George (Twenty)

It was 1 of em old churches. I could hear each step I took on stone steps. Looked down, it was a bunch of different shapes mortared together. Someone on their hands and knees spent a lot of time putting it together. Stone everywhere, lot of it smoothed down over the years.

Inside, big stained glass windows, all the stations of the cross. The old pews, scratched wood, but none of them kneeling brackets, no cushions on the seats. You came here, you were uncomfortable, you came to worship God almighty.

Up front near a table full of lit candles, a nun kept praying in front of the crucifix, whispering just loud enough I couldn't understand what she was praying for. Looked around, she was the only person anywhere nearby, except maybe in the confessional.

Walked inside the confessional, shut the door. A screen slid open. I asked the shadowy father on the other side for forgiveness. It'd been at least 6 or 7 months since the last time I confessed. Figured it wasn't too necessary, cause I beat myself up over them sins. Mostly fighting and drinking, not too bad in terms of the big sins. Felt like I'd done enough of both for a lifetime. Kinda felt lost in there.

He told me to do 15 rosaries and 15 Hale Maries for penance. Then I asked him if he talked to anyone just now, like the guy came in before me. Real simple, real slow voice, he told me whatever the guy said was between him and God almighty.

Slipped out of the confessional. Nun was still praying up front when she made the sign of the cross. She stood up, turned back, smiled at me. Little older, cheeks starting to sag, thin lips made for praying, but green eyes real clear.

I walked up to the nun, asked her how she was doing. She said she was fine, smiled back at me. I asked about Viktor, and she showed a small smile. Sister Tasha, she said he'd come by once a week. Never had time for church on Sundays, so he came on Wednesdays. Still counted, cause it was more than most slobs did, like me.

We sat down in the front pew, staring up at the pale Jesus. Real nice paint job, crown of thorns and blood trickling down his face. I asked what Viktor did for those Wednesdays, and she said they'd pray and talk, and then he'd confess his sins in the confessional. All she knew was that he was trying to make things better, said he was trying to do better. She said she was kinda proud of what he'd become, how he'd never forgotten her after all these years.

Told her I was investigating him, that any help she could give would help me. Thing is, she didn't have anything to say but good.

I asked her how long she'd known him, and she said they grew up together. Crunched my fedora in my hand, asked who she was. She told me Viktor was her brother.

Kept asking questions, but it was pointless. Really stuck up for him. Didn't know about much besides God almighty and what Viktor would tell her. It was obvious, when I mentioned his business, she sighed, looked at the ground, said she wished she could go out more. Said occasionally, she just wanted to see the world.

I asked her if she missed speculator life [Secular life. -Dara]. She said every once and a while, but this was all she'd known since she was 16.

Asked why she ended up here so young, what happened in school. Sister Tanya looked up at the crucifix again, crossed her hands in her lap. High school was a different lifetime. She was different. Got pregnant, and her parents forced her here.

She turned back to me, smiled faint like she was tired of thinking about all that. She was just a wide eyed girl then, and he was the star point guard on the basketball team. Sister Tanya rubbed a bead on her rosary, wondered whatever happened to George.

George (Nineteen)

I watched what Dara saw while she left. Funny how much more boring it was watching when it wasn't you. Then she got to the ground floor, stood in front of the woman's bathroom, tapped the button twice and told me to close the laptop. I did.

Dara came out to the car 20 minutes later, so I figure she was probably in the bathroom about 10 [Trace, thank you so much for all these details. Why did you feel it necessary to mention how long I was in the bathroom? -Dara]. We called up George, asked if he knew Viktor. He paused a while, said he didn't, but it was one of them real pauses, not a fake pause where his voice changed. I asked him to think harder, but nothing was coming up. Said he knew a Vik Chenmar, they lost touch. We told George that it seemed like this guy was behind it, but we wanted to make sure.

Dara drove, tried to teach me how to use the internets to do an internets search. Didn't work so well [Somehow, Trace managed to delete every shortcut on my desktop and erase every saved bookmark on my browser. -Dara].

Figured that Viktor was just as hard to find as anyone, covered his tracks real well. Figured we'd have to trail him a while. We went back to the building, into the garage, drove around to see if maybe we could find his car.

