The White-Haired Man with black hair was back. He was leaning close again. Jack tried to focus. His vision was blurred and foggy.
"Who gave it to you?"
"Gaaah. Dunno." He mustered up his energy and spat, right in the looming face.
Slam. The one called Mike hit him from above, crushing his face into the yielding synthetic seat fabric. Through the pain fog, he could feel the saliva slipping between his cheek and the smooth ridged material, making his skin slide across the surface. Still he tried to focus. A landscape of plastic pale orange, textured, faded off in front of his eyes. He suddenly, peculiarly, found the seat's fabric immensely interesting. The vague image of the blond one was above him again, his big fist raised above his head, ready to bring it crashing down. Jack squinted up at it. He couldn't take much more of this. It was getting to be too much of a habit.
"Just tell us."
"Gaaah."
"Tell us." Slam.
"I don't fucking know. I don't know!" The words hurt now.
Crack. The fist connected again, his head exploded in light and then nothing.
oOo
A low groan brought him back to consciousness. The sound was familiar. Through the aching fog, he vaguely remembered his own voice. He opened his eyes the merest crack. He was still on the shuttle. He peered around, looking for the other two, but there was no sign in the immediate area. The shuttle was quiet. It seemed to have stopped moving and he was alone, lying huddled on the row of seats. What had happened? Where had they gone?
Gingerly he levered himself upright and squinted out the windows, rubbing at the dried crust of saliva around his mouth. The shuttle was pulled into a siding. Blank walls faced him out one window, empty tracks out the other. It had obviously finished its run for the day. A lance of white pain throbbed nestled in a hard point behind his eyes.
He must be in Mid Central. Two other shuttles sat parked beside his a little further up, obscuring any direct view. Dammit. Stuck in the middle of a shuttle siding a long way from his apartment. Too far to walk like this. He stood and his cheek blossomed into throbbing pain. Tentatively he brought his fingers up to feel the damage. It hurt. It hurt badly, but the bone underneath seemed to be intact. He wondered if there'd been any other passengers on the way to Mid-Central. If there had, they'd evidently distanced themselves from the huddled and hurting Jack Stein. There was a large lump at the base of his skull beneath the hairline and he prodded at it carefully, inspecting his fingers as he brought them away. No blood. That was good.
The dark-haired man and his blond companion, Mike, had given him a thorough going over, but he couldn't remember telling them anything. That was good too. But feeling like this was not. It was starting to become too much a way of life. He stooped, leaning against a railing for support as he collected his thoughts. Why did he continually leave himself open to this sort of shit? He was becoming too complacent, taking things for granted. His inner senses had been screaming alarm bells at him and he'd just dismissed them. You know better than that, Stein, or you should do by now. It was those senses that had made him what he was. He ought to know better.
The Anastasia Van der Stegen visit had prompted this. Maybe he should have been a little friendlier. God knows, it would have been pleasant enough. So, confirmation; the White-Haired Man was linked to her. Names shuffled around in his head, slotting into places in the mental diagram. Another small piece of the puzzle, but it didn't do him any real good without verification. He was in no state to get that backup now, though.
There was only one thing for him to do, and that was get back to his apartment, dig out some patches and then once they'd done their work, and he'd nursed himself back to some semblance of health, track down the pair who'd given him the going over. Gleeson could wait. He could do with a bit of payback, but this time he'd be ready. It just showed how soft and complacent he’d become. His military training counted for nothing any more. He couldn’t even give a good accounting of himself. He staggered toward the door, hit the release and stepped down between the shuttles. One good thing: he didn't have far to walk to catch a shuttle back to his apartment.
Another thought struck him as he crossed the sidings. The White-Haired Man did jobs for Anastasia Van der Stegen, but he was probably the same one that had been at Pinpin's apartment. Maybe he had been there under Joshua Van der Stegen's orders, maybe not, but it made sense that he worked for the old man. There was no reason why Van der Stegen wouldn’t have a personal collection of hired muscle. There had been a pair of them at the apartment, according to Billie. A tall guy with long dark hair, and the woman with red hair. The fragments were at last really starting to click into place. The red-haired woman with Van der Stegen at the office, and this other guy. They were the ones who had seen to Pinpin.
He shuffled off between the parked shuttles, his coat pulled tight about him as he headed for the Oldbound platform and home. He grimaced at himself. He could have chosen an easier way to find out.
SIXTEEN
"Mister Van der Stegen, thanks for calling back." Tasha’s father had taken his own sweet time in getting around to doing so. "I need to know about someone who works for you."
"Yes?" Jack peered down at Van der Stegen's image on his handipad. The man's attention was on something off to one side. He looked up, and for the first time noticed Jack's face. "Good God, Stein. What happened to you?"
"Doesn't matter. Had a slight disagreement."
"I see."
"Back to the topic, Mister Van der Stegen. I actually need to know about two people really. Have you got someone working for you? I don't know his name, but he's a tall guy, long dark hair, thin face with high cheekbones, deep tan. Sound familiar?"
"Actually, yes. It sounds like you're describing Alexis Grecco. I'm not entirely sure, of course, but that could very easily be him."
