Sal blinked, felt the warmth of her hand on his, breathed in the berry smell of her hair.
“Thanks.”
Sabella nodded, broke the connection, then retreated towards the lift. The kid came up next. “You ready?”
Sal nodded. “Let’s go.”
Sal let his muscles take over for the long lift trip to the lobby, then out to the curb to wait for an automated taxi to shuttle the kid and he to the meeting place. Sal barely registered the taxi shuttle as it parked next to his spot. He and the kid got in. The doors closed, and the vehicle sped off to their destination.
The vehicle’s interior was spacious, with the two rows of seats facing each other over a table. Vance set the briefcase between his feet under the table. Then he pulled his link out of his pocket, tapped at it a bit, and then set it onto the table between them. Sal looked at the link, then to the kid, and sighed.
The kid pulled the shades from his face and tucked them into the breast pocket of his coat. “I didn’t get the chance to say it, but I’m sorry about your friend.”
“I am too,” Sal said.
“Do you...want to—”
“No,” Sal said. “Void no.”
“Okay, jin.”
They were silent for a moment. Then the kid tried again.
“You want to get together after the meeting, buy some liks, invite a few jags to my room, listen to some waves?”
“I’m afraid we don’t appreciate the same forms of entertainment, you and I.”
“Fine.”
“It is fine.”
The kid shook his head, donned his shades again. “Fine.”
A few minutes of awkward silence passed before the shuttle hummed into a parking spot at their destination. The doors opened. Sal got out. The kid followed.
They stood before the massive mess of bright, colorful signs of Club Sheol. A cue of people waited outside the huge doors, held off by a red velvet rope. On either side of the line was a plinth on which a matching pair of holographic women danced.
Sal and Vance sidestepped the line, heading towards a small side-door. A big Utarian with black skin splotched with white stood at the door, crossing his arms, his muscles near to bursting through the sleeves of his formal suit. Sal flashed the ID on his link. The kid did the same. After a minute of listening to his earpiece the Utarian said, “Yes sir,” and moved aside.
The door slid open and Sal and Vance stepped into a dim, thin hallway with many doors on either side. The wild, crashing, raking music was only a dull roar with a bassy back beat here in the rear of the club. But smoke of various shades wafted along the ceiling and the smell of a thousand varieties of alcoholic beverages filled the air, permeated with sweat.
Sal lead the kid down the hall, turned at a t-junction, and then pressed his back to the wall while an underdressed Sabataen girl with large, curious eyes passed them by. She could have been Tally’s sister, but then he had a hard time differentiating Sabateans. Sal continued down the hall. At last they came to their door. He knocked. An eye slit slid open, revealing a pair of dark eyes.
“Salazar Kol to see Mr. Renzo.”
The eyes looked up and down Sal, then the kid, and then disappeared behind the closing slit. Salazar heard a series of locks open, then the door slid open.
Behind it was a large meeting chamber, lit in the neon lights of the rest of the club. In the middle of the room was a simple, black table underlit with neon. Similarly styled black chairs surrounded the table. The walls to either side were covered in bright, colorful advertisements. The far wall was a window to a tiny closet wherein a half-naked girl danced around a pole.
Apox Renzo, a greasy-haired man in a violet suit sat in one of the chairs but had his back to Sal. Instead he was turned to the spectacle behind the glass. One of his goons stood beside the door, the one with the dark eyes Sal saw in the eye slit. Another stood with his back to the glass.
The girl behind the glass did something evocative and the kid made a wordless mumble. Sal turned to Vance, saw the dumb smile on his face. “Keep it in your pants, kid. Business before pleasure.”
Vance grimaced and ripped his gaze from the girl.
“Only for you, Sal, you old shiprat,” Renzo said, turning towards him.
“Renzo.”
The greasy man turned towards them. His face was fat and smooth.
“I guess I should be glad to see you,” he said. “Grease says you got ambushed by the locals during your deal.” Renzo gesticulated as he spoke.
“We’re all fine, but thanks. It’s good to know you care.”
