by Mel Odom
”Tell me who we’re going to see.” Duran said, walking around a vinyl-covered sofa with one end missing and a drunk passed out on it. A scrawny beagle perched on the drunk's chest watched them with baleful eyes.
"Her name’s Brynna Rose.” Skater paused at the bottom of the outside stairway and peered up. The landings were all small, peeling white paint over abused wood. “She was a friend of Larisa’s.”
“And yours?”
“We weren’t exactly big on sharing friends. The only time I ever came here was a couple of times when Larisa had to pick up some things. They roomed together for a while too. There was a guy who came into the picture.”
“Still around?”
“No.” Skater stopped on the third floor landing. Angry voices barely penetrated the door. One was male, and the other sounded like Brynna’s.
“She’s not alone tonight.” Duran observed, stepping into position on the other side of the door. He held his Roomsweeper in both hands.
Skater leaned against the wall. The doorknob was within easy reach on his side. He scanned the landing. Besides the few plants on the wire stands in two corners and a WELCOME mat knitted in a floral design, there was nothing else.
He tried the door and found it unlocked. Glancing at Duran, he nodded. The ork touched the pistol barrel to his forehead in a salute.
The sound of a slap, flesh on flesh, slipped through the door. A woman screamed in pain and fear.
Skater checked his impulse to enter. Though night was falling, the air was still humid enough to leave him drenched in perspiration. Drops ran down his face. Slowly, he moved to peer through the security-barred window to his right. Beneath the window, a flowerbox bursting with yellow blooms held a whirling mobile of cockatrice in full flight on a slender metal pole.
Two men were inside the room with Brynna Rose. The woman was small, with short-cropped brunette hair and dusky skin that advertised her Thai heritage. She wore red synthleather pants that fit her like a second skin and a black halter top with one of the shoulder straps ripped loose. She was lying half on the lemon-yellow couch, one hand held to the side of her face where her lipstick mixed with her bleeding mouth.
Two men were in the room with her. Both of them looked like street talent, yabos or bagmen, used to fast, direct action. They wore Armante suits and expensive haircuts that would lend them anonymity in the corp scene, and respect while working the dives, maybe coming across like a blue crew.
One of them was dusky, similar to Brynna, but his features were clearly Amerind. The other guy was blond and thin, so pale as to be almost colorless. He held a silenced Manhunter in one hand like it was part of him, no expression on his face.
The dusky one reached for Brynna and yanked her around by the arm. Her face was mottled red in the shape of a palm print. Skater heard his name mentioned but couldn’t make out the rest. Brynna screamed that she didn’t know where he was. The guy drew his hand back to slap again.
Skater turned away, shutting down the anger till it was something he could use. He drew his Predator II and showed Duran two fingers as the slap sounded again. When the ork nodded, he closed the two fingers together, signaling that they were close.
“Do it.” Duran urged.
Holding the Predator at shoulder height, Skater turned the knob and followed the door inside.
16
The pale gunman came around with smooth quickness, like he was moving on ball bearings, not flesh and blood. His eyes were cold, merciless gray above the black lenses of his sunglasses. The pistol in his fist moved with him.
Calmly. Skater shot the man in the left shoulder. The big bullet mushroomed, carrying enough weight and force to spin the gunman around and knock the sunglasses off.
The guy got off three rounds, the silencer reducing the noise to coughs, but all of them went into the ceiling as he fell back over the coffee table.
Skater surged forward, aware that Duran had the other man covered before he could draw a weapon. The pale man tried to bring his pistol back around and push himself up from the ground. Skater kicked out hard, the reinforced toe of his boot connecting with the thin man’s gun-wrist, and splintered bone. The gun tumbled to the carpet.
“Your move.” Skater grated as he pointed the Predator at the man’s face. “But I guarantee an instant lobotomy a heartbeat after you make the wrong one.”
“Frag off, mate.” the man said. Instead of going for the gun. though, he laid back quietly on the carpet and held his broken wrist in his other hand.
