Natalie’s figure was shock still for a few seconds. I imagined her taking it all in, weighing out her potential responses. Finally, she removed the Bogart and leaned forward. Shadows slid away from the contours of her face. It was a face I knew, if only from a single random flashback jarred from my subconscious. Her face was just as beautiful and cold as I recalled. Strawberry blonde hair fell to her shoulders in tumbles, while her eyes were cobalt ice chips that glittered with malice.
“So you know a few things. Doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to the game. Do you know what I see right now?”
“I figure it’s my handsome mug looking back at you.”
Her scornful glance made it apparent my charm had no effect. “I’m looking at someone you might know, sitting at Lambrou’s Diner with her detective boyfriend. Angela Davison, currently employed as a secretary where you work, although we both know she has a naughtier side. You call her Angel, don’t you? How ironic. Newman told me all about her in his reports. I have an agent with a telescopic sight zeroed in on her right now.”
She smiled and glanced at a console to her left. “All I have to do is give the word and her head explodes like an overripe melon. Did you enjoy your nights with her, Mick? Did you find some emotional release when you made love to her, or was it limited to just physical pleasure?”
My pressure rose at the menacing playfulness of her tone. “Listen. You leave her out of this. I’m warning you–”
Her eyes narrowed. “I warned you a long time ago, Mick. I warned you what would happen if you let your feelings get the best of you. Do you remember the first lesson I gave you? What was her name?” She snapped her black-gloved fingers. “Oh yes–Maxine. Do you remember, Mick? Do you remember what we did to her? What I made you do?”
I felt bile rise in my throat as something hit me like a hammer between the eyes. Blurry images flickered across my consciousness, damaged picture film of something so ugly I wanted to claw at my face to rid myself of it.
“Mick?” Benny’s alarmed voice seemed to come from a mile away. “Mick, are you all right?”
Natalie’s image leaned forward slightly. Her playfulness vanished as she stared from the screen, her gaze suddenly intense. “You remember something, don’t you? Looks like I’m on the right track. So let’s continue the game. You called me Natalie. That’s my agency name. A label they pinned on me when they took everything I was and transformed me into in a new person. I told you what my real name was once. If you remember it, I promise to leave your precious Angel alone. If you don’t…” She let the threat hang in the air.
My eyes burned when I raised my head. “You forgot about the third option.” I turned the display off. Natalie’s eyes widened as the image fizzled out.
Benny’s head jerked in surprise. “What’d you do that for? You know she’s gonna kill the girl, right?”
“Can’t play the game by her rules. Maxine…” I winced at the name. “Maxine–block all incoming calls that aren’t on the contact list.”
“As you say, Mr. Trubble.”
I tapped my holoband. “You there, Ms. Sinn?”
“I’m here, Mick. In answer to your question, the call signal can’t be traced. The Service uses ghost lines on their equipment.”
“Figures. Listen, can you cut the lights off in Lambrou’s Diner?”
She paused for a second. “It’s done.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” I slid the screen over to messages and sent one to Flask, hoping he and Angel weren’t already toasted.
YOU’RE BEING TARGETED. GET ANGEL TO SAFETY.
“Maxine–new coordinates. Head over to Hunter Valentino’s pad.”
“Redirecting.” The tires squealed as Maxine performed a one-eighty and headed toward the West Docks. Other vehicles swerved and blared their horns in disapproval of our careening driving style.
Natasha leaned forward. “What are you doing, Mick? Aren’t you even going try to save Angela?”
I kept my eyes on the road. I couldn’t stomach it if Natasha looked at me differently. After what she heard, I couldn’t blame her. “Trust me, I’m doing my best.”
“By pissing off a crazy woman trying to kill her?” Benny shook his head. “I might be new to all this private eye stuff, but that just don’t sound right. What makes you think she’ll just let them walk? She had them right in her sights.”
“No audience.”
“No audience? What are you talking about?”
