The Carma Klown

The Carma Klown 4 z119z (z119z2000@yahoo.com) © 2013 by the author Chapter 8

Wednesday, ca. 1:30 p.m., June 9, 2010

"You have no memory of being in the video."

"No, Captain. When the alert came through on my phone, I thought it would be some emergency. I haven't had anything to do with this case. It didn't cross my mind that I would get involved in it." Patrolman Patrick Reilly sat at the table in the conference room. There was a white Styrofoam cup filled with coffee, now cold, in front of him. Every few minutes he picked the cup up and shifted it an inch or so to a new position. He refused to look at Altmann or Baker. He spoke in a tremulous whisper, interrupting his words often to swallow nervously and glance out the window at the building across the street from One Police Plaza. The man had looked so large and muscular in the video; in person he was hunched over and defeated looking. He had shrunk into himself.

Reilly had been picked up at his apartment and brought back to Midtown for questioning. He had blushed when he had opened the door to Baker's summons and sat unspeaking in the car the entire way back, staring blankly out the window and refusing to acknowledge the other officer's presence either verbally or physically. His entrance into One Police Plaza was met with embarrassed silence. Conversations stopped in mid-sentence, and eyes shifted away, only to focus on Reilly's slumped figure after he had walked past. When the elevator had stopped midway at the sixth floor, a pair of cops waiting to board had taken one look at Reilly and then backed away, apologizing for intruding and muttering something about taking the next car. None of the police or civilian staff who worked at One Police Plaza knew what to say to him.

A doctor had been waiting in the conference room with Altmann, and he had quickly drawn the blood sample and conducted a brief examination. In response to a request from Altmann, Reilly had turned his back and lowered his pants. With one hand, he pushed down his shorts on the left side to expose his buttock and The Carma Klown tattoo. Baker had taken several photographs. The doctor touched the skin around the tattoo cautiously and then said a few words to Reilly on how to treat the tattoo and what to expect. He pulled a handful of individually packaged alcohol swabs from his bag and handed them over. Reilly held them in his hand and looked at them without comprehension. After a few seconds, he dropped them on the table.

"Can we get you something? A cup of coffee?" Without waiting for Reilly to speak, Altmann poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of Reilly. "I know that this is a difficult time, but we have some questions for you. You know that any assistance you can give us will help us catch this guy quicker and put a stop to him. And the sooner the better. I'd like to be able to wait another day or two to give you time to compose yourself, but I don't have that luxury, Pat. Is it Pat? Do people call you Pat or Patrick?"

Reilly's right hand lay on the tabletop. His only response was to twitch it in a gesture of indifference.

"Let me just verify some basics first, Pat." Even as he said that, Altmann knew that Reilly would understand what he was up to—simple, factual questions to put him at ease, questions that had familiar answers.

"Your name is Patrick Michael Reilly. You live at 1189 North 26th Street, Apt. no. 44, in Brooklyn."

Reilly nodded.

"How long have you been on the force?"

"Five years in March."

"And you work out of the 62nd on the night shift? 9 p.m. to 7 a.m.?"

"Yes. I usually get there about 8:45 most nights. The shift is supposed to end at 7:00, but it's usually closer to 8:00 by the time I get away."

"What days are you on?"

"Thursday night through Monday morning. I have the rest of Monday until Thursday at 9:00 p.m. off."

"You go home and go to bed when you get off work?"

"No. I'm too wired and I don't like to go to sleep just after I've eaten breakfast. So I wait until around 11:00 and then I sleep until 5:00 or so. Then I go to the gym and work out and shower. I get something to eat and then I go to work."

"You live alone?"

"Yeah."

"So we figure that the video was made last night. Tell me what you have been doing since your shift ended on Monday."

"Like I said, I get off Monday at the end of my shift and I'm free until Thursday night. Sunday night was quiet, and I left the precinct just after 7:00 Monday morning. I stopped and had breakfast at this place near the precinct. I usually go there. Then I went home. I picked up some juice and bread, a six pack, at the store on the corner and then I went to my place to change. I wanted to jog to unwind and get myself tired. So I changed into shorts and a T and then went out. I was out for over an hour. It was after 10:00 when I got back. I took a shower and then I went out to run some errands. I had to get a birthday present for my sister's kid and then pick up some laundry. I got back about noon and then went to bed."

