Meeting at the Rambler

Frank halted the recording again. He always did at this moment in the holo-cap. Every time he got to this point, he had to fight the urge to just stop it there and leave it.

Frank looked at Sandra’s face and remembered being happy. He remembered being excited at the possibility of actually getting to meet the woman who had thus far proven herself to be everything her voice alone had already promised. He remembered how quickly everything had changed.

Frank’s breathing quickened, and a now familiar heat grated against the backs of his hands and up his forearms. He quickly removed the expensive enhanced reality glasses and snapped them into a protective case he pulled from another pocket. He concentrated on slowing his breaths and heart rate and felt the heat gradually subside.

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. The shards on his desk rig were well shielded, but not much of anything else, including the ERG’s, could take it. He didn’t need to replace all of his equipment again. What he needed was to slow down and think.

Frank glanced at the clock on his holographic display. 11 p.m. He knew just the thing. He quickly logged onto his deck to check his Cypher script with Anon-Global, saw that it was paid up and active, and then stepped out the door. It was time for a drink at the Midnight Rambler.

The Joule was a fixture in the heart of Dallas. The old hotel was a bright spot of glamor and culture in the Old Town, and a place where even people from up on high in North Dallas’s mini-arcology still came to visit. Most people who went to the Joule these days weren’t even staying overnight. They came for the world class dining and drinking at any of the grand hotel’s multiple Michelin-Star restaurants and bars. For Frank, none of that glitz mattered much. His home away from home was tucked away down in the basement. The Midnight Rambler.

The Rambler started as an avant-garde experiment elsewhere in Dallas, but eventually closed down. It reopened in 2021 and has been underneath the Joule ever since. The Rambler took all kinds, from the down and out using their last digits for a hard shot, to the dilettante coming off a five-star meal upstairs and looking to blow off steam. It was like a little microcosm of Dallas itself in that way.

The Rambler always had quiet corners that Frank could sink into. He could nurse a tumbler of good McAllen over ice, without using up his own supply, and let the drone of passing people distract him for a bit. That was exactly his intent when he walked up to the bar. Of course, nothing ever happened quite like it was supposed to, lately.

The low lights of the Rambler cast a hazy glow onto the polished bar top, a delta of various shades of gold dancing across the surface. The air was thick with the tang of whiskey, wine, and beer, and punctuated by the low hum of conversation from patrons hailing from all corners of the stratified society. Frank stepped inside, the subtle scent of Texas grilled food wafting in from the Joule upstairs as the door closed behind him.

Alicia, the pretty young bartender, offered a nod of acknowledgement, her attention momentarily drawn away from the row of customers lining the bar. Frank made his way toward her, eager to order his usual drink and lose himself in the comforting familiarity of the establishment.

"Frank, you're back!" Alicia exclaimed, her voice carrying genuine warmth. "What can I get for you?"

"McAllen on the rocks, make it a double, please," Frank replied, his tone measured and deliberate. He could feel the weight of the day's events settling on his shoulders, the daunting task of unraveling the truth behind Sandra's case looming over him like a specter.

As he prepared to swipe over the required digits, a sudden presence at his elbow drew his attention. To his surprise and pleasure, it was Babette Donnadieu, her eyes filled with concern and urgency. Her artificially silver hair framed her sharp features, serving as an ethereal contrast to her sleek, tactically comfortable clothing.

"Frank, we need to talk," she said, her French accent barely noticeable, though Frank definitely noticed the gravity of her words.

"Is this really the time, Babette?" Frank asked, his gaze flickering back and forth between her and Alicia, who was busily pouring his drink.

"Oui, it is." Babette insisted, her piercing blue eyes unwavering. "Let's find somewhere quieter."

With a sigh, Frank relinquished his position at the bar and followed Babette to a secluded booth, his freshly poured drink left alone on the bar top. The low lights played across Babette’s face as they sat, casting an otherworldly glow on her already striking features. From the rather dour look on her face, which was usually graced with a perpetually sardonic, amused half grin, it was clear she felt that whatever she had to say was of the utmost importance. Frank steeled himself and looked at her expectantly.

"Frank, you should be resting," Babette insisted, her tone stern and laced with genuine concern. "Grim told me what you did. You just took out a whole cell of Mongrels getting that little girl back. What are you doing here, instead of at home, sleeping?"

"Is that what this was all about?” Frank replied, leaning back against the booth's worn leather. “From the way you were looking at me, I was working myself up for something epic. Babette, I’m sorry, but rest isn't an option right now. Sandra's case... it’s haunting me again. There's more to it than we know. Besides, I did try to sleep. I woke up after a couple of miserable hours and couldn’t lie down anymore. I have already done an initial dive into my records of the first day of her case, and I’m here because I needed a break."

Babette's eyes narrowed as she considered his words, and a flicker of curiosity danced across her features. "You've uncovered something new?"

