“Makes sense. They run numerous brothels and are known to import women from overseas, forcing them into prostitution.”
“Forcing?” whispered Kirsten, eyes widening.
“In a manner of speaking. They tell the women the UCF considers prostitution highly illegal and will put them in jail for decades or deport them if they’re caught. As far as I know, they don’t physically hold any woman captive, just keep them too scared to leave. One sec.” He looked off to the side, his face tinted blue in the glow of a nearby holo-panel. “Ten to fifteen percent of the prostitutes in their organization are in that situation. According to Division 2’s file on them, the rest are simple employees, treated well. More than well, actually. About the worst thing they do to their prostitutes is keep sending them to Reinventions to stay between eighteen and mid-twenties.”
“Except for a small chance of death, it doesn’t sound too bad.” Dorian shrugged. “Assuming they could quit if they wanted to. Plenty of rich women stay twenty-one for decades.”
Kirsten had mixed feelings, but none strong enough to set off a war with a hacker gang. “This girl Mendoza liked, can you send me a picture of her face? Don’t need the rest of her.”
“Sure, easy.” Sam smiled. “Sec.”
Her NetMini beeped.
“Sent.”
“Thanks, Sam. Anything else I should know?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Sam.”
“Want to grab dinner later?”
“Sure, if I can. Spirits have been insane. It’s a near-constant series of calls.”
“Wow.” He blinked.
“Hey, can you do me a small favor? See if you can find any references to a strange noise with paranormal overtones. Ran into a spirit earlier who blamed a loud racket for driving her nuts.”
“No problem. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”
“Thanks!” She kissed the hologram, then hung up.
A new email from Sam contained a picture of a young woman somewhere between nineteen and twenty-two. Long, powder-blue hair framed a delicate face as unnaturally white as Silo was black, perhaps a Marsborn. The girl’s ice-blue eyes seemed a little bit oversized, likely making her appear younger or more vulnerable than reality. Fur on her feline ears matched the color of her hair. At least one of the women she’d seen lounging over by the bar had blue hair.
Kirsten left the bathroom and made her way across the club to the area where the prostitutes relaxed. Only one had powder-blue hair—one of the girls wearing a leash—though three others rocked cobalt or midnight blue. Steeling herself for the inevitable assumptions about her strangers would make, she entered the prostitute area and approached the girl from the photo.
Mendoza’s favorite companion wore nothing other than the plastisteel collar connecting her via a six-foot chain to the wall. After years of mixed showers at the PAC, being around nude people didn’t bother Kirsten quite as much as it would have otherwise. Honestly, the chain embarrassed her more than having men’s junk waving hello at her.
The woman forced a smile. “You’re cute, but I don’t do girls.”
“Not a problem. Didn’t come here to hire you. Is it okay if we talk for a minute? I’m Kirsten.”
“Clover,” said the woman, sitting up on her divan. “Sure, I’ll talk all you want until I need to work.”
Standing over her felt rude, but sitting on a padded bench frequented by naked people didn’t appeal either. Still, she had a skirt between her and the seat, and skirts could be washed. Kirsten gingerly eased herself down to sit on the edge of the divan next to Clover.
“Sorry, gotta ask.” Kirsten gestured at the collar. “Why are you wearing that?”
Clover fidgeted at the chain. “It turns me on. Tells customers I’m a bottom.”
Huh? Bottom? Kirsten tried not to look as clueless as she felt. If she really wanted to know, she could ask Dorian or Sam later.
“Also makes me harder to kidnap,” said Clover.
“Are you seriously worried about someone grabbing you?”
Clover laughed. “No, it’s a joke. Almost all of us have claws.”
A slender cat-eared man crawled over, sniffing at Kirsten’s boot. She cringe-smiled, more than a little freaked out at him. Sensing her unease, he ‘dropped character’ long enough to give an apologetic shrug, then crawled away.
“Umm…” Kirsten pulled Mendoza’s picture up again. “Do you know him?”