"You keep the same schedule on your days off?" interjected Baker.

"Yeah. When I first started working the night shift, one of the old guys told me to do that—to keep the same schedule every day so that your body knows what to expect."

"That's what I was told when I was assigned to the night shift when I was a patrolman. I don't know if it works or not. I was always tired." If Altmann was trying to establish a rapport with Reilly, he didn't appear to be having any success. After waiting for a moment for Reilly to respond, he continued, "So you went to bed. When did you get up?"

"The usual time. I went to the gym, did my work out. I got cleaned up and then I went to this Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. My days off are the only time I can eat a decent meal. I was back home about 10:00, maybe a little after. I started watching TV—I found a rebroadcast of some of the games I had missed when I was on duty. I followed my usual schedule, except on my days off, I go jogging before breakfast. So Tuesday, I was out running from around 7:00 a.m. until maybe 8:30. I showered, ate breakfast, cleaned my apartment. I went to bed around 11:00. That's the last thing I remember before waking up the next morning when my phone rang with the alert message."

"So you slept from Tuesday about noon until Wednesday morning?"

"Yeah, I guess that's right. At least I thought I had. Like I said, I usually try to stay awake nights, so that I don't get off schedule. But sometimes, you know, you get tired and you end up falling asleep."

"Did you get up during the night?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't usually get up. I'm a pretty sound sleeper. Once I go to bed, I go to sleep and don't wake up until the alarm goes off."

The two older cops shifted in their seats and thought with longing of their younger days when they had been able to sleep through the night without having to get up and use the toilet.

"So you woke up this morning when the alert came over the phone. Then what?"

"Well, I waited for the message. I was really surprised when the video started. I haven't been following this case. It's kinda remote from my life, you know. So I didn't understand why the department was sending everyone this video. It didn't seem like the kind of thing that would involve the whole department. But I figured there must be a reason they were making everyone watch it. I still don't understand that. Why did the department send the video to everyone? It's like they were trying to shame me."

"No, the department didn't send the video. This Carma Klown guy somehow got into the system and hijacked it. We've got one of our computer guys tracing how he did that right now."

"Nobody told me that. Nobody's told me anything. They just send this video out and the next thing I know you're outside my door and you haul me off downtown. Everybody's acting like I done something wrong. You make me get undressed. I don't even know what you were looking at. I didn't even know I had that tattoo on my butt until that doctor starts in about the skin peeling off."

Neither Baker nor Altmann knew what to say.

After a moment, Reilly resumed speaking, but more to himself than to the others present. "I didn't even realize it was me at first—not until I saw my badge. All I had was my phone and the image was so small and dark. I thought the guy looked familiar, but I didn't think it was me." He looked up at the two men for the first time. "Why me? I don't know this guy. I'm not involved in this case. Why did he pick on me? Why did he put that tattoo on my butt? How am I ever going to go back to work? I can't face the guys now that everybody's seen me acting like an idiot."

Wednesday, ca. 3:00 p.m., June 9, 2010

The difficulty was maintaining his audience's interest. He couldn't keep doing the same thing over and over. He had used roughly the same scenario for the first six tapes. The response had been gratifying. Each of the uploads had been copied and reposted several dozen times, and the number of views was now in the millions for each. "Likes" outnumbered "dislikes" by a hefty margin. But that would soon change unless he could come up with something new to titillate his fans.

And another problem was beginning to appear. Popularity brought dangers with it. He had expected that. It was one problem with putting stuff out there online—it was impossible to maintain control over it. Already, he had noted two or three instances of video rants in which "worthless, pathetic, old faggot" was used as a catchphrase for "korporate kriminals" (as one video was entitled). The Carma Klown was in danger of becoming a meme. What next—The Carma Kat dealing in a cutesy way with a "kanine"? Imitation might be the sincerest form of flattery, but he'd just as soon be the only supplier of The Carma Klown videos. No one else would get it right. And if there were too many Klown-style videos, his would lose impact. It all came back to the problem of inventiveness. He had to keep outdoing himself. He didn't want to paint himself into the Lady Gaga corner, where each new costume had to be more outrageous than the last in order to maintain an edge. Not that his fans weren't being helpful. They were coming up with so many possible subjects for The Carma Klown treatment. It's too bad that so many of them were too far away to use now. Perhaps in the future, he would have to take a vacation in LA, or Atlanta, or Dallas, or—well, the list of cities was endless. He could even set up shop in London or a dozen other cities outside the United States and keep himself occupied for a long time.