Renzo shook his head. He grabbed his link from off the table, tabbed a button, and the glass went dark in an instant. The room dimmed, then lit up again as a strip of overhead lights turned on. Still not bright enough to read by. Nothing in Club Sheol ever was, not even in the middle of the day.
Then he looked up again. “Whose the kid?”
Sal turned to Vance. “This is my protégé, Vance Gosen. Vance, meet Apox Renzo.”
Vance stuck his hand out to shake but Renzo lifted his hands up recoiling. “I ain’t the shakin’ kind, kid. No offence.”
Vance retracted his hand. “None taken.”
“Well sit down, let’s get to it.”
Sal sat down across from Renzo. Vance sat next to him, again keeping the briefcase between his boots. The kid pulled his link and ran the same program he had in the taxi, a comprehensive application that interfered with communication signals within a small radius. Once done, Vance nodded at Sal and stuck the link back on his pocket.
Sal gestured at the kid, and he lifted the briefcase onto the table. Sal took the case, opened it, and then turned it towards Renzo. “150,000 credits.”
Sal’s first clue that something was off, was Renzo’s apparent disinterest in the case. He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and sat back. Renzo snapped his fingers and one of his stiffs put a small bottle in his hand. Renzo cracked the seal, opened the cap and took a drink of the clear, fizzy contents. He made an advertisement-grade sigh upon finishing the stuff, and screwed the cap back on.
“So tell me what happened back there on Torinin.”
Sal sighed. He wanted this meeting to be over. He wanted to escape the thrumming music, the smoke and the stink of cheap liquor. “As you said, we got ambushed by local security. We had to make a quick getaway. That’s all there is to it. If you’re worried about something getting back to you--”
“Worried? Who said I’m worried?”
“Then why are you asking?”
Renzo smiled. One of his front teeth had once been replaced by a lump of gold. It gleamed in the neon glare. He took the briefcase, turned it around and pushed it back at Sal.
“How would you like to earn the rest of this?”
Sal worked to keep his features smooth and even as his mind was racing to decode Renzo’s attitude. He tried on half a smile, made it look like something he was trying to hide. Let Renzo think him greedy for easy loot. “How?”
Renzo’s heavy eyebrows bobbed. “You still got the weapons, right?”
“Huh?” He flashed a curious look to Vance, but more to be sure the kid wasn’t giving anything away. Vance gave him the same questioning glance.
“You said you were ambushed.”
“Yes.”
“You had to make a quick getaway?”
“That’s right.”
“So you still got the weapons. You can have the rest of this, just turn them over.”
Sal had once loved puzzle games. He loved getting a few pieces in the right places, and then watching the rest of the puzzle come together, piece by piece. All he needed was a small section of the overall picture, and the rest of it solved itself. Oftentimes the piece he needed to start the cascade was way off to one side, not easily placed. But once it was there, it all made sense.
This puzzle made sense. Why did Renzo not care about his cut? Why was Renzo interested in the weapons? How did Renzo know about the ambush? How did Renz
o know he would still have the weapons? Because Renzo had set him up or helped someone else set him up. Which meant they set Lekem up. They set him up to get Lekem to come out of hiding. Since Renzo helped set up the ambush, he knew all about it. Since he knew about the ambush, he knew Sal had cut out of there fast. Since he knew about that, he knew he still had the weapons. Whatever third party had supplied the weapons was willing to give the rest of the money to get them back. And Renzo was offering the rest of the money because he was already getting a ton of scrip for setting Sal up. For setting Lekem up to die.
Sal did his best impression of man whose dream was out of reach. He shook his head and turned the case back around to face Renzo. “Unfortunately, we offloaded all the weapons before the firefight started.”
Renzo paused, his eyes narrowing. Renzo’s fat hands shut the case, revealing vague disappointment. “Oh well,” he said.
“Oh well,” Sal said, nodding. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Sal stood and Vance followed suit. They turned, filed out of the room and back down the smokey hall.
“Hey, cap?”
“Shut up for a minute.”
