William Vollmann - The Royal Family

The cops got two of them. The factory owner, vindictive in victory, but perhaps Tyler would have done the same, prosecuted them for malicious mischief. They’d already cost him eight thousand dollars, not counting Tyler’s fee. One boy got off, but the other was already “in the system,” as lawyers love to say: two prior convictions for graffiti, and a current bench warrant for probation violation. They threw him in jail for thirty days until his hearing, then administratively revoked his probation. He served six months more behind bars. The factory owner told all this to Tyler, who would rather not have known. And yet he did not believe himself to be guilty of anything. He despised the random, cowardly nihilism of the vandals. Moreover, he hadn’t called the police when they were inside the factory; he’d given them a sporting chance. Perhaps that was the source of his qualmishness: He had taken no stand. But must he take a stand on everything, everytime? It had been just business. And the factory owner was satisfied.

Somebody warned him most threateningly not to take Mrs. Bickford on as a client. Narrowing his eyes, he met her on Tuesday as scheduled, but she didn’t want to hire him anymore; she was too scared, she said. He gave her the name of a battered women’s shelter and wished her luck.

Somebody wanted him to shadow some jurors. — I’d like to help you out, said Tyler in his most friendly voice, but I have all the work I can handle right now. Have you tried Pinkerton’s? Somebody said they specialize in shadowing jurors. I think it’s in their code of ethics.

Somebody down at H.R. Computer in Palo Alto wanted him to try to obtain a chip from their competitor, RoboGraphix. — Well, now, you know that’s illegal, said Tyler. How much can you pay?

Twenty thousand.

Are you recording this call?

What if I tell you I’m not?

I wouldn’t believe you.

What if I told you I was?

I’d figure you were trying to entrap me.

So you don’t want the twenty thousand?

I don’t break the law, period.

And I’m not asking you to break the law.

Dandy, said Tyler. Glad we got that crap out of the way.

By the way, I’m not recording.

I am, Tyler lied with a laugh.

Look, Mr. Tyler, if you—

Do they manufacture on site?

Yes, sir.

Gallium arsenide? That’s a pretty toxic process, I understand.

I believe so.

Well, let me do some looking around. I’ll call you back.

He called up his friend Rod on the force down in Palo Alto, and Rod said that the job wasn’t a sting that he knew of. Be careful, though, was Rod’s unsolicited and unnecessary advice.

He called up RoboGraphix and asked the secretary to send him a copy of the press release on the SBD-9000 chip.

What chip is that, sir? said the receptionist.

I’m on assignment for Computer Currents to write an article about you, said Tyler. It’s all over town that you have a fabulous new chip coming out.

Just a moment, sir. I’ll let you speak with one of our technical staff.

Yeah, who’s this? said the next voice on the line — a weary, suspicious, middle-aged male voice.

Yes, sir, my name is Charles Ångstrom, you know, as in wavelength, and I’m freelancing a piece for—

Yeah, who you with?

Computer Currents.

Who’s your editor over there?

Who am I dealing with, sir? said Tyler in his silkiest voice.

This is Hal Nemeth in the technical department, the voice said.

Well, Mr. Nemeth, I’ll be frank with you. I’m writing this article on spec. I have some friends in Silicon Valley who tell me that what you guys are about to release is pretty special…

Where are you calling from?

Menlo Park, said Tyler, which was true; he’d driven down for the occasion, and was calling from a pay phone there, between a big billboard for Caesar’s Palace and another for an upcoming club entitled Feminine Circus.

Look, Hal Nemeth said. You’re probably OK, but for certain reasons I can’t really get into, we prefer not to publicize anything yet. If you want me to transfer you back to Judy, she can put your mailing address into the database so that you get a copy of the press release.

Sure, I understand, said Tyler ingratiatingly. Thanks for your time.

Do you want me to transfer you?

Sure. Judy has a nice voice.

Hal Nemeth grunted sourly, and there was a click, and the next thing he knew the receptionist was saying: RoboGraphix. May I help you?

Is this Judy? he said.

Yes, this is Judy. How may I help you, sir?

Judy, this is Chuck Wildmore. I don’t know if you remember me, but my sister Karen has been trying to reach you.

Karen? I don’t know any Karen.

Your name is Judy, right?

Yes. But—

And you work for RoboGraphix?

Obviously this is RoboGraphix. Who—

Well, you must be the one, he insisted, enjoying what in the industry they called a “gag call.”—She’s in the hospital right now, which is why she asked me to call you. It’s kind of important to her.

But I’ve told you I don’t know anybody named Karen, said the woman in stony exasperation.

Well, I apologize for bothering you, but Karen said it was important. She’s in intensive care, you understand. You know, where they put those tubes into your arms. They say if you go in there you have a forty percent chance of coming out.

I’m sorry, the woman said reflexively.

She says you were a friend of hers a long time ago, and she wanted to see you.

Some friend. I—

Look. Would you mind giving her a jingle at the hospital? Or — no, that’s going to be a hassle for you. How about if I—

But I don’t know any Karen! the receptionist said plaintively. Can I put you on hold? I’ve got another call.

Sure, said Tyler. I’ll wait.

He listened to the tinny music, and then Judy picked up the phone and said: RoboGraphix. May I help you?

Hi, Judy. This is Karen’s brother.

Listen, Judy said, weren’t you the guy I transferred to Mr. Nemeth?

Mr. Nemeth? Who’s that? Listen, Judy, if you don’t want to talk to my sister why don’t you just say so? I’m trying to help her out. I don’t know what this is about, because we went our separate ways for years, if you see what I’m saying, but now she’s… Anyway, I guess I was wrong to bother you. Thanks for your time. I’ll tell Karen you were unavailable.

The girl hesitated. — What hospital is she in?

San Francisco General. No health insurance. It’s pretty chaotic up there, so if you call you might not get through.

I’m sorry, Judy said again. (Closing his eyes, he remembered Irene boredly picking at her fingernails.) Look, I have to go. There are three calls waiting. If your sister wants to call, I’m in the book.

All right, Judy. I’ll pass that along. Has your last name changed since she knew you?

No, I’m not married, she said, her voice dark, foggy and lost like beer bottles on the bottom shelf of a refrigerator case. My last name is Knowles, and I’m in the book.

For Palo Alto?

Sunnyvale.

Thanks a million, Judy. I guess it will mean a lot to her to speak with you, said Tyler, hanging up.

He called Dan Smooth about that drink on Friday at eight o’clock. He had to go to L.A., he said. Could they reschedule? Dan Smooth, momentarily as silent as the grating-sealed shops late at night in Chinatown, said at length that they could. He called his mother, who was having chest pains. He called his answering machine, but there was no new business.

He drove down to Los Angeles for another of what he called his secret visits, and after he had done his business there he telephoned his old friend Jake, a downsized engineer. He asked if there were any special place in an office where a small company would be inclined to store secret chips.