And his fans were generous with suggestions about how he could humiliate his next victims. A few of them were useful, but most of them were just plain sick. He had had no idea of how many perverted people there were until he began posting the videos. These nutjobs got off on the humiliation, and they wanted more. They just didn't understand that the humiliation was simply a tool, a way of punishing these criminals and making it harder for them to continue to do what they were doing. After watching someone beg to be allowed to pay to rim another man, who would want to do business with that man again? And these creeps wanted to meet him and were volunteering to help make the videos. Their minds were sewers, and they expected him to welcome them as brothers and sisters in his endeavors. Wackos. Sick wackos. That's what they were. They nauseated him.

Of course, that wasn't the only problem that success had brought. The Carma Klown was beginning to attract copycats. The Klown now had a Facebook page and several Twitter accounts, none of which he had started. It was annoying to have others taking advantage of his success, and he was contemplating his revenge. There was, however, one good aspect to all of this. Tracking down the fake Klowns would keep the police busy. He might even be able to help them a bit with that—be the concerned citizen-hacker the police undoubtedly needed. They weren't the most computer-savvy group around, and, to judge from the amount of whining in his case file, they felt restrained by legal niceties. Of course, the more obnoxious of his copycats needed a stronger lesson.

No, he didn't need helpers or assistants. If he ever wanted a helper, he would find one on his own. Well, not so much find one as create one. The same method he used to create the "volunteers" for his videos would work nicely to manufacture an "assistant producer" or "klownette."

He yawned and poured himself another cup of tea, caffeinated this afternoon. He had so much to do, and he still needed to put in another couple hours planning the next session. He had been reviewing porno videos for ways to humiliate the next men on his list. The problem wasn't a lack of ways. There were so many ways in which a common sexual act could be twisted just a bit and used for his purposes. The videos seemed to glory in each of them. He had already jotted down several pages of notes. The beauty of many possibilities was that they required no special equipment. Why buy a dildo when the local supermarket offered so many vegetables with the right shape? The police might be able to trace the purchase of a dildo over the internet or in a sex shop (there had been a risk in buying the two pig-tail butt plugs, but he had used a randomly selected "volunteer" to do that—no one would be able to link him to the grandmotherly woman he had enlisted to help him with that). But who would note the purchase of a cucumber or even one of those long, thick white Japanese radishes? And there were so many other tools and fluids at hand. Humiliating the next man was not the problem—the problem was finding a way that would both satisfy his fans and leave them hungry for more. But it might be a while before they could look at a cucumber without thinking about The Carma Klown. The destruction of innocence in the produce section was just a side benefit but not to be disdained for all that. Oh, there were so many rewards.

And he mustn't forget to prepare the next red herring for the police. Poor Michael Chang—I hope, the man thought, that they pay you overtime. I'm going to make sure that you are kept very busy.

Wednesday, ca. 3:00 p.m., June 9, 2010

"I didn't know what to say to them. I don't know how they're ever going to be able to go back to work. Everybody on the force saw that video. I couldn't face people if it had been me, could you?" Altmann's voice betrayed his distress. Both Phil Redding and Jerry Baker shook their heads. They were sitting in Altmann's office discussing the interviews with Reilly and Milowski. They had talked with each for over an hour, trying to establish a link between them and The Carma Klown. But neither patrolman remembered anything of Tuesday evening and had encountered nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary in his life.

"It would be hard," said Baker. "But you set them up with the psychiatrist. Maybe she can help them."

"I doubt it. She may help them to forget, but nobody else is going to. Every time they see those poor guys, they'll see that video in their mind's eye and think about that obscenity coming out of their rear ends and them squealing as they tear into those donuts. Jesus, that was disgusting. I'll never get that picture of Reilly looking up into the camera with his face covered with frosting and smiling. Or Milowski."