Wasn't hard to find it, the one sleek as a camera flash. Just parked a bit away and waited. When he came down and started driving, he tore away like the devil was chasing him. Bunch of twists and turns till it ended up at a church out in the country. Stayed about an hour, then he got out and left. Told Dara to chase after him, while I went inside. Had to talk to the almighty anyways.

[Viktor stopped at Pearlescent for dinner, ordering a wedge salad. I just kept getting water and breadsticks, pretending my date stood me up. Not that anyone would really believe it, but the waiter gave me his number just in case. At one point, Viktor pointed outside and passed a few dollar bills to the waiter. Later on, his waiter handed a vagrant two plastic bags, sagging at the handles, packed full of food.

When he left, he drove off to his penthouse apartment building. Try as I might, I couldn't find a way past the front doorman. At this point, any possible answers were up to Trace to find. -Dara]

George (Eighteen)

Problem is, I wasn't sending Dara into some dodgy situation by herself. She said she'd be fine. I just pointed to my old mug and said that's what happens when you think everything's gonna be fine. She said we had to get in there to get to the bottom of things. I told her no chance it was happening, till we didn't have any other options.

She took me to her computer, did an internets search, nothing came up. Said that the info from the government said nothing. Dara said we could stake it out, that skyscraper with all the people coming and going all day long, not knowing who to go after, or she could go in and get some info firsthand [What I hadn't informed Trace was that I created a local copy of the search results, removed all reference to Primary Services, Inc., and just navigated directly there. Based on what I'd found, it seemed safe enough. -Dara].

Dara broke out this crazy contraption in a jacket button, a mini video camera. It hooked up to her laptop, so I could see what she saw. Still didn't like it, but we needed to get a move on. I loaded Joan full, showed Dara how to shoot. Told her it was only for emergencies. All she had to do was get in, get info, get out.

Let me tell you, waiting in the car 2 blocks away in a parking garage while Dara was alone, I didn't like it [And while the camera was off, I had a chance to examine Joan. Trace etched a small heart on the handle, inscribing “T.L. + J.L.” inside. Where is Joan today, and how would I get Trace to open up? -Dara]. When she finally turned on the camera, everything looked fisheyed, but I was seeing what she was seeing, hearing what she heard. Kinda weird, being a woman like that. It wasn't right.

Dara sweettalked her way up to the top floor real easy. Figured she was winking while she talked. Real big area, lots of skylights, everything real shiny and new. Figured it probably was new, probably woulda bankrupted me for life if I rented it for a year.

Dara walked right up to the secretary, showed her resume and her computer skills, asked for a job. The slob, he was looking right at the button camera the whole time. Did I say that she put it on her shirt around chest level?

She saw a foosball table, pointed it out, walked right on in. With that weird fishbowl look, I could barely see their faces, but I could tell that they saw hers. She made sure to stop at every cubicle, look at the name plates. Dara said she was recording, so we'd be able to catch em later.

After playing a few rounds with the slobs, some guy with bushy eyebrows and thick shoulders asked what was going on. Dara apologized, said she couldn't resist foosball. Slob threw off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, said it was job interview time, if she could answer his questions and beat him, he'd bring her back for an interview. Viktor Lubchenko, that was his name.

Lot of crazy computer talk I didn't need, didn't care about, but she seemed like she knew what he was saying. They pulled even at 7 when she started asking him about the company. Turned out Viktor started it from nothing, it was his baby. Smile got real big. Had a slight Russian accent, really made his words sound hard. But the way he boomed his words, the way he forced Dara into a loss, and him posing after showed me he was real proud, the kind of person didn't take to disrespect well.

Viktor shook her hand, looked her in the eye, said he'd call to set up an interview. Meanwhile, I knew we had to figure out what George did to Viktor, and how he could make it right.

George (Seventeen)

I call Dara, tell her she's got work to do, tell her to meet me at the office cause I found Ghost. Tell Dara what Ghost told me, how that'll lead us to whoever's behind it, but it sounds like a whole lot of work. I hear her type type typing in the background, leave her to that.

Go back to the Vanguard to update George, tell him to hold out a little longer. Problem is, end of the month is coming, bills are due, he won't have much choice any way. Cause I couldn't do nothing else, I went back to the Vanguard to stand watch. Figured it was the only thing wouldn't make me completely useless.