“It’s the game. If I play by Natalie’s rules Angel will still die. I’ll get her question wrong. Or I’ll run out of time. Or I’ll get to Angel just in time to see a slug take her head off. It’s a losing hand no matter how I play it. So far Natalie’s dictated everything. I’ve been tap-dancing to her tune from the start. I gotta do what she doesn’t expect if I wanna come out ahead in her little game.”
Benny rubbed his chin and nodded slowly. “So you spoil her fun. She’ll get no pleasure killing Angel if she thinks you don’t care.”
“Exactly.”
“But…” Natasha’s voice shrank. “She might kill them anyway.”
“I told you. A losing hand.”
“Mick?”
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Natasha’s face told all I needed to know.
“If you’re gonna ask me about what Natalie said, forget it. I don’t remember killing the people she said I killed. I don’t remember being in the Service. And no–I don’t remember anything about Maxine. You’re tooting the wrong ringer, sweetheart. I remember everything–everything except my past.”
“Waitaminute.” Benny scrunched up his beefy face. “You saying you got whaddya call it–ambrosia or something?”
“It’s called amnesia, Einstein. And yeah, I got it in spades. When I came to this Haven I was on a mission to snuff someone. Instead I got a memory remix and wound up being the resident Troubleshooter you see right now. I don’t remember anything about my past before coming to New Haven. Considering what I know about my former self, I think I got the better part of the deal.”
Benny whistled softly. “No wonder you got the whole town stepping on eggshells around you. It’s nutso. I never seen that about nobody outside the Borgata, you know?”
“The louder the gab, the bigger the target, kid. Trust me, I’d rather not be mentioned at all.”
“I guess. And this psycho chick is your ex?”
“Yeah. Not that I remember her. Apparently she’s not all that good at the whole ‘letting go’ thing.”
Benny shook his head. “Damn. And I thought I’d met some jingle-brained dames.” He glanced out the window. “Hey–where are we headed, anyway? I told you my uncle wanted you to come in.”
“Gotta make a detour to the last place I wanna go to see the last person I wanna see, like I told you earlier.”
“This Hunter Valentino pal of yours?”
“He’s not my pal.”
“Then who the hell is he?”
I sighed. “He’s an ‘it’, actually. A synoid. A synoid that happens to be in possession of my old memories.”
For once Benny and Natasha were too shocked to say anything else.
“Hell, Mick.” Benny took an uneasy glance around. “Think your synoid pal could’ve picked a crappier part of town?”
I couldn’t argue. Hunter hung his hat in the crummiest section of the West Docks. If there was a worse stretch of gutters and ramshackle dives in New Haven I didn’t know about it. The air reeked of old fish guts and fresh urine. The sunlight was smothered by thick cloud cover, casting the entire district in a tangle of fog and shadows.
The rain returned just as Maxine rolled to a stop in front of one of the ugliest houses on the street. On the opposite side was the West River. The waters were as black as the night I emerged from them with no memory of how I got there.
Benny looked on the verge of another breakdown. “A lotta rubes get fitted for cement shoes and dropped off in the river around here. I seen it happen a couple of times. My uncle
thought it’d make a man outta me.” His whimpering tone indicated the experiment was a complete failure.
“Who would put a synoid here?” Natasha peered into the gloom from the relative safety of the back seat. “There’s nothing for it to do.”
“Hunter’s not your average synoid, sweetheart. He put himself here, probably because it’s the last place someone would look for him.”
“Why do you keep calling it ‘him’? And how could it put itself anywhere? Synoids can’t override their programming. Someone has to be in control, or they automatically shut themselves down.”
I opened the door and stepped out. “Like I told you. This one’s not your average. You’re right about him being unnatural. Synoids function according to their design and purpose, but Hunter’s different. He’s a highly advanced prototype that just so happens to host my downloaded memories.”
“What does that even mean, Mick?”
“It means he knows me far better than I know myself.” I stared at the forbidding doorway of the ramshackle house. “It also means he’s about the creepiest thing I’ve ever encountered. Benny, stay here and–”
“–watch her with my life. I got it by now, Mick.”
