Chapter 23
Suds
Staring up at the ceiling, my head resting on my pillow, I have this nagging feeling something doesn’t add up. “Sugar, you awake?”
She turns her head, eyes closed. “Ring. This is Sam’s answering machine, leave your name and number. She’ll get back to you in the morning.”
She starts to close her eyes, so I tickle her. “Babe, seriously, I need to talk to you.”
“God, fine. What?” She punches her pillow and turns so we’re nose to nose.
“Why did New EnGen kidnap Chrissy?”
“We’ll ask Jason in the morning, go to sleep.”
“No, now. I got a really bad feeling.”
“Spidey senses?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” She yawns, dons my t-shirt, sits on the edge of the bed, and opens her laptop. “You really are high maintenance.”
I grin. “That’s my line, babe.”
“Not anymore.” She types away and a few seconds later, Jason pops up, wearing red flannel pajamas with reindeer on them.
“Dr. Jones has a weird sense of humor.” She says this to me, but the meme responds sounding somewhat miffed. “Is this not appropriate attire for two in the morning?”
“It’s perfect, dude.” I skootch closer.
No doubt, Jason’s inventor is using some brilliant PJ algorithm to help the AI unit learn more about human behavior. A mere mortal, who am I to argue?
While my mind wanders, Sam talks business. “I have a question for you. Is there any connection between Veronica Parker, Christine Bright, and New Engen Power?”
Yawning, the meme pushes the bridge of his thick glasses and types into his virtual computer. “Give me a moment, please.”
Two faces pop up on her screen. One is of the CEO and the other is of the madam.
As a whole bunch of lines connect the eye sockets, the cheek bones, and other crucial recognition elements, I glance up at my wife. “What the fuck is it doing?”
“Oh my God, I’ve heard of this but didn’t think anyone had it working. Give it a few more minutes.”
The process stops and the meme again appears. “There is an eighty-two point-six percent chance Veronica Parker is James Griffen’s daughter.”
“Shit. Get dressed. Wake up Chrissy and Selena. Dammit. Why didn’t we see this sooner?”
“What’s wrong?” Sam rifles through her suitcase and after extracting clean socks and underwear, puts them on.
“Well, let’s assume the AI is right. Have you seen New EnGen’s stock shares recently?”
When Jason shows a graph with a red line plunging down, my heart races. “What would you do if your father’s mistress fucked up your investments?”
“I’d be extremely unhappy, even vengeful.” After throwing a sweater over her head, she sits on the edge of the mattress in order to tug up her jeans.
“I’ll get the car and inform Slate.” As I roll out of bed, the AI application asks its final question.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Jason stares out of the laptop and blinks in wait mode.