"Do you have an employee record handy?"
"No. I don't keep that sort of thing to hand. I have people who look after those sorts of things for me."
Jack nodded. "Yes, of course you do. An address maybe?"
"Yes, as it happens. One moment." He fiddled with something off screen, and a moment later Jack's handipad flashed a receipt."
"Thanks. What about a solidly built guy with short-cropped blond hair?"
Van der Stegen shook his head. "No, not familiar. Could be though. Some of my staff come and go. I don't really have a lot to do with all of them, so I don't necessarily know all their names and faces. Only the ones closest to me. Sorry, that’s all I can tell you. So, Stein, what's this about? Has it something to do with what we discussed?"
"I just think that this Alexis Grecco, if that's his name, may know something which will help find out what happened. I think he may be involved. What does he do for you?"
Van der Stegen frowned. “What do you mean ‘you think,’ Stein?”
“I’m sorry; I can’t give you any more than that right now. So, what does he do?”
The frown got deeper. “Security mainly. Driver from time to time. Well, driver more than not these days. Sometimes he acts as an escort to Anastasia when she needs to visit the Locality."
"Uh-huh. How long has he worked for you?"
"Two or three years."
"And before that?"
"I don't really know. As I said, I have people who look after that sort of thing for me."
"Okay, thanks. I think you've given me enough for now. I'll be in touch."
Van der Stegen's image blinked out, and Jack prompted the handipad for the message. It was an address further down the Old end of Mid. So the guy didn't live out at the Residence. Made sense. If Van der Stegen had business that needed taking care of, it was unlikely to be anything out at his house. He probably had a number of people scattered across the Locality’s length. Okay, time to pay one Alexis Grecco a visit, and maybe even up the score a little. This time he'd be the one with the element of surprise. The way he was feeling, he’d need it.
It didn't take long to get to the
district where Alexis Grecco's address said he lived. It was a creaky neighborhood, not quite as stuttering with the marks of decay as the further reaches of Old, but enough that the systems were obviously not functioning to full capacity. The apartment building, when Jack found it, looked like it had some sort of pink and gray-blue mould growing up the outer walls, but it was probably just a discoloration of the builders as they lost control of pigment. He stood for a few seconds out front, trying to get a sense of the place. He could feel his own nerves but nothing particularly from the building or the area surrounding it, so he stepped inside. Fourth floor. The elevator looked battered and the lobby was dim with yellowish light. It couldn't be costing this Grecco much to live here, but maybe Alexis Grecco was a man of simple tastes and it was all he needed. He punched a button, but nothing happened. He stood there for a few seconds, waiting, and then grunted. Jack gave up on the elevator and looked over at the narrow staircase winding up into the gloom. Four floors of that. Great.
A few years ago and this apartment block would have been one of the more modern constructions in the fashionable end of New. The building tastes changed, and as the buildings crawled down the length of the Locality, they not only became less functional, but they dated, reflecting past styles of programming and taste. The modern programs gave the blocks in New an entirely different feel. This place not only felt old, it smelled old too.
One by one, he mounted the stairs, his nose wrinkling at the vague mustiness that wafted from the floors below. Somebody had used the bottom of the stairwell for more than dumping trash. A building's self-clean programs usually took care of that, but not any more. Basic building functions started to break down as the crept toward old. Complex routines like the automated cleaning programs were some of the first to go. Somewhere from up above, came the muffled sound of someone shouting. This Alexis Grecco was clearly a man of basic needs.
He reached the landing, and glancing either way, determined which way the numbers ran. He waited, listening, then approached the right number warily. He'd already had one encounter with Grecco, and the last thing he wanted was a repeat performance. The figure populating his dreams over the past few weeks loomed in the back of his thoughts, making the sense of unease even more palpable. Was he sure he knew what he was doing? Still, there were no alarm bells. His senses questing, he stepped toward the apartment's front door and rang. Nothing. The guy wasn't at home. Either that or he wasn't answering. With the state of the apartment block, he doubted that the door screener would be working anyway, so it was more likely that he simply wasn't there.
It was a letdown. The expectation had been stringing through his body, and now, the guy wasn't home. He leaned his forehead against the doorframe and closed his eyes, thinking. He could wait here. He could wait across the street, watching for Grecco to show, or he could find something else to do.
"Hey, can I help —"
Jack knew who it was immediately. The voice from his dreams, the sudden alertness flashing through him. It was Grecco. A hand on his shoulder.
Jack turned slowly.
Grecco’s eyes widened, and in an instant, he was gone, pounding up the corridor and away. Wherever he was going, there had to be another access. A door slammed and Jack had his confirmation. Another staircase at the end of the corridor. He couldn’t let Grecco get away. He needed some answers.
With a curse, he too bolted up the corridor. There was a door, just around a corner at the end, and Jack fumbled to get it open, cursing inwardly all the time. Stupid. He should have been ready, but why should he have expected Grecco to run? Especially after their last meeting.
He heaved himself bodily through the door, slamming it out of the way with his shoulder. There was a railing just inside. He leaned over and peered down, but he couldn’t see the lower staircase. The sound of running footsteps echoed in the narrow space. There was no way now he could go back and try to cut him off. He had no choice but to follow.
