To Snatch a Thief

CHAPTER FIVE



The incident room, where Hunter explained she would be working, sizzled with activity and noise. A large open plan area filled with glass booths where snatchers of varying ranks talked on klips, worked on screens, talked in groups, came and went solo or in pairs.

‘I’d like your attention for a moment.’ Hunter pushed her forward. The noise level dropped to a background hum. Looking around, she gathered by the suspicious looks on most of the faces, she was viewed as just another street thief. ‘This is Trainee Cadet Forrester. For now she’ll be cross-matching cold case files, nothing current.’ No trust there either, she thought. ‘If she has any questions I expect you to assist her. Private Dawson.’

‘Yes, sir.’ One of three females present came over. Young, pretty, tough in a sporty kind of way, with a short blonde ponytail pulled through her regulation baseball cap at the back.

‘Show Cadet Forrester where everything is.’

If she’d expected a warm welcome on her first day, Skye would have been disappointed. She watched Dawson look her up and down like she was something unpleasant she’d found on her shoe.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m in the field for a couple of hours. Keep an eye on her.’ With a brief nod, Hunter left her to the wolves.

Dawson showed her teeth. ‘So, you’re the Lieutenant’s new protégé.’

‘I guess.’

‘Hunter’s the best there is,’ she stated. ‘Everyone in this room bust a gut to get on his team. You waltz in on a free ticket.’ The way she said it, Skye doubted she’d found a new best friend. ‘You’re over here.’

She started walking, ponytail swinging. Skye fell into step beside her.

‘Watch your pockets, Dawson,’ a male voice called out as they passed a cubicle.

She sniggered. ‘At least I won’t have to go far to book her.’

The cramped workstation, squashed like an afterthought amongst a labyrinth of glass booths, was piled high with boxes of memory squares. Skye presumed they were waiting for her.

Dawson pointed to the chair. ‘Sit there. Hang your bag and coat on the back of the seat.’ Using her micro-chip to access the computer, Dawson reached over to activate the screen. ‘‘Hunter got this scheme dumped on him. As SIO he’s got enough on his plate without you screwing things up.’

If she was trying to intimidate her, Skye thought, it wasn’t going to work. ‘SIO?’

‘Senior Investigative Officer.’

‘Oh, right.’

She turned to leave. ‘Run some probabilities. Anything gels, anything cross-matches, find me. Oh, and you’re it for refreshment detail. One of us wants something, coffee, fizzer, food, you get it. Clear?’

‘As clear as that stick up your…’ Skye bit back the next word as Dawson rounded on her; eyes furious, cheeks flushed an unbecoming cherry red.

‘Look, I have to work with you, but I don’t have to like it. One word, just one little word from me to Hunter,’ she snarled, stabbing a finger inches from Skye’s face. ‘And you go straight back inside where you belong. You’d do well to remember that.’

Skye smiled sweetly. ‘Gosh, that much influence, who’d have thought it? Is it common knowledge you’ve got something going with him? I must ask around. Bit embarrassing for you if it turns out you’re just bragging, or perhaps I misunderstood.’

Over Dawson’s blazing eyes, one blond eyebrow arched. ‘I’m gonna enjoy taking you down. The Lieutenant knows I’m good at my job, more than good, whereas you’re street trash. Who’s he going to listen to, you or me, when you stuff up? And you will. However…’ Here she paused. ‘Just so we’re straight. Hunter flies high and I don’t aim my sights in that direction. I’m a squaddie, he’s brass; the two don’t mix. End of story.’

‘Sure,’ Skye thought as she stormed off. ‘But I bet you wish.’

The day, she figured, could only get better.

It got worse.

Raking her eyes around the room for possible culprits, Skye narrowed her eyes and waited. Ten minutes to end of shift. Any more takers and she and that vending machine would be joined at the hip. And what had waitressing got to do with her military career? If one more, just one more person asks for coffee, she snarled, plonking herself down at her desk yet again - honestly her bum might as well be fitted with springs - she’d tell them where they could shove it, and to hell with Dawson’s threats.

Anyway, Blondie wasn’t here now, was she? She’d sashayed off half an hour ago, all bouncy and chirpy, a sports bag tossed over her shoulder, her hair in a perfect tail.

Good riddance, Skye fumed, feeling her own wilfully pinging off clips. Sighing, she stuffed it all inside her collar and spent the next five minutes wallowing in her own pity party, then as the final second of her shift ticked by, grabbed her things and ran.

Her escape didn’t go smoothly. The lift doors opened and shut twice, throwing out bodies into the mass of people waiting to squeeze in, before she got her turn. The change of shift had crisp, clean and rested, tangling with rumpled, grubby, whacked. The interior, she found, stunk of sweat, after-shave, a faint hint of perfume masked by oily food and, from the female captain standing shoulder to shoulder with her, foul garlic breath. A weapon holster was also digging into her side.

