The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum

WEDNESDAY

I take Snowy for his daily walk, tracing a familiar route that leads to the road junction where many months ago we first encountered Daniel Lieberman and his pet dog Lulu. Snowy displays no sign of recognition. Indeed, I have noticed he no longer mentions Lulu or even seems to remember her. John says a dog's memory is different from a human. Certainly both are very different from a cyborg. My memories are tagged, indexed and cross-referenced for easy retrieval. No 'where did I leave my keys?' for me.

We enter the park. There are no tempting ice cream vendors at this time of the year, nor many roller-bladers. The concrete skateboard bowl is similarly deserted. Here I once smashed a man's camera and almost terminated him when he protested. Good times.

The journey home is interrupted by Snowy's frequent use of his snout to interrogate every tree trunk and telegraph pole that we pass. Finally he leaves a message of his own. In urine. So gross! Why can't he just learn to text?

Back at the safe house, I remove Snowy's leash and he bounds off into the backyard, no doubt to attend to doggie business and indulge in mind games with Mr Tibbles, the cat next door. They are an odd couple these two. One aloof and fastidious, the other flighty and easily distracted. No prizes for guessing which is which.

-0-

I enter the house and hang the leash on a hook by the door. I walk through the kitchen into the living room.

John and his mother are tied to kitchen chairs. Two men are in the room. One triggers a ping from my facial recognition software.

Johnny Camino.

The mobster has a gun pressed to the side of John's head. He is too far away for me to make a move and be sure John wouldn't be harmed. As if reading my thoughts John shakes his head slightly. The meaning is clear. Wait. Bide my time.

"Stay back, girly," Camino says. "Try anything and your boyfriend gets it. I can't miss from this range."

The other man has a smile on his face. "This is her, Johnny? This is the She Devil who roughed you up? This California living's making you soft. From the way you talked on the phone I figured we were gonna be going up against Xena the Warrior Princess."

"Don't let her looks fool you, Angelo. She's plenty tougher than she looks."

The man named Angelo chuckles, evidently not believing what he is hearing. He is approximately the same age as Camino and dressed similarly in slacks and sports jacket over a tieless shirt. His hair is slicked back and greying at the temples. He has a gold watch and bracelet and several gold rings on his fingers. He seems to like bling.

"Ya know, Johnny, Carmine's always had a soft spot for you. I'd hate to go back to Chicago and tell him you're beginning to lose your marbles."

"You don't have to tell Carmine squat. Now, tie her to the chair."

"She's just a kid!"

"Dammit, Ange, would you just tie her to the goddamn chair. She's got some kind of weird voodoo eyes. They glow red."

"Jesus, Johnny. When this is done you and me are gonna have a sitdown. California's got you believing all kindsa crazy hippy shit."

I allow Angelo to secure me to the chair. He uses a plastic tie with a small ratchet that is impossible for humans to escape from without cutting. Of course, as far as I'm concerned it might just as well be dental floss.

"Is it tight?"

"It's tight. Jeez, willya look at her. What kinda threat do you think she is? She looks like a ballerina who's skipped a few meals."

Skipped a few meals? I think I've been insulted.

Camino lowers the pistol though he doesn't holster it. I look to John for a sign. He raises his head slightly seeming to indicate the ceiling. I listen. Yes, I can hear someone moving about upstairs. So there are at least three intruders, two of them armed. The man named Angelo has a handgun concealed in a shoulder holster worn beneath his sports jacket, it shows as he leans forward to secure me to the chair.

Footsteps on the stairs as the third man appears. He is younger than the others, dressed more casually in jeans and a tanktop that reveals lurid tatoos down each arm. I am reminded of Becca Shaughnessy's theory that the number of tatoos a man has is commensurate with the size of his gentialia. She didn't put it quite like that. 'More ink less wink', was the phrase she used. If true, this man packs a very modest wink.

"Look what I found in the broad's room. This shotgun was under the bed. This piece was in the bedside cabinet. And the knife was under the pillow. Plenty sharp too. Who keeps a Bowie knife hidden under their pillow?"

"Who indeed," Angelo speculates. "Care to explain yourself?"

Sarah Connor stares up at him. "I'm a single mom. I try and protect my family."

"Oh this'll do that easily enough." The mobster picks up the pistol to examine it. " A .44 Magnum. Very nice piece of hardware. Holy shit - check out the ammo. What are these - armor piercing rounds? Who are you protecting your family from - Rommel?"