[Four construction companies were currently improving the five blocks surrounding the Vanguard. A veritable host of real estate companies held deed on the associated real estate. Atop that, business had proliferated throughout the area due to the gentrification efforts.

At first, they all appeared independent of each other, merely the byproduct of a healthy capitalist economy. However, further inspection revealed not all of the businesses were quite as independent of each other as I'd suspected. Several holding companies held significant stakes in perhaps half of the business entities, including those bidding on the Vanguard.

For each of those holding companies, public records revealed intricate ownership structures, in addition to various anonymous entities, private individuals and private corporations. I leveraged some lax security measures implemented through the local government website to try and locate those anonymous identities, but someone had covered their tracks well. However, patterns tended towards one particular group, Mann and McShine.

It seemed that Mann and McShine ran this whole venture, but I eventually found that, somehow, it was set up in such a way that the legal entity owned itself, much as a sole proprietor owned his sole proprietorship.

A further analysis exposed Mann and McShine as controlling another entity, which appeared to hold significant sway. The Patrician group, some organization that barely existed digitally, had some controlling and voting stake in Mann and McShine's actions.

The organization structure of the Patrician group pointed towards their CEO, Robert Barker, controlling the entire scheme. I nearly called Trace to inform him, when I noticed that Dick Dawson was their CTO. CFO, Patrick Sajak. Their entire roster has more experience hosting game shows than shadowy shell companies.

Only a contractor, Primary Services, Inc., showed any hint of being true. It existed, so I had to assume this was the controlling individual. At the very least, it was the only lead we had. I got the street address, called Trace to let him know. -Dara].

Dara called me up around 5 AM. She told me what she got. Address sounded real familiar. Took me a few before I could remember why. Same building where Casper Johns got me thrown out on my duff.

George (Sixteen)

It ain't guaranteed that she's Ghost, but I gotta be real surprised if it ain't her. Can't believe a mother's behind everything, but I seen crazier. Problem is, there's kids in there. She doesn't seem like the kinda person gonna have time to screw around. I knock on the door again.

She comes out in a t-shirt, and she's kinda leaking, 2 wet spots on her chest. Cassandra's got her hand over the phone, asks what I want. I just say Hi, Ghost. She doesn't bat an eye, just tells the person on the phone she'll call them back. Snaps the phone shut, invites me in.

Kid's clothes everywhere, like the clothes hadn't moved where someone dropped it. Food smeared on the walls, a couple muddy handprints the size of my palm. There's a cracked lamp unplugged in the dining room. Computer's set up on the dining room table, but there's papers and checks all over.

We sit across from each other. She asks if I want anything to drink, they got water and milk. I look down at her shirt, say no thanks.

She wonders who sold her out, and I tell her I got my ways, that no one sold her out. Cassandra smoothes her bristly hair back, puts her face in her hands, sighs. Says she can't take much more. She points upstairs, and her third kid is standing there in a blue shirt reaches down to her ankles, sucking her thumbs. Cass hasn't slept more than 4 hours in a row for 6 months now. She goes on about how she loves em, but she just needs a break. Her eyes get glassy, and she starts staring off over my shoulder, like there's a paradise or something just outside where she can't get to it.

She blanks out a while. I clear my throat a few times, snaps her back to conscience [Conscious. -Dara]. She wonders what prison's gonna be like if they convict her, even though she was just the go between. Just passing information, that's all. Cass hopes they'll let the kids visit, somehow, hopes they give her some solitary time.

I tell her she might be able to strike a deal with the cops if she helps em. She looks up, sniffling, asks if I ain't a cop, what am I. I tell her I'm a PI, then start talking about the Vanguard and George and how it all started.

Cass sits up straight, cracks her neck, says I got nothing without the badge. I say maybe I don't, but I got Sgt. Miller's ear, and I can get him to go over her house top to bottom. And it doesn't matter if they find nothing, no one will ever call her again cause she'll be tainted.

She glares, says she don't like me. There's a real weary ache in her voice. Asks if I want money to keep quiet, and says I should be ashamed of what I'm doing. I throw it right back on her, tell her there's nothing honest about what she's pulling here.

