It wasn’t long before I found myself seated at a table at the cafe, coffee in hand. Riley sat across from me, watching me expectantly.
“You know, you’re a bit different from the usual journalists I meet.” I comment as I take a sip of my coffee.
“Yeah, well I like to get to know my interviewees before I get down to business.” She replies as she leans back in her seat. “Gives me a good first impression before I start looking into their secrets, and all that.”
“Secrets?” I nearly choke on my drink.
“You know, like background checks.” Riley answered. “A big part of my job is to get the story behind the story. To figure out what drives someone to do what they do.”
“Right, yes.” I nodded along, as I relaxed a bit.
“For example, I always wondered why Box-man chose the whole crime fighting gig. I mean, why put on a cape and costume when you could go into law enforcement, or become a judge or something.” Riley frowned as she fiddled with the menu the waitress had handed her earlier. “Unfortunately, he’s never stuck around long enough after defeating bad guys to answer any questions about that.”
“I’m sure he had a good reason at first.” I offered, as I tried to avoid meeting her gaze.
“At first, yeah probably.” Riley remarked, sitting up. “Now though, I’m not so sure. I mean he did just become one of Fromour Cities most wanted. Who knows how long he was planning on turning to the dark side.”
Something like anger sparked in Riley’s eyes as her fists clenched. Then, as if remembering who she was talking to she pulled on a smile and leaned forward to rest her arms on the table.
“I’m getting off topic though,” She said. “What I want to know right now is how you feel about your grandfather coming out of retirement.”
“Well, it’s not entirely surprising.” I told her. “Part of him never really left the whole detective business way back when he first retired.”
“So you’d say it was only a matter of time before he put back on the badge?”
“Well I hoped he’d never have to, but with all the recent changes and the trouble with Box-man, I guess he felt he had a responsibility to the city.” I summarised, sighing. “Personally, I would have liked it if he’d left the detective work to someone else.”
“So you don’t support his choice to rejoin the police force.” Riley inquired.
“I do.” I quickly corrected her. “I’m just a bit concerned for his safety is all.”
“Of course. He is your grandfather after all.” Riley nodded. “Which brings me to the second question I wanted to ask you about. How do you feel about the new automated officer units?”
“I’m not sure how to feel about them yet. I haven’t exactly seen them in action, so I can’t comment much.” I lied, as I had seen them in action when they were tracking me the other night.
“I see. Do you think they could save the lives of a lot of officers when it comes to shoot outs and such things?” Riley questioned.
“Yes and no. Though they may not have lives to risk, the droids also don’t have empathy or communication skills needed to talk down or negotiate with someone holding people hostage.” I replied quickly, already having put quite a lot of thought into the pros and cons of the SB Mk12s.
“That’s a solid argument.” Riley remarked. “Have you thought a lot about this?”
“Only because they’ll be the only barrier between my grandfather and possible harm.” I answered, as I looked down into my coffee.
“Makes sense.” Riley nodded her head, and wrote a note down on the notepad she’d pulled out of her purse. “Okay, just one last question, and then we can go ahead and eat lunch. Your brother, Leo, is currently away on a business trip, correct?”
“Business is a bit of a loose definition for what he’s doing, but yes.” I sighed.
“Has he been made aware that your grandfather came out of retirement, and is he okay with it?”
“He does know, and when I mentioned it he didn’t seem to disapprove, so I’d say he’s okay with it.”
“Great! That’s all I need for now.” Riley grinned as she folded the notebook close. “I may have some follow up questions later, but for now I think it’s safe for you to just relax and enjoy your lunch.”
“Oh, okay.” I blinked, surprised at how fast the interview passed.
“Now, what should I order?”
~~~~~~~~~
The rest of the meeting was uneventful, and despite what she said, she didn’t ask any more questions. I wasn’t entirely sure how well the interview went, since it was very different from ones I'd had before, but I guess that was to be expected, with Riley’s somewhat strange reputation, being one of the best journalists out there, but also seeming to be looked down upon by the rest of the news syndicates.
I couldn’t help but think about that flash of anger in her eyes, almost like she had a personal grudge against Box-Man. It was odd, she had always seemed like someone who would support Box-Man in this kind of scenario, but then again, that could have just been a facade that she put on when writing her articles.
I looked up and saw that my car was still where I left it, but my chaperon was now sitting in the driver's seat, and he looked a little nervous. Which would make sense, considering this was the first time he actually had to drive me since Keith retired.
I opened the backseat door, and tried to make myself look tired, so that he would hopefully decide not to be chatty, but it seemed I was out of luck.
“Good evening Master Brian, I hope you don’t mind me driving today but you grandfather insisted and I-”
“I don’t mind, just drive me home.”
“Yes of course, would you like the air conditioning on you loo-”
“I’m fine, just drive me home.”
He opened his mouth as if to say more, but I was already getting annoyed.
“And please, if it's at all possible, don’t pester me ok.”
“Of course sir, as you wish.”
I’m not sure how long we’d been driving for, when we got caught in traffic, but it didn’t seem like long.
“Uh, sir?”
“What.”
“We may be here for a while.”
I opened my eyes to look at him, “Why?”
Instead of answering he just pointed forwards towards the intersection.
Driving through the intersection, like some kind of weird parade, where six trucks, almost twice as big as regular vehicles, were slowly making their way down the road. All of them had several SBMk12’s in the truck beds, and then I noticed that those driving the trucks were also SBMk12’s.
“Great,” I said under my breath, “they can drive now.”
“Shall I go around sir?”
“No, that's fine, I’ll walk.”
He went to say something, I’m not sure what as he was cut off when I closed the car door.
Since the trucks were moving so slowly, I didn’t have to wait for an opening to cross the road and realized I could have crawled faster than they were moving. Credit to my driver, we had managed to get almost all the way home before being stopped, and I only had to walk a couple blocks to the manor.
~~~~~
I didn’t run into any more conveys on the short walk back to the manor. I don’t know what I would have done if I had, whether I would have acted out or kept my cool, but either way I was thankful.
The traffic must have cleared up rather quickly, as my chaperon pulled up the drive to the manor shortly after I had reached the front door. I nodded to him briefly, as he pulled past and down into the garage, before I stepped inside and froze when I noticed muddy footprints trailing through the main foyer.
The prints were large, much bigger than any boots the gardeners wore. It became obvious that someone was, or had been, in the manor, and I needed to know why and who.
Being very careful to act like I didn’t have any training in stealth, I followed the footprints through the house, until they entered my study. A brief moment of panic spread through my body as the thought that someone might figure out who I was crossed my mind.
I peeked into the room, expecting to find someone rummaging through my desk. Instead, there was a man in a suit and trench coat sitting in my chair, he was also wearing big boots covered in mud, clearly the ones that made the tracks. My mind wasn’t drawn to them however, because underneath the fedora he was wearing, was a latex mask and goggles that seemed to be staring through my soul.
“Ah, Brian Turhe, I was wondering when you’d show up.” The voice was a little off putting, since his mouth didn’t seem to have moved under his mask.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
“Me, oh, I’m, a mystery we’ll say. You know what, that's what you can call me, Mr. Mystery. As for why I’m in your house, well, that's a bit more difficult to explain.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk, Box-Man.”
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