The younger man frowns and says, "Who's Rommel?"

I could tell him Rommel was Erwin Rommel, a german Field Marshal from the Second World War, noted for his tank strategy on the battlefield. I don't do so, of course. Now is not the time for a history lesson. And no one likes a know-it-all.

Angelo extends his arm and squints down the barrel of the Magnum. He takes aim at a point on the dividing wall between kitchen and living room and pulls the trigger.

Virtually the entire wall disintegrates. It is constructed not of brick but lathe and plasterboard, offering little resistance to an armor-piercing projectile.

"Christ, Angelo! If the neighbours hear this is gonna turn into a bloodbath," Camino frets.

"Relax, Johnny. No one's gonna bother us. You worry too much. Bad for your digestion."

Angelo walks slowly around the room still holding the Magnum. He points at the door leading down to the basement. "Where's this door lead?"

"The basement. There's nothing down there," Sarah Connor responds calmly.

"Sez you. Or maybe you got a howitzer stashed down there. Tony, go take a peek."

The younger man - Tony - heads down the steps. He returns a few moments later. "Looks like a kid's rec-room. There's toys all over the floor. Some of them looked chewed."

Sarah Connor says softly, "If I've told that girl once I've told her a hundred times. Put your things away or the dog will chew them."

"So, we're missing a member of the family. Where's the kid?"

"It's a schoolday. You do the math."

"Okay. Good. I didn't come all this way to whack no kid. These two punks deserve what's coming for disrespecting a made man. The mom's collateral damage. No offence, sweetheart. Youse just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Sarah Connor stares back at him. "Leave now and you might get to live."

Angelo laughs. "You hear that? The mouth on this one. Reminds me of my first wife, Lord rest her soul. Better gams though. If I was twenty years younger..."

"You'd still be an obnoxious asshole."

Angelo's good humour ends abruptly, like a switch being pressed. His face distorts with rage and he pulls his hand back to slap Sarah Connor, whose head snaps sideways from the blow. "You watch your mouth," he snarls. "There are plenty of ways to die, not all of them quick and easy."

This is very true. I wonder if he will be quite so sanguine on the receiving end?

"Hey, Tony, you find a clock upstairs?" Camino asks. "About twelve inches high, according to Perez."

"You want me to go check?"

"Yeah, this kid had a major hardon for that clock. Probably worth something. Be a shame to leave it behind."

Tony heads upstairs. John says, "So you spoke to Perez. I suppose he was the one gave us up."

"Yeah he gave you up. Wanted you hurt real bad. He'd be here himself if he hadn't just got outta hospital. This girl damned near snapped his wiener in half."

"She did what?" Angelo begins to chuckle again.

"He's gotta wear a splint on his johnson or else he'd have to stand sideways to take a piss." Camino pauses and frowns, evidently irritated by Angelo laughing. "Ain't funny, Ange. She bust up his bodyguard and his girlfriend. She's a freaking menace."

Camino glares at me. He has experience of what I am capable of and doubtless feels a certain empathy for Vinny Perez, bent wiener and all.

Not so Angelo, who has tears of mirth in his eyes. "This girl snapped it half? I just ain't seeing it. Look at her arms, for Christ's sake. Like toothpicks."

Toothpicks are sexy, right?

Tony appears at the top of stairs. "This it? Only clock I could find."

In his hands is the hiding place of Cameron subprime.

"Could be. Hand it over."

Camino examines it and frowns. "This can't be right. It's an old clock, sure, but it ain't no antique. It's a piece of junk. I wouldn't pay ten bucks for it. How come you were so all-fired up to get it back?"

"It has sentimental value," John replies.

Angelo shakes his head. "No, I ain't buying it. You went up against a man you knew was connected to get your property back. Then you went after this Perez guy. He might be a spic bottomfeeder but he's streetwise enough to protect himself. You wouldn't take those risks for an old clock your grampy left you." He points the Magnum at Sarah Connor. "The truth. Now. Or mommy takes one in the belly."

"It has a secret compartment. Press the base with your thumbs and slide across."

Camino does as instructed and out pops Cameron subprime.

"Well, lookee here. A computer thumbdrive. What's on it?"

"Family photos."

"Why hide it away?"

"There's some porn on there. I didn't want mom finding it."

"Bullshit. I like pictures of titties as much as the next guy. No way you'd go to that much trouble if it was that." The Magnum extends once again. "The truth. I'm done asking nicely."