I tell her it's all real simple. All she's gotta do is tell me who's ordering the graffiti and I'll disappear. Problem is, them wet spots on her shirt been spreading, and I can't stop staring. When I talk to her now, I'm staring down at them dark circles. She looks down, throws her arm acrost her chest, slaps me real hard. Does that whisper-yell dames do, tells me I shoulda been real ashamed of what I done. I apologize, but she doesn't want none of that.

Cass grabs a Tennessee sweatshirt off a pile, throws it on, all orange and too big. Purses her lips till there's nothing but a thin line, pale and scary. Tells me if I trace the businesses buying up all the property near the Vanguard, it'll all lead back to 1 source. Says I never talked to her, and that I need to keep looking even after I think I find the source, till there's nowhere else to go.

There's another cry from upstairs. Cass says I can let myself out, then rushes upstairs to feed her child.

George (Fifteen)

I get the Boy Donut special, 3 glazed and a cup of coffee for 5 bones. Kinda hurts to sit there, after the beating I took, but it ain't as bad as it would've hurt if I didn't have the donuts. Dara just sat there, watched me eat [It was after nine at night, and everything they sold would have wrecked my diet. Trace couldn't name a single reason for me to have a donut that late. -Dara]. We had a bunch of cops swarming the joint on moss, getting their donuts and leaving [En masse. Trace's response once I explained the term: “So, it's got nothing to do with rolling stones?” -Dara]. Meanwhile, Casper Wong's running around behind the counter like someone electrified the floor. It can't be him, he's got too good a deal here, and he's way too busy. I try to talk to him, and I get nothing. I talk to the kid at the register, and it turns out CW lives and breathes this place. He even has a cot upstairs. Can't be him.

I sneak some bourbon into the coffee, and it tastes about 1000 times better. All the Caspers accounted for except the kid, and seeing how I dealt with his dad, I didn't think it would work out any better. Better not to push that one. Couldn't figure out what was going on. I told Dara the slob told me the name Cass, and it sounded legit. Figured we might have to go see Wilder again, see if he had anything else.

Dara gets one of em funny looks on her face. Asks me what if it was Cassandra or Cassidy. I pound my last donut into crumbs. I'm such a dumb slob. Shoulda known better. Not everyone makes it obvious when they pick a nickname. Especially if it's a dame might wanna keep people from knowing she's a woman.

We get back a lot more Cassidys and Cassandras from the internets, plus a whole buncha other names started with Cass. We gotta toss a lot of em. Ain't no 6 year old running everything behind the scenes. When all that's done, we got a list of 5 more possible Ghosts.

Before I take the Cassandras, I go by the Vanguard. George takes me upstairs to his office, limping all the way. I give him a rundown, tell him about the Diablos and Ramon and Wilder and how we were trying to catch Ghost, cut the whole thing off at the head.

George twirls a mostly browned basketball on his index finger. Keeps spinning for over a minute, and he just sits there and stares. Goes and shows me more polaroids of the graffiti, and him scrubbing the walls. Says he's got a couple offers on the table, above market value. Says he'd been dreaming of this place since high school, when his knee wasn't shredded and he was going to do everything he didn't want to regret not doing now. He sighs, and the basketball drops off his fingers, dribbles to a sad stop. Says the Diablos are scaring business away.

I ask what if 1 of them construction companies is behind it. He says they been in a bidding war, and he ain't got them to stop. If it was just one of em, they'da lowballed him or just stopped bidding it so high. Told George we'd keep searching. Asked him if there might be anyone targeting him, but he just shrugged his shoulders. Guy'd never done no one wrong in his life, near as he could remember.

From the Vanguard, I took the metro out to Woodside. First on my list, Cassandra Wilkens. Housewife out in the burbs. Figured I'd cross her off the list right quick and move on to Cassandra Cabot, CEO of Pontoon Privatized. Sounded like she had the flush behind all this.

Walk up to a simple 2 story, nothing flashy, just brick and aluminum siding. Buncha kid's toys in the yard, little scooter missing a back wheel, couple of dolls, dump truck. Bush out front is all drooped over, no one's pruned it in a while.

