Chasing the Dime

11

By the time Pierce got to his apartment the movers were gone but Monica was still there.

She'd had them arrange the furnishings in a way that was acceptable. It didn't really take advantage of the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along one side of the living room and dining room, but Pierce didn't care all that much. He knew he'd be spending little time in the apartment anyway.

"It looks nice," he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. I hope you like everything. I was just about to leave."

"Why did you stay?"

She held up her stack of magazines in two hands.

"I wanted to finish a magazine I was reading."

Pierce wasn't sure why that necessitated her staying at the apartment but he let it go.

"Listen, there's one thing I want to ask you before you leave. Come sit down for a second."

Monica looked put out by the request. She probably envisioned another phone call impersonating Lilly Quinlan. Nevertheless, she sat down on one of the leather club chairs she'd ordered to go with his couch.

"Okay, what is it?"

Pierce sat on the couch.

"What is your job title at Amedeo Technologies?"

"What do you mean? You know what it is."

"I want to see if you know what it is."

"Personal assistant to the president. Why?"

"Because I want to make sure you remember that it is personal assistant, not just assistant."

She blinked and looked at his face for a long moment before responding.

"All right, Henry, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I don't appreciate your telling Charlie Condon all about my phone number problems and what I'm trying to do about it."

She straightened her back and looked aghast but it was a bad act.

"I didn't."

"That's not what he said. And if you didn't tell him, how did he know everything after he talked to you?"

"Look, okay, all I told him was that you'd gotten this prostitute's old number and you were getting all kinds of calls. I had to tell him something because when he called I didn't recognize his voice and he didn't recognize mine and he said, 'Who's this?' and I kind of snapped at him because I thought he was, you know, calling for Lilly."

"Uh-huh."

"And I couldn't make up a lie on the spot. I'm not that good, like some people. Lying, social engineering, whatever you call it. So I told him the truth."

Pierce almost mentioned that she was pretty good at lying about not telling Charlie at the start of the conversation but he decided not to inflame the situation.

"And that's all you told him, that I had gotten this woman's phone number? You left it at that? You didn't tell him about how you got her address for me and I went to her house?"

"No, I didn't. What's the big deal anyway? You guys are partners, I thought."

She stood up.

"Can I please go?"

"Monica, sit down here for one more second."

He pointed to the chair and she reluctantly sat back down.

"The big deal is that loose lips sink ships, you understand that?"

She shrugged her shoulders and wouldn't look at him. She looked down at the stack of magazines in her lap. On the cover of the top one was a photo of Clint Eastwood.

"My actions reflect on the company," Pierce said. "Especially right now. Even what I do in private. If what I do is misrepresented or blown out of proportion, it could seriously hurt the company. Right now our company makes zero money, Monica, and we rely on investors to support the research, to pay the rent and the salaries, everything. If investors think we're shaky, then we've got a big problem. If things about me -true or false -get to the wrong people, we could have trouble."

"I didn't know Charlie was the wrong people," she said in a sulking voice.

"He's not. He's the right people. That's why I don't mind what you said to him. But what I will mind is if you tell anybody else about what I am doing or what's going on with me.

Anyone, Monica. Inside or outside the company."

He hoped she understood he was talking about Nicole and anybody else she encountered in her daily life.

"I won't. I won't tell a soul. And please don't ask me to get involved in your personal life again. I don't want to baby-sit deliveries or do anything outside of the company again."

"Fine. I won't ask you to. It was my mistake because I didn't think this would be a problem and you told me you could use the overtime."

"I can use the overtime but I don't like all of these complications."

Pierce waited a moment, watching her the whole time.

"Monica, do you even know what we do at Amedeo? I mean, do you know what the project is all about?"

She shrugged.

"Sort of. I know it's about molecular computing. I've read some of the stories on the wall of fame. But the stories are very… scientific and everything's so secret that I never wanted to ask questions. I just try to do my job."

"The project isn't secret. The processes we're inventing are. There's a difference."

He leaned forward and tried to think of the best way to explain it to her without making it confusing or treading into protected areas. He decided to use a tack that Charlie Condon often used with potential investors who might be confused by the science. It was an explanation Charlie had come up with after talking about the project in general once with Cody Zeller. Cody loved movies. And so did Pierce, though he rarely had time to see them in theaters anymore.

"Did you ever see the movie Pulp Fiction?"

Monica narrowed her eyes and nodded suspiciously.

"Yes, but what does it -"

"Remember it's a movie about all these gangsters crossing paths and shooting people and shooting drugs, but at the heart of everything is this briefcase. And they never show what's in the briefcase but everybody sure wants it. And when somebody opens it you can't see what's in it but whatever it is glows like gold. You see that glow. And it's mesmerizing for whoever looks into the briefcase."

"I remember."

"Well, that's what we're after at Amedeo. We're after this thing that glows like gold but nobody can see it. We're after it -and a whole bunch of other people are after it – because we all believe it will change the world."