“Oh, Elan? Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Got some problems though. He’s into the boss for a lot of credits. Great in bed, not so great at the games. Last I talked to him, he wasn’t feelin’ so hot. Had indigestion. I kept telling him he should go to the doctor and get checked out.”
Dorian’s eyebrows went up. “Gambling debt is a motive. Pretty bad one though. Dead people never pay back what they owe.”
And why would a ghost care?
“Any reason you can think of someone might want to hurt him?” asked Kirsten.
Clover leaned back, the shiny silver chain draping over her chest. “Nah. The guy didn’t have enough motivation to do anything people would get pissed at him over. Wife left him a few years ago and it kinda broke him. Like half the time he hires me, we don’t even do it. Just wants to, yanno, spend time with me.”
“I’m not sure whether to think it tragic or pathetic,” said Dorian.
Clover’s ears twitched, as did the ears of a few other prostitutes.
Kirsten smirked at him. Poor guy. “He sounds real lonely.”
“Yeah, he is. He’s either at work, here, or sleeping at home. Dude practically lived in this place… until the boss kinda got mad at him.”
An actual cat trotting along on an elevated, carpeted walkway attached to the wall stopped short and hissed at Dorian before zooming off the way it came.
Clover’s surface thoughts matched what she said. She’d started off thinking the guy a sad case, happy to take his money only to sit there with him, but he’d ended up feeling a little like a friend. She considered him good in bed, even though it annoyed her he didn’t like using handcuffs or leashes on her. Kirsten squirmed.
Am I too innocent or is this entire city full of perverts?
“Thanks. Oh, umm…” Kirsten lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think the boss here might want something bad to happen to Elan?”
Clover shrugged, thinking of the name Carlos Bennett. She couldn’t completely dismiss the idea he’d arrange the death of someone who pissed him off but didn’t think Elan had done anything bad enough to deserve it. “I dunno. I only stick my nose in places attached to people, not in the boss’ business.”
Kirsten smiled, then stood, happy to cease touching the furniture here. “All right. Thanks.”
“How do you know Elan?” asked Clover.
“I don’t really.” She looked down. Unless I force or trick my way in to see the boss, I doubt I’m going to learn anything else here. “I’m investigating suspicious circumstances surrounding his death.”
“Oh, no…” Clover covered her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. “He died? How?”
Guilty at the woman’s emotional reaction, Kirsten sat again. “He was in the middle of surgery when the tank malfunctioned. Ancora Medical is still trying to determine what happened.” Shit. Silicon Knights are professional hackers. Is it possible they’re good enough Division 2 missed them? But a ghost was there… dammit! More questions than answers.
Overcome, Clover grabbed Kirsten in a hug and cried on her shoulder. She tried not to notice the woman had nothing on and patted her reassuringly. While the girl sobbed, she made eye contact with the other women whose surface thoughts rattled around in other languages. One by one, she telepathically said, Prostitution is not illegal in the UCF. You won’t be deported.
A few made ‘holy crap’ faces.
Kirsten smiled to herself. Maybe they’d run away if they truly didn’t want to be working here. She resumed debating if a ghost
killed Mendoza randomly, on purpose, or if the spirit presence had merely been a coincidence while top tier hackers turned the medical tank into a killing machine.
A faint tingle spread over the side of Kirsten’s head; she recognized a surface thought read in an instant, snapping her gaze to the obvious source: a thirtyish man in a black suit. He stood out because no cat ears broke the shape of his perfect flat-top afro. One blue orb earring appeared suspiciously like a communication device. His surface thoughts contained curiosity about people using—or intending to use—psionic abilities to cheat at gambling, as well as confusion at why she’d be looking for Elan Mendoza.
Scanning for cheaters? asked Kirsten telepathically.
All casinos employ telepaths to screen for cheats. Sensed another psionic nearby, but you don’t seem to be here for gambling.
I’m not.
Surprise flickered across his expression in response to her thoughts. Division 0? What are you doing slumming around a place like this? Got a thing for catgirls?
