The Hands of Braxis

Part One: Eve

Cover: Side view of Jason cautiously peeking out of a window while holding a gun in one hand. This is the popular "Malcom X" pose that you can find being imitated by this fellow here.

"lease come in, Mrs. Clements," said the woman who answered the door. Madam Eve was in her mid forties, but her wrinkled, pock-marked skin and loose, unflattering clothes added at least another ten years to her appearance. The extra forty or so pounds she carried around didn't help her look any younger. She looked like a woman who'd spent far too much time in the sun as a young girl... Moles and freckles dotted her face and arms. Some of the marks did not appear healthy. She wore a shapeless, dark-blue dress with a multi-colored scarf wrapped around her thinning red hair. Her raspy voice had a slight warble that was more fitting for someone in their sixties... obviously, too much liquor and cigarettes had done for her vocal cords what the sun had done for her skin.

Her visitor, Mrs. Emma Clements, was almost the same age... but she could easily have been Madam Eve's daughter. Plastic surgery, expensive makeup, and even more expensive clothes had kept the years away.

"I'm so glad you could see me," said Mrs. Clements as she entered Madam Eve's sitting room. The lights were dim, and the scented smoke of burning incense hung visibly in the air. Thick, dark-colored curtains hid the windows, completely shutting out the mid-morning sun. Candles burned in each corner of the darkened room. Their flickering light gave the double-wide trailer a surreal, unearthly quality... almost like a church. Emma sat down at a small round table.

"I always make time for my best customers," said Madam Eve. She sat down across from Emma and smiled at the woman. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I never do," Emma replied. Eve drew a lighter and an unusually long cigarette from a small purse sitting on the floor beside the table. She lit the cigarette and took a long drag. She closed her eyes and smiled for a second before returning her attention to her client.

"What can I do for you today, Emma?" she said. "Loose another ring?"

"Oh, no," said Emma. "It's nothing like that. Its... well..." Emma squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. Eve stared at her through the haze from the cigarette.

"Man problems." Eve blew another puff of smoke across the table. "I don't need to be a psychic to see you got man problems."

"It's Harold. He's... well... you remember last year when you told me he was cheating on me?"

"Uh-huh," said Eve. "You stayed with him... against my advice, I might add. So what's the matter... he cheating again?"

"I- I don't know. I don't THINK he is... he said he'd never do it again. He SWORE he wouldn't! But... I've got this feeling, you know? Maybe I've been coming here too much and some of your talent rubbed off on me... but whatever it is, I just can't shake this feeling that he's... he's doing it again."

"The Talent ain't contagious, honey," Eve said with a chuckle. "But when women get to be our age, we can usually tell a cheater from experience alone."

"I want to know for sure. One way or another. Even if he ISN'T cheating... I want to know if he ever will. I have to know for sure!"

"Ahh-ah-ah..." Eve held her finger up and waggled it back and forth. "I don't do future. You know that. Past and present only. The future is closed to me."

Emma leaned forward and looked around as if she expected someone else to be in the room.

"I talked to Maggie Knass," Emma whispered. "She said you could do it. She said you told her that her husband was going to die months before it happened."

"That was an accident," said Eve. "Sometimes things slip through. It's not something I can do on demand."

"Eve, please... all the other psychics I've ever heard of can tell the future-"

"They're fake. I'm for real... I've already proven that."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'll... I'll pay you more. Triple what I usually pay..."

Eve shook her head.

"You wanna know what happened yesterday, or last year, or in a past life, you come to me. You want to know what's going on right now, you come to me. But if you want to know tomorrow... I can't help you. And even if I could... most folks who know the future aren't too happy about it."

"But I HAVE to know! He hurt me once-"

"And the thought of him hurting you again... even the possibility of it... is worse than the pain of the first time."

"You- You-"

"Calm down, honey, I wasn't reading your mind. Not that time."

Emma stifled a mild sigh of relief.