He waited a moment and she just looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Right now, everywhere in the world, microprocessing chips are made of silicon. It's the standard, right?"

She shrugged again.

"Whatever."

"What we are trying to do at Amedeo, and what they are trying to do at Bronson Tech and Midas Molecular and the dozens of other companies and universities and governments around the world we are competing with, is create a new generation of computer chips made of molecules. Build an entire computer's circuitry with only organic molecules. A computer that will one day come out of a vat of chemicals, that will assemble itself from the right recipe being put in that vat. We're talking about a computer without silicon or magnetic particles. Tremendously less expensive to build and astronomically more powerful -in which just a teaspoon of molecules could hold more memory than the biggest computer going today."

She waited to make sure he was done.

"Wow," she said in an unconvincing tone.

Pierce smiled at her stubbornness. He knew he had probably sounded too much like a salesman. Like Charlie Condon, to be precise. He decided to try again.

"Do you know what computer memory actually is, Monica?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

He could tell by her face that she was just covering. Most people in this day and age took things like computers for granted and without explanation.

"I mean how it works," he said to her. "It's just ones and zeros in sequence. Every piece of data, every number, every letter, has a specific sequence of ones and zeros. You string the sequences together and you have a word or a number and so on. Forty, fifty years ago it took a computer the size of this room to store basic arithmetic. And now we're down to a silicon chip."

He held his thumb and finger up, just a half inch apart. Then he squeezed them together.

"But we can go smaller," he said. "A lot smaller."

She nodded but he couldn't tell if she saw the light or was just nodding.

"Molecules," she said.

He nodded.

"That's right, Monica. And believe me, whoever gets there first is going to change this world. It is conceivable that we could build a whole computer that is smaller than a silicon chip. Take a computer that fills a room now and make it the size of a dime. That's our goal. That's why in the lab we call it 'chasing the dime.' I'm sure you've heard the saying around the office."

She shook her head.

"But why would someone want a computer the size of a dime? They couldn't even read it."

Pierce started laughing but then cut it off. He knew he had to keep this woman quiet and on his side. He shouldn't insult her.

"That's just an example. It's a possibility. The point is, the computing and memory power of this type of technology are limitless. You're right, nobody needs or wants a computer the size of a dime. But think what this advancement would mean for a PalmPilot or a laptop computer. What if you didn't need to carry any of those? What if your computer was in the button of your shirt or the frame of your eyeglasses? What if in your office your desktop wasn't on your desk but in the paint on the walls of your office?

What if you talked to the walls and they talked back?"

She shook her head and he could tell she still could not comprehend the possibilities and their applications. She could not break free of the world she currently knew and understood and accepted. He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He removed his American Express card and held it up to her.

"What if this card was a computer? What if it contained a memory chip so powerful that it could record every purchase ever made on this account along with the date, time and location of the purchase? I'm talking about for the lifetime of its user, Monica. A bottomless well of memory in this thin piece of plastic."

Monica shrugged.

"That would be cool, I guess."

"We're less than five years away. We have molecular RAM right now. Random access memory. And we're perfecting logic gates. Working circuits. We put them together – logic and memory -and you have integrated circuitry, Monica."

It still excited him to speak of the possibilities. He slid the credit card back into his wallet and pocketed it. He never took his eyes off her and could tell he still wasn't making a dent. He decided to stop trying to impress her and get to the point.

"Monica, the thing is, we're not alone. It is highly competitive out there. There are a lot of private companies out there just like Amedeo Technologies. A lot of them are bigger and with a lot more money. There's also DARPA, there's UCLA and other universities, there's -"

"What is DARPA?"

"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. The government. The agency that keeps its eye on all emerging technologies. It's backing several separate projects in our field.

When I started the company I consciously chose not to have the government be my boss.

But the point is, most of our competitors are well funded and dug in. We're not. And so to keep going, we need the funding stream to keep flowing. We can't do anything that stops that flow, or we drop out of the race and there is no Amedeo Technologies. Okay?"

"Okay."

"It would be one thing if this was a car dealership or a business like that. But I happen to think we have a shot at changing the world here. The team I've assembled down in that lab is second to none. We have the -"

"I said okay. But if all this is so important, maybe you ought to think about what you're doing. I just talked about it. You're the one who is out there going to her house and doing things underhanded."

Anger flared up inside of him and he waited a moment to let it subside.

"Look, I was curious about this and just wanted to make sure the woman was all right. If that is being underhanded, then okay, I was underhanded. But now I'm done with it. On Monday I want you to get my number changed and hopefully that will be the end of it."

"Good. Can I go now?"

Pierce nodded. He gave up.

"Yes, you can go. Thanks for waiting for the furniture. I hope you have a good weekend, what's left of it, and I'll see you on Monday."

He didn't look at her when he said it or when she got up from the chair. She left without another word to him and he remained angry. He decided that once things blew over he would get another personal assistant and Monica could go back to the general pool of assistants at the company.

