Chasing the Dime (2002) Read online

  She waited to make sure he was done.

  "Wow," she said in an unconvincing tone.

  Pierce smiled at her stubbornness. He knew he had probably sounded too much like a salesman. Like Charlie Condon, to be precise. He decided to try again.

  "Do you know what computer memory actually is, Monica?"

  "Well, yeah, I guess."

  He could tell by her face that she was just covering. Most people in this day and age took things like computers for granted and without explanation.

  "I mean how it works," he said to her. "It's just ones and zeros in sequence. Every piece of data, every number, every letter, has a specific sequence of ones and zeros. You string the sequences together and you have a word or a number and so on. Forty, fifty years ago it took a computer the size of this room to store basic arithmetic. And now we're down to a silicon chip."

  He held his thumb and finger up, just a half inch apart. Then he squeezed them together.

  "But we can go smaller," he said. "A lot smaller."

  She nodded but he couldn't tell if she saw the light or was just nodding.

  "Molecules," she said.

  He nodded.

  "That's right, Monica. And believe me, whoever gets there first is going to change this world. It is conceivable that we could build a whole computer that is smaller than a silicon chip. Take a computer that fills a room now and make it the size of a dime. That's our goal. That's why in the lab we call it 'chasing the dime.' I'm sure you've heard the saying around the office."

  She shook her head.

  "But why would someone want a computer the size of a dime? They couldn't even read it."

  Pierce started laughing but then cut it off. He knew he had to keep this woman quiet and on his side. He shouldn't insult her.

  "That's just an example. It's a possibility. The point is, the computing and memory power of this type of technology are limitless. You're right, nobody needs or wants a computer the size of a dime. But think what this advancement would mean for a PalmPilot or a laptop computer. What if you didn't need to carry any of those? What if your computer was in the button of your shirt or the frame of your eyeglasses? What if in your office your desktop wasn't on your desk but in the paint on the walls of your office?

  What if you talked to the walls and they talked back?"

  She shook her head and he could tell she still could not comprehend the possibilities and their applications. She could not break free of the world she currently knew and understood and accepted. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He removed his American Express card and held it up to her.

  "What if this card was a computer? What if it contained a memory chip so powerful that it could record every purchase ever made on this account along with the date, time and location of the purchase? I'm talking about for the lifetime of its user, Monica. A bottomless well of memory in this thin piece of plastic."

  Monica shrugged.

  "That would be cool, I guess."

  "We're less than five years away. We have molecular RAM right now. Random access memory. And we're perfecting logic gates. Working circuits. We put them together — logic and memory —and you have integrated circuitry, Monica."

  It still excited him to speak of the possibilities. He slid the credit card back into his wallet and pocketed it. He never took his eyes off her and could tell he still wasn't making a dent. He decided to stop trying to impress her and get to the point.

  "Monica, the thing is, we're not alone. It is highly competitive out there. There are a lot of private companies out there just like Amedeo Technologies. A lot of them are bigger and with a lot more money. There's also DARPA, there's UCLA and other universities, there's —"

  "What is DARPA?"

  "Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. The government. The agency that keeps its eye on all emerging technologies. It's backing several separate projects in our field.

  When I started the company I consciously chose not to have the government be my boss.

  But the point is, most of our competitors are well funded and dug in. We're not. And so to keep going, we need the funding stream to keep flowing. We can't do anything that stops that flow, or we drop out of the race and there is no Amedeo Technologies. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "It would be one thing if this was a car dealership or a business like that. But I happen to think we have a shot at changing the world here. The team I've assembled down in that lab is second to none. We have the —"

  "I said okay. But if all this is so important, maybe you ought to think about what you're doing. I just talked about it. You're the one who is out there going to her house and doing things underhanded."

  Anger flared up inside of him and he waited a moment to let it subside.

  "Look, I was curious about this and just wanted to make sure the woman was all right. If that is being underhanded, then okay, I was underhanded. But now I'm done with it. On Monday I want you to get my number changed and hopefully that will be the end of it."

  "Good. Can I go now?"

  Pierce nodded. He gave up.

  "Yes, you can go. Thanks for waiting for the furniture. I hope you have a good weekend, what's left of it, and I'll see you on Monday."

  He didn't look at her when he said it or when she got up from the chair. She left without another word to him and he remained angry. He decided that once things blew over he would get another personal assistant and Monica could go back to the general pool of assistants at the company.

  Pierce sat on the couch for a while but was drawn out of his thinking reverie by the phone. It was another caller for Lilly.