"Look... I can find out what he's been up to. Beyond that is a matter of you trusting him. OR you could just come see me every week and I'll tell you what he's been doing."

"Really?" Emma's eyes widened.

"That was a joke, honey."

"Oh."

"Let's get this going, okay? You got a picture?"

Emma nodded. She took her wallet out of her purse and removed a small picture of her husband. She sat it on the table next to Madam Eve's astray. Madam Eve took a deep drag from her cigarette, then extinguished it. She stared down at the picture.

Eve's heart rate slowed... her eyes lost focus, but remained open. She wasn't looking at the picture any more; she appeared to be staring down through the table at some point far, far below...

...the House sat atop a steep, pointed hill... perched there like some gigantic bird of prey. The land surrounding it was dark and barren... filled with dead trees and gloomy stone paths leading to nowhere. There was no moon or sun... the sky, and everything beyond the house was a uniform shade of black. The huge House's windows peered out at her like the multiple eyes of some hideous beast. Columns and arches... of which there were far, far too many... were seemed to drip darkness the way a predator's fangs dripped blood. The House sneered at Eve as she stood before it. She could hear the wood and stone creaking... the nonexistent wind whistling past the tall stone spires.

The House was not real. It did not exist. Nor did the hill on which is sat. The landscape, the trees, the stone walkways and the pitch-black sky... none of it was real. It was all in her mind... no... no it WAS her mind. A part of it... the part that held her Talent. Her Gift lived there... nestled deep within the labyrinthine hallways that she had created. Fashioned out of pure imagination, the house was a tool to keep her gift from spilling over into her conscious mind. It stayed in Its place, and when Eve wanted It, she had to go in and find It. Sometimes Eve wondered why the House was so sinister... so menacing. She hadn't intended to create something so dark... but here it was. Perhaps it reflected the way she felt about her gift... something evil... something that would live in a house like this.

But that was a matter for another time. She was not here for herself... she was here for Emma Clements.

Eve took one step... and suddenly she was inside. She didn't climb the hill, or pass through the huge door... Her one step had taken her past those things as if by magic. She was within now... within her own subconscious... inside the House. The ballroom was huge... decorated with a thousand statues and paintings that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them. She ignored them and walked down the hallway toward the large winding staircase. The staircase got farther away with every step she took, but Eve wasn't concerned. It was all in her mind; it simply meant that she wasn't ready yet. Eve kept walking, passing many dozens of rooms on either side of the hall. The doors creaked open as she passed, and she heard the sounds of the shadowy things within. In a real house they would have been ghosts. But here, they were just bits of her subconscious... memories, emotions, stray thoughts. They called to her as she passed. She heard them... a young child crying for her father. A woman's high, shrieking laughter. Breaking glass. A broken heart. The roar of the ocean... the clattering thunder of a roller coaster... The alluring scent of fresh cotton candy. Eve ignored them calmly and effortlessly. She kept walking. Eventually the doors stopped opening. The thoughts and memories faded. The looming staircase at the end of the hall ceased its surreal game of 'keep-away.'

She approached it without fear, and started up immediately. The steps seemed to go on forever, but she didn't stop. She would reach the top floor when she was ready, and not a moment before. In the meantime, her legs would not get tired and her feet would not begin to ache... not unless she wished them to.

After a few more moments of relaxing and walking, she finally reached the top. She was at the far end of another hallway. More doors lined the walls to both her left and right... but these doors did not open as she passed. They were securely locked... some bore huge padlocks, and others had thick board nailed across them. Behind these doors lay things that Eve did not want to see. Not mere thoughts or memories... no, these were much more frightening. And dangerous. She walked past the doors without looking at them... without thinking about what lay on the other side. Instead, she looked straight ahead at the one large door that loomed at the end of the hall. There were no more tricks or games... no more waiting. The huge door flung itself wide open as she approached. Beyond was a small room with a full mirror sitting in one corner. The mirror was old... an antique. Faces of angels and children... cupids and cherubs... decorated the wooden frame. Their wooden smiles were both welcoming and incredibly creepy. They seemed to smile even wider as Eve stood before them.