Pierce sat on the couch for a while but was drawn out of his thinking reverie by the phone. It was another caller for Lilly.

"You're too late," he said. "She quit the business and went to USC."

Then he hung up.

After a while he picked up the phone again and called Information in Venice for the number of James Wainwright. A man answered his next call and Pierce got up and walked to the windows as he spoke.

"I'm looking for Lilly Quinlan's landlord," he said. "For the house over on Altair in Venice."

"That would be me."

"My name's Pierce. I'm trying to locate Lilly and want to know if you've had any contact with her in the last month or so?"

"Well, first of all, I don't think I know you, Mr. Pierce, and I don't answer questions about my tenants with strangers unless they state their business and convince me I should do otherwise."

"Fair enough, Mr. Wainwright. I'd be happy to come see you in person if you'd prefer.

I'm a friend of the family. Lilly's mother, Vivian, is worried about her daughter because she hasn't heard from her in eight weeks. She asked me to do some checking around. I can give you Vivian's number in Florida if you want to call and check on me."

It was a risk but Pierce thought it was one worth taking to convince Wainwright to talk. It wasn't too far from the truth, anyway. It was social engineering. Turn the truth just a little bit and make it work for you.

"I have her mother's number on her application. I don't need to call, because I don't have anything that will help you. Lilly Quinlan's paid up through the end of the month. I don't have occasion to see or talk to her unless she has a problem. I have not spoken to or seen her in a couple months, at least."

"The end of the month? Are you sure?"

Pierce knew that that didn't jibe with the check records he had examined.

"That's right."

"How did she pay her last rent, check or cash?"

"That's none of your business."

"Mr. Wainwright, it is my business. Lilly is missing and her mother has asked me to look for her."

"So you say."

"Call her."

"I don't have time to call her. I maintain thirty-two apartments and houses. You think I have -"

"Look, is there somebody who takes care of the lawn that I could talk to?"

"You're already talking to him."

"So you haven't seen her when you've been over there?"

"Come to think of it, a lot of times she'd come out and say hello when I was there cutting the lawn or working the sprinklers. Or she'd bring me out a Pepsi or a lemonade. One time she gave me a cold beer. But she hasn't been there the last few times I've been there.

Her car was gone. I didn't think anything of it. People have lives, you know."

"What kind of car was it?"

"Gold Lexus. I don't know the model but I know it was a Lexus. Nice car. She took good care of it, too."

Pierce couldn't think of anything else to ask. Wainwright wasn't much of a help.

"Mr. Wainwright, will you check the application and then call her mother? I need you to call me back about this."

"Are the police involved? Is there a missing-persons report?"

"Her mother's been talking to the police but she doesn't think they're doing much. That's why she asked me. Do you have something to write with?"

"Sure do."

Pierce hesitated, realizing that if he gave his home number, Wainwright might recognize it as the same number he had for Lilly. He gave him the direct line to his office at Amedeo instead. He then thanked him and hung up.

He sat there looking at the phone, reviewing the call repeatedly and coming to the same conclusion each time. Wainwright was being evasive. He either knew something or was hiding something, or both.

He opened his backpack and got out the notebook in which he had written down the number for Robin, Lilly's escort partner.

This time when he called he tried to deepen his voice when she answered. His hope was that she would not recognize him from the night before.

"I was wondering if we could get together tonight."

"Well, I'm open, baby. Have we ever dated? You sound familiar."

"Uh, no. Not before."

"Whacha got in mind?"

"Um, maybe dinner and then go to your place. I don't know."

"Well, honey, I get four hundred an hour. Most guys want to skip the dinner and just come see me. Or I go see them."

"Then I can just come to you."

"Okay, fine. What's your name?"

He knew she had caller ID, so he couldn't lie.

"Henry Pierce."

"And what time were you thinking about?"

He looked at his watch. It was six o'clock.

"How about seven?"

It would give him time to come up with a plan and to get to a cash machine. He knew he had some cash, but not enough. He had a card that could get him $400 maximum on a withdrawal.

"An early-bird special," she said. "That's fine with me. Except there ain't a special rate."

"That's okay. Where do I go?"

"Got a pencil?"

"Right here."

"I'm sure you have a hard pencil."

She laughed and then gave him an address of a Smooth Moves shop on Lincoln in Marina del Rey. She told him to go into the shop and get a strawberry blitz and then call her from the pay phone out front at five minutes before seven. When he asked her why she did it this way she said, "Precautions. I wanna get a look at you before I bring you on up. And I like those little strawberry thingees anyway. That's like bringing me flowers, sugar. Have 'em put some energy powder in it for me, would you? I get a sneaky idea that I'm gonna need it with you."

She laughed again but it sounded too practiced and hollow to Pierce. It gave him a bad feeling. He said he would get the smoothie and make the call and thanked her, and that was the end of it. As he cradled the phone he felt a wave of trepidation sweep through him. He thought about the speech he had given Monica and how she had correctly turned it right back at him.

"You idiot," he said to himself.