Natasha stared at the busted-up dive we pulled up to. “You’re going in there by yourself? That’s crazy.”
I pulled out my deck of smokes and lit a gasper. “Crazy is the last thing I’m worried about, kiddo. Be back in a hot sec.”
I strode up the broken stairs real casual-like, but I felt my heart try to beat its way outta my chest. Hunter had that kind of effect on me.
The door was unlocked as usual. The interior was the same as the last time I walked in there, meaning the place looked like the previous occupants had taken blunt instruments and beat the joint to hell in a fit of drunken fury. Something rotten hung in the air, stinging my nostrils. A single flickering light bulb hung from the ceiling in the kitchen, swinging back and forth from the slight breeze. A figure sat at the rickety table, lost in the shadows of the room. One the tabletop was a cordial glass, a bowl of sugar cubes, a glass of water and a bottle that glimmered green in the dim light. I already knew what it contained.
Absinthe.
I nearly groaned out loud. The last time Hunter served me absinthe ended up in a hallucinogenic episode involving green fairies and an underwater conversation. I didn’t exactly want a repeat of that incident, but I didn’t wanna get on Hunter’s bad side, either. I sat in the wobbly chair opposite him, hoping it didn’t collapse and put me on my ass.
“Have a drink.” Hunter’s dark-suited silhouette didn’t move at all.
“Look Hunter, why don’t we just–hey what the hell?” I nearly fell over backward when I caught a look at what I thought was Hunter. A corpse sat in his place, unrecognizable because the vermin had already cleaned most of the flesh away. The skull that remained grinned at me as if appreciating the joke. Twin cameras whirred in its empty sockets as they adjusted in my direction.
“I apologize for not appearing in person.” Hunter’s voice emitted from a microphone clipped to the stiff’s suit lapel. “But I’m not sure what means Natalie has employed to tag your whereabouts. I can’t afford for you to lead her directly to me, you understand. That might result in ramifications beyond my ability to control.”
“Think you could’ve warned me first?” My stomach churned as I took in the gory details of the stiff, which looked half as bad as it smelled. “Who’s this dead chump?”
“No one you knew. What’s the term wise guys use? Oh yeah: fuggetaboutit.”
My eyes narrowed. Hunter’s tone sounded amused, which indicated a sense of humor. The Hunter I knew was never amused and usually had the personality of a stale biscuit.
I edged as far away from the stiff as I could manage without toppling out of my seat. “So you know Natalie is in town? Think that’s something you could have let me in on? Two women are dead because of that psycho.”
“That’s to be expected. It’s just one of the many tactics Natalie employed to control me. I was afraid to display affection to anyone else, relying on her as my only avenue of sexual release. More importantly it was a form of psychological control. Natalie was my handler, the mistress that kept me on a tight lease. The Secret Service needed my skills but feared my questioning attitude. Natalie was the answer. She was as skilled in psychological manipulation as she was in cold-blooded killing.”
I felt a chill, and not because of the information. It was the way Hunter spoke. Something had changed. It was as though the downloaded memories had been assimilated into his synthetic consciousness, causing him to relate them as though from personal experience.
He spoke as though he was human.
“So what–you’re scared of the dame or something? Not possible. You’re a synoid. A synthetic humanoid, Hunter. You’re not capable of emotions. That’s a human thing.”
The eye cameras whirred and clicked. “I’m an assimilation of the most advanced synoid technology combined with downloaded human memories. Your memories. That makes me something else entirely. And from what I recall of Natalie, I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She had a…hold on me. There’s no telling what would happen were I to come face to face with her in this state. It’s too risky.”
I stared at the grinning skull, trying to fight the bizarre sensation I was conversing with myself. “We need to talk, Hunter.”
“We are talking.”
“We need to talk about my past.”
“You never wanted to know anything about it before. The last time we spoke you indicated you were content in your ignorance.”
“Things have changed.”
“Indeed.” The skull’s ghastly grin seemed even more amused than before, but I was sure it was my mind playing tricks on me.