  "You're too late," he said. "She quit the business and went to USC."

  Then he hung up.

  After a while he picked up the phone again and called Information in Venice for the number of James Wainwright. A man answered his next call and Pierce got up and walked to the windows as he spoke.

  "I'm looking for Lilly Quinlan's landlord," he said. "For the house over on Altair in Venice."

  "That would be me."

  "My name's Pierce. I'm trying to locate Lilly and want to know if you've had any contact with her in the last month or so?"

  "Well, first of all, I don't think I know you, Mr. Pierce, and I don't answer questions about my tenants with strangers unless they state their business and convince me I should do otherwise."

  "Fair enough, Mr. Wainwright. I'd be happy to come see you in person if you'd prefer.

  I'm a friend of the family. Lilly's mother, Vivian, is worried about her daughter because she hasn't heard from her in eight weeks. She asked me to do some checking around. I can give you Vivian's number in Florida if you want to call and check on me."

  It was a risk but Pierce thought it was one worth taking to convince Wainwright to talk. It wasn't too far from the truth, anyway. It was social engineering. Turn the truth just a little bit and make it work for you.

  "I have her mother's number on her application. I don't need to call, because I don't have anything that will help you. Lilly Quinlan's paid up through the end of the month. I don't have occasion to see or talk to her unless she has a problem. I have not spoken to or seen her in a couple months, at least."

  "The end of the month? Are you sure?"

  Pierce knew that that didn't jibe with the check records he had examined.

  "That's right."

  "How did she pay her last rent, check or cash?"

  "That's none of your business."

  "Mr. Wainwright, it is my business. Lilly is missing and her mother has asked me to look for her."

  "So you say."

  "Call her."

  "I don't have time to call her. I maintain thirty-two apartments and houses. You think I have —"

  "Look, is there somebody who takes care of the lawn that I could talk to?"

  "You're already talking to him."

  "So you haven't seen her when you've been over there?"

  "Come to think of it,
a lot of times she'd come out and say hello when I was there cutting the lawn or working the sprinklers. Or she'd bring me out a Pepsi or a lemonade. One time she gave me a cold beer. But she hasn't been there the last few times I've been there.

  Her car was gone. I didn't think anything of it. People have lives, you know."

  "What kind of car was it?"

  "Gold Lexus. I don't know the model but I know it was a Lexus. Nice car. She took good care of it, too."

  Pierce couldn't think of anything else to ask. Wainwright wasn't much of a help.

  "Mr. Wainwright, will you check the application and then call her mother? I need you to call me back about this."

  "Are the police involved? Is there a missing-persons report?"

  "Her mother's been talking to the police but she doesn't think they're doing much. That's why she asked me. Do you have something to write with?"

  "Sure do."

  Pierce hesitated, realizing that if he gave his home number, Wainwright might recognize it as the same number he had for Lilly. He gave him the direct line to his office at Amedeo instead. He then thanked him and hung up.

  He sat there looking at the phone, reviewing the call repeatedly and coming to the same conclusion each time. Wainwright was being evasive. He either knew something or was hiding something, or both.

  He opened his backpack and got out the notebook in which he had written down the number for Robin, Lilly's escort partner.

  This time when he called he tried to deepen his voice when she answered. His hope was that she would not recognize him from the night before.

  "I was wondering if we could get together tonight."

  "Well, I'm open, baby. Have we ever dated? You sound familiar."

  "Uh, no. Not before."

  "Whacha got in mind?"

  "Um, maybe dinner and then go to your place. I don't know."

  "Well, honey, I get four hundred an hour. Most guys want to skip the dinner and just come see me. Or I go see them."

  "Then I can just come to you."

  "Okay, fine. What's your name?"

  He knew she had caller ID, so he couldn't lie.

  "Henry Pierce."

  "And what time were you thinking about?"

  He looked at his watch. It was six o'clock.

  "How about seven?"

  It would give him time to come up with a plan and to get to a cash machine. He knew he had some cash, but not enough. He had a card that could get him $400 maximum on a withdrawal.

  "An early-bird special," she said. "That's fine with me. Except there ain't a special rate."

  "That's okay. Where do I go?"

  "Got a pencil?"

  "Right here."

  "I'm sure you have a hard pencil."