She looked at the blurred image in the mirror. Eve's reflection was always blurred... a vague, unrecognizable shadow trapped behind the glass. Eve didn't know why that was, but she wasn't here to find out. Not this time.

An object appeared in her hands. She looked down at it. It was a framed picture of Harold Clements. Very, very far away, an identical, though smaller picture sat on a round table in Eve's sitting room. Only a few seconds had passed there; Emma Clements hadn't even begun to grow impatient.

Eve concentrated on the picture. She focused her mind on the man... on his face... his name...

"Harold Clements," she spoke aloud. Two pairs of lips moved... one pair in the real world, and the other in the House of Eve's imagination. Eve's blurred reflection faded. The mirror was blank for an instant... then another image began to take shape. Eve watched the image form... forced it to become clear... It was a bedroom. Two people were having the most incredible sex that Eve had ever witnessed. One of them was Harold Clements. The other was not his wife. The frenzied sounds of their coupling radiated from the mirror like the horn of an approaching freight train. Eve sighed and shook her head. She spoke, her lips in the real world moving along with her thoughts:

"Forget about the future, honey," said Eve. "He's cheating on you right now."

"No!" Emma gasped. She hid her face in her hands and cried, smudging her expensive make-up.

"Uh-huh," said Eve. "Right now... right this very minute while we're sitting here. Same woman as before. Looks like she got a boob-job, though."

"That Bitch!" Emma shouted. The sudden shout rattled Eve's concentration. The House wavered... faded... then suddenly snapped back into solidity as she restored her focus.

"Please... no shouting," said Eve.

"Where are they? Where are they RIGHT NOW!!?"

"Hold on," Eve said with a sigh. The image in the mirror pulled back, allowing her to see more of the bedroom. She continued to zoom outward... she saw the hallway... long with lots of doors... another bedroom?... more doors.... then the outside of the building... "Hampton Suites, downtown," said Eve. "Expensive place. Tall white building. You can't miss it."

"That BASTARD! We went there for our ANNIVERSARY!!"

"Looks like he went back for seconds," said Eve.

Emma stood up and threw a thick wad of twenty dollar bills down on the table. Then she stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind with enough force to rattle the entire trailer... and Eve's concentration.

"Huh?" she said as the image in the mirror suddenly vanished. She hadn't willed the image away, and she hadn't come out of her self-induced trance either. Something else was happening... something that didn't feel right. The air in the imaginary room suddenly grew cold. "What's happening..."

The mirror began to glow... at first it was a dull aura, then a blast of yellow light shot out of the glass like a beam from a searchlight.

"AAAA!!" Eve threw her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sudden light. When she looked again, the wooden faces on the mirror's frame had become sinister masks of shock, terror, and rage. The light from the mirror faded... and when it did a rapid series of sounds and images began to assault Eve from within the glass. Eve didn't recognize the images, but she knew what they were...

"NO!" she shouted. "NOT the future! I don't want to SEE! I don't want to SEE, DAMMIT!!"

Eve tried to break her trance, to pull herself out of her subconscious mind. But her own fear and anger had her trapped. She couldn't move. She couldn't close her eyes. All she could do was watch as her Talent raced out of control... flashes of light and sound... images and voices...

She saw a man... a black man wearing a brown coat. Then a house. Then motorcycles... LOTS of motorcycles, their engines roaring like hungry beasts. An old man with gray hair. A woman... a police officer... a detective. Then Eve saw herself! Running, no... being PULLED along like a child! Kidnapped! It was the black man, yanking her violently towards a sinister black car. People were running after them... yelling at the man. Trying to get him to stop... He turned to face them... A GUN! Each booming gunshot made Eve spasm in her chair. The men fell like slabs of meat... their wounds... horrible...what kind of gun did that man HAVE?! How many men did he kill? Eve couldn't tell... The man turned to her "YOU'RE NEXT!" he shouted angrily. Eve screamed... in the vision AND in real life. She heard the motorcycles again... then shouts... more people yelling... the shouts faded, replaced by screams. Dozens of people screaming... no, not dozens... hundreds! THOUSANDS! More images... hideous deformed things writhing in agony as their flesh slowly melted away. Slowly... slowly... like wax from a burning candle. The black man's face loomed in the background... smiling a sinister grin as the sound of motorcycles drowned out the wails of the dying.