Sal led the kid back outside. The sky had turned gray while they were inside the club, and rain began to pit pat on the roofs of the c-grav vehicles. They hailed and embarked another taxi. Once there, sitting face to face again, Sal made a turning motion with his fingers. Vance pulled his link, ran the interference program and putting the link back in his pocket, nodded.
Sal couldn’t hold the anger anymore. His chest heaved and his hands trembled in his rage.
“Hey, uh, Captain?” The kid was clearly cowed by Sal’s appearance. “You want to tell me why we walked away from 150,000 credits?”
“Void the sawking credits!” Sal smashed his hand into the table. He regretted the action as a shock of hot pain lanced up his arm. The pain fed his rage. “That wat-sucking jagbrood.”
“Okay,” Vance said, hands up, defensive, “okay. Please tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on,” Sal said, containing his anger, “is my friend, Lekem, wasn’t killed in battle.”
“He wasn’t?” The incredulity in Vance’s voice was inescapable.
“No. He was murdered. And Renzo helped pull the trigger.”
Chapter Eleven:
Strong Drink is a Brawler
Nix assured himself it would work.
“It won’t work, Vin,” he said as the deliverymen brought in the third keg of beer. “Dothin’s got super senses. He’ll see the smallest tear in the couch. Smell the slightest hint of smoke. He could probably hear the music we play a week from now.”
“Would you relax?” Vin took the link from the bored-looking delivery man. He scrawled his signature and handed the tablet back to the man. “This party will be epic.”
“Not nearly as epic as what Dothin will do when he finds out I let dozens of strangers in here.”
“See Nix.” Vin took Nix’s shoulder and turned him to face the flat. “This is exactly why you need this party! To relax, melt that stress away. And if your dad—”
“He’s not my dad.”
“—freaks out, you can give him a cut of the loot. Call it a brief rental opportunity.”
Nix shook his head. “Vin, you make less sense with every passing day.”
“Less sense to your fun-deprived mind. We’ll get you loosened up in no time and you’ll see the wisdom behind my words.”
“Whatever. Now, we have to make sure no one goes into the workshop.” Nix went to the workshop door and locked it. “And nobody can go into Dothin’s room.”
“Fine, fine. In fact I got some swag covers we can put over the furniture to make sure none of your old man’s stuff gets wrecked or spilled on.”
“Good.”
“Alright.” Vin put both hands on Nix shoulders like he’d seen crime bosses do in the vids. “You get the place ready. I’ll make a few last-minute calls and we’ll have this place thumping so loud we’ll wake the dead.
“Okay,” Nix said. And indeed he thought it would be okay.
An hour later Nix had the few breakable things Dothin owned safe in his bedroom. Dothin didn’t have a lock on his bedroom door like he had on the workshop, so Nix hoped that shutting his door and leaving all the other doors to his bedroom, the spare, and the bathroom, would give people the hint.
Vin had rented a bunch of stands with rotating colored lights to give the flat a more club-like ambiance. Nix worked up a playlist of the craziest party waves he could find through scouring all the latest top-ten lists, which were now blasting away. Vin had showed up ten minutes before the party to set up the booze in the kitchen.
Vin and Nix agreed to take shifts collecting cover charges. Half hour on, half hour off. People of every conceivable description poured into the flat. They each paid twenty credits a head, either by forwarding funds into a temporary account Vin set up, or dropping bills or coins into a bucket.
Nix’s first half hour went by quickly. Vin was out right on time to take over. The party was slamming. People poured drinks from the kegs and bottles in the kitchen, sat on the couches, many danced on every square inch of free space, leaping and gyrating to the blasting music.
Nix grabbed himself a soda from the fridge and sat down in the kitchen. Since this was something of a business venture for him, he figured he ought to run it sober. A girl stumbled into the stool next to him, splashing a bit of her drink onto her wrist. Her fair skin was rosy around the cheeks, accentuating her freckles.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” Nix said back.
