David Robbins - Atlanta Run

“Where’d you get that from, sister?” Glisson asked. “A fortune cookie?”

The woman glanced over the hobo’s head at the giant in the leather vest and fatigue pants. “Are you with this gentleman, sir?”

“Unfortunately,” Blade replied, and saw her grin. “And calling him a gentleman is stretching the limits of reality.”

She burst into laughter.

“There’s no need to be insulting,” Glisson said angrily.

“My name is Eleanor,” the woman disclosed in a professional manner.

“I am here to…” she began. Then she abruptly stopped, examining the tramp’s features. “Haven’t you been here before, a long time ago?”

“I’ve been here gobs of times, you pretty thing,” Glisson answered.

“I’ll have to ask you to behave yourself,” Eleanor cautioned.

“And if I don’t?” Glisson baited her.

“Please,” Eleanor said. “As a personal favor for me?”

Glisson leaned on the counter and leered at her. “What do I get if I’m a good little boy?”

The sound of Blade’s right hand landing on the hobo’s back in a transparently friendly gesture produced a distinct smack.

Glisson straightened and looked at the Warrior, his eyes widening.

“If you’re a good little boy,” Blade stated mockingly, “you get to keep your teeth. Does that sound fair to you?”

Eleanor’s eyes were twinkling.

“I was just having some fun,” Glisson protested.

“Have you forgotten the reason we’re here?” Blade inquired.

“Why are you here?” Eleanor asked.

“I’m searching for a relative of mine,” Blade told her. “An officer informed me that you could find her using something called the Central Directory.”

Eleanor nodded. “The Central Directory is a listing of the name, address, identification number, medical record, and personal history of every citizen in Altanta. We access the information through our computer.”

“You have files on everyone in Atlanta?” Blade repeated in wonder.

“Comprehensive files,” Eleanor replied. “A complete rundown on everyone is at our fingertips.”

“Doesn’t it bother you knowing that your government is maintaining a record of everything you do?” Blade inquired.

“Not at all,” Eleanor answered. “We are all working toward a prosperous world,” she said, sounding as if the line was memorized. “Civil rights for all means privacy for none. Privacy is selfishness.”

“Can you jump through a hoop too?” Glisson cracked.

Eleanor looked at him quizzically. “A hoop?”

“Pay no attention to him,” Blade said, shouldering the tramp aside. “I really would like to find my cousin as soon as possible.”

“What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Llewellyn Snow,” Blade disclosed.

“Do you know her identification number?” Eleanor queried.

“No.”

“Her profession?”

“I know nothing about her except she lives in Atlanta,” Blade said. “At least, that’s what I was told. I hope I’m not wasting your time.”

“Not at all,” Eleanor assured him. “I’ll ask the computer for a list of all women by that name.”

“Your computer can talk?” Blade declared in alarm, thinking of the time the Warriors had encountered a hostile society in Houstin administered by a sentient “supercomputer.”

Eleanor chuckled. “Computers can’t talk, silly. I ask our computer for imformation by typing the proper codes.”

“A talking computer?” Glisson interjected, and cackled.

“This won’t take but a minute,” Eleanor said, walking to a nearby desk topped by a computer terminal.

“What are we going to do once we find this Snow woman?” Glisson questioned.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Blade responded.

“I can see you have this all planned out,” Glisson said sarcastically.

“I’m getting tired of your complaining,” Blade stated sternly. “If you figure you can do better on your own, be my guest.”

“Don’t be so damn touchy,” Glisson remarked. “Chill out.”

“It’s not chilly out.”

“You’re hopeless. Do you know that?”

Eleanor was tapping the computer keys and staring at a green display monitor.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Glisson mentioned, “but I hope Snow isn’t in the Central Directory.”

Blade glanced at the tramp.

“If she isn’t,” Glisson added quickly, “we can get the hell out of Atlanta.

And the sooner we split this burg, the healthier I’ll stay.”

Blade watched the Escort typing. She appeared to be puzzled, and as her fingers flew over the keys she became even more perplexed. Several minutes elapsed, until with a sigh of frustration she stood and returned to the counter. “I’m sorry,” she declared.

“Why?” Blade responded.

“I’m having trouble with the computer.”

“What kind of trouble?” Blade probed.

Eleanor gazed at the terminal, clearly mystified. “The Central Directory does list a Llewellyn Snow as being a resident of Atlanta—”

“Damn,” Glisson grumbled.

“But I can’t access the information in her life,” Eleanor detailed. “I fed in the proper codes again and again, and each time the computer denied my request.”

“Is that normal?” Blade asked.

“No,” Eleanor answered. “We rarely have a glitch, and I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s strange.”

“So I’m stuck?”

Eleanor reflected for a moment. “Maybe not. We can always use the old-fashioned approach and let our fingers do the walking.”

Blade gazed at his hands, baffled. “How do you mean?”

She reached under the counter and withdrew a thick book. “We look in the phone book. If she doesn’t have an unlisted number, we could be in luck.”

Glisson heard the office door open and looked back.

“Let me see,” Eleanor said, flipping the pages. “H. M. R. S. Here we go.”

She turned the pages slowly. “I hope she’s listed.”

“You and me both,” Blade concurred.

Glisson tapped the giant on the right shoulder.

“Not now,” Blade stated, concentrating on the Escort.

Eleanor stopped on one of the pages and bent forward. “There are eight or nine Snows listed.” She paused. “And here she is. Llewellyn Snow.”

The old-timer was trying to drill his fingers into the Warrior’s shoulder.

“Not now,” Blade said testily. “What’s the address?”

“Forget the address,” Glisson said. “This is more important.”

Blade turned, annoyed. “What could be so important?” he snapped, and then he saw the Storm Police. One stood in the doorway, and five or six more were visible in the corridor.

“Hello,” said the man in the doorway. “I’m Captain Weis.”

Blade straightened warily.

“Is something wrong, Captain?” Eleanor asked.

Everyone in the Visitors Bureau was staring at the officer.

“Someone in this office has been attempting to access information on Llewellyn Snow,” Captain Weis declared.

“I was,” Eleanor informed him.

“Why?” the officer demanded bluntly.

Eleanor indicated Blade with a nod of her head. “This man wants to contact her. She is a relative of his.”

“Is that so?” Captain Weis said with a smile. He gazed at the giant.

“What relation is she?”

“My cousin,” Blade replied.

“Care to try again?” Captain Weis queried.

“I don’t follow you,” Blade declared, his right hand tucked against his pants leg, the blackjack ready for use.

“Yes, you do,” Captain Weis corrected the giant. “Llewellyn Snow doesn’t have a cousin. She had a brother, Richard, and a sister-in-law, Leslie, but they’re both dead. And her parents were consigned to the Sleep Chambers five months ago.” He paused. “So you see, the jig is up.”