Suddenly, Eve was back in her chair. The round table was laying on its side.

"amn pigeons," Dobbs cursed. She unfolded her 6'0" frame from the cramped driver's side of her department-issued Honda Accord. As she did, seven over-fed pigeons took flight from the sidewalk in front of her. The birds were so fat that Marilyn was surprised they could fly at all. "Flying rats," she added.

"Actually BATS fit the flying rodent description more than pigeons," said her partner, James Royce.

"'Scuse me... did I ASK you about bats? No? Then why are we talking about bats?"

"You still mad about what I said to the captain?"

"You completely undermined my theory without- oh, never mind. Just forget it."

The pair of detectives walked up the white stone steps to city's brand new Crime Lab... a giant marble and glass sponge that the city had used to suck up several million dollars of the taxpayers money. The building was a large dome, housing four stories of the best doctors, forensics experts and scientific equipment that money could buy.... PLUS some that money couldn't. As a 'humanitarian effort,' Hubert Pharmaceuticals had loaned several of their super-brain PHD'S to the city for the purposes of teaching the 'mere mortals' the latest scientific methods.

"All this brainpower and they can't identify one corpse," said Dobbs as they approached the impressive main doors. "And THEN they loose it!"

"Stolen," Royce corrected.

"We haven't determined that yet. Wouldn't be surprised if some egg-head stuffed it down the incinerator by accident."

"It's a possibility," Royce muttered with an utter lack of conviction.

The detectives entered the building and were met with a throng of doctors and uniformed officers. Each group was shouting questions and accusations at the other; neither group seemed to be getting any answers. The doctors were apparently too stupid to realize that he cops could haul them off to jail for questioning... something that became more and more likely as the shouting continued. Detective Dobbs walked right into the middle of them.

"EXCUSE ME!" she bellowed.

The officers, having seen Dobb's personality in action, backed away like a group of scolded puppies. The doctors just looked at her as if she were crazy. She took out her badge and flashed it at them.

"Detective Dobbs, RSPD. You loose one of my bodies?"

"We didn't LOOSE it!" shouted an Asian doctor to whom Dobbs took an immediate disliking. "Someone STOLE it!"

"Follow me, Detective," said one of the officers. The cop lead Royce and Dobbs through a maze of hallways and down a fight of steps to the building's basement. They walked past the morgue and arrived at the shipping area... 'shipping' usually referring to dead bodies. A half-dozen forensics nerds were already scurrying up and down the hallway collecting evidence.

"No fingerprints, no footprints" one of them said as Dobbs approached. The badge on his coat read 'S. Williams.' "Whoever came in here wore gloves."

"On their feet?"

"Surgical booties..." the Williams lifted his foot to show the plastic blue covering he'd slipped over his shoes. "To keep from dirt contaminating crime scenes, operating rooms, etc. You can get 'em just about anywhere. Fringe benefit is that they don't leave recognizable footprints."

"How'd he get in?" said Dobbs.

"Here..." the man tossed her a pair of the booties. She slipped them over her shoes and followed him down the hall to the two huge metal security doors. One of the doors was propped up against the wall. "What do you make of this?"

Dobbs examined the scratch marks on the door, on the lock, and the broken hinges.

"He cut right through the hinges?" she said

"Wasn't a torch or a welder either," said Williams. "No heat damage. He cut through with something else."

"Sword, maybe?"

Williams shrugged.

"Looks like he tried to pick the lock... then tried to cut it. After those two failed he just sliced the hinges off and kicked the door down. What's this thing made of?"