“So your dad owns this place, huh?” Her breath wreaked of alcohol as she spoke and she wavered on the bench. How had she gotten so hosed in less than thirty minutes?
“He’s not my dad, but yeah.”
“That’s really swag.” She blinked as she spoke, her thick, false eyelashes fluttering.
“Yeah, I...” Nix stopped talking, amused at the way she lowered her head to the table and closed her eyes. “Nice talking to you.”
Twenty-five minutes into Vin’s shift, Vin messaged him.
Where are you? I need back in!
Nix shook his head and went back on duty, leaving the pretty girl slumped at the bar in Dothin’s kitchen. None of that made any sense. Nix sat outside as people continued to pay exorbitant fees to enter his flat, but the crowd had dwindled, and now people were occasionally leaving, mostly staggering away. He waited until thirty minutes became forty-five minutes, which became an hour. By then, there were almost no new folks coming in so Nix opted to head into the party himself.
The first thing he noticed was people dancing on Dothin’s couch, splashing their drinks as they did.
Nix took two steps towards the couch when a hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Nikaaaay!” Vin said, looking and smelling inebriated. “What a success this party has been! You should have come in a long time ago, man. I think we more than made a solid profit.”
“What are they doing on the couch?”
“Dancing, Nix. Come on.” Nix pulled himself free from Vin’s grasp and ran to the couch.
“Guys! Woah! No dancing on the couch!” Nix turned and saw a certain door ajar. Nix ran to the door, opened it and found two people laying on Dothin’s bed. “You guys can’t be in here!”
“Oh right,” one kid slurred. He emerged from the closet with a girl next to him. “This is his old man’s room.”
“He’s not my...it doesn’t matter. Get out of here.” Nix left Dothin’s room, passed his own bedroom, trying to ignore what was happening in there. He reentered the living room and noticed the symbol on the workshop door broadcasting that it was unlocked.
“No!”
Nix entered the workshop in time to see some drunk idiot running his tree through Dothin’s expensive saw. Nix bolted to the power button and slapped it.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“What are you doing, you idiot! That’s my work. Ho
w did you get in here? The door was locked.”
The drunk kid nodded to Nix’s left. Nix turned and saw a guy in a black hood tapping a link. “Nothing is locked to the Gridmaster.”
The man in the hood, the gridmaster, wiggled his fingers at Nix like a magician.
“You cut the security on this door?”
“I did,” the Gridmaster said. “I find that a locked door is little more than—hey!”
Nix took his link, cutting off his philosophical-sounding slack and snapped it on his knee. Then he tossed it back at him. “Get out of here, now. You mess with the security in my house again and I—”
A hand grabbed Nix’s tricep and turned him around. The drunk kid hadn’t looked like much leaning over Dothin’s big cutting table. Standing at full height he was a foot taller than Nix and the hand he held Nix with was like a vice.
“What the sawk did you do that for?” he said, the lazy slur gone.
“What’s it to you?” Nix asked. “He—”
“That was my link.”
“Oh.” Nix swallowed hard and wondered if Dothin would be gone long enough for a black eye to heal. The big kid raised his arm, crushed his fingers into a fist, and stopped with the music.
“Alright!” came a familiar female voice. “Everybody out!”
“Gallo!” the Gridmaster called. “It’s security!”
The big guy, Gallo, released Nix. “Today’s you’re lucky day, Lanseidis. But I’ll be back, and you better be ready to buy me a new link.”
Gallo pushed past Nix, crushed the broken link underfoot, and left. Nix wondered if he might have been better off taking the beating.
Refusing to rub his throbbing arm, Nix stepped out into the living room of the apartment. Devoid of people, the room now displayed the full extent of its mess. Cups lay all over the floor, most of them having spilled their contents into the carpet.
Two people remained: Pattie Kalen and Vin.
“Listen, lady,” Vin was saying, sounding like he’d just been numbed for a dentist’s appointment. “We were having a little party. It was nothing wrong going on.”
“Nothing wrong except you’re using a flat that does not belong to you and you don’t have the owner’s permission to use.”
Remnant Page 13