Nobody spoke much. Most simply gazed at a point just shy of the ceiling. Most that is, except for a couple of e-geeks who launched into incomprehensible e-speak about multi-layered passwords and cyber crime encoded like you wouldn’t believe, which had her eyes glassing over in seconds. At the next stop down, more crowded in. Somebody trod on her foot.

Eventually they hit what she assumed was ground level. Everyone surged forward as the doors opened, and when the dust cleared Skye found herself dumped in the basement - basement as in car park. Law enforcers had no more driving manners than civilians, she soon discovered. Less when contesting a parking slot and a pedestrian got in the way.

Gritting her teeth, she took the stairs to the street.

‘Due to the mass protest rally blocking all roads around Parliament Tower, this shuttle service has been temporarily suspended. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. We apologise for the inconvenience.’

Although punching a hologram might not get her home any quicker, it was tempting to take her frustration out on the bus company’s representative currently shimmering his message at the stop. Judging from other milling commuters, she was not the only one who thought so.

‘Bloody Nora.’ A suited type with a rolled umbrella swiped a hand through the hologram which merely continued to repeat the good news at ten second intervals. ‘And you can’t get on the mono-rail. I’ve just come from there – packed out; every station. What are these oiks protesting about this time?’

A chorus of voices joined in. ‘You name it, they’ve got a placard.’

‘It’s on the news. There’s thousands of them camped out in Parliament Square.’

‘Oh, God. I hope they don’t get violent. We’ve had enough violence. You know, someone should just tell them, get a life.’

‘The president’s got to do something before it gets out of hand or, mark my words, we’ll have a repeat of thirty four.’

‘They always look so scruffy and… miserable.’

‘They breed like rabbits, that’s the problem. Most of them are inbred.’

‘Obviously, it’s not PC to mention birth restrictions these days, but it’s what many are thinking privately. Did you catch the debate on screen last night?’

‘I did. That Professor Webber put it straight predicting we won’t know the population’s gone past sustainability until the second after it’s happened.’

One brave dissenter spoke up but her voice of reason was drowned amongst the general grumbling. ‘Those people are human beings,’ Skye heard her mutter. ‘Unlike Professor Webber, they’re living with atrocious housing; lack of jobs; food shortages; poor education; shameful health facilities; and now this virus taking them out. Something should be done to help them, not blame them.’

Yes, Skye thought, too weary to argue. Something should be, but it never was. Blowing out a long breath, she activated her klip preparing to disappoint an excited little boy that their planned reunion was going to be late.

As her energy levels waned Lexie grew more and more impossible, defying all attempts to get him into bed. She tried pleading, bribing and then downright shouting, all with the same result. ‘Not, tired, not tired,’ he sang, racing round the room in only his vest. The sleep suit she’d spent half an hour forcing him into, was now a heap on the floor.

Collapsed in a chair, she started to laugh – it was either that or burst into tears – he looked so funny prancing around half-naked, with his mass of curls framing that deceptively angelic face. And they’d had such a great evening. After they’d got over the clingy, teary part –they’d both been as bad as each other - they’d moved to the non-stop talking, gorging on soy dogs phase then into the cushion fight segment which, in hindsight, she admitted, had probably been a bad idea as bedtime approached, but loads of fun at the time.

‘Fine, you little monster.’ She narrowed her eyes at him, sending him into shrieks of giggles. ‘But if you fall asleep in class tomorrow, don’t blame me. You can stay up ‘till I go to bed, which won’t be long I can tell you. I’m bushed.’

It was then he sprang it on her. ‘Got show and tell tomorrow. Need somefing to take.’

‘What?’ She groaned. ‘What sort of thing?’

He shrugged. ‘Just somefing.’

‘Well,’ she ran her eyes around the dingy room. Most of the springs in the chairs had had it; at the moment her knees were higher than her bum. The carpet was threadbare and she’d long ago given up guessing what colour it had been when it was new. A collapsed cardboard box with Lexie’s toys stood in one corner. ‘What about your truck?’ she offered. ‘It’s an ace truck.’

He gave his sister a withering look as if she should know better. ‘No, it’s got to be diff’frent. Not a toy.’ Warned by the over-tired whine starting to edge into his voice, and the fact is was past ten thirty PM, she dragged herself out of the chair. ‘Okay, I’ll think of something. You put those pj’s on and I’ll find something. But I wish you’d told me about this earlier.’

‘Miss Erskine emailed!’ Face like thunder, Lexie put one leg in his sleep suit, hopped, sat on the floor to get the other in straight, then stood to pull the trouser part up. ‘Didn’t you read it?’ With his arms finally covered, he zipped up the front, then scrubbed a fist to his eye; yawned.

A stab of guilt pierced her. She hadn’t had time to check today. ‘Sorry, I’ve been busy. Hey.’ Inspiration struck. ‘What about our scrap book? That’s different, and you can tell everyone about all the places we’d like to go one day. Or just pick one – your favourite – the one with the sand and blue sea and those kids making sandcastles.’ It was one of their “things” to download pictures from the internet and paste them into a scrapbook. Then they’d make up stories, imagining how it might feel to be on a beach, walk in a blue-bell wood, ride a horse, or wear fabulous clothes like the stars.’