Keeping his pistoi in hand and leaving Duran a clear field of fire. Skater approached the downed gunner. He kicked the pistol under the love seat. “Brynna. Are these the only ones here?"
“Yes. Frag, Jack, what the hell do they want? I told them I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t even know your slotting name. Just Jack.”
“I know. I’m sorry you got mixed up in this.” Skater glanced at the pale man’s shoulder. The bullet hadn’t penetrated the Kevlar and cloth mesh, but he knew it had left one fragging big bruise. “Turn over, nitbrain, or I’ll turn you over.”
“Sure." Placing both hands on his head, the yabo rolled over facedown, totally professional.
Skater patted him down, turning up another gun and two credsticks. He threw the gun away and kept the credsticks, then moved on to the second guy, who was also lying on the floor now.
“Do you know who these slotters are, Brynna?” Skater asked as he lifted two credsticks from the second man’s pockets.
“They said they were friends of yours.” Wiping her face free of tears, Brynna struggled to her feet. Duran made no move to help her, giving the prisoners his full attention, a scowl making his fangs more prominent and threatening. “I told them that I hadn’t seen you in months, and that Larisa had stopped seeing you some time ago. They thought I was lying.”
Skater went to the closet and took out four empty wire hangers. Quickly, he bound the two men’s hands behind their backs, then wired their feet together. He made sure they were turned tight. They’d get free eventually, but not anytime soon.
“You can’t stay here.” Skater said. He touched Brynna’s face gently, inspecting the damage. She’d be bruised for a few days, but nothing looked permanent. Her left eye showed a spreading scarlet from broken blood vessels. “Go pack a few things. Quick. We don’t want any more slotheads to come along and hassle you.”
The woman nodded and moved off.
Skater went over and squatted next to the dusky-skinned man, opening the pouch he’d found. “You make much beating up on helpless women?”
The guy was resting on his chin, so when he smiled, it was crooked. “Not all of them are helpless.”
“Kind of evens out over the long run, I guess.” Skater poured the contents of the pouch onto the floor. “You want to tell me who you are, save me the trouble of looking?”
“I’d rather see you get slotted by a bull-dyke troll in full heat, manning a prosthesis the size of your fragging arm.”
The pouch held a book of matches from a bar in the Sea-Tac airport terminal, breath mints, a folding knife, a pack of domestic cigarettes, and three condoms.
Skater shoved everything away but one of the condoms. He held up the package for Duran’s inspection. “Australian. So’s the price tag. Genuine sheepskin. We’re dealing with a fragging barbarian here. Doesn’t look new, either.”
“Guess he’s carried it around for awhile.” the ork said. “Something I’ve noticed about guys who travel a lot in their line of work.” Skater said. “They smoke whatever cigarettes they can get. Same for throat lozenges and breath mints. But something they really worry about—say a social disease, for instance—they'd rather have a home-town brand. Something they trust. Just in case.” He flipped the condom onto the bound man’s back. “I’ll know where to come looking for you if I need to.”
“You talk tough.” the guy said, anger flushing his face. “But I don’t think I’ll worry about it much. If my mate and I don’t fin
d you, the yaks or the elves will leave you in bloody tatters.”
“Shut up.” the pale man said.
Skater drew his pistol again and leaned in on the man. His interest was intense. “You’re not a cop. You're not with the yakuza. And you’re not with the elves. So who are you working for?”
"Bleeding Santa Claus, mate.”
“Then I guess you’re here to fill an early Christmas stalking.” Skater touched the back of the man's head with the pistol. “I’m going to bet I can put a couple bullets through your head, and your friend will think maybe it’s not so bad to talk to me about Larisa Hartsinger. What do you think? Because you drekking sure won’t be around to check it out.” The guy swallowed hard and closed his eyes, then reopened them. “All I know about Larisa Hartsinger is that she’s dead and you were her boyfriend. The woman in there, she was supposed to be one of her friends. Maybe she’d know where you were.”
