privately?”
Lorelei seemed momentarily flustered now, but she steadied herself.
“Uh—sure. I have a private office near the aerobics area. It’ll be a little cramped with three of us, but we can speak in private.”
“That will be fine,” Alan said.
Lorelei led them down an aisle along the side of the main workout room, away from the exercise machines. In between the machines and the aerobics area, there was a section of the gym that had been set aside for free weights. Several men, most of them muscular and under thirty, watched Lorelei as she led her visitors.
The Madonna song changed to something screechy that Alan did not recognize as Lorelei ushered them into her office. It was indeed cramped: There was barely room for a desk and two visitors’ chairs. The bookshelf behind the desk overflowed with books about exercise and physiology. A promotional poster for a particular brand of protein powder decorated one wall.
“Please have a seat,” Lorelei said. She closed the imitation wood door of the office. The front wall of the office was glass, but it was reasonably soundproof with the door closed.
Lorelei sat behind the desk, and Alan and Maribel sat in the two visitor’s chairs.
“What’s this all about?”
Alan laid a manila folder on Lorelei’s desk and opened it. He had been discreetly carrying it with him all along. For the time being, he left the folder closed.
“You have a public Facebook profile, isn’t that correct?”
Lorelei returned a puzzled look. “Well, sure, doesn't everyone?”
“No not everyone, exactly,” Alan said. “A few of us old dogs are holdouts.”
Alan’s daughters were both on Facebook, but Alan had resisted the trend. First of all, the ODCI strongly discouraged it: If a detective’s face was out on the Internet, he or she could potentially become useless for undercover work.
But more than that, Alan simply had no driving urge to reconnect with high school classmates from thirty years ago, or even army buddies from twenty-five years ago.
Yes, it would have been nice to say hello to a few old friends and see what became of their lives. But for the most part, Alan knew, it would be difficult to restart a decades-old relationship that had been limited to begin with, and dependent on a very specific set of circumstances. Alan suspected that many Facebook users used the site to create a personal virtual reality of sorts, where their pasts remained frozen in amber. But that was an illusion. The real-world reality was that people changed, people moved on.
“There’s nothing illegal about being on Facebook, is there?” Lorelei asked.
“No,” Alan said. “Of course not. Would you say that your Facebook page receives a lot of traffic?”
Lorelei paused before answering. “Well, I use my Facebook profile for personal connections,” Lorelei explained. “And I’m pretty active on there. But why are you asking me this?”
“Please, Ms. Monroe,” Maribel cut in. “You’re not in trouble here. We just need to get an idea of how you use Facebook.”
Lorelei gave Maribel and Alan a smile that wasn't really a smile.
“Has my Facebook profile been used in the commission of a crime or something?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. Please, Ms. Monroe: Go on.”
“Well, okay. I use Facebook for personal contacts, but I also use it for work. I make my money here at the club in two ways: I receive an hourly wage, but I’m one of the personal trainers here, too. My Facebook page helps me attract clients.”
“How does that work?” Alan asked. “The personal training, I mean.”
“If a member of the club wants to hire me as a personal trainer, they make an appointment. I charge thirty dollars an hour. And the club gets a twenty percent cut.”
Alan nodded. On the surface, at least, Lorelei’s explanation made perfect sense. But was there anything below that surface?
Alan now opened the manila folder that he had placed on Lorelei’s desk. The
Lorelei seemed momentarily flustered now, but she steadied herself.
“Uh—sure. I have a private office near the aerobics area. It’ll be a little cramped with three of us, but we can speak in private.”
“That will be fine,” Alan said.
Lorelei led them down an aisle along the side of the main workout room, away from the exercise machines. In between the machines and the aerobics area, there was a section of the gym that had been set aside for free weights. Several men, most of them muscular and under thirty, watched Lorelei as she led her visitors.
The Madonna song changed to something screechy that Alan did not recognize as Lorelei ushered them into her office. It was indeed cramped: There was barely room for a desk and two visitors’ chairs. The bookshelf behind the desk overflowed with books about exercise and physiology. A promotional poster for a particular brand of protein powder decorated one wall.
“Please have a seat,” Lorelei said. She closed the imitation wood door of the office. The front wall of the office was glass, but it was reasonably soundproof with the door closed.
Lorelei sat behind the desk, and Alan and Maribel sat in the two visitor’s chairs.
“What’s this all about?”
Alan laid a manila folder on Lorelei’s desk and opened it. He had been discreetly carrying it with him all along. For the time being, he left the folder closed.
“You have a public Facebook profile, isn’t that correct?”
Lorelei returned a puzzled look. “Well, sure, doesn't everyone?”
“No not everyone, exactly,” Alan said. “A few of us old dogs are holdouts.”
Alan’s daughters were both on Facebook, but Alan had resisted the trend. First of all, the ODCI strongly discouraged it: If a detective’s face was out on the Internet, he or she could potentially become useless for undercover work.
But more than that, Alan simply had no driving urge to reconnect with high school classmates from thirty years ago, or even army buddies from twenty-five years ago.
Yes, it would have been nice to say hello to a few old friends and see what became of their lives. But for the most part, Alan knew, it would be difficult to restart a decades-old relationship that had been limited to begin with, and dependent on a very specific set of circumstances. Alan suspected that many Facebook users used the site to create a personal virtual reality of sorts, where their pasts remained frozen in amber. But that was an illusion. The real-world reality was that people changed, people moved on.
“There’s nothing illegal about being on Facebook, is there?” Lorelei asked.
“No,” Alan said. “Of course not. Would you say that your Facebook page receives a lot of traffic?”
Lorelei paused before answering. “Well, I use my Facebook profile for personal connections,” Lorelei explained. “And I’m pretty active on there. But why are you asking me this?”
“Please, Ms. Monroe,” Maribel cut in. “You’re not in trouble here. We just need to get an idea of how you use Facebook.”
Lorelei gave Maribel and Alan a smile that wasn't really a smile.
“Has my Facebook profile been used in the commission of a crime or something?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. Please, Ms. Monroe: Go on.”
“Well, okay. I use Facebook for personal contacts, but I also use it for work. I make my money here at the club in two ways: I receive an hourly wage, but I’m one of the personal trainers here, too. My Facebook page helps me attract clients.”
“How does that work?” Alan asked. “The personal training, I mean.”
“If a member of the club wants to hire me as a personal trainer, they make an appointment. I charge thirty dollars an hour. And the club gets a twenty percent cut.”
Alan nodded. On the surface, at least, Lorelei’s explanation made perfect sense. But was there anything below that surface?
Alan now opened the manila folder that he had placed on Lorelei’s desk. The
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