Kirsten rolled her eyes. Probably doesn’t look it considering I’ve got one draped on me now, but no. Not here for catgirls—or catboys. Not even really concerned with what your bosses are doing. Looking for reasons a ghost might have killed Elan Mendoza and left a trail of paranormal breadcrumbs back to Carlos Bennett.
The telepath stifled a laugh. Ghosts?
Kirsten held onto the thought the Silicon Knights killed Mendoza via hacking, but a ghost happened to be there at the time, and he’s trying to lead her to Carlos Bennett.
His grin fell flat. Oh, my. You are serious… ghosts exist?
“Thanks.” Clover let go of the hug. “Sorry for falling apart on you like that. Not sure why it hit me so hard.”
“Because he was your friend, more than a client.”
“Yeah.” Clover wiped her eyes. “Hope you find who killed him.”
“Trying to…”
“You aren’t like a weasel from Ancora trying to pin it on someone else so you don’t get sued, are you?” Clover’s ears rotated back in the posture of an angry cat.
“Nope.”
Dorian leaned close to Clover’s right ear. “She’s about as opposite of weasel as one can get. We’re Division 0.”
The woman’s ears snapped up, her eyes huge. She leapt to her feet, scrambling away from Dorian until the leash jerked her to a halt. “Who said that?”
Other prostitutes and the bartenders looked over, concerned.
Mental snickering filtered into Kirsten’s mind. The telepath appeared amused at Dorian startling Clover. The man couldn’t see him normally, only via her surface thoughts.
“I heard him too,” said a woman in a heavy Russian accent, her pink cat ears pivoting like small radar antennas.
“No one you need to be afraid of.” Kirsten smiled. “But if you’re afraid of ghosts, you might not want to tie yourself to the wall anymore.”
“Ghosts?” Clover blinked, tugging at the collar. “Are you being serious?”
“Nothing to freak out over… mostly.”
“Is Elan a ghost? Can you talk to him?” Clover rushed back to her and grabbed her shoulders.
Kirsten’s brain seized at the unexpected direction the conversation took. Eager excitement didn’t happen often when someone found out ghosts existed. “I’m not sure if he’s hanging around as a ghost, but yes, I can talk to spirits. Technically, anyone can talk to spirits. Hearing them reply is the tricky part.”
“If you see him, please tell him I know why he got into so much debt, and he didn’t have to do it. I’m sorry for not seeing it before.”
“Seeing what?” Kirsten tilted her head.
“Elan was like forty. He told me he’d fallen in love, but I’m only twenty. Felt icky to be with a guy old enough to be my father, yanno?”
“Quite,” said Dorian.
Kirsten exhaled. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Elan wanted to go to that place where they could make him young again, but it cost so much. He kept playing games here trying to get the money… but he always lost.” Clover slouched and slumped to sit on the divan.
“If I see him, I will tell him. But you shouldn’t feel like you did anything wrong. You didn’t drive him into debt.”
Clover sniffled. “Thanks.”
Idiot, said the telepath. There are better ways to accumulate wealth than gambling.
“Take care of yourself. I’ll let you know if I find him.”
“Okay.”
Kirsten walked out of the lounge area, approaching the telepath who leaned on a column near the middle of the room, between two blackjack tables. Once again, she stood face to face with someone a full head taller than her.
Division 0. Interesting.
She offered a hand. Yes. Lieutenant Kirsten Wren.
He shook. Rone Coombs. What’s your endgame here?
She raised an eyebrow. Why are we speaking telepathically when we’re this close?
Secrets stay quiet. I’m psionic before I’m a Silicon Knight. Figure we should stick together. Hope you return the favor.
As long as you don’t use psionic abilities to break the law.
Rone smiled. The Cat House is a completely above-board operation. My role here is technically enforcing the law, hunting for cheaters.
Fair point. Kirsten surveyed the various gambling stations. Never did see the allure of betting credits. Too easy to lose.
True. The games are stacked in favor of the house by design. Odds favor the establishment. So, Mendoza?
Yes. Did Bennett want him dead, or is the ghost I’m chasing trying to make your boss look bad?
Rone glanced around as if searching for eavesdroppers. Yeah. Off the record, Mendoza was on the list. Not sure exactly what went down, but Bennett definitely put money on someone taking him out.