Redding nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it will be even worse for Milowski. He's older, and he's got older attitudes about gays. He worried that everyone will think he's gay now. That seemed to be his primary concern during the interview."

Like Reilly, Milowski remembered nothing of what had happened Tuesday night. He had finished his shift at the courthouse and gone home, ate dinner, and settled in for a night of watching TV. That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in his bed the next morning. He had gone to work and, like everyone else on the force, had received the alert and watched the video. He, too, had not realized that he was part of the video until The Carma Klown had shown his badge. He had noticed that his butt was sore but had attributed it to sitting too long.

"Well, we didn't learn very much from either of them," said Altmann. "Maybe the blood screens or the clothes they were wearing or the searches of their apartments will tell us something. What now?" All three men turned to the door leading to the squad room. An uproar was spreading from the back of the room. "Captain, Sergeants," a detective leaned into the office. "They found Frank Milowski—the guy in the video."

"I know who he is. What's do you mean they found him?"

"Captain, they found his car parked off of Riverside. The patrolmen recognized his badge number from the bulletin. He's dead. It looks like he stuck his gun in his mouth."

Altmann sat back down and covered his eyes. Everyone stopped and waited for him. The room grew silent.

"Captain?" Sergeant Ryan spoke hesitantly, uncertain whether it was wise to interrupt.

"What?"

"The cops on the scene—the 4th sent one of their detectives to take charge of the crime scene—a guy named Williamson. He wants to know—since this involves The Carma Klown—if the task force will assume control of the investigation or should he carry on."

"I guess it's ours." He spoke tentatively and then more decisively."Yeah, it's ours." Altmann stood up. He saw everyone watching him and realized that they were waiting for orders. He pushed past the crowd clustered around his office door. "Okay, listen up. You all know what this guy is capable of. He's made threats and he's shown us what he's willing to do. There are dangers involved in taking part in this investigation. So I'm not going to force anyone to work for the task force. I'm asking for volunteers."

Dozens of hands shot up. No one wanted to be left out of the hunt for The Carma Klown.

***** Chapter 9

Wednesday, ca. 4:30 p.m., June 9, 2010

"Mike, you said you have something?" Altmann stood in the passageway outside Michael's cubicle. He couldn't enter because the small space was already crowded. Besides Michael, two other detectives sat on chairs with laptops balanced on their legs. Four other people were sitting in the passageway between the rows of cubicles working on their computers. "You guys need a room to work in. Dawson, go see Sergeant Ryan and tell him I said for him to find a room with a table that will hold all of you. That room next to my office with the AV hook-up should work. Now, Mike, what have you got for me? Were you able to process the images from the reflections?"

"Not yet. We're working on that. We've isolated the images, but each one is too small and too blurred to be of much help. Jim Mitchell is doing the math and computing the angles and the distance from the source. Once we have that, we'll combine the images and superimpose them on one another to get a richer picture. We're hoping we can sharpen that and use it to ID the location. We found a couple of things. First—about the money. Ellen took a closer look at the videos and discovered something." Michael signaled to the detective seated to his right to speak.

Ellen Corwin had only recently resurfaced at Midtown after several months undercover at a brokerage firm suspected of laundering drug money. With her inside information, the DA had recently been able to indict several officers of the firm. She was perfect for undercover work in businesses because of her accounting skills and her appearance. When she put on a business suit and sensible heels, she looked like the MBA she was. Her specialty was fraud and financial crimes.

"Well, it was really Michael's idea. He noticed that when each victim counts out the money, he holds the first bill so that the camera can see that it's a $100 bill, but that all the subsequent bills are turned away from the camera. He suggested that maybe only the first bill was real and the rest were bogus or smaller denominations. So I took a look. You can't see it in the first and fourth videos, but in the other four of them, the $100 bill you see first is the same bill. Look. I'll show you." She called up several images on her laptop and turned it so that Altmann could see them. "If you look closely, you can see that the same corner is torn off at the same place in each picture. The picture's not good enough to check the serial number, but it would be stretching coincidence if there just happened to be four $100 bills all with the same corner missing. And Michael's right. You can't really see the other bills. They could be any denomination, maybe just ones, or they could just be pieces of paper of the right size. The victims count out the money in the shadows cast by their bodies, and it impossible to get a good look at them. The only time you see them again is when the vic pushes the stack across the floor to the Klown. And then the same $100 bill is on top of the stack."

