The little light on my chest disappeared. “So you either have them, or you’re smart enough to lie about it. You fascinate me. You always have. If you’re telling the truth, I want you to bring the vials to me.”
I laughed, nice and clear so he’d understand. “After what your dogs did to Chester and Misty? No way in fucking hell.”
“I’m truly sorry about what happened to Officer O’Donnell and your assistant. But, to be fair, every man I’ve sent after you is dead. And from all appearances, you killed one with an axe.”
“I slipped. Besides, I’m not seeing the moral equivalent between slaughtering innocents and protecting them. Then again, I’m a little slow these days.”
“Protecting. Interesting that people can still be so special to you. I could help you find your assistant, get her into the best treatment program in the country.”
“If you didn’t shoot her first.”
The toad sounded offended. “I’m not Rebecca Maruta.”
“That makes three people you’re not. Want to tell me why you want this crap so badly? You one of the assholes who think it’s Kyua?”
Silence. I looked over my shoulder, trying to see if there was a quick way to get into the building behind me. Even if the drone had infrared that could detect a warm liveblood inside, it wouldn’t see me once I was out of sight.
I was going to make a move when the toad said, “There’s someone here I’d like you to speak with. Someone else I believe is special to you.”
Did they bring my dog back, too?
There was a slight crackle as the voice filter came off.
A low, diffident voice said only, “Hello.”
I recognized her immediately. “Nell?”
“Yeah. He…no…we want to invite you to dinner to talk things over. And yeah, he knows you don’t eat, so I guess it’s some kind of metaphor.”
Despite playing word games with him, halfway through the conversation I was pretty sure who the toad was. Now it was an existential certainty, cold and absolute as an uncaring god. It was Nell Parker’s owner, Colby Green. That’s why Penny’s description of the shooters sounded so familiar. Green’s men dressed like the crooks from Reservoir Dogs. I’d even been calling them dogs again without making the connection.
“Has Green got a gun on you? A chain saw?”
“Not exactly, but I can’t get away right now. It’d be nice to talk to you. I haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Not since you got me out of jail by selling yourself back to Caligula.”
“I thought I was doing you a favor. Don’t ask me why.”
“Nell, I…”
She cut me off. “You’ve got two choices, come have dinner, or run as fast and far as you fucking can and get out of the country. Up to you.”
She handed the phone back to Green. He didn’t bother putting the voice filter back on. “Well?” he said.
“What’s to keep you from cutting me up to get me to talk?”
He laughed. “You’d go feral. I’m surprised you haven’t already.”
“Okay, I’ll be there,” I told him.
“I’ll send a car to Lydig and Brenner. Should take you half an hour to walk there. I’ll let you know if you’re being followed. If you need directions, follow the drone.”
I slapped the side of my head, severing the connection.
25
Nell Parker. For weeks I’d been staring at her on the tube, pretending I wasn’t feeling anything for her. The vibrations rattling my chest told me otherwise.
Damn.
I think I’d gotten over the fact that she went back to Green. What I hadn’t gotten over was the fact that with a bomb about to bring an abandoned hospital down around us, I’d pressed my lips against hers. She thought I was nuts. So did I. Chakz are supposed to be in a state of perpetual sexual neutrality. There were plenty of chakz backing that up, selling their bodies to livebloods without so much as a shrug. But “supposed to” is a funny phrase. A D-cap is supposed to kill us. Arms aren’t supposed to wander on their own.
The drone came out of its holding pattern and headed east. I followed below, my body listing on my Frankenstein ankle. It was hurting again. A glance at my hand showed some exposed knuckle bone from the beating I’d given Booth. I’d lost count of how many bullet holes I had in me.
Bad as my body was, the real pain was that I hadn’t realized the toad was Colby Green in the first place. Who else had the power or the perverted fascination? Everything about chakz fascinated him. Were we really alive? Did we have a soul? What happens if you tug on that piece over there? Not in a Lady Maruta sense. He was more into stroking than cutting.
