Tek Money Read Online Free Page B

home.”
    â€œDon’t strain your generosity.”
    â€œYou want a lift or don’t you?”
    â€œOkay, all right. I’ll accept the offer.” She moved, slowly, across the deck. Turning, she looked, forlornly, back toward him. “I’m awfully disappointed.”
    â€œHappens a lot when you’re young.”

5
    T HE MORNING WAS clear, pale blue and chilly. Jake was on the homeward lap of his daily run along the Malibu Sector beach. Out on the deck of an ivory white beach house two goldplated robots were setting out a large breakfast table and four chairs. One of the bots waved to Jake.
    â€œMorning, Ralph,” called Jake, returning the wave.
    â€œGot time for a cup of nearcaf?” inquired the glittering mechanism.
    â€œNot today.”
    Farther along Jake encountered a plump silver-haired young woman in a scarlet beach robe. She was squatting at the edge of the sea. “Darn, heck,” she muttered as she poked a pudgy finger into the wet sand, probing for something.
    â€œProblem, Jane?” Jake slowed and halted.
    â€œYeah, darn it,” she answered, not looking up. “I lost my mood patch again.”
    â€œShouldn’t go swimming with that still on your arm.” He crouched beside her.
    â€œI wasn’t swimming. Just doing my exercises.” Jane kept on searching. “If I don’t find the darn thing—it’s my last one until I can get the prescription refilled—I’m going to swing from manic to depressed all day. I’ll probably punch my halfwit boss at the Ponics Farmers’ Market and then—”
    â€œHere it is.” Jake spotted the tiny silvery circle near his right foot. He picked it up carefully, blew off the sand and returned it to the anxious young woman.
    â€œGreat, thanks.” Chuckling, she stood, rolled up her sleeve and slapped the mood-controlling disc in place on her upper arm. “By the way, who was that who got slaughtered in front of your digs last night, Jake?”
    â€œSomebody I used to know.”
    â€œWhat in the devil killed the poor doof?”
    Jake said, “Soon as the police tell me, I’ll let you know.” He resumed running.
    Dan, dressed in his SoCal Police Academy uniform, was sitting out on the deck with a glass of citrisub in his hand. Molly Fine, also in uniform, was occupying the slingchair that the dead man’s sister had used last night. Molly was slim and dark, a year older than Jake’s son.
    â€œGood morning, Jake. It’s impressive how you can run such a distance and not get all red in the face the way my Uncle Stan does after about fifty feet.” She stood up, smiling at him. “I’m collecting your wayward son and giving him free transport to school this morning.”
    â€œI noticed your skycar parked there next to mine, Molly, and figured as much.”
    â€œSee?” said Dan, setting his glass on the deck beside his chair. “I told you Dad was still an ace detective despite his advanced age. Give him just a little clue like a lemon yellow skycar and he—”
    â€œRespect for your elders is something they ought to be teaching at the academy.” Jake leaned an elbow on the rail.
    Molly said, “Now—about the Gunsmiths outfit.”
    He glanced over at his son. “Been telling her all about—”
    â€œI wheedled the information out of him,” the young woman explained. “I’m pretty good at interrogation. I get better grades in that area than Dan, though maybe that isn’t saying much.”
    â€œOne of her uncles is—”
    â€œUncle Jerry,” took up Molly. “He used to do legal work for Gunsmiths. Uncle Jerry’s the one with the diminished capacity for integrity.”
    â€œMolly thinks she knows something about what’s stored at the San Andreas Arsenal.”
    Nodding, she asked Jake, “Ever hear of Garret Devlin?”
    â€œTechnical whiz, no