"Guys, this is great," said Altmann. "See if you can find any further evidence. It would explain why we couldn't find any unusual large cash withdrawals from Rossiter's bank accounts. It would also rule out the theory that this is some sort of humiliation for hire or sex club thing. Pros would want real money. Good work, you two."

"Captain, it also means that the Klown isn't interested in the money," Corwin spoke up. "The videos are public dramas. He's delivering a message. We knew that all along, but as long as we thought the money was real, then there was a financial angle. The Carma Klown was reimbursing himself for his expenses, maybe even making a profit. If the money's fake, then he's interested only in the scene he's creating and making the victims pay is just another way to humiliate them. They're all big money guys, so make them appear to pay big sums of money. It's an insight into his motives and psychology."

"Yeah, maybe."Altmann's face said that he didn't much care for this line of argument. "Michael, you said `first'—do you have something else for me?"

"Milowski's watch. The time is 3:10. We checked, and he was at work during the day. So it's got to be 3:10 a.m."

"That confirms what we suspected."

"The most important thing, Captain, is about how the alert got posted. We thought that the Klown had to have hacked into the system, and we were looking for unauthorized intrusions from outside around the time of the alert. But there weren't any. The alert came from within the system."

"You're saying the Klown is a cop?"Altmann's disbelief was apparent. "I can't believe that, not after what he did to Reilly and Milowski."

"No, no. Let me explain," Michael spoke in a rush."There are only a few people with access to the alert system. You need special codes to activate it. I'm guessing the thinking was that you don't want just anyone to be able to post an alert. So there are two levels of security. The chief and the deputy chiefs who can authorize an alert get a new code each day. That code is randomly generated by computer, and it's available only to them. It's emailed to them every morning. But they can't access the system directly. They have to contact the head or the deputy head of the communications system on duty at the time—there are three shifts—give that person the code and the text of the alert and then that person has to enter that day's authorization code along with his own access code for the day, which only he—or she—knows. So there's only a limited number of people who could have sent out the alert this morning. But none of them did. All the contacts with the communications system are logged through the computer, and there's no record that the chief or any of the deputy chiefs contacted them, and there's no record of either the head or the deputy head of the communications accessing the system."

Altmann held up a hand to stop the explanation. "Mike, I'll take your word for this. So if none of the authorized people sent out the alert, then who did?"

"This is where it gets interesting. The company that set up the system for the department—it's called Syswide Technology—left a backdoor into the system. Vince found it with a little digging." Michael pointed to the other person sitting in his cubicle. "This is standard procedure. If the system needs troubleshooting or servicing, the company can get in from their own offices. That way, if it's a software problem or if they're updating the system, they don't need to be on site. They can open the backdoor and get into the system that way. Communications says that the standard procedure calls for Syswide to notify the department two or three days in advance when they do this, since the system might have to be down temporarily. Most of the time, there's no interruption though, and the system just keeps on operating while Syswide does what it has to do. A couple of times there's been an emergency and Syswide telephoned the department a few minutes ahead of time, but that didn't happen this morning. But the backdoor was opened just before 9:00 am and remained open for 96 seconds. That's how the alert and the video were uploaded into the system. No one noticed at the time because the shift was changing and no one was expecting Syswide to access the system. It wasn't until all of us received the notice that Communications realized that an unauthorized alert was going out. Once an alert is loaded into the system, there's no way to stop it. Nobody ever thought that would be necessary. Communications is checking its logs to see if they can come up with something more that will be of use."

"And so someone from this company sent the alert? How do we find out who?"

"Well, the alert came through Syswide. Someone may have hacked their computers and used them to access the system. But we'll know more once we get to their local office. I'm thinking maybe we could get a warrant to search their computers. Syswide will probably be worried that they're going to get sued because the breach came from them, and they won't want to cooperate. So a warrant would help. Can we show ADA White what we have and ask her? And can I head up the search team? I'll know what to look for. And can I have Ellen and the rest of the people who have been helping join in. That way, I won't have to brief them what to look for."