One flight, two flights. He was halfway down the third when there was the crash of another door opening below. Jack quickened his pace. Hopefully, around here there wouldn’t be that many people around. A running man should be easier to spot. He physically launched himself down the last flight of stairs, holding onto the rail to steady himself, and then he too barreled out the door and onto the street outside.
The doorway led to a small side street next to Grecco’s building. Jack glanced both ways, but there was no sign. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That way. Back to the main street. He took off, running. He could feel Grecco. He was not too far away.
As he rounded the corner, he stopped and looked both ways, up and down the street. No sign of anyone. He closed his eyes again. The presence was coming from Oldbound. He turned and started walking quickly in that direction. This far down, any number of the buildings had started to become abandoned, as the residents could no longer put up with the deterioration of their living conditions.
He slowed his pace, letting his sense guide him. He passed one building, two, three. Across the other side of the road, a derelict construction stood, the outside walls flaking, windows crumbling into dust. A broad dark doorway led inside from the street, the doors themselves long gone. The pull was coming from there. Jack nodded, crossed the street and stood outside, waiting. Grecco was definitely in there.
His mouth set into a hard line, Jack stepped inside. Just inside the darkened entranceway, inner alarm bells rang.
A figure broke from the shadows and charged past him. Jack tried to grab, but he was too late. He turned and started running. The figure ducked into a side street, long dark hair flying. He had him now. He entered the side street, wary. Nobody. Further down the street there was a series of doorways. He raced toward them, seeing that one of them had been forced open. Jack’s guts were guiding him now, pulling him toward the place. He stopped, listening. Nothing. Gently, gently, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Jack spun as alarms rang inside his head. With his arm out, he grabbed a handful of cloth pushing Grecco rapidly backward, slamming him up against the wall. The large piece of building material that Grecco had been holding above his head, ready to bring down on Jack’s head, flew from his hand and fell with a solid thump against the floor, bits crumbling from its edges. Jack felt the pressure, felt the wind being driven from the man's lungs. There was nothing like surprise. And now every one of Jack's senses was alive. He was running on his own stims now.
"We meet again," he said, peering into the familiar face. A cheap line, he knew, but somehow it gave him a sense of satisfaction.
"Stein! I—" Grecco tried to shrug off Jack's grip and at the same time, lifted his arm for a roundhouse swing. Jack was ready. Everything had telescoped into slow motion and his heightened senses read the move before it came. He slipped out of the way and Grecco connected with nothing. Before he'd even finished the swing, Jack was there, delivering s swift concentrated blow to the solar plexus. All that military training came in handy sometimes. Grecco doubled, and Jack caught the back of his head and drove Grecco's face hard into one lifted knee. Instantly, he released and stepped back. Grecco crumpled, falling against the wall and the trash-littered floor.
Jack quickly dropped, forcing his knee into the base of the other man's throat. He grabbed another handful of clothing and lifted his other hand ready to strike. "I owe you one, Grecco," he said in a flat, business-like voice. Grecco tried to squirm away, but Jack had him effectively pinned, and he increased pressure with his knee just to emphasize the point.
"Now, you listen to me. I know who you are, and you know who I am. I want you to tell me who sent you after me."
Anger was upon him now, and when Jack got angry, emotion trickled away. All the impressions from the dreams had tumbled together into one hard knot of driven energy. Coolly, calmly, he pressed his knee harder into the man's throat. He could kill him now. He wouldn't, but he could.
"Get off me." A rasping, constricted voice.
"I'll ge
t off you when you tell me what I need to know."
Grecco snarled through gritted teeth, and shook his head from side to side. Jack slapped him, hard. The sound echoed around the dank empty space.
There was something satisfying about the look of shock. Grecco had stopped moving. His hands were up now, trying to ease the pressure of Jack's knee from his throat, trying to get air. Jack slapped him again.
"Can't breathe," said Grecco in a struggling voice, trying to shy away as Jack raised his hand for another slap. Jack eased the pressure a little.
"Listen, Grecco. I don't care about you. You can live or die here, but ultimately I don't care. All I want is the answer to my question."
Grecco used the opportunity to try and slip from beneath Jack's knee, using the wall to gain leverage, but again Jack was ready for him. A ringing slap to the side of the head, increased pressure with his knee, and the squirming subsided some. Jack decided to add emphasis to his point and he bore down hard on the man's throat. A strangled noise and Grecco went very still.
Somewhere in the back of the building, there was the sound of movement, then the creak as a door opened. A disheveled head poked out, and Jack shot a glare. The face quickly disappeared and the door closed again. Jack turned his attention back to Grecco. "You know what I want. You can stop this now."
"Tasha," Grecco forced out hoarsely.
"What?"
"Tasha. Anastasia Van der Stegen."
With the mention of her name, a sudden insight flooded through him. His head filled with an image as the power flowed through his arm, from Grecco, and into his inner vision. He saw Anastasia Van der Stegen. She was not alone. She was in a close huddle with — Alexis Grecco!
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