I knock on the door. Woman's voice screams out that she'll be right there. After a bit, this woman with short blonde hair, a mean frown, 5 foot nothing opens the door. She's holding a cell phone in 1 hand, nursing a baby with the other, yelling at me to tell her right now what it is I want. I'm trying to ask her for directions, the only thing Dara figured I could ask without giving myself away, but Cass's hissing into the phone, telling that poor slob it's a waste of everyone's time, maybe he should do the talking himself if he wants something done. Kid's still feeding. I take a look at her phone. Don't know much about them phones, but it's real shiny and new. She finally clamps it shut, tosses it over her shoulder. Apologizes for snapping at me, and I tell her her towel moved to the left. She covers her breast like nothing while I'm just staring up at the sky.

There's another ring from her pocket. She pulls out another phone, looks just the same as the first, says she's real busy, asks if it can wait. I just nod like an idiot as she slams the door shut, starts going full-on dame on the second phone. Most people don't carry 2 of the same cell phone like that. Least, not people working on the up-and-up.

George (Fourteen)

I found Casper John's office downtown. Big glass building with a front desk. They made me check Joan. I didn't like it, but I had to let her go. I hate letting go [All of my searches yielded nothing on a Joan Lowell. I've had to start looking for all Joans in the area within the past fifty years, a monumental effort. There is no guarantee that she is any different from Trace and his nonexistent digital footprint. -Dara]. Counted to 60 waiting for the elevator to make it downstairs, so I could get on it and go to the top floor.

Real dame secretary, her lip curled soon as I walked in them big glass doors. Asked if she could help me, using the tone of voice people use when they talk about picking up rotten cantaloupes. I told her I needed to talk to Mr. Johns. She said he was busy, so I walked right on in. Could tell already I ain't never gonna get this close again, and I gotta take a risk. Some days, I love my job.

CJ's corner office door was opened, and I stepped on in. Dame followed, apologizing nonstop for the contusion [Intrusion. The contusions usually come later with Trace. -Dara]. CJ's sitting there, phone in each hand, third one on his cedar desk. He waves at us, screams into all 3 phones 1 after the other, slams them all down, then sneers at us. There's a vein across his forehead looks ready to burst out his skin and crawl away. Even when he's just talking instead of yelling, his cheeks shake too much. He looks like Santa Claus came to town with coal instead of presents.

He's screaming at her for letting me in, hasn't even looked at me yet. Asks why this homeless bum come into his office, starts throwing stuff from his desk at me. Stapler, picture frame, organizer, whatever he's got his hands on. That stuff I can deal with, but then he says something about my momma. Something not nice, something you'd say to a lady of the night.

I push CJ's secretary out the office, slam the door closed, one of them real thick, heavy wood with metal core doors. Wedge one of his nice chairs between the knob and the floor. Don't wanna think about how much this thing cost, probably more than a month's rent. Any rate, I ain't gonna get answers from him without some prodding. I don't wanna be nice no more. I just want what I want. Figure the guards downstairs, they were as pear shaped as the slobs on the phone up here. It was gonna take them a while to hoof it up here. I had 3 or 4 minutes before they came up here.

CJ's on his feet, gone all red, even his hands. Starts throwing words I need a dictionary to even spell, forget about what they mean. Big thing is he's threatening to sue me, far as I can tell. I point at my clothes, and say the 2 magic words that shut him up quick: judgment proof. He ain't the only 1 can throw around fancy terms.

I tell him I'll leave him alone if he answers some questions. I ask him about Wilder, the Diablos.

CJ's shaky, but he rolls his cuffs up. He plays dumb, says he doesn't know nothing.

There's some banging behind me, they're trying to get in, but the door's holding. Not for long, though.

I lean over the desk, get in his face. His breath smells like hot dogs with extra kraut and mustard. I ask if he's behind the graffiti. It's just 1 big fat confused look on his face. He's so thrown off, and not the fake kind. He has no clue what I'm asking. It's not him. Then I tell him he should say sorry for what he said about my mother.

They bust down the door, then knock me around. Show me that when you got enough money, nobody gets close to you without getting theirs. I curl in a ball and take it. One of them kicks my kidney, and I blank out a second when everything goes white.

They ask if he wants to press charges. I look up at him from what I think are bloodshot eyes. I taste some salt from somewhere.

He tells em not to press charges. Then, he leans real close to me, whispers “You don't threaten me, I threaten you.”

They take me back downstairs, throw me out on my duff. Like I said, you don't go looking for enemies. They'll come find you.