"Slow down, Mike. First things first. I'll contact White and have her call you. You need to put together a list of what you're looking for so that the search warrant can be specific. No judge is going to give us carte blanche to shut down an entire company over what may be a small part of its business. Plus the company will probably be more cooperative if they realize that only certain of their records have to be released to us. Explain to White what you need to know to narrow the search to Syswide's interactions with the police alert system. Then we can send you and your team in. It's late, and it will take time to get the warrant. So plan on tomorrow morning first thing. If someone at Syswide is doing this, then they must work mornings. So if you go out in the morning, there's a good chance they may be in the building. This is good work, Mike. Let's hope it's the break we need."

Michael tried to hide his glee at hearing "you and your team." He couldn't help smiling as he said, "Thanks, Captain."

Wednesday, ca. 7:30 p.m., June 9, 2010

"That was Leah. She said it's okay for us to offer Mikey a chance to work on the new version of Five Worlds. Sorry, I didn't see you come in, or I would have kept her on the phone so that you could say hi." Jeff was putting his phone away when Michael saw him and came over to the booth. As Michael had suggested that morning as he left their apartment, they met after work at Blanca's, the Mexican restaurant near their place.

"Don't worry about it. I can talk to her later." They were frequent customers at Blanca's. As Michael was sitting down, a waitress put a bottle of Bohemia dark, his favorite Mexican beer, in front of him. He nodded his thanks and took a long drink of it. When he sat the bottle down, about a third of the contents was gone. "Ah, that tastes good. How is my sister?" He stretched out his legs beneath the table and closed them around Jeff's ankles. He grabbed a tortilla chip from the basket, scooped up a generous helping of salsa, and put the whole thing in his mouth.

"I guess she's okay. She didn't say anything. Incidentally Mikey has decided he's old enough to be known as Mike. Leah said he won't answer if you call him Mikey now. I also mentioned that we might want your mother to do the green-screen shots for this new character."

"What does Leah think about that? Does she think Mom will agree?"

"She suggested another subterfuge. Mikey—Mike—it's going to take me a while to get used to that. Anyway, Mike thinks he's old enough to ride the subway by himself now. He won't want to be chaperoned by your mother. So Leah thought maybe if we let Mike in on the plot, he would agree to have your mother on the set. Legally he's still too young to be on the set by himself. So there has to be some adult relation with him. So Leah's idea is that we can tell Mikey that it's a way to persuade your mother to appear in the video and tell your mom that Mikey doesn't want her and that the only way to make him like it is for her to `pretend' that she's only along to be in the video herself."

"There's got to be a simpler way to do this."

"Well, I thought Leah's idea was very clever. Both Mike and your mother will think they're the one doing the other the favor. Anyway, that's the current thinking. We'll see what happens. Carson is planning to call Mike tonight and offer him the job but tell him that his parents have to sign off on the arrangement. So he'll ask Mike to put your sister on the phone. They'll chat for a while, like he's explaining something to her. When he hangs up, that's when your sister will tell Mike that they want your mom and get him to agree. She'll make it sound like a plot. We'll find out what happens later. Your sister will call us. You seem happy this evening. Did something happen at work?" And thanks for asking about my day, thought Jeff. You might at least have asked how the interview with Arlecchini went.

"We're serving a warrant on a computer company tomorrow morning, and Altmann has put me in charge."

"So you're finally going to lead a raid." Jeff lifted his bottle of beer, reached across the table, and clinked its neck against Michael's bottle. "That's great."

"Yeah. It will be the first time I get to be in charge. Before I've always just been part of the team."

"When I saw you walk in, I knew you were excited about something. What company is it? Can you tell me that much?"

"As long as you don't get on your phone and warn them we're coming." Michael squeezed Jeff's ankles even tighter between his feet and smiled. "But I guess I can trust you. It's a place called Syswide Technology."

"Oh, I've heard of them. In fact, Carson and Will both used to work for them. Years ago."