  She laughed and then gave him an address of a Smooth Moves shop on Lincoln in Marina del Rey. She told him to go into the shop and get a strawberry blitz and then call her from the pay phone out front at five minutes before seven. When he asked her why she did it this way she said, "Precautions. I wanna get a look at you before I bring you on up. And I like those little strawberry thingees anyway. That's like bringing me flowers, sugar. Have 'em put some energy powder in it for me, would you? I get a sneaky idea that I'm gonna need it with you."

  She laughed again but it sounded too practiced and hollow to Pierce. It gave him a bad feeling. He said he would get the smoothie and make the call and thanked her, and that was the end of it. As he cradled the phone he felt a wave of trepidation sweep through him. He thought about the speech he had given Monica and how she had correctly turned it right back at him.

  "You idiot," he said to himself.

  12

  At the appointed time Pierce picked up a pay phone outside of Smooth Moves and called Robin's number. Turning his back to the phone, he saw that across Lincoln was a large apartment complex called the Marina Executive Towers. Only the building didn't really qualify as a tower or towers. It was short and wide —three stories of apartments over a garage. The complex covered half a city block and its length was broken up by color gradations. Its exterior was painted three different pastels —pink, blue, yellow —as it worked its way down the street. A banner hanging off the roofline announced short-term executive rentals and free maid service. Pierce realized it was a perfect place for a prostitute to carry out her business. The place was probably so large and the turnover of renters so high that a steady procession of different men coming in and out would not be noticeable or curious to other residents.

  Robin picked up after three rings.

  "It's Henry. I called —"

  "Hey, baby. Let me get a look at you here."

  Without trying to be too obvious about it, he scanned the windows of the apartment building across the street, looking for someone looking back at him. He didn't see anybody or any curtain movement but he noticed that the windows of several apartments had mirrored glass. He wondered if there was more than one woman like Robin working in the building.

  "I see you got my smoothie," she said. "You get that energy powder?"

  "Yes. They call it a booster rocket. That what you wanted?"

  "That's it. Okay, you look all right to me. You're not a cop, are you?"

  "No, I'm not."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Then say it. I'm taping this."

  "I am not a police officer, okay?"

  "All right, come on up then. Go across the street to the apartment building and at the main door push apartment two oh three. I'll see you soon."

  "Okay."

  He hung up and crossed the street and followed her instructions. At the door, the button marked 203 had the name Bird after it. As in robin, Pierce thought. When he pushed the button, the door lock was buzzed without any further inquiry from Robin over the intercom. Inside, he couldn't find the stairs, so he took the elevator the one flight up.

  Robin's apartment was two doors from the elevator.

  She opened the door before he got a chance to knock. There was a peephole and she apparently had been watching. She took the smoothie from his hand and invited him in.

  The place was sparsely furnished and seemed devoid of any personal object. There was just a couch, a chair, a coffee table and a standing lamp. A museum print was framed on the wall. It looked medieval: two angels leading the newly deceased toward the light at the end of a tunnel.

  As Pierce stepped in he could see that the glass doors to the balcony had the mirrored film on them. They looked almost directly across to the Smooth Moves shop.

  "I could see you but you couldn't see me," Robin said from behind him. "I could see you looking."

  He turned to her.

  "I was just curious about the setup. You know, how you work this."

  "Well, now you know. Come sit down."

  She moved to a couch and gestured for him to sit next to her. He did. He tried to look around. The place reminded Pierce of a hotel room but he guessed atmosphere wasn't what was important for the business usually conducted within the apartment. He felt her hand take his jaw and turn his face to hers.

  "You like what you see?" she asked.

  He was pretty sure she was the woman in the photo on the web page. It was hard to be certain because he had not studied it as long and as often as the photo of Lilly. She was barefoot and wore a light blue tank top T-shirt and a pair of red corduroy shorts cut so high that a bathing suit might have been more modest. She was braless and her breasts were huge, most likely the result of implants. Nipples the size of Girl Scout cookies were clearly outlined on the T-shirt. Her blonde hair was parted in the middle and cascaded down the sides of her face in ringlets. She wore no makeup that he could see.

  "Yes, I do," he answered.

  "People tell me I have a Meg Ryan thing going."

  Pierce nodded, although he didn't see it. The movie star was older but a lot softer on the eyes.

  "Did you bring me something?"

  At first he thought she was talking about the smoothie but then he r
emembered the money.

  "Yeah, I've got it here."

  He leaned back on the couch to reach into his pocket. He had the four hundred ready in its own thick fold of twenties fresh from the cash machine. This was the part he had rehearsed. He didn't mind losing the four hundred but he didn't want to give it to her and then be kicked out when he revealed the true reason he was there.