Neil Knight Private Dick

I Wrote an App

Six years earlier, in July of 2008, the Apple App Store opened, just a year after the first iPhone was released. The store offered 500 apps, free and paid, and in many ways helped secure the future and popularity of mobile phones.

On that first weekend 10 million instances of software apps for the iPhone were downloaded.

10 million in one weekend thought Cotton. The number was a big number. And apps had only become more popular in the ensuing years.

Sue Ellen let Cotton know he and his friends should leave by 3 am, a full hour before closing time as the local police blanketed the roads by 4, pulling cars over for bullshit reasons and performing sobriety checks. Another way to line blue pockets, if the driver paid by cash, or increase the town coffers if they chose to pay their ticket by mail.

So, he left, with his buddies, but not before promising to stay in touch, her business card in his back pocket. Her scent lingering. Her stage presence painting lurid visions in his head.

The next week Cotton was absent from all classes. If you wanted to see him, you could find him in the computer lab where he had keys and permission from the school administration to enter and exit at will.

On the following Friday night, after making sure she was scheduled to dance, he was back at Chubbies, front row, a Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face, and it wasn't due to the movements of Sue Ellen, currently undulating on the stage.

Her set ended, and she appeared, as previously, sitting down next to him.

He handed her his iPhone. The screen showed a map with an overlay of a radar like sweep, circling round and round. Suddenly there was a beep and a red dot appeared on the screen.

"OK" she said "what does it mean?"

"I wrote an app. It shows the location of any police car within the circle – it refreshes every 10 seconds. You can set the radius of the circle in quarter mile increments."

"Whenever a police car enters or exits the circle you get a beep, and a dot displays the cars location on the map. You always know where the cops are and which direction they're headed."

"It works by triangulation. You see, each police car uses electronics to communicate, either using a radio handset to stay in touch with the station, a satellite for GPS, or cell phones, and the signatures of each device are unique. Regular people don't have access to the same frequencies. Even if they change the frequency the app can compensate by scanning al possible bands."

The app beeped, and another red dot appeared on the screen. There were two dots now flashing toward the center point.

"Hey" said Sue Ellen "so there's like two police cars within.."

"Five miles is the current radius" he offered.

"Within 5 miles" she completed.

Ding. Ding.

"Woah" she said "two more."

Ding.

"And another one."

"Get up and grab your clothes" said Cotton "NOW", a look of urgency on his face. "meet me in the back of the building at my car. Hurry."

Sue Ellen ran to the dressing room, snapped up her clothes and pocketbook, and ran out the back door past the bouncer, her albino ass barely covered. Cotton's car was running, the passenger side door open. She jumped in, closing the door behind her.

"Back road" he intoned "which way?"

"Left" she said as he peeled out of the lot. Five hundred yards down 59th street she yelled "Left again". He wheeled left onto Cox Avenue, suppressing the desire to make an obvious comment, and punched the gas. "Left again" Sue Ellen quickly yelled, he yanked the wheel hard.

"Stop!"

Cotton pulled over to the side of the road on 60th. They were right behind Chubbies on a parallel street. Dust from the dirt road enveloping his cat, obscuring their view, momentarily, of the strip joint just beyond the trees.

Within thirty seconds multiple state and local police cars had converged on the building, lights flashing. Cops leapt from their cars and began to cover all exits.

"Son of a bitch" exhaled Sue Ellen. "It's a raid..."

"Son of a bitch" said Cotton. "It works."

"Drive me home" said the dancer.

As Cotton pulled away from the curb, the sound of bullhorns, pissed off patrons and angry strippers faded slowly into the background.