I used to think ChemBet at least knew what we were, that they fed the world a line of BS to keep the rubes from panicking. Having seen their files, I now knew they didn’t. No one did, not really. That’s why Colby liked us. To him, we were the last challenge in a world that had otherwise grown boring.
A man’s reach-around should exceed his grasp, right? And his fingers were in every orifice Fort Hammer had to offer, real and metaphorical. He had as much influence with the governor as ChemBet did, maybe more, given the chak pleasure palace he ran and the photos he kept of his guests.
The streetlamp at the corner of Lydig and Brenner was working well enough, and Green’s limo driver was smart enough to park out of its light. When I came up and rapped on the window, he had an e-reader balanced in front of him showing some local news. A bloated guy with a beard, he was the sort who had trouble squeezing his gut under the steering wheel, even with the seat all the way back. If I startled him, he didn’t move very fast. More like I was interrupting his break.
When he opened the door, the smell of flatulence wafted out. It was maybe forty outside, but he had the air-conditioning turned up full to hide it. Good thing I didn’t have to breathe. I slid in, bones cracking as I settled into the deep upholstery.
When the driver was back at the wheel, I asked, “Anything on the chak rebellion?”
His narrowed eyes found me through the rearview. “Why? Which side you on?”
Christ, whichever side eats you, pal. “Neither. Don’t want to see anyone hurt.”
He grunted. “They say the guard’s got it under control.”
Right. I remembered the liveblood panic when a single skeleton was loose in Buell Park. The police were using elephant guns for a mosquito and they still couldn’t hit it. The guard was the same, only with less college required.
The fastest way to Colby’s zip code was through town, so I’d soon see for myself. I figured it was over before it’d gotten started. The suburbanite with the gun was just paranoid and trigger-happy.
Within twenty minutes, though, we passed some searchlights and stiff-backed guardsmen. There were no rioting dead I could see, so this was all show to keep the LBs calm. Calm about what?
In the retail district, things were a little more exciting. A major box store was in flames, its windows smashed, black smoke curling against the dark interior. Figures faded in and out among the aisles like tricks of light. They were chakz, moving as fast as they could, meaning not very. I spotted one carrying a flat-panel TV. Dead men looting, now there’s something you don’t see every day.
I was a little surprised there weren’t more ferals around, but the big orange-and-black detour signs likely took us around the main action. Once we were on the road that followed the train tracks, there was nothing to see. The rest of the ride was a quiet forty minutes.
Green kept his sanctuary safe through a combination of distance and clever landscaping, though it seems an insult to call rerouting a river and planting a few acres of new forest landscaping. You can’t even see the wall surrounding his property until you’re practically on top of it.
Front gates that could stop a tank opened noiselessly, but we weren’t there yet. The winding driveway went on half a mile before the mansion came into view. It was huge, but a gangly chimera, a little of this, a little of that, like it never could decide which style i
t belonged to.
All in all, I hadn’t worried about Nell’s health while she was with Green, especially since she’d become a TV star. Sure, he’d sold her to a serial killer to get back some incriminating photos, but how often does that kind of situation come up? Experience had since proven there were worse fates for a chak than being the favored pet of an überwealthy reprobate.
Not that I’d call Green compassionate. He’d hold big festivals with scores of chakz, then let them go feral after they’d outlived their usefulness. He even helped the process along by locking them in a pen in his ample basement, but there are monsters, and there are monsters. At least he didn’t cut them up.
The limo stopped out front, the entrance for honored guests, which I’d used by accident during my first visit. The driver idled the car, but didn’t look like he planned on getting up. I let myself out.
Up some marble stairs, the two Stonehenge-sized slabs being used for doors swung in. A short fellow greeted me with a curt nod and a nervous rubbing of his gloved hands. His face was covered with white pancake, giving him more than a passing resemblance to the emcee from Cabaret. I remembered him from last time, too, but didn’t remember him this anxious.