"The door and lock are made of hardened steel. Bullet-proof."

"The hinges?"

"Cheap aluminum."

Dobbs sighed.

"Now... WHO in their right mind would put a pick-proof, impact resistant STEEL security door on crappy aluminum hinges?"

"The taxpayers of Rock Springs. Hey, I didn't design this place," said Williams with a shrug. "I just work here."

"The cameras pick up anything?"

"Well... uhh... actually there AREN'T any cameras on this hallway. The funding ran out before-"

"Oh, JESUS CHRIST!! This is supposed to be a SECURED BUILDING!!!"

"The equipment and the offices ARE secured. The only thing down here is the morgue... and who'd want to steal dead bodies? The creepiness alone would keep most people away."

"I guess we're not dealing with most people, eh? What do you make of this, Royce? Royce?"

Royce was at the far end of the hall, standing just outside the morgue. He was speaking with one of the doctors.

"Start Taking Statements!" Dobbs shouted at him. Royce nodded and kept talking.

Dobbs produced a pen and a small notepad and began taking notes. She'd barely written three lines when she heard her name announced over the building's intercom.

"DETECTIVE DOBBS, YOU HAVE A VISITOR IN THE LOBBY. DETECTIVE DOBBS, YOU HAVE A VISITOR IN THE LOBBY."

"Great," said Dobbs. "What's THIS?" She stuffed her notepad back into her pocket and headed for the stairs.
"Handle things down here," she yelled to Royce.

"Handled," he replied with a smile. He watched Dobbs vanish up the stairs, then turned his attention back to the doctor in front of him. His name tag identified him as M. Franklin, a high-ranking doctor from Hubert Pharmaceuticals. "Lets go somewhere more private, doctor," said Royce. They stepped into the morgue.

The room was empty and dark. Not to mention cold and creepy. Rows of refrigerated chambers lined the walls. There was no telling how many of them held corpses. Royce tried to lock the door, but of course the lock was damaged... sliced cleanly in half by the intruder. Royce led him deeper into the room where their voices would not carry to the outside.

"What's this about?" said Royce. His voice had become low and jagged, like a large rocks rolling around in a wooden box. His words blew across the doctor in a fetid cloud of sulphur and brimstone.

"What do you mean?" said Doctor Franklin. His own voice had changed as well, becoming a half-croak/half-hiss. His eyes glowed bright green. "I thought this was one of yours?"

"No," Royce replied. "I know nothing about this."

"Nor do I. They wouldn't have removed the body without informing me. They would've told me."

"Perhaps you overestimate your importance in the scheme of things," said Royce

"Perhaps you UNDERestimate the importance of that body." the doctor snapped. "It's not just a corpse... its the body of a Knight. One of the Chosen."

"Still just meat to me," said Royce. "You sure none of your underlings decided to have a little snack?"

"I keep a firm grasp on my underlings... none of US disturbed the body. Of that I can assure you."

"Have you informed your masters?" said Royce

"No. Not yet."

"They must know of this development. If this is not of their doing, then either the new Chosen is bolder than I thought... or some other force has intruded on our field of battle. Tell them. Now." Royce turned and walked toward the morgue door.

"You don't think they will consider this theft to be a... f-failure on my part, do you?"

"Maybe," said Royce as he left the morgue. Behind him, Doctor Franklin shuddered.

"ho the hell are YOU!?" said Marilyn. She eyed her visitor with suspicion... a slightly overweight, middle aged woman with red hair, dark sunglasses, and the fashon-sense of someone in their seventies. There was something not right about the woman, but with all her detective's instincts, Marilyn couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"We haven't met," said the woman. She extended a splotchy pock-marked hand. "Madam Eve."

"Uh-huh," said Dobbs. She didn't bother shaking the woman's hand. She didn't even look at it. "With a name like that, you're either a prostitute or a TV psychic. Your 'spirit guide' pick that name for you or do you just have a natural flair for the incredibly corny?"

