Cat’s Nines

by Robert H. Prestridge

part 2 of 3

Flying back to Seattle from Cedar Rapids in an air sprinter, his eyes closed, Dunninger was enjoying the pleasant aftertaste of two Coronas that he had just imbibed. In addition to the beer, he had just taken an anti-migraine tab because the heat and humidity of Cedar Rapids hadn’t been much better than that of Topeka.

Dunninger adjusted a symbiotic feed in his left wrist. He had decided to remain jacked into the company System, in case Baanders or one of the other troubleshooters needed to speak to him.

Dunninger was about to fall asleep when he heard the voice.

Hiya, hiya, hiya, Frankie.

Dunninger opened his eyes.

Having a good day? Arnie cackled.

Arnie?

Look at your monitor, Frankie.

Dunninger did. A hologram of a pimply-faced male nerd with a W.C. Fields-like nose, greasy hair, and black horn-rimmed glasses winked at Dunninger.

Pleasure to meet you, Frankie baby.

Dunninger smirked. Wish I could say the same thing, Arnie. Is that really you, or is that an avatar?

It’s really me, Arnie said, cackling. Me, me, me. Ain’t I handsome?

What’s your game, Arnie? Why are you doing this? What pleasure does this give you?

Just the thrill of it all, Frankie baby. You know, you’re known throughout the world as the best implants troubleshooter. You bat one thousand each and every time. Until now, Arnie hooted. I think you done met your match. I got the cat’s nines on you, my friend.

Pride cometh before a fall, Arnie. Always remember that.

You bet I will, Frank.

You’ll wish you had after I get through with you.

Arnie, or the Arnie avatar or whatever it was, blinked.

You really don’t like me, do you, Frank?

Dislike is not quite the word, Dunninger scanthought back. I don’t get deep pleasure from racing across the country seven days a week.

You work too hard, Frankie baby. Did anyone ever tell you that?

Dunninger sighed. Of course someone had told him that: Evelyn. If anyone deserved to be canonized, she did.

A few moments passed; he and Arnie/the Arnie avatar stared one at another.

I’m tired, Arnie. Are you through?

I’ll leave you alone.

Thanks, I guess.

Dunninger unjacked himself from the System. He asked the flight attendant for another Corona with a twist of lime, and, after downing the beer in three gulps, closed his eyes for the remainder of the flight, hoping that if he dreamed, he would dream of anything but Arnie and Arnie’s obnoxious cackle.

* * *

Arnie seemed to have vanished.

For the next few days, Dunninger worked from home, jacked into the System, poring over data and logs and searching databases to see if he could find a clue — any clue — to the whereabouts or identity of Arnie. When Dunninger couldn’t work any further, he walked along Lake Washington Boulevard, enjoying the remnants of the Seattle summer, which had been a very good one, at least by Seattle standards.

Soon, he knew, the rains would return. And soon, he sensed, Arnie would, too.

Several weeks, though, went by without any sign of Arnie.

At dinner one night in the New Fish Café, Evelyn smiled broadly, reminding Dunninger of a hologram that he had seen of the Cheshire Cat.

“Something amusing?” Dunninger said.

“Just normality,” she said. “It’s weird having a normal life like other people.”

Dunninger forked a piece of smoked salmon, which he raised to his mouth and ate. He savored the smoky taste of the meat. If there was a heaven, it was filled with smoked salmon.

“I know what you mean,” he said. “I don’t feel so exhausted.”

“You don’t look so exhausted.”

He put a finger to his lips.

“But you’re worried,” she said. “You always do that when you’re worried.”

“I’m trying to place my finger on things,” he said. “Not in the literal sense, but in the figurative one. I’ve been at home, getting rest, and haven’t been in the office for over a month. And not once during that time has Arnie struck.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Evelyn said.

“It’s a very good thing.” He frowned. “But why? Why now, when I’m so rested? If he’d wanted to, he could have driven me into the ground by infecting more implants. Is he waiting and watching, or ready to launch some sort of ultra-devastating attack?”

She stared at him. Dunninger felt guilty, thinking that he might have ruined the evening for her. He had ruined many of her evenings. He didn’t want to ruin any more.

Evelyn reached across the table and placed her hand on his. A teenage waitress, overburdened tray on her shoulder, hurried past their booth, giving Dunninger and his wife a brief smile.

“Just be glad that he’s leaving you alone,” Evelyn said, smiling. “Who knows, perhaps he grew up. Or someone else caught him.”

“Or her,” Dunninger said.

“You and your political correctness.”

“The female of the species...”

Evelyn laughed. “Don’t start with me, mister, unless this is leading to another direction.”

“And what direction would that be?”

“Oh, I think you know.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Just think of alley cats, Frank, my dear.”

Later, lying in bed, Dunninger stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. Evelyn was lying beside him, sleeping peacefully. He patted her thigh, got out of bed, and put on a worn terry-cloth robe, one he’d inherited from his father.

At the front window, he paused and studied lights dotting the ridge across Lake Washington. Perhaps Arnie was living in one of the homes on the ridge.

Dunninger went to his study, locked the door, and sat down at his station. He jacked into the System, waited a few moments, and then started to work.

“I don’t know where you are, Arnie, but don’t think that I’m going to give up the chase,” Dunninger said, feeling streaming data entering his left arm. “I’m going to catch you, you little punk.”

For a moment, Dunninger thought he heard an obnoxious cackle, but then figured that it was a brief moment’s static in his symbiotic feed.

The implants troubleshooter increased the pace of his work, and now it was beginning to feel like old times.

* * *

Proceed to part 3...