Neil Knight Private Dick

Fuckee Dogs

It's an interesting process assembling a puzzle.

It doesn't make a difference whether it's five-hundred, one thousand or two thousand pieces, it always follows the same general pattern. One moves from an initial high degree of difficulty into a more methodical, controlled and managed approach as the assembler becomes more comfortable with the feel of the individual pieces, the colors and textures of the visual as it takes shape before his eyes.

Then the puzzle increases once again in difficulty as the constructor realizes that he has mastered the easiest parts of the puzzle, and the more challenging parts remain. He becomes less assured, begins to question his ability to complete the task, and realizes he needs to gain perspective by stepping away momentarily.

Neil was good at putting together puzzles.

He followed his instincts when it made sense and sought assistance when necessary.

'I shouldn't have opened the door without looking' he mused.

But he'd been distracted, lost in thought, and then all thought had been lost.

The face had belonged to Frankie Hopeless. The fist as well. He was amazed that Maria had survived the beating.

For Neil the post assault nap had been a necessary reboot. A clearing of the cache. Like a good meditation his mind had gone blank and his secondary processors had been allowed to consider the clues and identify the gaps.

Winnie Saratoga.

She'd asked detective Jose Juarez to contact Neil so she could talk to him outside of normal channels. He'd neglected to leave a business card with her. Well. Not neglected. He didn't want there to be any record of him having been there with her as he had massaged the line between right and wrong. Plausible deniability.

Intrigued and willing to play the role of intermediary, after she had handed over digital records of the garage assault to him, the police detective had left a message on the answering machine of the private eye.

As he pulled himself up his wallet fell to the floor.

'Great' he thought. 'I've been rolled too.'

But nothing of his was missing. No money was gone. Driver's license. PI license. Credit card. AARP card. Petco Rewards card. All accounted for. He slipped the wallet back into his pocket.

His head throbbed, and the knob on the back of his skull probably indicated a concussion. Nothing a shot of whiskey and a few Advil couldn't overcome.

Another knock on the door.

'Shit' he thought. This time he looked through the peephole.

It was his neighbor. Opening his door his pups raced past him, the smell of chlorinated water filling his nostrils.

"You keep dogs out my yard goddam for me."

Neil nodded and grimaced.

"Fuckee dogs" said Aaron Wong as he retreated toward his house.

'Winnie' his subconscious called to him.

He dialed her number at the parking garage. Luck was with him. She picked up the phone.

Pleasantries exchanged she asked him to come down to her building.

"There's something I'd like you to see" she said.

"Give me half an hour?" he asked.

"Come to the back door again" she replied.

Forty-two minutes later he knocked on the metal door at the Public Parking Garage on West Fifth Street. The time was 8:17 pm.

"Late night?" noted Neil.

"I'm working a double" Winnie responded. "Have a seat" she said pointing to a chair next to hers.

"Our video security system is supposed to be on a closed loop. We're not supposed to be connected to any other networks. We're supposed to receive our security feed and no others."

"But watch what happens when I adjust receiving frequencies"

"And no, it's not part of the native system capabilities. I modified pretty much everything here."

As she twisted the dial on the metallic box next to the computer, scenes flashed continuously on the monitor in front of her, images rapidly changing, as if she was a teenager with a tv remote control looking for a good show.

"What are.." he began.

"Feeds. From all over the city. Buildings, offices, garages, homes, cellphone cameras, computer cameras, policemen's body cameras. I've even seen myself in this room reflected back to me."

"How many..."Neil began.

"Endless" she replied.

"There's even sound" she said turning up the volume.

"Cotton" a disembodied voice resonated in the small room on the screen. "Get your ass up here. Sally Malafronte zon the phone."

The face of a younger man filled the screen, staring intently back at the viewers. Both Winnie and Neil pulled back as if they had been seen.

"Wait" said a startled detective. "What the hell..."

On the screen before them the startled programmer, now wide-eyed, pulled back from the screen as if he had been seen. "What the hell..."

And then the monitor skipped to the next feed, shoppers walking along North Broadway in downtown Santa Ana.

The room was silent now except for the flickering images on the computer monitor.

"I have to call someone" said Neil.

"Should I disconnect the modulator?" offered Minnie.

"Yeah" replied the investigator. "But just keep it somewhere safe. For now."

"Almost too bad to disconnect it" she said, her voice tinged with regret. "It's almost better than Netflix."

The detective left by the back door.