"Excuse me?" said Eve.

"I'm busy here... What do you want?"

"I'm came to help you. To tell you something about the man you've been searching for. Jason Brooks."

"Should I even bother writing this down?"

"Look, I'm just doing my civic duty here-"

"'Civic duty' my ass. You psychic crackpots are worse than the press... you can smell a high-profile case a mile away. You swarm all over it like flies, confusing the REAL investigation with vague 'visions' and other fake BS so you can add to your so-called reputation. So what's the deal here... you working on a new book or does the National Inquirer only accept psychics that've 'proven' themselves?"

"I see," said Eve. "New York Homicide... right?"

"Am I supposed to be impressed or something?"

"That wasn't psychic... I can tell from the attitude. I solved a case for them not long ago. Kidnapped girl... six years old. Found her body in a trash bin. Detectives swore up and down that it was some kind of serial killer or sexual predator. I led them to the evidence that convicted both parents... put 'em both on death row. I never even left my house... did it all over the phone. So... I already AM proven, honey. Whether you listen or not is up to you."

Dobbs' frown deepened. She remembered the case of the dead girl, although she wasn't involved with it. The parents would've gotten away with it entirely if the detectives hadn't had a 'sudden breakthrough' that led them to some evidence that changed the whole focus of the investigation. Detectives never said HOW they found what they found... but they sure took credit for it. Nobody ever mentioned a psychic.

"I'm listening," said Dobbs. "But make it quick."

"I had a vision during one of my consultations-"

Dobbs sighed and rolled her eyes. Eve ignored her.

"I saw Brooks. I saw a house... I'm sure he's there."

"Address?"

"The mailbox on the house had 4358 written on it in big white letters."

"Street?"

"I didn't catch a street name. But the house was big... expensive. Like those on the north side of town."

"That's it?"

"This... Jason Brooks. Is he dangerous?"

"Gee, I dunno... YOU'RE the psychic; you tell me!"

"He's armed," said Eve. "And he's going to hurt some people."

"And you're asking ME if he's dangerous?"

"Sometimes visions are... open to interpretation. I saw him, but... there's a lot that depends on point of view."

"So now you aren't SURE... great. Typical."

"I saw what I saw, and he IS going to be at that house."

"'going to be'... when?"

"Soon. Today. Maybe even right now."

"Thanks for your help," said Dobbs with unconcealed sarcasm. "We'll look into it."

"I know you will," said Eve. She lowered her sunglasses and peered over them at Marilyn. She squinted and appeared to 'zone out' for a second. Then pushed the shades back up onto her face. "Your daughter misses you," she said. "You should really spend more time with her. Especially since your ex-husband is trying to get full custody."

Then, Eve turned and walked out of the building.

"WHAT!?" said Dobbs. "What's THAT supposed to mean! HEY! HEY you!"

"...Him and his new girlfriend are with his lawyers right now. Good Luck..." The doors slid closed behind Eve.

"WHAT!!"

Dobbs started to run after her, but stopped herself.

"Fraud," she said. "A little bit of research mixed with some vague statements and a few lies... that's all. Easiest trick in the book."

She took her cell-phone out and dialed James Royce's number.

"Royce," he answered.

"Get up here. We got something to check out."

"On my way."

Royce jogged into the lobby a few second later and they both headed out to the car.

"What's up?" said Royce.

"Some crackpot psychic says she's got a bead on Brooks."

"You believe in that stuff?"

"Not on your life... but even a stopped clock is right twice a day." Dobbs folded herself into the car's drivers seat, then got on the radio to the dispatcher. "Dispatch, this is Dobbs... need you to check an address for me..."

Meanwhile, Royce stood by the passenger door and watched the pigeons strut up the sidewalk towards him. He looked at Dobbs as she scribbled some notes on her pad, then turned back to the birds. The closest one was about five feet away.

Royce opened his mouth.

Ka-Snap! Sluuurp!