“Nice night for it,” he said.
For what? The lights in the House of Gaudy were dim, the place so quiet only the air was echoing. The usual bacchanal wasn’t taking place. Cancelled on account of insurgency? Sure. Even if they didn’t take the danger seriously, it wouldn’t do for a congressman or chief of police to be found away from their desks engaged in necrophilia.
Wordless, I followed the agitated emcee. Green’s security dogs, all in black with thin ties and white shirts, dotted our trip, but it seemed like there were a lot fewer than I remembered, and some weren’t exactly in shape. His standards were slipping.
Last I’d met Colby Green, we’d spoken in a small office, the only normal-sized thing in the joint. I guess this time he wanted to make a different impression, because I was led to the dining room, which was anything but normal.
Green, fifty-something with bat-black eyes, sat at the head of what would’ve looked like an aircraft carrier if it hadn’t been made of wood and covered with linen and dishes. Behind him, a series of marble busts sat on a mantel. Among them, I recognized Dionysus and Epicurus, natural favorites for any hedonist.
He wore a white robe over T-shirt and sweats. On someone else the outfit would’ve looked informal, but it made him look like an ancient king. He reminded me of a Tarot card, the two of something or other. It shows a lone figure, Alexander the Great, looking out at the world he’s conquered, filled with an existential sadness at having finished everything in life he considered possible, or desirable.
Only this king wasn’t alone. Nell Parker stood behind him, wearing a revealing gown whose green color matched her eyes as closely as the folds of fabric matched her white curves. Her eye color was a present from Green’s more modest chak-experiments. Now she had another gift from him: a golden collar around her neck, with a chain leading to a latch on an arm of Green’s chair.
I got the point. It wasn’t exactly subtle.
“And they say you can’t tell a thing from chak-eyes,” he said. He didn’t move much, almost like a chak. His darting pupils did all the work.
Seeing as he didn’t get up to shake hands, and Nell wasn’t in any position to move very far without ruining her chain, I stayed at the far end of the table.
“And what do you see in mine, Mr. Green?”
“Hatred.”
I flipped my palms in a noncommittal gesture. “You know chakz don’t feel anything that deeply. Nice collar, Nell.”
“Thanks,” she said, touching it with her fingers. “It was a real surprise. Matter of fact, the whole night’s been a real surprise. I’m usually at work.”
Green held up his hand like a cop directing traffic. “At first I didn’t believe you still had the vials, but your ghost-ninja followed you halfway here before my driver lost him.”
Good. That meant it was less likely she’d double back to recheck the warehouse.
“Sure you lost him?”
“Reasonably.”
He grimaced as if recalling something unpleasant. “I’d be lying to say I’ve lost sleep over it, but again, let me express my regrets at what happened to the officer and your assistant.”
“Then, at least you’re well rested.”
“I average about three hours a night. Never needed more.”
“It’s true,” Nell put in. “He’s a regular night owl.”
“Just like Caligula. As I recall things didn’t work out too well for him. Assassinated by his guard, wasn’t he?”
Green leaned forward like he’d spotted a brand-new bug. “You remember the name of a Roman emperor and how he died. I sometimes wonder if your memory really is bad or simply convenient.”
“I’m good at Beatles trivia, too, but mostly it seems pretty random. Otherwise I’d have recognized your smell in this a long time ago.”
He idly played with Nell’s chain. “Could be old, scattered patterns in your nervous system. Engaging in patter with me, for instance, or looking at Nell, and your brain tries to comply with the situation, dancing without being really aware of the tune. I’m an amateur compared to Rebecca Maruta, but I’d love to run some tests on you. Nonintrusive. We both might learn something.”
“No thanks, I stopped taking tests when I graduated from school.”
“Except the chak-test, no? I helped ChemBet design it, you know. We do cooperate when our interests coincide.”
“Well, there’s another reason to hate you, isn’t there? If I did hate anyone, that is.”
