by M. D. Cooper
Good. He did spring a genmod on her, after all.
She and Trey would leave Akon on a shuttle the following morning. The planet had no space elevator, due to the planetary crust’s massive expansion and contraction, and getting off-planet took a lot more effort than it did on most worlds. Rexcare could have gotten her to space in a private shuttle, but that attracted the wrong sort of attention. She and Trey would make their way into space on public transport.
Eventually, she supposed Akon would get that elevator. It was just a matter of who would pony up the majority of the money for it—the citizens, or the corporations. So far, that matter hadn’t been settled.
Reece didn’t mind the delay in takeoff. The additional time planetside would give her a chance to do a little digging. She knew the ins and outs of Akon, and had access to people who knew things. Since she’d have less and less of that the further from home she got, she should utilize those assets while she could.
Alone.
She worked best on her own, and certainly didn’t need her big galoot of a forced partner dogging her steps on Akon.
“The Ringtoad,” she told the driver after giving the matter some thought. It was afternoon and Kippy would be opening the bar any minute. Hopefully there’d be a crowd. The noise would help her think as she dug through the files Schramm had sent her earlier.
She didn’t mind the drudgework. Rather, she liked it. It was like a treasure hunt, digging through a person’s digital footprint to find the clues that would put her on the right trail.
As she rode in the back of the sleek gray car, she used her overlays to begin her search. Since her time on Akon was limited, she’d have to do a bit of a hatchet job for now, looking for anything she could follow up on planetside, and leave the rest for while she was toiling away the hours of space travel.
With a shiver, she put aside the thought of the black expanse of space she’d cross. Instead, she focused on looking for people Dr. Fitzmiller might have interacted with during his time on Akon. Even an antisocial person made some contacts when remaining in one place for two years.
Sifting through so much dreck took time, though. When the driver dropped her at the Ringtoad, Reece had barely gotten started. She wished she had another day or two, but that wasn’t possible with Fitzmiller on the run.
Early as it was, Kippy already had two people sitting at the bar and five others sitting at tables.
“Must be payday.” She took her favorite seat at the bar. Situated at the far left, she had the best vantage point of the tables, the entry to her right, and the restrooms to the left.
She liked to have eyes on everything going on.
“You know it.” Kippy grinned at her. “Still no word from your boss, huh?”
“As a matter of fact, he and I had quite a few words. The short short version of that story is that I’ve got less than a day to do some background, then get my ass off-planet.”
“How long will you be gone?” He carefully poured the contents of a cocktail shaker into a v-shaped glass, filling it with a clear blue beverage.
“Until I find what I’m looking for. Could be a while.” She tried to keep her tone even, but Kippy knew her too well.
“Ah, sorry about that, kitty cat.” He grinned.
She smiled back. Ever since they were kids, he’d cheered her up by making up on-the-spot nicknames that rhymed with whatever he was saying.
“We all have to pay the rent, right? I’m just going to sit here and do my homework.”
“You don’t have rent, you own your home free and clear.”
Reece gave him a sour look. “You know what I mean.”
“So no fights today?” He pretended to pout.
“Do I ever say no to a good fight?” Not that it was likely for someone to want to trade punches for money that day. People were happy on payday, and more likely to take their money to a betting lounge.
“Not often.” Kippy set a thick glass in front of her. “Happy hunting.”
He wheeled away to begin mixing another drink.
She sipped from her glass. Tart, ice-cold lemonade, just the way she liked it. No alcohol, though, because she was working. Again, that was how she liked it, but it was certainly less fun.
Still, Kippy made darn good fresh lemonade.
Perfect for continuing to dredge through Fitzmiller’s communications and activities logs.
She sorted info, ran her standard algorithm checks, and while those processed, she shuffled through his personal correspondence.
Thanks to her employment with Rexcare, she had immediate responsiveness and zero lag with her offsite interface with the corporate database. Another perk of the job.
To the other patrons of the Ringtoad, she probably looked to be a young woman lost in thought. Perhaps lamenting a relationship gone wrong.
Hah. The only way Reece’s relationships went wrong was if she sent someone to the hospital when she didn’t mean to.
No one paid her any particular attention, fortunately. As she sorted and sifted data, she stayed aware of her surroundings. Even with Kippy a couple meters away, she’d have to be stupid not to.
Hang on.
She doubled back and zeroed in on a message Fitzmiller had written to a colleague on Wadish in the Eashira System.
The work continues at a steady pace, he’d written. No major breakthroughs, but no significant setbacks either. Unusual, in my experience. I’d hoped to be farther along at this point, but you know how this kind of work is. You’ll be glad to know I’ve even gotten out of the lab on occasion. There’s an upscale pub nearby, and though I can’t say I’ve become a beloved regular, they do serve fantastic hot appetizers that are perfectly paired with the drinks.
The rest of it droned on about alleles and phenotypes and a bunch of scientific gobbledygook that made Reece nearly go cross-eyed.
A scientist she was not.