“See. Talking's not so hard. Who hired you?” Seeing the fear radiating out of the man, the liquid gleam in his eyes, and knowing he was putting it there, turned Skater’s stomach. He was used to the heat of a run, danger nipping at his heels, giving him impetus to do whatever was necessary to survive. But then he thought of Larisa, the way she’d died, and he didn't let any of the weakness he felt show.
“A guy named Tone.” the yabo said.
Skater nodded. “What for?”
"Find you. Sit on you. Give him a call when it was done.”
“How were you supposed to get in touch with him?”
“He gave us a number.” The yabo recited it without being asked.
Skater memorized it easily. He pulled the gun away from the man’s head. “You did good. Now I’m going to give you a word of advice. Go catch the next suborbital and get as far away from Seattle as you can.”
Neither of the gunmen said anything.
Brynna returned to the room, make-up intact again, a fresh layer of foundation partially covering the bruises.
“You look good.” Skater said, knowing it wouldn’t take away the pain or the fear, but that it might make her feel a little better. He took her arm and led her out of the doss into the early evening heat, trying to act like he had it all together. Duran covered them all the way to the car.
* * *
“Larisa didn’t leave you, Jack.” Brynna Rose said, lifting her brandy snifter and taking a healthy slug. “This guy made her do it.”
Skater sat in his seat and felt his breath grow tight inside him. He, Duran, and Brynna were seated at a round table in the back of Murphy’s Law, a bar the ork had suggested. Skater had never been in a seedier one, but the dark interior and the accumulated grime assured them of anonymity from the players working the streets.
“But she did leave me.” Skater said. “Five months ago.” Brynna reached out and patted his hand. “He made her leave you, but I think she hoped you’d come after her.”
“She said she didn’t want me around.” Skater said, listening to Larisa’s words again in his mind.
“Of course she did. She had to be convincing or he’d have turned you over to Lone Star.” Brynna nodded, like it was perfectly understandable.
Skater took a deep breath and let it out. It was frustrating being this close to some of the answers he needed and still not be able to make any sense of them. “Who is this ‘he’ you keep referring to?”
“A street sleaze named Ridge Maddock. He’s a fixer, definitely small-time, but he had this jones for Larisa like you wouldn’t believe.”
“How was he able to force Larisa to leave me?”
“First he found out you were a runner, then he found out you were involved in something that happened to someone named Scharnhorn.”
Skater flicked his eyes over to Duran’s. The ork met his gaze but gave no outward sign that he recognized the name.
The Schamhom deal had gone down almost two years ago, and the closest the team had ever come to a full-fledged disaster.
“If she didn’t do what Maddock wanted,” Brynna said, “he threatened to squeal you to the people looking for you, and maybe Lone Star as well. If she told you, she’d save you, but she’d lose you that way, too. She didn’t want that.”
“So she made the deal.” Duran said.
Brynna nodded. “And she got to keep you at least a little longer, at least until the pregnancy started to show. I guess she was hoping something would happen.”
Skater turned away and stared hard through the cigarette smoke at the elongating shadows starting to drape themselves across the front of Murphy’s Law, filling up the hollow spots in the sprawl. The low conversations at the other tables were punctuated by the click of balls coming from the pool table further in the back under long fluorescent lights. A half-dozen humans and metas were scattered down the length of the bar on his right.
“What was the deal?” Duran prompted.
“He wanted her to be a surrogate mother.” Brynna said. “That’s whacked.” Skater growled angrily, facing the woman. “Larisa didn’t even use skillsofts to enhance her dancing. She’d never have gone for something like that.”
“But she did, Jack. She did it for you.”
Skater’s mind reeled. He fell back in his chair, feeling numb and disoriented.
“She should be having the baby any time.” Brynna said, laying her hand on Skater’s. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe if you see her—”
“It is too late.” Duran said in a gruff voice. “Larisa’s dead.”