He narrowed his gaze. “This could’ve been over days ago. I told you, the man who kidnapped your assistant was a bad hire. I thought he may have been one of Rebecca’s moles, we’re always spying on each other, but he was too stupid for that, an addict who lacked basic impulse control. What’s the use of a sadist who has no control? It’s so hard to get a good S and M man these days.” He shook his head. “Do you realize how little research has been done on sadism beyond guessing at possible causes: parental condemnation and shaming leading to a desire for superiority; a response to feeling disgust for anything sexual; acting out from a hidden fear of castration. What does that tell you? Nothing.”
“Is there a point hiding in there somewhere that’s afraid to come out?”
He smiled a little. “Perhaps. Given your history, I know your propensity for violence is triggered by a sense of righteous betrayal, probably some childhood trauma. I’ve been trying to figure out if Rebecca Maruta is simply a sadist, or something else entirely.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s an easy one. Trust me. She’s something else.”
“Then consider the possibility that Project Birthday would be in better hands with me.”
I shook my head. “You’re also something else.”
He rapped his fingers on the table. “I could’ve stopped you from finding your wife’s killer, but I didn’t.”
“It didn’t suit you.”
“I could’ve let you rot in jail, but I secured your release.”
“To get Nell back.”
He put his palms up. “Nevertheless, like my work with ChemBet, our interests have coincided in the past. They could again, if you’d let them. I want the vials. What do you want in exchange? I destroyed the body of the man you murdered, so there’s no evidence of your crime.”
“Forget it, I already confessed to the head of homicide. Aside from erasing the last week the only thing I want is that shit safely destroyed.”
He acted like he hadn’t heard me. No, he acted like he shouldn’t have to hear me. He tugged on Nell’s chain. “You miss having company? Helping Misty isn’t enough? I’ll give you Nell. I’ll even see to it she keeps her broadcast career. She could support you both.”
She stiffened. I wasn’t sure if that meant she liked or didn’t like the idea.
I shook my head. �
�I don’t buy and sell human beings.”
He grinned. “Isn’t that a line from Casablanca? Marvelous. What are you afraid I’ll do with it if I get it?”
“Use it.”
“I’d take every precaution. And if it works, if it really brings the dead back to life, I wouldn’t keep it for myself. You want assurances? Give me one vial, keep the other. If the testing pans out, use it on yourself. You’d be alive again. Think about that. Really alive. Depending on the efficacy, O’Donnell could be brought back, too, maybe even your wife. We’re talking about immortality. We’d be gods.”
I’d seen red when Jonesey or Misty suggested bringing back Chester, but Green was smart, and a better talker. I admit I imagined seeing my flesh pink again, Misty happy with Chester, seeing Lenore rise from the grave, everyone singing that old song based on the Book of Ezekiel, Them bones, them bones, them dry bones…
But the pretty pictures ended with Dad, scotch balanced in his remaining fingers, giving me one of his snippets of advice: “If it sounds like it’s too good to be true, it is too good to be true.”
I nodded at the busts on the mantel. “Gods, right, like the ones who killed their father, sometimes ate their children, and had a habit of turning people into animals.”
“This is all semantics. Tell me what choice you think you have. The rumor is, Project Birthday is some kind of virus that can spread airborne, meaning you can’t safely destroy it even if you wanted to. If it turns out to be dangerous, I can.”
I pointed at him like he was a pair of car keys I’d been looking for. “See, that’s it, Mr. Green. That’s what I don’t trust. You say you’ll let Nell go, I believe you. You say you’ll find Misty and get her into rehab, I believe you. Destroy Kyua? No, I don’t think so. If something grosser than chakz came crawling out of those vials, you’d name it, dress it up, train it, and add it to your collection. I don’t care how much money you…”
Money. The lack of guards, the flatulent limo driver, even his hired goons. They were all second rate, like he was cutting corners. On the phone he’d been bitching about how much the assassins and the drone cost him. It hit me.
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