"Maybe," he said, pausing to choose his words carefully. "I dived into my memories of the day I met with Sandra, like I’ve done multiple times before. There has always been a discrepancy in the timeline, a missing period that I couldn't access before. But now... Fate is resourceful. I think I'm getting closer to figuring out what I saw during the lost minutes. I was able to actually remember some of what I saw when my glasses were glitching and I was unconscious. My sight lingered on one man in particular, and I think it’s someone Sandra mentions later in our conversations. I don’t know for sure, though. I can’t remember it all clearly yet."

"Frank," Babette warned, her voice hushed but urgent. "You must be cautious. Your investigation into the Moores’ disappearance is attracting attention. Dangerous attention."

"Isn't that always the case?" he mused, his gaze drifting to the neon lights outside the window. The melancholic glow seemed to mirror the weight pressing down on him, a constant reminder of the shadows lurking in every corner of this city.

"More than usual," Babette countered, her hand gently covering his, offering comfort while also conveying the gravity of her warning. "There are forces at play here that neither of us fully understand yet. Be careful, Frank."

"Always am," he replied with a wry smile, though his eyes betrayed no hint of amusement. In truth, Babette's caution only served to stoke the fire within him, fueling his determination to uncover the truth behind Sandra's case and expose the darkness festering beneath the surface. Babette's concern was palpable, but Frank just couldn’t let go.

"Truly, thank you for the warning, Babette," Frank said, his voice guarded. "But I can handle myself. I've been doing it for a long time."

"Frank, you don't have to do this alone." Babette hesitated, clearly torn between loyalty and the knowledge of what they were up against. "I want to help."

Before Frank could respond, the Midnight Rambler's door swung open with a jarring clang, allowing a gust of muggy air to sweep through the dimly lit bar. In strode a group of men, their features twisted into sneers as they scanned the room. The leader, a tall man with a jagged scar running down the right side of his face, locked eyes with Frank. The chilling glare sent a shiver down his spine, but he held his ground.

“Well, crap,” Frank muttered under his breath, instantly recognizing the man.

The Mongrels gang. Frank recognized them, particularly their leader, this scarred man in front, from the case he had thought he just closed earlier today. The Mongrels were an international merging of several Latin gangs, including MS13 and others, and they were notorious for their ruthless tactics and unquenchable thirst for power. He had crossed paths with them before, but never imagined they would be bold enough to saunter into a place like the Rambler, located as it was within the Joule.

Frank’s fingers twitched toward the concealed mono-daitō beneath his coat. "Look, guys. I'm just here for a drink."

"Cut the crap, Cole," the Mongrel leader snarled, stepping closer and towering over him. "You killed a lot of my guys. I don’t care why you did it or what deals you made with the locals around here. You’ve signed your death warrant.”

"Look," Frank said, forcing a casual tone into his voice. "I am actually sorry about your guys. All I wanted was the little girl they took. I am not the police. But they chose to keep coming at me."

"You think I care about your ‘sorry’?" the gang leader snarled, his fists clenched and knuckles white. "We have to make an example of you."

Frank met the gang leader's icy gaze head-on. "I guess you’re going to have to make your move."

The air in the Midnight Rambler crackled with tension, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Frank's pulse quickened, his instincts, honed from years of navigating dangerous situations like this, screamed at him to act. The Mongrel leader's eyes narrowed, and it felt as if the entire bar was holding its breath.

The gang leader growled, and his hand flashed towards something concealed beneath his jacket. A split second later, Babette was just there, her movements so quick that Frank barely registered them. In the blink of an eye, she had the gang leader's arm twisted behind his back, forcing him to his knees.

The other thugs rushed forward, but Babette showed them exactly what BioDyne executives had access to that set them apart from even the best street-modders. Without even taking her hand off the leader’s pinned arm, Babette’s feet and other hand flashed out, her enhanced strength and reflexes making short work of the Mongrel thugs. One by one, they fell to the floor, incapacitated by her precise strikes.

Frank watched in awe as the comparatively tiny woman single-handedly dismantled his adversaries. As the last thug slumped to the ground, the heavy silence lifted, giving way to the murmur of startled patrons.

"Enough!" Babette’s voice boomed like thunder, commanding complete attention and freezing every single person in the  room in place. With one more brutal CRACK, Babette brought her reinforced elbow down on the back of the leader’s skull, and he, too, was out like a light.

"Thank you," Frank said, meeting Babette's gaze. "You didn't have to do that."

"Perhaps not," she replied, her expression unreadable. "But I cannot stand idly by while someone threatens my friends."

Frank turned to Alicia, who stared wide-eyed at the scene before her. "I'm sorry about all this," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to bring trouble into your establishment."

