In Favour of Fools: A Science Fiction Comedy (These Foolish Things Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: J Battle
special about you?’
He grunted; it could have been a laugh, or he could have actually been on the toilet.
‘I know stuff.’
I shook my head and went back to my desk. Sam knows stuff the way religious zealots know that God wants to be their best friend.
Back to the absent Mr. Masters.
Within minutes, I’ve got all of his social media sites up and start building a timeline. Whilst I’m working on that, I set a couple of programmes running to data mine the accounts of his electronic ‘friends’. After an hour or so, I’ve got a fairly good picture of who Ben Masters is. Or at least, of his web persona. It’s not always wise to mix the two.
He was forty-two, with only a basic education and a remarkably truncated work life. His closest ‘friends’ all had similar backgrounds, so it was easy to get a handle on his criminal gang. I didn’t have access to police files, but public records, and their own private, indiscreet social media posts gave a pretty clear picture.
With his timeline established, I used one of my trickier, less than legal programmes to download data from the surveillance cameras that bedeck our moistened city in ever increasing quantities. As I mentioned, this is not strictly speaking legal. I’m sure that one or other of the governing AI’s knows what I’m doing, but, as long as I am careful and there is no ‘against’ that can be attributed to my actions, I’m usually left alone.
Knowing where he lives and hangs out, and what he’s been up to, it was fairly easy with today’s sophisticated face recognition software to trace his last sightings. I must admit that I groaned a little when I saw him exiting one of the squirtbooths that ringed the publicly accessible concourse of Manchester’s Interplanetary Squirtport.
So that was that. He’d left the planet and she didn’t have a chance in hell of getting any money off him. End of job; here’s my report and final bill; thank you very much and goodnight.
That’s what I should have done. There was nothing to be gained from digging any deeper, and I pride myself on being straight with my clients and not bumping up their bills unnecessarily; no, I do; honestly.
Still, it was a quiet day, and there was still no sign of Julie, so I decided to make my own coffee and have a look to see if I could track where he’d come from. It wasn’t just boredom, however. My interest was piqued by the fact that, before he turned up at the Squirtport, he hadn’t been seen for three days.
If I‘d had more work, or if Julie had been there to distract me and make me coffee, or if Sam had come out of the bathroom, I wouldn’t have ended up with half-melted boots.
Chapter 5 - Then bang, bang; you're dead
The shot should have been easy. He’d been shooting with this rifle at his local shooting range for nearly a year, and he judged himself an adequate shot. The distance was manageable and the light conditions were good; and, after all, Masters was a big target.
Shooting people, however, is not the same as shooting at pieces of paper. The consequences are all together more severe. As he took aim, he noticed the sights wobble a little and adjusted his position to steady his weapon. He tried again, and still he didn’t feel secure. Masters was talking to the little guy who was there to collect him from the prison; completely oblivious to the fact that a rifle was pointed in his general direction. He laughed and bent forward, just as the first pressure was put on the trigger.
Jim sighed as he gently released the pressure. Then Masters stepped back, gesturing at the rear door of the old fashioned vehicle. His massive chest was a perfect target, so Jim took the shot. The little guy eased out of the driver’s seat and stood up, just in time to receive the bullet in the back of his head. If he’d had time to think, Jim would have been amazed at how quickly Masters was able to spin the dead body to one side as it fell, and squeeze into the
He grunted; it could have been a laugh, or he could have actually been on the toilet.
‘I know stuff.’
I shook my head and went back to my desk. Sam knows stuff the way religious zealots know that God wants to be their best friend.
Back to the absent Mr. Masters.
Within minutes, I’ve got all of his social media sites up and start building a timeline. Whilst I’m working on that, I set a couple of programmes running to data mine the accounts of his electronic ‘friends’. After an hour or so, I’ve got a fairly good picture of who Ben Masters is. Or at least, of his web persona. It’s not always wise to mix the two.
He was forty-two, with only a basic education and a remarkably truncated work life. His closest ‘friends’ all had similar backgrounds, so it was easy to get a handle on his criminal gang. I didn’t have access to police files, but public records, and their own private, indiscreet social media posts gave a pretty clear picture.
With his timeline established, I used one of my trickier, less than legal programmes to download data from the surveillance cameras that bedeck our moistened city in ever increasing quantities. As I mentioned, this is not strictly speaking legal. I’m sure that one or other of the governing AI’s knows what I’m doing, but, as long as I am careful and there is no ‘against’ that can be attributed to my actions, I’m usually left alone.
Knowing where he lives and hangs out, and what he’s been up to, it was fairly easy with today’s sophisticated face recognition software to trace his last sightings. I must admit that I groaned a little when I saw him exiting one of the squirtbooths that ringed the publicly accessible concourse of Manchester’s Interplanetary Squirtport.
So that was that. He’d left the planet and she didn’t have a chance in hell of getting any money off him. End of job; here’s my report and final bill; thank you very much and goodnight.
That’s what I should have done. There was nothing to be gained from digging any deeper, and I pride myself on being straight with my clients and not bumping up their bills unnecessarily; no, I do; honestly.
Still, it was a quiet day, and there was still no sign of Julie, so I decided to make my own coffee and have a look to see if I could track where he’d come from. It wasn’t just boredom, however. My interest was piqued by the fact that, before he turned up at the Squirtport, he hadn’t been seen for three days.
If I‘d had more work, or if Julie had been there to distract me and make me coffee, or if Sam had come out of the bathroom, I wouldn’t have ended up with half-melted boots.
Chapter 5 - Then bang, bang; you're dead
The shot should have been easy. He’d been shooting with this rifle at his local shooting range for nearly a year, and he judged himself an adequate shot. The distance was manageable and the light conditions were good; and, after all, Masters was a big target.
Shooting people, however, is not the same as shooting at pieces of paper. The consequences are all together more severe. As he took aim, he noticed the sights wobble a little and adjusted his position to steady his weapon. He tried again, and still he didn’t feel secure. Masters was talking to the little guy who was there to collect him from the prison; completely oblivious to the fact that a rifle was pointed in his general direction. He laughed and bent forward, just as the first pressure was put on the trigger.
Jim sighed as he gently released the pressure. Then Masters stepped back, gesturing at the rear door of the old fashioned vehicle. His massive chest was a perfect target, so Jim took the shot. The little guy eased out of the driver’s seat and stood up, just in time to receive the bullet in the back of his head. If he’d had time to think, Jim would have been amazed at how quickly Masters was able to spin the dead body to one side as it fell, and squeeze into the
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