Automan and all character names therein are owned by the American Broadcasting Company and Twentieth Century Fox. All characters are fictional and resemblance to any persons living or dead is coincidental. No copyright infringement is intended.
Automan: High Performance
By Sailor Chronos
Chapter 2
A well-dressed, athletic man in his mid-thirties sat at a polished cherry-wood coffee table in a tastefully decorated room which exuded opulence. He sipped delicately from a glass of water before speaking into a telephone. "You have been an exemplary contact, Mr. McClard," he said. "Discreet, punctual, and trustworthy. However, last night's debacle was unacceptable."
The voice on the other end of the line was contrite. "Yes, Mr. Kearns, I know our primary dealer was arrested again. Give us a few days and we'll-"
"No, this time I'm not bailing him out," Kearns interrupted. "You people are getting too careless, and we cannot continue in this fashion." He was severe as he straightened in his chair. "Are you or are you not capable of carrying out the plan?"
"We can do it. There have been a few obstacles," McClard admitted, "but it's only temporary."
"How can you expect me to believe that you will make some real progress, after most of the money that I've put into this venture has been lost? You must do what needs to be done." He punctuated his words by tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "And move your facility. If the police find you, it's over."
McClard assured him, "I've already implemented a new strategy. We'll get what you need."
"Make certain that you do. Otherwise, the whole cost of the operation will be coming out of your hide."
Raucous music was blaring inside the Player's Club bar as a young man quickly approached the establishment. His shoulders were hunched and he had his hands in his pockets despite the warm spring evening. After determining that the sidewalk was vacant for at least two blocks in either direction, he darted around to the side of the building and slipped in through a heavy wooden door.
He ascended a dimly lit stairwell and knocked in a specific pattern on the door at the top.
The door opened a crack and a slim man with a round face and dirty blond hair peered out. "Neil! What are you doing here? You know you're not supposed to contact me; do you want end up back in jail?"
"Forget that, Cody," Neil said derisively. "I need some info."
"Well, I'm the information expert," said Cody, grudgingly letting Neil in. The apartment was sparse, furnished only with a beaten-up couch and chair, and a desk upon which a computer rested. The booming of the music downstairs could be felt through the floor. "You're lucky that I'm even here. This afternoon Kearns told me to move the safe house."
"Then let's get busy." He shoved a four-wheeled desk chair at Cody, who sat down at the computer. "One of the cops who busted me just happened to be my ex, but she was riding in some souped-up sports car instead of a cop cruiser. I want to get the dirt on it."
"Ha!" Cody guffawed. "I need the make and model, and what streets you were on so I can tap into traffic camera footage."
"Fat chance; I couldn't tell that much in the dark! All I could see was that it was black with blue vanity stripes, low to the ground, with doors that opened upward. Scissor doors, I think they're called."
"Then you'd better sit down, this might take a while. But I doubt there can be many cars like that out there."
A short time later Neil saw Cody beckoning to him, and he walked over to stand beside the desk. "What's up?"
"Here, I got something you'll like. It was tough to find, but I think it'll be worth it. Is this the car that cop was riding in?" He turned the screen so that his friend could see it.
"That's it! Exactly!" Neil exclaimed when he saw a blurry picture of a futuristic black car with glowing blue piping. "I'll tell you, whatever it is, it can move damn fast!"
"You won't be happy when I tell you who it belongs to," Cody warned him, consulting another window. "Black Lamborghini Countach LP400, registered to Otto James Mann. I did a cross-check on the name: he's a special agent for the Federal Computer Crimes Unit."
"A Fed?" Neil was thunderstruck. "What's he doing with the police?"
Switching windows again, Cody replied, "Apparently he's an attaché for the LAPD computer department; listen to this record!" As Neil leaned closer, he summarized a few notations. "June 1983: assisted with revealing a conspiracy to frame a state judge. August 1983: brought down the second-in-command of the state's largest organized crime syndicate. September 1983: discovered the whereabouts of a wanted corporate embezzler and serial murderer." He whistled. "This guy has a law-enforcement portfolio going back twenty years! You definitely don't want to mess with him."
"There's got to be something that we can dig up," Neil insisted, frustration evident in his voice. "I've wanted to shake up my ex for a long time, and this is a great opportunity to get her off our tail. If she is working with him, how better to distract her than to smear her partner?"
Cody swivelled in the chair to look helplessly at his friend. "Sorry, man. From the looks of it, this Agent Mann is a criminal's worst enemy. He's got a stellar record with citations of commendation and distinguished service. He doesn't even have any demerits on his driver's license."
"Nobody can be that perfect!" Neil growled. "Well, if we can't find anything in his record to use against him, maybe we can..." he grinned maliciously as he waved his hand in a mockery of a magician's gesture, "...create something. Like they say, nothing posted online ever goes away. Can you find any photos of him?" A few quick strokes on the keyboard brought up an image gallery. They paged through it until Neil spotted one that had originated on a personal web site. The handsome Agent Mann was pictured standing between two women; one a long-haired brunette in a bikini, and the other a redhead wearing a pant-suit. "Who's that he's with?"
"The site owner is Faye Rothsay. She's eighteen years old," informed Cody as he clicked through a few links. "The babe in the bikini is supposed to be her mother, back when she was working as a model." He referred to the police record again. "Aha! In June of 1984, Agent Mann posed as a vigilante to catch an assassin who killed the president of Sylvana Fashions. That must have been when that shot was taken. And..." Triumphantly, he switched to another search window. "How's this for a coincidence? Her blog says that a friend of the family runs a pharmacy in the commerce district."
"Now we're getting somewhere; print that picture, would you?" He rubbed his hands together with glee. "I'm going to find this girl and give her an offer that she can't refuse."
"Just make sure that you don't lose sight of the plan," Cody reminded him. "Kearns is getting impatient, and if we don't deliver, we're both dead men."