Alicia offered a small, understanding smile. "It's not your fault, Frank," she reassured him. "Just be careful, alright?"

"Always am," he replied, though he knew that wasn't entirely true. He turned back to Babette, his gratitude still palpable. "I owe you one. And I promise, when you're ready to share what you've found, I'll be there."

"Very well," she said, nodding in agreement. "But for now, I suggest you lay low. The Mongrels won't take this lightly."

"Frank," Alicia cut in, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to regain her composure. "I, um... I think you better go. Before the Joule’s “Security” arrives to deal with the mess. They’re Black Lotus Courtesans."

"Right," Frank replied, his mind still racing with questions. "Alicia, again, I'm sorry about the mess. I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

She managed a weak smile. "You've got enough on your plate, Frank. Just find out what's going on and put an end to it."

"Will do," he said, giving her a nod before turning back to Babette, steeling his resolve against the threats that loomed ahead. He had no choice but to press forward, to solve Sandra's case and set right whatever wrongs he could.

“And, tonight at least, you’re going to let a beautiful, tiny, furious woman walk you home,” Babette said, her playful smirk adding a twinkle to her eyes.

As they left the Midnight Rambler, the neon-lit streets of Downtown Dallas seemed to pulse with life, each blink of color a reflection of the city's hidden secrets. He knew there were dangers lurking in the shadows, but he also knew that within those shadows, there was a truth that Sandra deserved, and one that he would stop at nothing to uncover. As he watched Babette as they walked, a sense of admiration mixed with unease crept into his thoughts. What exactly had she found?

“What are you staring at, mon ami?” Babette asked, amusement making her chuckle.

“Oh, nothing. Just you. Why do you put up with me?”

“Because it amuses me. You’re not boring. Just by being you, gloomy, hyper-focused, a bit self-righteous, you manage to piss off everyone I work with. It just so happens that the people I work with are scum, so yes. You’re amusing.”

“Well. Thank you. I guess.”

She truly laughed this time, and Frank couldn’t help but notice how much the unrestrained joy transformed her countenance.

“You tilt at wind-mills, my friend,” she said after she got herself mostly under control. “Except we all know that your windmills actually are dragons sometimes. And you get yourself in trouble for it.”

“You got me there. Guilty as charged. Can’t seem to help it.”

The rest of the walk to Frank’s place didn’t take more than five minutes. They filled the time with companionable silence until they reached the back entrance to the converted church complex.

"Remember our agreement," Babette reminded him, her gaze piercing through him. "When I have the information, we will get together."

"Agreed," he replied, his determination unwavering despite the risks that lay ahead. He actually had a smile for her this time, and her quick hug in response was a welcome warmth.

As Frank watched Babette walk off into the sultry Dallas night, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, one that threatened to unravel beneath him at any moment. He sensed that diving deeper into Sandra's case would likely lead him down a path fraught with danger and deception. This time was different from the others somehow, and the repercussions were already happening. But he couldn't turn away, not now. Not when the truth seemed so tantalizingly close.

As he gazed out at the city stretching away into the night around him, Frank found himself reflecting on the fragments of memory that haunted him – the pain, the loss, the flickers of a past that refused to be forgotten. Each step carried him further into the labyrinth that was Sandra's case, and with each step, the line between his own identity and the ghosts of his past grew increasingly blurred.

"Focus," he muttered to himself, the words barely audible above the hum of hover-cars and the distant murmur of voices. His senses were heightened, attuned to the smallest details. The flickering signs and holo-ads bathed him in an eerie, ever-shifting spectrum of colors, but his gaze remained locked on the path ahead.

As Frank watched the maze of alleyways and narrow streets from outside the back door of his apartment, the city seemed to come alive around him. The buzz of neon lights mingled with the clamor of unseen crowds; the electric hum of machinery filled the air with a constant, resonant thrum. And yet, under it all lay a quiet, insidious thread – a counter-melody spun by a stranger-than-human voice.

A sudden chill raced down Frank's spine, the cold realization that unseen eyes watched him from the shadows. He could feel them, like predators stalking their prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The air seemed heavy with unspoken menace, the neon lights casting eerie, distorted reflections on the damp pavement beneath his feet.

"Stay sharp," he muttered under his breath, his heightened senses on high alert. Even right outside the door of his home, danger lurked around every corner. Finally, he stepped inside.

The door to his apartment creaked as it opened, revealing the dimly lit room that he had left not so long ago in search of a drink and a way to calm his thoughts. It was filled with the physical remnants of countless investigations. Photographs, newspaper clippings, scribbled notes, all detritus that many in this technological age would find utterly puzzling.

Frank closed the door behind him, sealing himself off from the outside world and its myriad dangers. This was his sanctuary, the place where he could strip away the masks he wore and confront the man beneath.

"Alright, Frank," he said to himself, his voice low and determined. "Time to get to work."