A long, black, prehensile tongue shot out of his open mouth and snatched the pigeon from the sidewalk. The tongue sucked back into Royce's mouth, which closed around it and the pigeon with a sickening CRUNCH. Royce chewed the raw bird, crunching its hollow bones and then swallowing it... feet, feathers and all.

"Hey!" said Dobbs. She was leaning over into the passenger seat, but hadn't seen Royce's impromptu snack. "Doors unlocked, you coming or not?"

Dobbs got into the car and shut the door. He pulled a stray feather from between his teeth and tossed it out the window as Dobbs drove off.

"Hey, Royce," said Dobbs. "You know any good lawyers?"

"Uhhh... no."

"Damn."

"o you know what you're doing?" said Donovan Wilde.

Jason Brooks took his hands off of the laptop's keyboard, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I let you get away with a lot of crap," said Jason. "But you do NOT question my computer skills... you go that? Never, ever, EVER question the skills!! Never!"

"I wasn't talking about that. I meant this house."

"This is my old boss's house. He's out of town on an convention and won't be back for two more days. We're safe."

"And you just happened to have the key and the security code? Just how close were you and this boss?"

"Don't go there."

"Go where?"

"I house-sat for this guy when he went to Europe, and, like most bosses, he's so dense that he never changed the key or the code. Happy?"

"He has no family... wife or children who will arrive unexpectedly?"

"Do you SEE this place?" Jason pointed to the expensive furniture and stereo equipment. "You think he could afford this if he was married?"

"Just because-"

"Shut up... I'm working here..."

Jason began typing on his recently-purchaed laptop, which was already plugged into the phone line. His hat and sunglasses lay on the table next to him, unneeded in the darkened room. It was just before noon, but with all the blinds and curtains drawn shut, it may as well have been late evening. Jason's car was nestled in the garage, safe from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors.

"What are you doing?" said Donovan.

"I'm going online... what does it LOOK like I'm doing?"

"Is that wise? Can't the police trace you?"

"Please..." said Jason. "This is MY world... I'm routed through four hacked ISP accounts and two anonymizers. The police couldn't trace me with a Ouija board and a deck of Tarot cards. Ahhh... here we go..."

Jason pulled up an instant messaging program and searched for a name. He found it. A message-box flashed:

ROOTDOKTOR IS ONLINE.

"Who is that?" said Donovan. "Who are you talking to?"

"I need credentials to match this new identity... and for that, we need help."

"What kind of help?"

"One can't write software to secure corporate mainframes without actually KNOWING a few hackers..."

Jason started typing again. First he entered what looked like a string of gibberish. A similar-looking string of gibberish was returned from the other person.

"What is that?"

"Digital signatures. So he know's its really me and I know its really him. We've got 'em memorized. Now shut up and watch."

ROOTDOKTOR: Yo! JB! The corporate sell-out has arrived!
JB: S'up, Root?
ROOTDOKTOR: Starcraft Tournament. U in?
JB: No time to kick your ass now; I got problems.
ROOTDOKTOR: So I hear. Caught some news from down 
your way... sounds like you got some Mulder and Scully 
action going on. Heard  your name a couple of times.... 
sounds like a frame-job to me.
JB: Don't know what you heard, but some of it's 
probably true.
ROOTDOKTOR: You're a wanted man for real?
JB: Yup.
ROOTDOKTOR: COOL! So what can I do for you?
JB: Yup. I need papers... REAL ones, so I can 
operate under a different name. Driver's liscens will do 
for now... I can do the deed, but I need access. Can 
you get me in?
ROOTDOKTOR: Can I get you in? What kinda question 
is that!? I'm insulted! Govt. computers are serious 
business, though.
JB: You too scared to do it?
ROOTDOKTOR: You want your ass kicked?
JB: Got a plan?
ROOTDOKTOR: I'll hack the DMV... it's usually 
the weak point in state networks. From there, the state's 
records are all yours. But I ain't gonna hack it from 
here.
JB: I'm secure over here. Virgin machine... came 
with Windows,  so I scrubbed it and loaded Linux. We're 
good to go.
ROOTDOKTOR: On my way.

