December 20, 4140
Harry Bivens woke up at the same time she had every morning for the past 12 years, and quickly fell into the morning routine. It would be 3 more hours before Will woke up, giving her just enough time to take a bath, put her braces on, and help Robe dispose of that building.
The few steps to the closet to get her case was painful, as it was every morning before she had the metal and straps to guide her half-dead limbs across the floor. The bath took away some of the pain and the water made it so she could actually move her legs without anything else attached. Like every morning she sat there and cursed her ancestors for an amphibian society, one that left the female of the species in the water.
Soon the second alarm rang and she needed to get downstairs. The braces made stairs easier but she still had to use some of her power to control it, something Will always would chide her for.
"Why are you wasting your powers?"
"Because I want to be able to walk."
"That's no excuse."
The last reply always rolled in her head. Wanting to be able to walk is evidently an excuse to the gods as why she hasn't become a better vigilante.
It was now 5:30. Jud would not be arriving for another 30 minutes and Robe should be there in less than 15.
Down in the offices, it was clearly Jud’s that was letting the stale cigar smoke into the room. More awake and more confident on the braces, Harry simply waved her left hand to the side as she used her right to start summoning coffee ingredients.
Most people she knew didn’t drink real coffee, they just slapped patches on their arms or took little pills. But she was an admirer of the ancient Earth era and so was this city.
It would be so easy to imagine Sam Spade walking down the street below them or pacing in the office across from hers. Part of her image comes from that era and that thought of detectives, and perhaps that’s how she ended up at a classic agency like Roth & Marrow.
The duo who founded the company were very classic about many things, including their mob dealings, which included anyone and everyone. And it was unfortunate that their lack of discrimination in their one part of the business, ultimately led to their demise, but it had given Harry a job and now she didn’t care.
She thought about all the things she didn’t care about anymore as the 15 minutes slowly ticked by on the column clock in the corner. Ita was still on the care list and was working for her, which wasn’t about any emotions left in the relationship. It was about money. And it would always be about money.
Robe arrived and shouted into the offices, “Anyone home?”
Still in the Sam Spade mood, Harry replied with, “Shoo him in, Effie darling, shoo him in.”
In the neon purple clashing with gray raincoat, Robe definitely stood out, whenever they would go out to do something. He had been repeatedly asked to change into something more plain but always had the same justifications. That disagreement was about to start again.
“It doesn’t matter as much if they see a cop at a crime scene, than a private detective.”
“What if it wasn’t a crime scene when we got there?”
“It will be. Besides, people are more likely to notice you in the gray coat with the dark brooding looks. However much you say that Delta is just like Earth in the 30s and 40s, you’ve got to admit that the fashion is a little different.”
That was true. They looked out of her office and down onto the street to see people dressed in shocking colors, like there hadn’t just been a war going on last week. Dark gray and blue were the color of the military personnel, whereas neon anything was that of the standard citizen. Harry hadn’t been in the army for 5 years but she wasn’t changing the color of her coat anytime soon.
“Whatever you say, Detective Jones. Your car or police car?”
“My car, of course. Not only have I spent 2 years restoring the damn thing but it’s also more fitting for that of 2 classic detectives.”
The pale yellow 1935 Auburn Speedster was the perfect car for them. The only thing original about it was the frame. Robe had taken the insides of a 4120 Chevy Police Cruiser and fit it to the frame of the Auburn, a slightly used modern car inside the body of an ancient masterpiece.
People always looked at them when they drove down the street but that was always part of the fun. It took 20 minutes to reach the warehouse on the banks of the farthest port and 5 minutes to set up the fuel and fuses. An oil barrel in every corner, with a trail of fuel and a long fuse from each, all leading into the middle spot by the door. Robe threw one more can into the middle, making sure it sloped into the middle and leaked into the drain below the warehouse.
“Robe, go start the car.”
“Do you want the flare gun or the matches?”
“The flare gun, your raincoat isn’t providing enough of a flare already.”
He sighed and walked off.
Harry looked up at the warehouse and thought about the words she once heard here, spoken to Roth. It happened right before Mr. Fiacre shot him.
“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Again, she recognized her lack of sympathy and walked off to join Robe in the car. He was digging around in the glovebox for the flare gun and so far had set 4 pistols on the leather seat.
“I’m not the one who put all the pistols in the glovebox.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well yes. Here, catch.”
Harry sat down, pointed the flare gun at the pool in the middle of the warehouse, watched the flames rise for a moment and left quickly soon after.
Now it was time to collect on the payment they had been offered. Some spaghetti at the Fiacre Family Restaurant was sounding good right now.