Page 2 of Three
“Serena, use the pharmacy camera on the next block to get a facial recognition of the other man. And check if he has a criminal record.”
My AI uses a super-advanced facial recognition system which finds every recognizable image of the person it’s searching for on several databases through an algorithm I created.
“On it, Daddy.”
Daddy. Fucking Michael! If my bro Raph, Michael’s husband, wasn’t a psychopath ready to kill anyone who touches him, I’d have unleashed my tech terrorism on Michael months ago. But I have to settle for teasing and annoying him—both of them—to death. He told Serena that I was her father since I created her, and my virtual assistant accepted the suggestion and started calling meDaddy,which makes me cringe every single time.
Serena is indeed my baby—if I’d had one in my teens because that’s when I started working on her. She came to reallyexiston the four hundred and sixty-fifth trial test. Yes, I’m a persistent fucker. She is a knowledge AI, a powerful amalgamation of artificial intelligence and knowledge management principles. She can create novel approaches using existing trends and evolve and develop through thought reinforcement learning. In layman’s terms: she’s smart, intuitive, and efficient, with the ability to analyze vast amounts of different data in real time and uncover valuable insights that help me grandly with my family’sbloodyside business.
“Marcus Gene Baker, thirty-five years old, younger brother of your donor, August Gene Baker. He has three arrest warrants for assault, battery charges, and four misdemeanors for breaking and entering. I have his home address, business address, and records for all known associates.” She’s also fucking fast.
“Where does he work?"
“He’s employed at Barnabas and Sal.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” I slightly pull on my beard; it helps me think.
“It’s a bookie organization. Marcus Gene Baker has been working as a debt collector for Kyle Barnabas and Pete Salpinsky for five years and eleven days.”
It’s a pity this kind of gambling business is legal in Illinois, I could have gotten rid of Marcus as well through proper police channels.
“Hack his phone, please, and try to find out from old calls and texts where they’re going,” I tell her, getting out of the van and starting to slowly follow them. They’re so fucking loud, I can hear what they are saying.
“That bitch sucked me so good, I might go for seconds later. Fucking love young junkie sluts,” Marcus says.
“You were so damn loud, I thought you were dying in there! You can try to choke her with your tiny prick while I pound her pussy when we come back.” August lets out an eager, disgusting grunt.
“Fuck you, Auggie! We’ll both nail her, and then she’ll tell you who’s got the bigger dick. Me!”
I’m tempted to get rid of both of them now—an eye for an eye and all that. But I’m pretty sure my donor wouldn’t give a fuck if I unlive his own brother in front of him.
“Serena, after I secure the donor, make a couple of anonymous phone calls to the police telling them you heard a young woman screaming from the apartment the two brothers came from.”
“Will do.”
After a few more interminable minutes, I’m saved from listening to more sickening chatter by Serena. “The Baker brothers are going to a pub called Smith’s two blocks away from your current position. Reason unknown.”
Damn it. If they are meeting people there, I might need to wait longer. I wish I could grab the donor now, but there’s too many people around. “Something else?”
“Smith’s makes five-star spicy chicken wings. Should I add it to the restaurants you’d like to try?” she asks.
Serena, being an AI, goes after the correlation between two things, not the logic behind the facts. It makes me smile how incredibly complex she is, a proficient, self-correcting machine, and at the same time, still so innocently simple.
“Thank you, darling.”
The brothers stop in front of the Irish pub, and after another distasteful joke, they enter inside. Rock music and chatter float outside for a few seconds until the heavy wooden door closes behind them. I’m swallowed by silence and darkness in the small alley in front of the pub. I can clearly see the entrance from this position and rest my right shoulder on the brick wall.
“Serena, is there any camera you can hack into to keep an eye on the pub?”
“I have access to the one on the back exit and the one on the front. Do you want me to access the one in the alleyway on the side also?”
“Yes.” I grab my phone, and the three feeds appear on the screen after a few seconds. They are black and white and grainy, but clear enough to recognize my donor when the shithead decides to come out.
There are few people in the pub. I can see them smiling and drinking through the large windows.
“Do you want me to call for backup?” Serena asks me after a while.
“No, I can take them.” I pat my jacket, feeling the long knife strapped to my side and the brass knucks in the pocket.
