The Fool's Run

counted the rings to eight, and pressed the “a” key before the ninth ring. It rang twice more, and then the carrier tone came up. If I hadn’t pressed an “a” between eight and nine, it’d have rung forever.
    After another moment, a ? came up on my screen, and I typed in a pseudonym. After another moment, a WHAT? appeared.
    I typed, need info 45 minutes max on driver rental car (unknown agency but probably from St. Paul Muni) XDB-471 white Ford.
    It sat there on the screen for a moment before he came back with $ 50, his price for the information.
    I typed OK and he came back with LEAVE ON RECEIVE. I typed OK again and a second later the modem signaled a disconnect. I switched the modem to auto-answer and hung up.
    Bobby doesn’t take cash. His patrons sign up with SciNet, a science-oriented data-processing service, and give Bobby their account numbers and passwords. He uses their time, up to an agreed amount. He never cheats. I have no idea what he’s using SciNet’s mainframes for. It might be a money-laundering shuck of some kind.
    While Bobby looked for data on the blonde, I showered and brushed my teeth.
    As I was brushing, I stared at myself in the mirror, something that I seem to do more and more often as the years go by. Searching for signs of immortality, finding signs of erosion; the lines on either side of my nose get deeper and my hair is shot through with gray, which I like to pretend is premature.
    I thought about growing a mustache again, but the last time I tried, the experiment ended in embarrassment. A woman friend was teasing me about the new growth, saying I reminded her of someone. But who? I modestly mentioned a few movie stars, and she started laughing. Things were moving right along until halfway through the evening, when her forehead wrinkled and she pointed her index finger at the brush above my mouth. “I got it. Mark Twain!”
    Mark Twain was a wonderful guy, but in the picture everybody remembers, he was thirty years older than I am. Twenty, anyway. I lost the mustache.
    When I finished brushing, I changed into a clean pair of jeans, a blue oxford-cloth shirt, and a fading linen sport coat. Then I went out to the kitchen, opened a can of chicken feast for the cat, and unlocked the flap so he could come and go. I was stuffing underwear and a couple of clean shirts into an overnight bag when Bobby called back. The computer answered, and data began running down the screen.
    Margaret Ellise Kahn, dob 2/18/52, 80023 Indian, Evanston, Ill., eyes green, height 5’9, weight 135, no corrective lenses, registered owner silver-gray Porsche 911. Speeding tickets September 120 in 55 zone paid $150 fine; charged 112 in 55 November dismissed; charged 114 in 55 April dismissed; employed Anshiser Holding Corp. Chicago-Los Angeles personal sec Rudolph S. Anshiser; reported income $297,000 last year’s fed return; credit ratings AAA all services; bank balances $15,000 checking, $268,000 CDs and passbook; accounts with Merrill Lynch amounts unknown; Cook county court shows divorce Margaret Ellise Kahn Harcourt from John Miller Harcourt prof. U. Chicago economics, 2-24-80, shows no Cook County marriage license; Margaret Ellise Kahn grad U. Chicago economics BA 1974 MA 75 Ph.D. 78. Personal sec. Anshiser 1980-present . . . can print full divorce proceeding, full credit reports?
    I typed back, No.
    Much more around, if need more; lots of files & leads.
     
    No thanx, may call back. Going Chicago, will take portable. Plenty credit SciNet, talk to you later.
     
    Later.
    The screen flashed disconnect. I sent the data to the printer, ripped off the sheet that burped out, stuck it in my coat pocket, and shut the system down.
    The first part of Bobby’s information came from a driver’s license record. He’s into the car rental agencies’ data banks, and he got the license and credit card numbers there. Once he had those, he was on his way. Credit records, government records, Social Security—they’re all open books, if you have the right opener.
    He’d given me something to think about. Anshiser was serious money: a billion or two. if The Wall Street Journal knows what it’s talking about.
    I subscribe to twenty-five or thirty magazines and newsletters that touch on my work, everything from Artnews and Byte to PC World and Vector Reports. Any issues of particular interest get tossed in a closet. If I wasn’t mistaken, Business Week, sometime in the past year, had done a profile of Anshiser