Snapshot

“How is that any different from real life?”


“Well, it . . .” He trailed off, scratching his head. “Oh. Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Huh. Well anyway, you going to go talk to her?”

“Who?”

“The hottie back there.”

“What? No. I mean, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Come on,” Chaz said, nudging him. “You’re staring at her hard enough to throw sparks. Just go say hello.”

“I don’t want to harass her.”

“Talking isn’t harassing.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s one of the primary methods of harassment,” Davis said.

“Yeah, maybe, sure. But she’s looking back at you. She’s interested, Davis. I can tell.”

Davis toyed with the idea, a small panic rising in him like an exploding bomb. “No,” he said, standing. “Why bother? It’s not real anyway.”

“All the more reason to give it a go. For practice.”

Davis shook his head and led the way out of the diner. Unfortunately, as they passed the woman’s table, Chaz stepped over to her. “Hey,” he said. “My friend is kind of shy, but he was wondering if maybe he could have your number.”

Davis felt his heart all but stop.

The woman blushed, then looked away.

“Sorry to bother you,” Davis said, hauling his partner out the door by the arm. Then, once outside, he continued, “You idiot! I said not to do that.”

“Technically,” Chaz said, “you told me you weren’t going to do it. You didn’t say that I couldn’t.”

“That was humiliating. I—”

Davis froze as the door to the diner opened and the woman stepped out. She blushed again, then handed Davis a little slip of paper before ducking back into the restaurant.

Davis stared at it, reading the phone number scrawled across the front. Chaz grinned a big, goofy smile.

Sometimes, Chaz, he thought, tucking the paper away, I love you.

“So, where are we going?” Chaz asked.

“Fourth,” Davis said, leading the way down the street.

“Bit of a hike.”

“Autocab?”

“Nah,” Chaz said, hands in pockets. “Just saying.”

They strolled for a time, Davis feeling the paper in his pocket. He was shocked, even embarrassed, by how pleased he was. How warm it made him feel. Even if he was never going to call her, even if she wasn’t real. Damn. He hadn’t felt like this in years, since before meeting Molly.

“You ever wonder,” Chaz said as they walked, “if we should be using this more?”

“What do you mean?”

Chaz nodded at the cars passing on the wide avenue. At least half were autocabs, smooth and careful, each one coordinated with the others. A variety of older cars joined them, and most were just as smooth—but you could tell the manual drivers from the way they jerked about, making a mess of things. Like fish that had suddenly split away from the rest of the school.

“We should use this more,” Chaz repeated. “We’re in a day that already happened. So shouldn’t we be able to . . . I don’t know . . . buy lottery tickets or something?”

“And win money that will vanish when the day ends?”

“We could swallow it,” Chaz said. “Like you said.”

“There’s a big difference between one coin and millions in lottery earnings. Not that they pay out instantly anyway, for the types of winning numbers we could look up ahead of time. Besides, it would likely be classified as counterfeiting if you somehow did get money out.”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “It would still be fun to win. Anyway, I just feel we should be able to do more. Get right what someone else got wrong.”

“Which is what we do.”

“I’m not talking about legal stuff, Davis.” He sighed. “I can’t explain it.”

The two crossed the road, and cars started again behind them. A few old combustion engines roared past, making Davis turn. That was a sound from his past. Like the smell of gasoline.

“I understand,” he said.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

That seemed to comfort the taller man. “So, any idea what we’re looking for when we arrive at this place of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Davis said. “It’s just one of those blips that the forum people notice. Sudden, urgent call for a car, several responses . . . then silence. No report. No nothing.”

“And you think someone’s scared we’ll find out.”

They’d talked about this sort of thing before. In here, the two of them were absolute authorities. Flashing their badges could get them past any obstruction, overrule any order. They were two men in a crowd of shadows.

In here, they were the only ones with rights. In here, they were gods. The longer he’d been working in Snapshots, the more Davis had realized that there were certain people on the outside who found his power in here terrifying. They hated thinking that there were simulacra of them that a couple of low-level detectives could order around. How to contain them, protect people’s privacy, was a constant argument.

“I’m surprised,” Chaz said as they finally reached Fourth Avenue, “that they didn’t remember to send us to some saferoom.”

Davis nodded. They wouldn’t have gone—they never did. But the precinct continued to order it, claiming that if Davis or Chaz were to meet their own dupe selves in the city, they’d be mentally scarred. Which was stupid.

“If we don’t find anything at this address of yours,” Chaz said, “I’m going to take the day off.”

“Fair enough. But I think there will be something. It’s suspicious.”

“I’m telling you. Politician with a whore.”

“They wouldn’t call in squad cars for that.” He chewed on his lip. “Have you noticed how lately they seem to have us do only the least work possible on a case? Find a murder weapon, witness a criminal activity. No interviews, little real police work.”