Duel: An Ominous Initiative
Duel, Episode 3
This is Duel: A Tech-Noir Detective Story
Previously: After a visit to the scene of the crime, Detective James McElroy has taken the case. While the official facts are in doubt, the unfriendly uncle, Gerard Bergenz, weighs on his mind…
Sol II System, Eden, New Chalcedon. 09:15 Local time
James McElroy’s mind was swirling as he approached Marko’s Family Diner. The list of questions in his mind was getting longer and longer—and no answers presented themselves. He tried to clear his mind and focus on what was immediately in front of him: The diner, Bridgett, assessing the danger. The case doesn’t need to be solved today, he assured himself, but I do need to make sure Bridgett will see tomorrow. Right now—she was the key. Without her, they had nothing.
“You ready for this DB?” James said as they pulled into the parking lot behind Bridgett’s fancy car.
“I do not know what you need me to be ready for.”
“Well, me neither. The investigation! Work with me here.”
“As soon as you know what to be ready for, I will be ready for it.”
“That’s the spirit.” James said, slamming the car door closed.
James spotted Bridgett in a corner booth of the bustling diner. “I have two reasons to thank you.” he said, by way of greeting. “First, thank you for trusting me and not going straight home. Second—thank you for choosing this diner. They have the best coffee on this side of Landers river.”
James let DB431 slide into the booth before him, across from Bridgett who was nervously fidgeting with her fingers.
“Yes, coffee was my priority in choosing this place.” Bridgett sneered. “You have me all wound up, all after a measly two minute conversation with my uncle. What is going on?”
“I was hoping you would tell me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the detective.”
“You’re right. Let me tell you what I detected in that measly two minute conversation with your uncle. There are only so many ways a man could react to seeing his niece bring a private investigator to the scene like that. He chose the bad way. He was legitimately flabbergasted that you did this—so kudos to you, you have thrown a wrench in the works.” James reclined triumphantly.
“Ok? I could have told you that.”
“So now I need something from you. I’ve got another question for you.”
“Try me.”
“What is going on at Bergenz Brothers that is worth killing for?”
Bridgett fiddled with her fingers for a moment, and before she could speak, a waitress arrived.
“Your friends are here, great! How y’all doin this mornin?”
Bridgett’s demeanor shifted, “We’re doing great thanks,” she said with a charming smile.
“What can I get for y’all?”
“Pancake special, please.” Bridgett said from behind her cheerful mask.
“The droid will have a coffee, I don’t need anything.” James said. The waitress looked confused— “Just kidding. Coffees for me. He quit a long time ago.”
She looked relieved. “Alright I’ll get that right out! Won’t be long now!”
As the waitress left, and Bridgett reverted to her pensive demeanor, a tense silence filled the space.
“Listen, I know this case is a long shot. I know there’s lots of unanswered questions…”
“I am glad I didn’t have to say it.”
“I know.” She said, defeated—her eyes turning glassy. “But I am not crazy. I heard the shot. I know my father was murdered. I know it. Do you ever know the truth, deep in your gut, before your mind ever learns any facts to support it?”
“All the time—that’s the name of this particular game.”
“I know my father was murdered.” Her emotion solidifying into something like defiance.
“OK. I am taking you at your word—that is, I believe you. But we need something more.” James leaned forward, gesturing with hushed intensity. “Can you fill me in? Tell me about your father. Did you speak with him often? Did he talk about work? Was there anything alarming? Paint me a picture.”
The waitress returned carrying a heavily laden pancake platter, and a mug of coffee. James winked, and said “Thanks, miss.”
Bridgett started carving into her pancakes, and began:
“My father was a good man. Warm hearted. He got into this business at the urging of uncle Gerard.”
“Just—for clarity, what exactly is this business?” James interrupted.
“Well—that’s the thing. It started as industrial machines. Assembly lines, factory equipment, advanced or specialized tooling. The first product released by Bergenz Brothers was a magnetic clamp used in orbital shipyards. The mission, the way my dad always described it, was to help people help people. Can a shipyard worker have fewer spine injuries with a standing magnetic clamp? Yes. Can a healthy shipyard worker build a better spaceship? Yes. That was the kind of story my dad loved to tell.”
“What story was Gerard telling, I wonder?”
“I don’t know but it’s not hard to guess. My father was the brains, but Gerard was the…the politics. He got their first contract with the Jovian Union, he kept on pushing for more and more innovative technologies. Over the last year, my father’s relationship with Uncle Gerard got more tense. I heard him shouting on the phone sometimes when I visited. Dad looked more more stressed than I’ve ever seen him. There was this initiative they were working on.”
James perked up. “That sounds ominous.”
“They had to keep it under wraps—apparently there were some technical and political obstacles. And—from what I could gather—my father was opposed. I don’t know the details.”
“But—I’m not hearing anything that would be worth killing over. I’m hearing a disagreement, but why is it deadly?”
“That, I don’t know. But I know who would know.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Gerard.”
James looked at DB431, whose expressionless face was unreadable. “He did say he wanted to talk to you privately. What do you make of that, DB?”
“It sounds both dangerous and informative. We will have to be careful.”
James nodded, “Bridgett, you did say Gerard had the most to gain from your father being dead. What did you mean when you said that?”
“They split the majority stake in the company—it was set up that way to make sure they both agreed on the direction of the company. With my father dead, the ownership stake reverts to uncle Gerard.”
“So Gerard no longer has any opposition, and stands to profit double from whatever this initiative is. Things are looking mighty rosy for ol’ Gerard.”
“So what happens now?” Bridgett asked
“You’re not going to like this part.”
“Tell me.” She said, with firm disapproval.
“We are going to take you to our safehouse. It’s the only way we can be sure you’re safe. Then you’ll set up a meeting with Uncle Gerard.”
“You’re going to use me as bait!”
“Not bait! Informant. We’re going to use you as an informant. But first, we need to make sure you’re not at risk—at the safehouse. I’ve got an idea. Are you ready to go?”
Bridgett nodded.
“Alright.” James swiped his cash-chip. The receiver flashed with a red light.
James swiped again—the red light flashed again.
“DB we just got paid, did we not?”
“We did.”
“DB can you swipe your cash chip?”
“You pay your droid?” Bridgett let out a shocked laugh.
“I pay my associate. He works for me. DB can you help us out?”
DB reached across the table to the cash-chip receiver and swiped—a green light flashed. “This is not a good sign, Detective.”
Bridgett looked between James and the droid, “Why not? What does this mean?”
“It means your Uncle has already called his friends at the police, and they’ve already frozen my funds. Let’s go—now they know, at a minimum, that I was here. If they show up, they’ll soon know that the three of us were together. In short—we need to start acting like we are under surveillance. We need to get you to the safe house fast.”
Thank You For Reading!
This has been DUEL, a tech-noir serial featuring Detective James McElroy and his Detective Droid DB431. This will be a serial publishing every other week unless I get my act together and write it quickly. There are nine episodes planned, and I reserve the right to add more if I can’t tell the story succinctly.
If you enjoyed this episode, please let me know with a like, or a comment! If you REALLY like it, tell your friends with a restack? If you’d like to not miss an episode, be sure to subscribe!
I like to imagine Scoot sitting at his desk in a smokey room, cigar in hand, whiskey within reach, typing all of this on an old typewriter. Classic. And loving this so far!
Hmmm, the politicking! Shady, shady. 🥸