"Jeez, I hope that's not going to be a complication for me."

"Nah. They were just temps, while they were in college. Syswide hires dozens of contract hourly workers. That's all Carson and Will were. That's how they met and discovered that they both wanted to design video games. It must be ten years since they last worked there. Syswide provides tech support to a lot of small companies that don't want to hire someone to take care of their computers. So they need lots of bodies to go around and hook computers up or troubleshoot problems, do routine maintenance, that sort of thing. They don't want to hire people permanently and have to pay benefits. So they hire college kids to work for a few hours each week. I don't think they let anyone work for more than twenty hours a week. They don't pay very much either. They've got a reputation for exploiting their contract workers, but if you need money, you don't have much choice. I might have ended up working for them or someplace like them if I hadn't gotten lucky and Carson and Will hadn't liked my sample video. Are you going to get your usual tonight? You really need to branch out a bit, Michael, and try new things now that you're finally moving up in the world."

"I'm a creature of habit. I'll order the chiles rellenos."

"Again? At least order the red sauce this time instead of the green. Live a little."

"Maybe later. If you're in the mood."

"I'd better order more then. Just to build up my energy."

"Put hair on your chest."

"I've already got a lot of hair on my chest."

"I've noticed."

"Yeah, you've kinda explored my body a bit." Jeff smiled to himself. "Quite a bit in fact."

"You've never protested."

"No, I would never protest. Never." Jeff laughed. "Anyway, why are you looking at Syswide? I thought you were spending all your time on this Klown thing."

"That's why we're looking at Syswide. A new Carma Klown video was uploaded to the police alert system through a backdoor Syswide put in when they installed the system. The video featured two cops. The alert was sent to everyone in the police force. So pretty much everyone saw it. But the guy made two mistakes. He left a trace that's leading us to Syswide. And there are reflections of some element in the background. We're working on rebuilding the image. If we get lucky, we might be able to identify where the video was made."

"What happens in the video?"

Michael leaned forward so that he couldn't be overheard and gave Jeff a whispered summary of the contents of the video, omitting the fact that The Carma Klown had mentioned him and the other lead investigators by name. "Altmann had both of the cops brought in and questioned them. But they didn't remember anything. Word is that they were drugged."

"Michael, that's awful. Jesus, those poor guys. They must be so embarrassed."

"Well, one of them, the older guy, he committed suicide later."

"Michael, you might have mentioned that at the start." Jeff sat up straighter and pulled his legs away from Michael's. He shoved the basket of tortilla chips out of the way. "What if this guy decides to go after you next?"

"That's not going to happen." Michael hoped that his face did not betray that this was a real possibility. And he prayed that Jeff would never see the video.

"I thought you were safe."

"Jeff, let's not have this argument again." There was a warning note in Michael's voice. "I'm tired of hearing you complain about my job. It's my job. I'm sorry if it bothers you, but I'm not quitting. Change the subject."

"It's not an argument. It's a discussion. You don't know how much I worried when you had to do that probationary period as an ordinary cop and were out on the streets before they finally came to their senses and put you on computer crimes. At least I don't have to worry that you're going to be shot as long as you're sitting at your computer."

"Oh, I know how much you worried, you never miss an opportunity to remind me." Michael tried to keep his voice down, but his anger spilled out. Carlos, Blanca's son, arrived at the table in time to hear the tail end of his remarks. Michael growled at him, "I'd like another beer and I'll have the chiles rellenos with the green sauce."

Carlos made a tick on his pad. He held it so that Michael could see that he had written, "the usual for MC"; to Jeff he said, "And what can I get for you tonight, Mr. Corelli? Mom found some fresh whitefish at the market today, and she's made fish enchiladas with tomatillos and jicama in a cilantro–pumpkin seed molé. I don't think you've ever had that, but you should give it a try. I think you'll like it. Another beer for you too?"

"I'm fine. One beer's enough for me." Jeff held up his bottle of beer to show that it was still half full. "These enchiladas aren't too filling, are they?

"No, it's a very light dish."

"Good, I need to get to sleep early tonight, and I don't want anything that's going to keep me awake."

Jeff and Michael finished the meal in silence.