his money. How old was she? Maybe twenty? "This place is just off the meg-way. Means if I get a call from Control I can respond more quickly."
"I never would have thought of that." She smiled, her teeth white and even. He wondered if she saw right through him. "That's pretty clever."
"Old Judge trick." His mouth went dry. He felt stupid. Awkward. "You may have noticed I'm a pretty old Judge."
"Oh, I don't know about that." She smiled again. As she handed the change back to him he felt her fingers brush briefly against his palm through his glove. "You still look to be in good working order to me."
"Hey, Broph." A voice broke the spell.
He turned and saw a Judge pulling his bike into the parking lot behind him. It was Elvins, his one-time rookie.
"When Control said you were on a meal break I knew I'd find you here." Elvins's voice was breathless and eager. "Got a hot tip from an organ legger I just busted. Stookie lab, backroom of the Holovid Hideout on Escobar Plaza. Thought you might want to come along for the ride."
"How many perps?" He dropped his hottie into the bin and made for his bike.
"Could be as many as a dozen. Spits and stump guns. Stoolie says they're mostly lab geeks, though. We roll in there hard we should take 'em, no problem." Elvins's eyes narrowed as they shifted to the hottie stand. "Hey, Broph? Health and safety violation. That extractor vent should have a cover on it."
"I've dealt with it already," he lied. "First-time offender. Used my discretion. Told her to get it fixed and gave her a warning."
"A warning?" Elvins smiled in mock disbelief. "No offence, but you must be getting charitable in your old age, Broph. Not like you to go so easy on a perp."
"Guess maybe I had an ulterior motive," he smiled. As their bikes roared out of the lot he stole a glance behind him. "Place makes good hotties. You get to be as old as me, you have to learn to take your pleasures where you can find them."
Night. Bettie Bacall Block. He had parked his bike outside the Bogart Con-apt and travelled the rest of the way on foot. He had told Control he was going into a basement in search of a perp and might be off-comm for a while. His second lie of the day. Luckily they didn't ask too many questions.
The hallway outside her apartment was empty. He was glad of it. The last thing he needed was some insomniac citizen nosing around. In his uniform he stood out like a sore thumb. At least there were no surveillance cameras. Lack of block funds meant Bettie Bacall wasn't due a security upgrade for another two years. He had checked it out in the Justice Department database, just to be on the safe side.
Melinda Jayne Holsen. He had checked her out, too. Fifty-third Floor. Apartment fifteen. One conviction. A two-hundred credit fine for Failure To Return A Library-Slug In A Prompt And Timely Manner. Twenty-six years of age. Unmarried. No known dependants. Height: One-hundred and sixty centimetres. Hair: brown. Eyes: blue.
She had blue eyes. Somehow that seemed important.
He reached the apartment. He felt guilty. Nervous. He pulled out his daystick, ready to pound it against the door. Old habits. This wasn't a crime swoop. Embarrassed, he put the daystick away. His hand shook as he rang the bell.
"Just a minute." He heard her voice inside the apartment. "I'm in the shower."
She opened the door wearing a bathrobe. Hair tied up. Skin still wet. He had prepared a story. Reports of a sneak thief operating in the block. Going door-to-door to ask if the residents had seen anything suspicious, but when the moment came he found himself dumbstruck. He swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. He looked into her blue eyes in silence.
"I knew you'd come," she said, a smile lighting up her face. The bathrobe fell open.
Night. Afterwards. Melinda's bedroom. Lying together, facing each other in the darkness. A glimpse of the moon outside through a chink in the curtains.
"An Unjudicial Liaison," he told her. "That's what they
"I never would have thought of that." She smiled, her teeth white and even. He wondered if she saw right through him. "That's pretty clever."
"Old Judge trick." His mouth went dry. He felt stupid. Awkward. "You may have noticed I'm a pretty old Judge."
"Oh, I don't know about that." She smiled again. As she handed the change back to him he felt her fingers brush briefly against his palm through his glove. "You still look to be in good working order to me."
"Hey, Broph." A voice broke the spell.
He turned and saw a Judge pulling his bike into the parking lot behind him. It was Elvins, his one-time rookie.
"When Control said you were on a meal break I knew I'd find you here." Elvins's voice was breathless and eager. "Got a hot tip from an organ legger I just busted. Stookie lab, backroom of the Holovid Hideout on Escobar Plaza. Thought you might want to come along for the ride."
"How many perps?" He dropped his hottie into the bin and made for his bike.
"Could be as many as a dozen. Spits and stump guns. Stoolie says they're mostly lab geeks, though. We roll in there hard we should take 'em, no problem." Elvins's eyes narrowed as they shifted to the hottie stand. "Hey, Broph? Health and safety violation. That extractor vent should have a cover on it."
"I've dealt with it already," he lied. "First-time offender. Used my discretion. Told her to get it fixed and gave her a warning."
"A warning?" Elvins smiled in mock disbelief. "No offence, but you must be getting charitable in your old age, Broph. Not like you to go so easy on a perp."
"Guess maybe I had an ulterior motive," he smiled. As their bikes roared out of the lot he stole a glance behind him. "Place makes good hotties. You get to be as old as me, you have to learn to take your pleasures where you can find them."
Night. Bettie Bacall Block. He had parked his bike outside the Bogart Con-apt and travelled the rest of the way on foot. He had told Control he was going into a basement in search of a perp and might be off-comm for a while. His second lie of the day. Luckily they didn't ask too many questions.
The hallway outside her apartment was empty. He was glad of it. The last thing he needed was some insomniac citizen nosing around. In his uniform he stood out like a sore thumb. At least there were no surveillance cameras. Lack of block funds meant Bettie Bacall wasn't due a security upgrade for another two years. He had checked it out in the Justice Department database, just to be on the safe side.
Melinda Jayne Holsen. He had checked her out, too. Fifty-third Floor. Apartment fifteen. One conviction. A two-hundred credit fine for Failure To Return A Library-Slug In A Prompt And Timely Manner. Twenty-six years of age. Unmarried. No known dependants. Height: One-hundred and sixty centimetres. Hair: brown. Eyes: blue.
She had blue eyes. Somehow that seemed important.
He reached the apartment. He felt guilty. Nervous. He pulled out his daystick, ready to pound it against the door. Old habits. This wasn't a crime swoop. Embarrassed, he put the daystick away. His hand shook as he rang the bell.
"Just a minute." He heard her voice inside the apartment. "I'm in the shower."
She opened the door wearing a bathrobe. Hair tied up. Skin still wet. He had prepared a story. Reports of a sneak thief operating in the block. Going door-to-door to ask if the residents had seen anything suspicious, but when the moment came he found himself dumbstruck. He swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. He looked into her blue eyes in silence.
"I knew you'd come," she said, a smile lighting up her face. The bathrobe fell open.
Night. Afterwards. Melinda's bedroom. Lying together, facing each other in the darkness. A glimpse of the moon outside through a chink in the curtains.
"An Unjudicial Liaison," he told her. "That's what they
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