An investigator she most certainly was. She knew exactly what pub Fitzmiller had referenced. It was only two blocks from his Rexcare-provided apartment, which was only one block from the company’s headquarters.
Nice.
With her departure time tomorrow already written in stone, she had no time to waste. But as she stood and turned, a new face appeared in the doorway of the Ringtoad.
Well, a new-ish face. She’d seen it before, a few hours prior.
Her gaze locked with Trey’s. He inhabited that doorway like a rock meeting a hard place. She wasn’t about to get through it without his acquiescence or a major show of force.
Reece was tough, but outside of a Z-10 explosive, she wasn’t getting through that door unless Trey wanted her to.
Good thing she knew about the back exit.
With one practiced motion, thanks to being friends with Kippy, she jumped off her stool and then over the bar. Ducking through the door to the back, she passed through the tiny kitchen where nibbles were prepared for the customers. Slipping through the servers’ break room, she slammed into the exit door full-force, throwing it open as she ran.
As luck would have it, a taxi rolled by with its for-hire indicator on, and she threw herself into it.
As it sped away, leaving Trey and the Ringtoad behind, she laughed and laughed.
Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair, as Trey hadn’t assigned himself to be her partner, but if he wanted to do this job, he’d have to get used to reacting quickly to uncertain situations.
She was just giving him a crash course, that was all.
* * * * *
By the time Reece arrived at Ogart’s, she’d composed herself. Sure, it was a little juvenile to run away from Trey, but she was okay with that. It had been fun, and she’d shown him that he couldn’t just appear and force his way into…well, whatever he’d been trying to force himself into.
She’d work with him when she was damn good and ready, and not before.
How had he even known to look for her at the Ringtoad?
She suspected Marky had sold her out. Although it was
inconvenient, Reece didn’t take it personally. If that, in fact, explained Trey’s ability to find her, if meant he’d offered Marky a good price for it.
Regardless, if Reece was careless enough to let Trey actually get in her way, she didn’t deserve her paycheck.
Maybe this could be more fun than I’d thought.
Getting out of the taxi, she smoothed her pants and her jacket as she hurried to the climate-controlled confines of Ogart’s.
Normally, she’d receive a bit of snooty stink-eye for her style—which she liked to think of as ‘upscale urban asskickingness’—followed by being escorted right back out so as not to offend the elite clientele. However, at Ogart’s she got the full VIP treatment.
The staff knew who she was and worked for. She didn’t even need to show her Rexcare credentials.
With a minimum of words, the conscientious staff whisked her to a private table to wait for the day shift manager.
A tall lemonade appeared in front of her, courtesy of a tall, good-looking server.
It was all so smooth and polished. So unlike the world she lived in, where tough talk might have been needed to get this far.
As pleasant as the finery and elegance were, she knew them to be a façade. This world of rich people and big reputations was far more dangerous than her world of low-level thugs and petty criminals.
Not that she’d ruin her street-wise mystique with these fine folks. As far as most of them were concerned, she was the threat—corporate muscle from the wrong side of the tracks, with no shame in stooping as low as she had to in order to get the job done.
That last bit, at least, was true.
She sipped her lemonade, enjoying the pleasant hum of conversation around her. The posh pub was packed with business types who liked to be seen in the right places. Ogart’s lush linens and tableware, expensive seating and smartly-dressed staff didn’t waste any opportunity to impress.
As much as she enjoyed the novelty of having people treat her like an important exec, she’d never spend her personal time in such a place. She preferred the kind of bar where tempers ran high and bets ran even higher.
She’d nearly finished her lemonade when a suave-looking server whisked away her glass and replaced it with a full one.
Finally, Veinmetz, the owner of Ogart’s appeared, shaking her hand congenially. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“A lemonade’s worth of time on a hot day,” she answered. “I’ve suffered a lot worse.”
He smiled. Veinmetz was one of those men who made middle age look good. His youthful intensity had long ago transitioned into a mature confidence. The kind that made him seem hip and trendy, even though he was doing nothing but being himself.
Reece had tried once or twice to set him up with Aunt Ruth. So far, it hadn’t worked out.
“How’ve you been, Reece? We haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“You know how it is. Live by the contract, die by the contract. I go where Rexcare tells me to.”
He grinned at her. “Not exactly. They give you a goal and you meet it. Where you go to do that is your choice, isn’t that right?”
“Or my target’s. It’s just a matter of interpretation. Bottom line, I do the job they tell me to.”
“And you’re so good at it.” He waved off an approaching server.
Reece smirked. “Of course, I am. Otherwise, they’d pay someone else to do it.”
“So what brings you to my humble establishment?”
“Humble, my ass. That’s gold-Ti on those chandeliers up there.” Without looking upward, she pointed a finger to the ceiling.
Veinmetz laughed. “That’s what I like about you. Few people would ever say ‘ass’ to me, in my establishment. You’re a breath of fresh air.”
“I’ll remind you of that if I ever get into a scuffle while dining here.” She arched an eyebrow at him, then switched topics. “I’m looking into a doctor who’s been coming here for a couple years. Fitzmiller’s the name. Older guy. Judging by his receipts, he always ordered a rye gin and soda, but never more than one.”