I wait for a sign from John to begin the counterattack. It doesn't come. Instead he says, "It has the sortcode for every bank in the city."

"For real?"

"Take a look around. None of us work. How can we afford a place like this?"

"He could be telling the truth, Ange. I heard about kids like him. Hackers, they call them. They can break into all kinda computer systems, even the Pentagon. If it's what he says it is we could be looking at a goldmine."

"Yeah. Maybe. Sure explain why they wanted it back so bad. There's a guy in Chicago Carmine uses from time to time, knows computers inside out. I'll have him check it out."

"What about me?"

"Hey, you'll get your cut. Like I said, Carmine appreciates what you do here on the West Coast. Okay, let's get this finished with then we can have lunch. That pizza place near the pier still open?"

"Luigi's? Nah, closed about three years ago. That whole area's Korean now."

"Shit. Didn't we win a war against them one time? For all the good it did us."

John says quietly. "There's another one."

"Huh? What d'you say, kid?"

"There's another thumbdrive. Has the sort codes of every bank in San Francisco."

"Well, well, you have been a busy little beaver. Where is it?"

"Attic room. Hidden in the base of a lamp."

"Jeez, you and your secret compartments. Who'd you think you are - James Bond? Tony, go fetch the lamp."

I straighten up in my chair. There is no second chip. The lie is most likely to get Tony to leave the room. Both Angelo and Camino are still armed, but the guns are now held loosely at their sides. They believe they are in control of the situation, that a great prize has fallen into their laps and that nothing can possibly go wrong.

We'll see...

John mumbles something, inaudible even to me. Angelo says, "What's that, kid? Speak up, I can barely hear you."

He takes a step closer, bending down to try and hear better and is surprised when John suddenly stands up, pistoning his head into the mobster's jaw. Angelo staggers back, stunned yet still dangerous. I snap my ties and reach for the Bowie knife left on the coffee table and insert the blade into the side of Angelo's head, right up to the hilt.

"Ange..?"

Johnny Camino's only chance of retaining control is to threaten John with the pistol. But the sight of me advancing towards him seems to make him panic and forget this fact. Instead he points the gun directly at me and pulls the trigger.

The magazine empties its load into my chest, shredding my halter top but doing little other damage. I lose so many clothes this way. I should definitely bulkbuy, it's more economical in my line of work. I extend my hand until I have a firm grip on Camino's face, forcing him backwards until he comes up against the wall. His head is now between the bricks and my hand. The proverbial rock and a hardplace. Something has to give.

This turns out to be his skull.

"Hey!"

The third man, Tony, appears at the top of the stairs, no doubt attracted by the sound of the gunfire. He begins firing his pistol. His aim is wild, though several ricochets come periously close to striking John and his mother. Too close for comfort. The only weapon to hand is the Bowie knife, conveniently sticking out of the side of Angelo's skull like a sword in a particularly bloody scabbard. I snatch it up, targeting graphics lock on, and I throw the knife onehanded across the room.

It is a long time since I have terminated anyone using a blade and I am pleased to see I have not lost the knack. The knife strikes Tony in the throat. He drops his weapon and grabs at it in a futile attempt to stem the sudden catastrophic flow of blood. He falls down the stairs and lies still at the base.

I free John and his mother. John goes to Angelo and then Tony checking for a pulse and finding none. He doesn't bother with Camino, who's oddly mishapen head and brain matter oozing from his ears leaves no doubt that he is beyond resuscitation.

"Shit, what a mess."

Sarah Connor checks her watch. "Two hours until Mia comes home. I'll get a mop."

John pockets Cameron subprime's chip and then picks up the clock. He throws it against the wall, smashing it. "This happened because I hid the chip in the clock. I never thought someone would break in and mistake it for an antique."

"It's not your fault," I assure him.

"No, but it could've been avoided."

"And three bad men would still be alive."

"Not judge and jury, remember?"

He bends down and carefully extracts a set of keys from Angelo's jacket pocket, avoiding the blood. One has a small plastic keyfob. A key to an automobile. "This looks like it belongs to a Lexus. Probably parked somwhere nearby. Come on, let's go look for it."

We find a Lexus parked just around the corner. It's silver with Chicago plates. John points the keyfob at it and the headlamps flash, indicating the security system is now neutralised. It appears even mobsters are wary of vehicle theft.

