Dead Street

But there was still a sharpness in his eyes. They looked at me, they watched me for a split second and he was running my image through his mental computer. “I never forget a face,” he said.

“Some I’d like to forget,” I told him.

“You’re not a customer.”

“Right.”

“You’ve been here before.” It was a statement, not a query.

“Right,” I said again.

“Cop,” he said. It was a flat statement.

“Retired now,” I said.

“It was when our poor Bettie was killed, wasn’t it?”

“Sharp, Mr. Burnwald. You’re a natural for this computer stuff.”

“I know,” he agreed. “What can I do for you?”

“Put that computer in your head to work. How much do you remember about Bettie before she was killed?”

Burnwald leaned forward on his desk, cradling his stomach on its edge. “I was only a section head then and had been Bettie’s super for about six months.”

“Any problems?” I asked.

“None. She was a very able person. We used to say she could even think like a computer.”

“Computers think?”

“With the high-tech advancements, so one would certainly suspect.”

“But not twenty years ago?”

“Well, they were on their way. Improvements were coming daily. New kids right out of college... and some even younger than that... were introducing developments that had unbelievable potential.”

I nodded, thought a moment, then asked him, “Looking at it now, how does that ‘potential’ stand?”

He knew what I was thinking and his wrinkled face broke into a wry smile. “For its time, it seemed incredible. There are few words to express what it’s like now. Only a genius can understand the workings of a computer today. And as for today’s potential, it takes another computer to arrange any conversation at all.”

“Bettie was smart,” I remarked, “but below genius level.”

“How would you know?”

“Because she was in love with me,” I stated quietly. “Machines don’t have love affairs.”

“Not yet,” he smiled. “Maybe someday.”

“How would they enjoy it?”

“They’d think of something.” He folded his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “And, unlike machines, geniuses can and do have love affairs... but I would agree — Bettie was bright, very bright, but hardly a genius. Neither am I, for that matter.... What was it you really wanted, Mr. Stang?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Describe Bettie’s job to me.”

This time he had to squint his face up and reach far back through the years and the improvements in computer product to recall the details of daily operations.

When he felt reasonably certain he had the scene in mind, he said, “In those days there were a lot of glitches. Nasty individuals would insert a virus into a system and wipe out computer operations for many hours. The anti-virus programs of today weren’t even on the horizon. Also, there were a lot of normal breakdowns that could shut off power for major cities, causing near-catastrophic situations.”

I bobbed my head and said, “I remember those days pretty well.”

“Bettie was on a team of computer operators who investigated those events.”

“This place had a team?”

Burnwald shook his head. “Not this place. Bettie was the only such expert here. The rest of the ‘team’ was scattered across the face of the United States. They were all in instant contact and had access to government processors that would give them any information they wanted.”

Bettie had never mentioned any of this to me. I thought for a moment, then finally said, “Could that group break into government secrets?”

“I’m sure the federal people have their programs well-protected. But it wouldn’t have been impossible for an expert like Bettie. Still...” He paused, put his folded hands under his chin and asked, “You’re not accusing her of what they used to call... un-American activities.”

I shook my head and let him see me smile gently. “I knew her pretty well, Mr. Burnwald. We were going to get married.”

“Yes,” he answered gravely, “and now she’s dead.”

I didn’t bother to correct him.

“Is there anything specific you’d like, Mr. Stang?”

“A detailed rundown of her activities while she was here. Is that possible?”

“No trouble at all. I’ll put one of our operators on it and she can retrieve it all within an hour. Can have it delivered to you this evening. Will that do?”

“You know,” I told him, “guys like you could put cops out of work, couldn’t you?”

“Certainly,” he agreed.

“Only... who will shoot the bad guys then?”

“I’ll check with our mainframe computer on that,” he answered deadpan.

When I put my card in his hand, he studied it carefully before he remarked, “Ah, yes, now I remember you... Captain Stang. Or rather, your exploits. They called you the Shooter, didn’t they, the media? ‘A frightening figure to the mob,’ or words to that effect?”

I shrugged and said, “That was a long time ago.”

After a few seconds of silence during which Burnwald studied my face carefully, he said, “That time’s back again, isn’t it?”

My teeth were showing through the grin I gave him. I didn’t have to give him an answer.

He knew what it was.