‘Kay.’ He was flagging at last. ‘You coming?’

Relieved, she smiled. ‘Yeah, Lex. I’ll get in with you ‘till the sheets warm up. C’mon, let’s get some sleep.’

In the morning he’d wet the bed. Shiralee Abbott had warned it was a regular occurrence; a classic symptom of a disturbed child. More guilt piled on her head.

‘Okay. It’s okay, Lex,’ Skye told him as he stood between their beds, a mortified expression on his sleep-rumpled face. ‘Take your wet things off and get in the shower. I’ll see to it.’ Shaking the hair out of her eyes, she rolled out of bed. Shivering, she pulled a thick sweater over her uniform and thought longingly of the climate-sensitive houses she’d read about in posh magazines. No point in wishing, she reflected, the landlord wasn’t ever going to spend money on this sieve of a building.

By the time the bed had been stripped, sheets and Lexie’s wet clothes piled into the washer, the bathroom mopped, a rampaging six year old convinced to get dressed and served some instant porridge sprinkled with sweetener, she had run out of time.

‘Aren’t you having any?’ Her brother paused from spooning up oatmeal.

‘I’ll get something at work.’ It was a lie. Even with the subsided prices, Skye couldn’t afford to eat at HQ. The rent was overdue and that was the last of the porridge. There were still a few weeks until she got paid and she’d have to spend the meagre globals left on topping up supplies. She brushed it off, she’d been hungry before. One day without food was nothing. The trick, she remembered, learnt at an early age, was to fill your stomach with water so you felt full - sloshy, admittedly, but full. She guzzled down a third glass.

One glance at the time told her she was going to be late. ‘C’mon, Lexie. We have to get you downstairs. You can play with Mitch and Tommy until it’s time for school. Got your scrapbook?’

Shiralee Abbot was her saviour: a sturdy single-mum in her forties with a square face and sad, hazel eyes who kept very much to herself. Never chatty, she’d babysat Lexie for the last two years and still Skye knew little about her.

‘My shift ends at five,’ Skye said, watching her brother romp with Shiralee’s youngest. ‘Barring delays, I’ll be back about six.’

‘I’ll pick him up from school as usual. I’ve been offered a couple extra hours at the launderette, but I can take the boys with me. Don’t worry – they’re pretty easy down there,’ she added as Skye frowned. ‘And I can’t afford to turn the work down.’ Inclining her head, she nodded towards Lexie. ‘He looks happier already. It’s good you’re back.’

‘You know how grateful I am,’ Skye blurted out. ‘Without you…’

‘So you kept telling me last night. Look, I’ve been there. I know what it’s like, and I had family to help. Besides you’re paying me – apparently.’

Chewing her lip, Skye battled with conscience. ‘Yeah, about that. Can I settle up at the end of the month? Things are really tight and it’s not like I can just snatch a purse anymore.’ When Shiralee merely raised an eyebrow Skye tried for, what she hoped was, an appealing grin. ‘And I’m going to be awfully, awfully late.’

Embarrassed, Skye watched the older woman run an eye over her uncombed hair, the slapdash way she’d slung on her coat, heard her sigh. In an uncharacteristic gesture Shiralee gave her an awkward one armed hug. ‘Does he have any lunch?’

She’d forgotten all about it. ‘No. Damn.’

‘I’ll see to it. I’ll add it to your tab. Now get off before they give you the sack.’

‘Thanks, I really owe you.’

‘Yeah.’ She stated, her voice softening. ‘You do. You most certainly do.’

The landlord lived on the premises. His lair was next to the front entrance. Like a trap-door spider he leapt out as Skye tried to creep past. ‘Ah, Skye. You try to avoid me, yes?’

Damn. Sprung. ‘No.’ Yes, but you’ve ears like a bat. Look like one too with your long spidery fingers and bulbous black eyes. Wouldn’t be surprised if you slept hanging from the ceiling by your feet. ‘Look,’ Skye hedged. ‘Um, I owe you some money, right? Can I see you about that later? I’m really pushed for time.’

He moved to block her exit as she inched towards to the door. There was some sort of crud on his tooth and blackheads on his nose. ‘Maybe I make allowances,’ he whispered, leaning in close. His roaming eyes settled on her chest. ‘You do something nice for me, I think about letting you stay. Otherwise…I already got two families willing to share the room. I get double rent.’

He made her flesh crawl. Still talking to her boobs, he opened his door wider. ‘You come inside, now. Take care of old Hertzl, I forget the overdue rent.’

Yeah, in your dreams. ‘Here.’ Foraging in her bag, she shoved all the money she had left in the world into his grasping little hand. ‘You’ll get the rest at the end of the month.’