We drive back to the safe house and I load the three bodies in the trunk. It's a tight squeeze though no one complains. That's one advantage of dealing with the dead: no backtalk.

John says, "You drive the Lexus. I'll be in the Suburban. Stay close. Don't lose me."

As if...

-0-

On our return if we find Sarah Connor has made a start on cleaning up. Gone is the blood and brains from the floors and wall. There is a strong smell of disinfectant. I help by prising the stray rounds out of the walls while John follows after me filling the holes with fresh plaster. The walls will need a fresh coat of paint, but for now it will have to suffice.

"What did you do with the bodies?"

"Dumped them at the overlook on Mulholland. The cops will find them soon enough. I figure it's best if they're discovered and identified, otherwise this guy Carmen, who sounded like he was in charge, will just send more goons out here to investigate."

"He might anyway, for revenge."

"Why would he suspect a single mom living with her kids in the suburbs had anything to do with it?"

"You're presuming he doesn't know about us already."

"I think what happened is Camino wanted revenge and called up his old buddy in Chicago to come and lend a hand. Tony was just a thug for hire. I doubt very much either would've told this Carmine character where they were going or why. It would've seemed a pretty straightforward hit to them."

"I hope you're right. If not, we're gonna have the Chicago mob turning up on our doorstep."

"In that case, we'll definitely need a bigger mop."

-0-

Mia is fetched from school and notices the changes the moment she walks inthe door. It is hard to miss. The room still reeks of disinfectant, the plaster is still fresh on the walls, and the kitchen wall is reduced to a skeleton of wooden beams. "What happened here?" she asks.

I expect John to tell one of the lies he is so skilled at concocting. Instead he surprises me by saying, "Some bad people paid us a visit. We took care of it."

Mia's jaw hardens briefly. "Are they coming back?"

"No. They'll never bother us again."

Mia nods, accepting the news quite calmly. "Cool. C'mon, Snowy, let's go watch TV."

"You took a risk, telling her the truth," Sarah Connor suggests. Mia and Snowy are in the basement watching TV. iCarly, by the sound of it. I wonder if Spencer will do something stupid in this episode? Duh! Spencer does something stupid in e-v-e-r-y episode.

"Anything else and she'd know it was a lie. Her father lived outside the law, and she's smart enough to realise we do too."

-0-

THURSDAY

The bodies are discovered by morning and their identities revealed on the evening news.

John Camino, 57, a hitherto respectable Los Angeles businessman. Angelo 'The Waiter' Mortelli, 58, a Chicago businessman, with proven links to organized crime there and in New York. He is nicknamed 'The Waiter' because he once impersonated one to gun down a rival in an Italian bistro. I suppose it is one way to avoid the check. The younger man was Anthony Cervio, 23, a numbers runner who was only recently released from a Chicago jail. He was violating his parole condition simply by leaving the state of Illinois. Not that such matters will concern him now or ever again.

The news anchor introduces a studio guest, a retired law enforcement officer specializing in gang related activities. The two speculate whether these slayings and the manner of them mark an escalation in the perpetual warfare between the gangs. Organized crime in metropolitan areas of America is divided on ethnic lines. White, black, hispanic, asian. These are futher subdivided - asians for example can mean chinese, korean or vietnamese. Each is capable of responding with violence against the others if their interests are threatened or territory invaded. There is no mention of terminators. Are we a ethnic group? I suppose we are, in a way. Metal and Proud.

John watches the debate with no outward emotion. These are not deaths that will weigh heavily on his conscience. They were bad men intent on doing us harm. There is a human expression I do not need explained.

If you sow the wind then you reap the whirlwind.

-0-

I arrive in Inglewood at three in the morning, parking the Suburban a block from my intended destination. Despite the late hour, I find the house I seek lit up like a jack o'lantern. Light pours from every opening and loud music issues forth, the heavy pounding bass palpable in the still night air. Someone is throwing a party.

People arrive at the house and simply disappear inside. There appears to be no security protocol. The men are dressed casually with occasional flashes of bling at throat and wrist. The women, however, are in party mode: short spangly dresses that cling to their curves coordinated with high heeled shoes. I am in dark jeans and a leather jacket. If I attempt entry I will seem out of place. Noticeable. If I am to avoid a massacre I will need to make myself less conspicuous.

As I watch, a red sportscar with two young women inside pulls up at the kerb . The passenger is a large black woman who struggles to extricate herself from the lowslung vehicle. She is wearing a short beaded dress that barely contains her voluptuous form. I do a scan. Not a physical match. Not even close, unless I want to wear a tent.