“She can’t be.” Brynna said in a small voice. “I just talked to her a couple days ago.”
“She was killed yesterday.” the ork said.
Brynna lifted her glass with a shaking hand and drained it. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, biting her lip as she worked through Duran’s words. Fresh tears glinted in her eyes. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “Who killed her? Those guys back at my place?”
“We don’t know.” Duran said with uncharacteristic softness. “Maybe.” He signaled for a round of drinks and the waitress brought them.
Skater watched the exchange, knowing the ork was taking his position as the soft-sell since he wasn’t staying with the conversation. He seized on what Brynna had said. “You talked to Larisa a couple days ago?”
The woman nodded.
“She didn’t mention the baby?”
“No.”
“She had it three weeks ago.” Skater said.
Brynna shook her head. “She would have told me. Toward the end, she started talking about the baby all the time. She could hardly wait. She said she thought being a mother would be the first thing she’d ever had a chance to do right.” Skater worked on keeping his distance from the subject matter. Images of Larisa lying asleep at his side, all baby-soft and cuddly in the early morning light, invaded his mind. “She was living in Bellevue when she died.” Duran said. “I know. She wasn’t as happy as I thought she would be. Drek, we used to talk about living in a place like that when we roomed together. Maddock paid for it.”
“Because she was having the baby?”
“Right.”
“What was going to happen to the child?” Duran asked. “I didn’t ask.” Brynna replied. “See, Larisa got into this thing for all the wrong reasons, but she really got attached to the little guy. The way she could feel him inside her. She told me some days it was like he was turning somersaults and she didn’t know how she was going to make it through.”
“The little guy?” Skater repeated.
Brynna nodded. “Larisa didn’t know for sure, but she hoped the baby was going to be a boy.”
Skater remembered the way the second bedroom had been set up, the little girl’s bedclothes in the crib. He couldn’t help wondering where the baby was. And how many babies there actually were.
“Larisa was planning to keep it?” Duran asked.
Mentally kicking himself for not paying better attention to all the angles being laid out on the table, Skater took a sip of his juice and listen
ed more closely.
“Yes. She had a piece of biz working.” Brynna said. “If it came through, she figured she’d have enough to get away from Maddock and take the baby with her. I got the impression Jack was supposed to help her with it.”
Skater looked at Duran, and the ork returned his gaze, letting him know they shared the same opinion. “Did she mention any names?”
“No. Drek, Jack, she was going crazy there at the end, trying to figure out what she was going to do. Everything was mixed up for her. There’s nothing else I can tell you, because I don’t know any more.” Tears ran down her face as she fought against it. She wiped a sleeve across her cheeks and sniffled.
“Did Larisa ever mention a guy named Tone?”
“I don’t know ... I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. Why, is it important?”
“Maybe.” Skater said. “Maybe not.” Reaching into his jacket, Skater took out a certified credstick with a few thousand nuven on it.
“I can’t take this.” Brynna protested.
Skater rolled it up in her fist. “Yes you can. You can’t go back to your doss. And you can’t access your own credstick for a few days. You’re going to need something to live on. I wish I had more to give you, but I’m pretty tapped out myself at the moment.”
Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying. “I can’t go off and leave everything I own.”
“You will,” Duran said gruffly, “if you want to go on breathing.”
“Just give me a few days.” Skater said. “Everything should be back to zero-sweat by then.” He spoke with more confidence than he felt.
“How will I know?”
“Call this number and let me know where you’re staying.” Skater wrote the number of a message drop he used under another name on a cocktail napkin and gave it to her. The message drop, set up like the one he was using with Kestrel, went through an answering service. Once a call was made and another password entered, the message dropped through a trapdoor in the system, where it waited to be retrieved by another passcode. For all intents and purposes, he couldn’t be made. Even the SIN he had on file with the answering service was false. Since he could call in and pick up whatever messages were recorded, it had a built-in layer of security. “If you don’t hear from me, you might want to stay lost awhile longer.”