Kirsten gawked. Whoa, you’re freely admitting it?
Telepathic conversations aren’t admissible. Besides, you don’t look dumb enough to make trouble.
She bristled at the veiled threat but contained herself.
Oh, not me. I don’t make trouble for anyone. Only thing I do here is catch cheaters. Just sayin’.
How much did Mendoza owe? The man worked a fairly high-level position at a pharmaceutical company. He had money.
Don’t know exact numbers. It had to be at least a couple million. People don’t end up on the list for less.
“Ouch,” muttered Kirsten. Okay, do you have any idea how Bennett could have hired a ghost to kill someone?
Rone laughed. You really do have some wild shit in your head. I’d call you nuts for believing it but the other cop I thought you were hallucinating scared the shit out of Clover, so I guess he’s really there. Either way, the boss is a couple layers removed from me. All I can say for sure is Bennett put Mendoza on the kill list for not paying back his debts fast enough, and likely didn’t think he would ever pay back. Don’t know if someone acted on it yet or what. If the dude died because of us, some freelancer must have figured out a bizarre way to get the job done.
The idea of someone sending ghosts to do hits didn’t seem too out there. Technically, Kirsten could do it. Anyone capable of speaking to ghosts could ask them to do things. The part where the idea broke down came at the reward phase. She couldn’t think of anything a ghost truly needed from the living aside from passing information. Problem being, any ghost old enough to be able to kill the living would certainly not have any immediate family left alive to send messages to.
Perhaps a ghost might desperately want to be allowed to inhabit a living person’s body long enough to taste food again, but such a triviality didn’t seem worth it to request an assassination. Even the dimmest-minded ghosts understood dark acts would make it impossible for them to transcend, and too many dark acts got the Harbingers sniffing around.
Granted, a ghost as old and potent as the one she fought at the Beck house wouldn’t be worried about Harbingers randomly grabbing them. Something would have to drain their energy a
nd weaken them sufficiently first, and as far as Kirsten knew, no one else in the world had figured out the Astral Lash yet. Theoretically, anyone who happened to have Mind Blast and Astral Sense could do it, but both of those powers were quite rare, Astral more so than Mind Blast. One person getting both had worse odds than winning the lottery.
Well, perhaps not quite as bad as a lottery win.
Do your people ever go after anyone on the list directly?
Rone shook his head. Never. We try to keep things as clean as possible. Whenever blood gets spilled, there’s always at least three layers of separation. If a hacker offed Mendoza, it wouldn’t have been one of ours. You’ll have to start checking freelancers if you really want to figure out who did it. Be careful though. Some of those fixers have black market shit in their head. Telepathic feedback crap.
I’ll be careful. Thanks.
You do that. He grinned. And we never spoke.
Kirsten nodded goodbye, then walked to the exit, laughing at the technical truth of Rone pointing out they didn’t ‘speak’ to each other. Also, the surrealness of having such a candid non-conversation with a guy working for organized crime tinted the entire experience as a weird dream. Her exchange with him felt more like employees of rival corporations griping about the higher-ups over lunch than a criminal openly admitting to illegal activities.
Even stranger than a ghost killing someone for a contract.
“What happened there?” Dorian jogged up beside her.
“I’ll explain in the car.” She went outside, ignoring the two bouncers yelling at her for sneaking inside. At the curb, she raised her left arm—and stared at her bare skin for a few seconds, wondering why no holo-panel appeared. “Crap.”
Dorian cackled. “You left your WDT in the PC. Want me to get it?”
“Still have a NetMini. Don’t need a wearable duty terminal.” She fished it out of her purse, opened the link to the patrol craft, and requested it auto-drive to her location.
The two bouncers at the door kept giving her dirty looks. She smiled at them, watching their expressions go from sneering annoyance to confusion, to ‘WTF’ when the large all-black Division 0 patrol craft landed behind her, close enough for her hair and skirt to flutter in the downblast of the ion thrusters.
The Shadow Fixer Page 21
