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Tuesday on Wednesday-Chapter Fiction-"Near Future Noir"

Tracy pushed open the door and stepped inside the dark office. The lights came on automatically, and turned on full. Charles. She grimaced against the false daylight and slammed her palm against the panel on the wall beside the door. The room was dark once more, only the last light of day crept through the blinds. The room was painted in red glow. Tracy was in no mood to appreciate the beauty of the moment. She was on a frustrating case, and it had been a most unproductive day.  She tossed her sling pack onto the floor and slumped into her worn leather chair. Some of its buttons were AWOL, and the leather was faded and cracked by sun and age. She told clients that it had been her father's if they lifted an eyebrow, but the truth was she'd had the chair since she rescued it from the curb when she was sixteen years old, and it had never left her side. 

She pulled out her iDesk and unfolded it. It neatly covered the desk calendar she kept meaning to use. She palmed the screen, and a tinkling chime sounded. Tracy wasn't much of a typist, that's what Charles was for, after all. She preferred to think of herself as old school, and recorded voice notes for her investigations. Her assistant did the cleaning up, and whitewashed the language a bit. He always left a few swear words in so they would be believable as her case reports.  She tapped the screen, closed her eyes, and creaked back into her thinking chair. She interlocked her fingers over her chest d began.

"... Title recording: field report, Merkinski case. Date and time please?"
"JANUARY SEVENTEEN, TWENTY-ONE THIRTY-THREE, EIGHT THIRTEEN PEE EMM"
There are many voice simulation programs available on the market, but Tracy had paid extra to have one made for her. It was a female voice, and it had a slightly musical tone to it. Tracy called it Emily, and she was never annoyed by the sound of it, which could not be said for most of the user interfaces in the city. It was bad enough out there without a hot dog machine whistling at you too.

"Thanks, Em. Today was a real shitstorm. I mean one thing after another. Around 10 this morning, I rode my bike to the Keiner Subway Plaza, and was nearly run over by some jerk driving with manual controls. It oughta be a crime. I wasn't quite done yelling at him when I saw Ms. Merkinski entering the northbound platform. Didn't chain up the bike, and it was gone when I came back later too, I'll get to that. Merkinski rode the train to the tube station in River North and headed straight for the tube to Chicago. She looked nervous as hell too, looking over her shoulder every ten seconds. Poor lady had no idea what she was doing though, she never even looked at me. Or maybe it's because I'm a super-sleuth, eh Charlie?"
"I don't know if I'd put it that dramatically." Charles closed the door behind him. "Did you catch her?"
"Nothing to catch, I'm afraid. She met her sister for lunch in Peoria and then came back. I, however, did not get to eat lunch, because apparently the Merkinski's only dine upon the finest of fancy foods."
"They wouldn't let you in, huh?"
"I was instructed in the failures of my wardrobe."
"That's got to be getting old by now."
Tracy's eyes opened to slits and she tried to push Charles through the wall with her mind. Alas, that gun still wouldn't fire, and he remained standing in his impeccably tailored suit and coat. He had learned not to be direct about it, but his obvious distaste for her fashion sense was apparent in his subtle jabs. Charles seemed to think that wealthier clientele may be more inclined to hire her if she looked more "professional". She preferred to think of herself as a diamond in the rough.

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