Jason took his hands off the keyboard and leaned back in his chair.

"This 'Rootdoctor' person is coming here!?!" said Donovan.

"In a manner of speaking. He's gonna telnet to my computer and run the hack remotely using my machine. I'd do it myself, but government computers are nothing to fool with unless you're a pro..."

"He can do that?"

"Obviously so, since he's doing it right now."

Jason's laptop started running itself... applications opened and closed, strange lines of text appeared and vanished. This continued for twenty minutes, during which Jason stared at the screen with grim determination. Finally a small window opened, displaying a heading for state Department of Motor Vehicles. A second window opened... the chat program Jason had used earlier.

ROOTDOKTOR: Got root. All yours. And don't worry 
about a trace, we're bounced off of servers in China, 
Germany, Australia, Taiwan, and a few other countries 
that I can't spell.
JB: Gotcha.
ROOTDOKTOR: If you wanna go all the way, you're 
going to need to get into Federal computers and get at 
their records, too. That's more than I can do right now.
JB: State records is a good enough start. Thanks; 
I'll take it from here.
ROOTDOKTOR: I'm ghost. See ya later.

Jason started typing commands into the DMV computer... navigating and searching the directories until he got where he wanted to be. Then, with a few keystrokes he accessed and deleted his DMV records... everything except his driver's license picture. He saved the picture under a new filename and attached it to a new record that he created... one for a black male, same height and weight... same hair and eye color. Name: Charles Jones. He issued himself a new driver's license number.

"Now all I gotta do is walk into the nearest DMV office and say I lost my license. Now for the BIG score.." Jason connected to the police computers, which were completely accessible from the DMV.

"How do you know how to do all this?" said Donovan.

"Last year, the state was in the market for a new integrated computer system. The company I used to work for put in a bid. Of course, the only way we could bid accurately was if we had info on their CURRENT system. We got it under a confidentiality agreement, which I promptly violated by making copies for my own curiosity. We made our bid, and the state turned us down.... went and blew the money on some stupid crime lab instead. No big deal, we wrote the software for most of THEIR stuff, too."

"How convenient," said Donovan.

Once inside the police computers, Donovan did a search for his name, which returned every scrap of information that the police had on him.

"Heh... Look, they're calling me a cop-killer," said Jason.

"Suspected cop-killer," Donovan corrected.

"Well, they shoot SUSPECTED cop-killers on sight, so this has gotta go." Jason pulled up his police record and deleted it.

"They'll just re-create that record when they discover the tampering."

"IF they discover the tampering," said Jason. "Even still, a few days of confusion can only benefit me."

Jason continued systematically access and delete his files... right down to the very last record...

"Uh-oh," he said.

"What? A happened?"

"A search warrant," said Jason. "Issued five minutes ago for 4358 Rosewood Circle."

"Where is that?"

"We're sitting right in the middle of it. Time to go."

Jason slammed he laptop closed, yanked the modem and power cords out of the wall, grabbed his hat and headed for the door...

"What was they you were saying about them not being able to trace us?" said Donovan.

"I don't know how they found us, but it WASN'T through the computer."

Jason was walking past the front door on his way to the garage when heard the sound of multiple cars pulling into the driveway. He peeked out the window...

"Cops. Four uniforms, one pissed-off female detective... kinda cute... and one demon POSING as a detective. They've blocked the driveway. And here comes another patrol car pulling around to the back of the house. We're surrounded. DAMN!"

"There's always a way out."

"All we have to do is find it in the next ten seconds before the break that door down!"

"Don't worry," said Donovan. "I've already figured it out..."

"It doesn't involve me shooting any of those cops, does it?"

"Hmm... okay, give me a few more seconds..."

Next Issue:   The new gang in town...

copyright 2005 by Dark Icon Entertainment