This post may include content that is not suitable for children—The following post is a foundation for a short story to be completed at a later date. It draws inspiration from retirement planning strategies, futuristic dystopian society speculation and the old school detective yarn.
Out the door
I stepped out of the 45th floor of the precinct house and on to the pedestrian walkway that encircled the building. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my Citizens’ Multipurpose Digital Card and glanced at the Dynamic Credit rating section. The progress bar at the bottom indicated 12.5%—just barely enough to catch a ride on an airbus—an air taxi was out of the question. The ultra violet indicator on the Environmental section was a comfortable 72% this morning. I could use the walk.
I reached back into the collar of my jacket, removed my UV protection hood and let it hang down behind my coat. I checked my pockets to verify that my UV protection gloves were in place for quick entry; then, I lit one my government issued nicotine free synthetic opium laced cigarettes. As I walked towards the elevator tubes I inhaled deeply; soon, I felt the familiar tingling sensation in my face and the slight ringing in my ears.
I held my multi–p card up to the id authentication camera of the automated elevator attendant. The door opened and I joined the other passengers on the quick ride to the 20th floor.
The lunch counter
The door opened and I stepped out. From here I could use the walkway tubes that connected the towers of the inner city. My building was approximately 5 miles from the central law enforcement tower were the precinct house was located. It should take about 3 hours to get back to my apartment.
The 20th through the 40th floors on inner city towers were designated as living areas for the citizens that worked in the towers. The higher levels were reserved for administration and management; the lower levels were reserved for the workforce and support personnel.
I was feeling a bit hungry, so, I decided to pay a visit to one of the small restaurants that had access from the pedestrian walkway.
“Hey, Joe, how are ya’?” I asked as I took a seat at the counter.
“Ok, pal…you?” Joe answered, “I’ve been running this dog wagon for five years and I’ve never seen you break for lunch this early,” Joe added as he eyed me suspiciously.
“Shit, I’ve been suspended from the police force for two weeks,” I said.
“That’s rough, pal,” Joe replied as he shook his head from side to side, “what the fuck are you going to do?” he asked.
“Right now, I’m reckon I’m gonna’ eat some of that government issued slop you dish out,” I said in my best John Wayne imitation.
After finishing a meal of processed vegetable protein that could have been arrested for impersonating meat and potatoes; I continued walking through the tower tubes that would eventually lead to my apartment.
As I was walking through the tube I noticed a person that had stopped walking about 100 yards ahead of me. Five years of training in the police academy detective section and 9 years on the job had sharpened my observation skills to a fine point. I enabled my eyepiece to zoom in on the person—it was Frankie Ferret—one of the informants that was assigned to me and he was fiddling around with a shoulder bag.
I zoomed in closer and locked in on the shoulder bag. I could see a white cat poking its fluffy fat head out of the bag. Right before Frankie closed the bag I was able to spot an expensive looking collar on the cat.
“What is this weasley prick up to?” I thought.
I decided to tail Frankie—the puzzle had some missing pieces—this shitbird was definitely not an animal lover and was probably into some kind of feline related criminal caper.
I followed Frankie across town until he stopped at a medical complex tower. He hopped on an upgoing elevator. I waited a few minutes, enabled my eyepiece and activated my multi–p card. My pistol and ID badge had been taken from me; however, I still had access to the law enforcement database on the coppernet.
Frankie Ferret was assigned to me so I was able to track his movements with the GPS microchip that had been secretly implanted under his skin at our initial interview. I followed his signal until it stopped moving. I loaded the blueprint and floor plan for the medical complex tower and I quickly scanned the building directory—Frankie was in a veterinarian’s office.