or that part of the club and see what