“Who…” I hesitated as the name lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard. “Who was Maxine?”
“Ah. So Natalie dropped the ace on you. A definite sign of desperation on her part. That’s good news. It indicates she’s not as confident as she’d like you to believe.”
“Who was she, Hunter?”
The silence stretched so long I thought he had severed the connection. A fly buzzed by my ear and circled around the stiff’s skeletal head before settling on its cheekbone. The room was a humid box smothered with the nearly overwhelming scent of rotten meat. Beads of sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to cover my nose and get the hell away from there, but anticipation held me in my seat opposite a tricked-out corpse because I had to know.
I had to know.
“Maxine is a subject best spoken of in person. We’ll discuss that later. For now, have a drink.”
I picked up the bottle of absinthe. “I don’t think I’ll be toasting with your corpse buddy, Hunter. Last time you slipped me a Mickey that had me swimming with the fairies in a river that didn’t exist.”
“The side effects of the nanoaccelerator process vary from person to person, but they aren’t life threatening. Have that drink, Mick. I believe you’re going to need it.”
I took a closer look at the swirling green contents. “Wait a minute. You’re saying this juice is laced with nanomachines?”
“That’s correct. Think of the last time I supplied you with the same. You were wounded from a gunshot wound. After the drink that wasn’t so much of an issue, was it?”
I tilted my Bogart back as I considered it. “Well ain’t that a kick in the head. Why didn’t you just say so at the time?”
“I have my reasons.”
The cameras observed as I poured a shot and dropped in a sugar cube to sweeten the taste. Not that I was a sissy or anything, but absinthe wasn’t my drink of choice. It tasted like a liquid version of black licorice plucked from the tread of a well-worn shoe.
I downed the shot and slammed the glass bottoms-up in front of the stiff. “Please tell me I don’t have to take another.”
“One shot will have to suffice. Make sure to keep the bottle. What remains is all you have left.
The nanomachines were constructed to match with your biology, and will destroy anyone else. The late Dr. Faraday created the serum for you, but most of it was lost when you destroyed his lab. I was able to recover only one capsule. The machines only operate when in contact with alcohol, so I deposited it in the absinthe.”
“You think you could’ve found a nastier drink? Why not gin or bourbon or something?”
“I’m not the drinking connoisseur, obviously. I worked with what I had available at the time.”
I rubbed my chin as I stared at the bottle. “Dr. Faraday worked for the United Havens for a long time. That would make this Service tech, huh? Figures. Can’t get away no matter how I try.”
“A benefit reserved for only their top agents, as insurance. A lot of time and work goes into the training of an agent like me, Mick. The added durability justifies the effort spent.”
“Why–” I winced as the room span and my vision blurred in hues of lime. “Why do you keep saying ‘me’ when you talk about the past? That’s my history you’re talking about, Hunter. My memories. You’re a machine. Not a human. Not me. A machine.”
“At one time that might have been true.” The corpse grew larger, swelling in width and height. It struck the ceiling, scattering tiny green fairies that fluttered in agitated circles. A skeletal finger pointed my direction. “Not anymore. Like you, I have evolved into my own person. You underestimated the genius of Dr. Faraday. The man was light years ahead of his time. The obstructions that separate man from godhood were only rice paper to the sledgehammer of his intellect. What he did, what he created when he combined your memories to my digital consciousness–it’s never been accomplished before. I am something the world has not beheld until now.”
He leaned forward, exhaling tainted breath on my face. The cameras in his eyes flickered with emerald strobe lights. “I am alive, Mick Trubble. What you were is what lives within me: all the tragedy and hopelessness of your existence. You wanted to die, did you know that? You were a weak, pathetic excuse of a man, mortally terrified of the woman that kept you squirming under her boot heel. You hated her almost as much as you hated yourself. Do you still want to embrace death, Mick? It can be arranged. Taking a life is so easy. You know that all too well. In the time it takes to blink, you can simply cease to exist.”
The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame Page 14