He made a sound of recognition. “I remember him. It’s a strange order, and not too many people come here to order one drink and sit alone for hours.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
He looked regretful. “Not much, I’m afraid. He didn’t talk a lot. He wasn’t the sort to sit at the bar and chat up the bartender. What are you looking for?”
“Anything. If he had any habits, places he went where he might have paid cash or not left any electronic trail. If he had any acquaintances. If he ever mentioned future plans.”
Veinmetz nodded. “I can ask my staff, unless you’d rather do it yourself.”
There were times when she needed to do her own questioning. In this case, Veinmetz was better equipped to squeeze his employees for information. They’d be more forthcoming with the man who verified their pay distribution each week.
She gave him a bright smile. “Probably best if you do. Then you can free up this nice table for a real customer.”
“But then the most interesting person here is gone and I’m stuck with some exec who insists on having each individual piece of food they order garnished with angel tears.”
She squinted at him. “Eh? Is that some trendy new thing?”
“No. Just me attempting some hyperbole and failing, apparently. I just meant that our customers can be as demanding as they are exacting. It gets tedious sometimes.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll ask the day staff, and when the shift changes, ask the rest. Lucky for you, that happens in just about an hour.”
“Not that lucky,” she said, finishing off her lemonade and standing. “It means my time is rapidly counting down.”
“A deadline?” he asked, rising and gesturing to a staff-member to clear the table.
“Something like that. Thanks, Vein. I appreciate your help.”
“Don’t thank me yet. But if I do turn up something, promise me you won’t stay away for weeks this time. Actually, even if I come up empty, come see me again soon.”
She smiled. “Deal. I might be tied up on this job for a little while, but I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He offered his hand, and when she grasped it with her own, he held it like it was something precious and delicate. “You take care, now.”
“I will. You too.”
She walked out slowly, considering her next move. If Veinmetz dug up anything for her to investigate, she’d probably spend all night at it. She might as well check out Dr. Fitzmiller’s apartment. Chances were low that she’d find anything. No doubt Schramm and his people had already been through every speck of dust in the place.
But they didn’t have her eyes or her experience. Maybe she’d see something they hadn’t.
Since Reece was already in the corporate district, just a block away from the apartment building Rexcare kept for its own particular use, she didn’t need a taxi.
After a couple of minutes with the suns blaring down at her, she thought perhaps she should have taken one anyway. She shrugged out of her jacket and carried it over her arm.
Ugh, so hot!
It was easy to forget how very uncomfortable the heat was when shrouded in the cool, low-humidity air of a place like Ogart’s.
By the time she got to the building, Reece was full-on sweating. The blast of cold air in the entry was more than welcome. Sighing with relief, she used her overlays for access into the residential section.
At the apartment door, she again used her overlays to verify her authorization.
She opened the door and stopped dead.
“Took you long enough.” Trey smirked at her.
Reece drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She really wanted to call him some horrible names, but that wouldn’t serve her well. She had to work with the big oaf.
“What are you doing here?” The words came out sounding more confrontational than she’s int
ended. She tried to cover it over by adding, “Schramm didn’t tell me you’d be checking this place out.”
He rolled a bulky shoulder. “I may be new to this gig, but I’ve been around. I know how to poke about and find what someone’s been getting into.”
“Oh?” She moved further into the room, scanning the tables and shelves. “What did you do before ditching the land of—” she caught herself before she could say ‘meat machines’ and finished with “—genmodded people?”
She congratulated herself on the save. She needed to banish that phrase from her vocabulary. She had no delusions about the fact that she could be a galaxy-class asshole, but she wasn’t that kind of asshole.
“Security, mostly. I think a lot of those skills will translate to this job. How long have you been a bounty hunter?” He picked up a leaflet from a side table and flipped through it, looking for any scraps of paper.
“I’m not a bounty hunter. I’m a corporate fixer.”
“Is there a difference?” He looked at her curiously, dropping the leaflet back to the table.
“A big one. A bounty hunter’s just muscle. A dog, set on the trail of some prey. Though I do hunt people down sometimes, it’s more than just seek-and-destroy. It takes finesse. And I handle a lot of other things, too. I prevent scandals, I smooth things over. I handle stuff.”
He turned away from her toward the kitchen and started riffling through the cabinets. “Where I’m from, we have a saying. A glog is a glog is a glog.”
Was he serious? She couldn’t see his face, but his tone didn’t give her any reason to think he was joking. “I am not a glog.”
He leaned his head to the side so he could see her around the cabinets. “Do you even know what a glog is?”
“No. But it sounds bad.” Like she had time to study up on the colloquialisms of other OFA districts.
The living room had nothing useful, so she went in the opposite direction from Trey, toward the bedroom.
The bed had been made, but a little messily. The nightstand had nothing on top. Inside, she found a pair of nail clippers and a bath towel.
The closet yielded similar, unsatisfactory results.