You coming inside, sugah?"

I suspect 'sugah' is a term of endearment and not the driver's name.

"Give me a minute, Darlene. Gotta fix my hair. I knew I shoulda put the damn hood up."

"D'you even know how?"

"One of these buttons. Shit knows which one."

"Okay, sugah, catch you inside."

"Don't do all the lines. I know you when you get started, Darlene. Save some for me."

"Hey, I ain't promising nothin'! Ain't enough blow in the world gonna satisfy this niggah."

With a throaty cackle the black woman leaves and I step up to the vehicle. The driver is a slim latino girl, presently adjusting her hair in the small rearview mirror. I have done this myself several times. Hair is so troublesome. She notices me and says, "Whatchoo looking at, honey?"

I smile and tilt my head slightly in the way John says is endearing.

"I like your dress..."

-0-

The dress is a perfect fit, which is more than can be said for the shoes. They are tight and high-heeled to an amost vertiginous degree, causing my centre of gravity to shift. It takes a moment to recalibrate my gyros so I don't fall flat on my face. How humans manage this I don't know. It must be like walking a tightrope, with the constant threat of falling.

I head towards the door and push it open. No one bars my entry or asks to see my ID. It is not that sort of party. The loud music assails my sensors like a physical assault. There are more than thirty people packed into the house, most on their feet dancing. A few loiter on the remnants of furniture pushed against the walls. I spot the large black woman with a rolled dollar bill up one nostril as she snorts a line of white powder from a silver tray. I turn my back lest she recognise her friend's dress.

I know the song being played. Kendrick Lamar. Featuring Dr. Dre. Respect. I wonder if Dr. Dre is a real doctor, like Dr. Doom and Dr. Strange?

A facial scan of room's occupants reveals no match. I push through to the rear of the house, heading down the corridors towards the bedrooms. Possibly the person I seek is asleep, though this seems unlikely with the present noise levels. Of course, they are other things to do in bedrooms, as I know well from personal experience.

I listen at the door. My vocal recognition software pings. I have found who I came for.

Vinny Perez.

From inside comes the sound of two voices. Conversing. Not..the other.

GIRL: God, it is bent, isn't it. (GIGGLES)

PEREZ: Don't touch it!

GIRL: Never bothered you before! (GIGGLES) Why is it covered in saran wrap?

PEREZ: What saran wrap? It's a surgical splint, you dumb bitch.

GIRL: Poor baby! How long will it take to heal?

PEREZ: Docs reckon about nine weeks.

GIRL: Nine weeks! I never went nine weeks without doing it before. I think I managed nine days once. No. Wait. That was dairy. I went nine days without dairy.

PEREZ: The people who did this are gonna pay. Coupla goombahs are driving in from Chicago. Oh yeah, they're gonna get it good for what they did to me. Now, go fetch me some blow. And a bottle of Cristal. Least I can still drink and dope.

I step back into the shadows as a pretty latino girl exits the room. Once she's out of sight I enter. Vinny Perez is propped up against the pillows of a kingsize bed, wearing boxers and a grey singlet. He recognises me immediately. I have one of those faces.

"You!"

"Hello, Vinny. How's it hanging?"

This innocuous greeting seems to enrage him.

"What's that supposed to mean? How'd you think it's hanging? At right angles thanks to you."

"I didn't intend to injury you. I believed you had a concealed weapon."

"That'd be pretty funny if it wasn't so damn painful. What you doing here, anyway? You're meant to be...uh, someplace else."

Dead, is what he meant to say, confirming his complicity and sealing his fate.

"You divulged our whereabouts to some dangerous people. There is a high probablity you will do so again. Therefore you have been targeted for termination."

"Termination? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Allow me to demonstrate..."

-0-

Afterwards, I pass the latino girl in the corridor. She is carrying a bottle of champagne by its neck. She slows and glances in my direction, looking me up and down. Comparing. Evaluating. Sizing me up as possible competition. Human females spend much of their time as if engaged in some kind of perpetual beauty contest. "Nice dress," she opines grudgingly.

"Thank you. I chose it myself."

Sort of...

I push my way through the dancers and reach the door. Suddenly a woman's scream is heard even over the heavy bass. My handiwork has been discovered.

As I let myself out the music comes to an abrupt stop. It appears I have pooped the party.

-0-