by Mel Odom
There was only a moment’s hesitation before McKenzie spoke. “Ellard, do you still wish to deal?”
“I don’t call it dealing if I’m listening to terms.” the elf said gruffly.
“The razorgirl sits at another table.” Duran stated. “I’m not going to have a knife at my throat while I’m sitting here.”
“Yet your man stays.” Dragonfletcher said.
“He’s a full partner in this.” Skater said. “His vote counts. And while you’re thinking that over, here’s something else you can consider: if we don’t walk away from this tête-à-tête tonight, copies of those files get dumped straight onto the Shadowland network for anybody to download and sell wherever they can.”
“You can’t do that.” Dragonfletcher’s voice was hard.
“Your choice.” Skater said. “But I’d decide soon. Standing here like this, we’re losing whatever anonymity we started out with.”
Dragonfletcher nodded curtly at the razorgirl and she walked away. He and McKenzie took seats across the table from Duran and Skater.
“It’s ready, Jack.” That was Wheeler’s voice coming over Skater’s headlink.
Skater lifted his glass to drink and subvocalized over the link before the water touched his lips. The glass masked his response. “Stand by.”
The turtle’s corpse drifted lazily through the green waters behind McKenzie. The squid was a pastel purple haze drifting away, wounded but alive.
“There are just the two of you?” McKenzie asked.
“Here,” Skater replied, “yes. On the operation, no.”
“I’d heard you’d lost at least one of your people, perhaps more.”
“You hear pretty good for someone just walking into the deal.” Skater said.
McKenzie smiled. “I like to look over any interesting proposition before deciding to get in.”
“You have the credstick?” Skater asked Dragonfletcher.
“Yes. Provided you’ve got the files.”
Carefully, knowing there were at least eight guns on him, Skater reached inside his jacket and took out the chip Archangel had prepared. He laid the chip-holder on the table in front of him, not offering it to either man.
Dragonfletcher reached inside his jacket, slowly pulling out the credstick, gradually unveiling its length. He held it between his forefingers, then handed it to McKenzie to pass over, as if touching Skater was beneath him.
Skater knew the elf didn’t see McKenzie switch the credstick for another, taking his ten percent from the team’s fee. The original credstick disappeared and McKenzie extended the second one.
“I think you’ll find everything here.” McKenzie said.
“Will I?” Skater asked.
“Yes.”
Skater took the credstick, but before his fingers could close around it, Dragonfletcher placed a restraining hand on top of his.
“We need to address a few things first.” he said.
“I’m listening.” Skater said as he flicked his gaze to the elf. He raised his other hand to warn Duran off. The ork had bridled and bared his fangs.
“The other copies of the files,” Dragonfletcher said, “I’ll want them destroyed.”
“They will be.” Skater said. He didn’t fight against the restraining grip.
“I want to be able to trust you.”
Skater nodded, but it was McKenzie who spoke. “I told him we could deal with you.” he said, flipping open a gold case and taking out a French cigarette. A built-in lighter ignited the tip and he put the case away. He narrowed his eyes against the smoke as he exhaled. “I had you checked out.”
“When?” Skater asked.
“This afternoon.”
Skater turned the information over in his mind. He didn't trust McKenzie at all.
“Like I said,” McKenzie told Dragonfletcher, “for a shadowrunner, I think you’ll find Mr. Skater has scruples.”
Reluctantly, the elf withdrew his hand.
“Since we’re clearing things up,” Skater said, “I’ve got a few questions myself.” He turned his hand over and let the point of the credstick touch the table surface. He focused on Dragonfletcher. “I know you had Maddock killed. I want to know why.”
“He’s part of the reason you and I are here now.” Dragonfletcher answered.
“He leaked information about the NuGene files?” Skater asked.
Looking puzzled, Dragonfletcher glanced at McKenzie, who shrugged.
“The way I heard it,” the Mafia boss said, “Skater was doing business through Maddock. But there could have been a cut-out along the way. I also heard he’s the guy who tipped the yaks.”
Dragonfletcher’s gaze hardened as he stared at Skater. “Now that you’ve got that credstick in your hand, are you trying to squeeze a few more nuyen out of us by selling out your contacts? If so, I question my judgment in dealing with you.”
“No. This chip represents all the dealing I’m going to do with NuGene.” Skater tapped it, reminding them that he hadn’t pushed it across. “I want the name of whoever’s responsible for Larisa Hartsinger’s death.”
“I don’t know.” Dragonfletcher said.
Anger coiled inside Skater, as restless as a deathrattle. “I don’t believe you.”
“You wound me.” the elf replied.
“I want the name of her killer.” Skater said, leaning in and making his voice harsh. “And I want to know where her child is.” He was conscious of movement around him, including Duran, who was shifting for a better field of fire.
“I don’t know, I tell you.” Dragonfletcher’s voice was calm, pitched low.
Skater knew it was possible that the elf had merely assigned some wetwork specialists to the hit without knowing a name. “You can find out.”
“Why should I?”
“Because without that name,” Skater said, “you’ve only got half a deal.” Deliberately, he let the credstick drop, then pushed it back at the elf with a forefinger. From the corner of his eye, he saw that McKenzie’s reaction was subtle, but the crime boss definitely didn’t like the way things were shaping up.
“What are you doing?” Dragonfletcher demanded. “Leaving.” Skater told him. He picked up the chip-holder and slipped it back into his inside jacket pocket.
“You do and you’re a dead man.” McKenzie warned. “Nobody fragging tries to make me look like a slotting nitbrain. We’ve got a deal.”
“I’m a dead man,” Skater said fiercely, “and those files hit the Matrix the heartbeat after.”
For a moment, McKenzie held his gaze. Then, “I don’t believe you.”
“McKenzie.” Dragonfletcher interrupted.
“Let me handle this.” McKenzie said. “That’s what you’re paying me for.” He shifted his attention to Skater. “You move another muscle, drekhead, and I’m going to take that chip off your corpse.”
Skater faced McKenzie, but he spoke to Dragonfletcher. “Is that how you want it? You want the files on that chip spread all over the Matrix?”
“No. McKenzie, sit down.” The elf glanced around, aware that they were attracting unwanted attention.
McKenzie’s expression was cold and calculated. Anger burned deep in his dark eyes. “You’re making a mistake here. I just want you to know that.”
“Depends.” Duran said softly. “Could be you’re the one making the mistake.” His posture remained loose, but his tone left no doubt about his readiness for action.
Suddenly, McKenzie sat. “No sense in fragging up a perfectly good deal when all I’ve got to do is sit here. Right?” He shook out a fresh cigarette and lit up.
Skater sat down too, but held himself ready to move in an instant.
“What if I can’t get the name of the girl’s killer?” Dragonfletcher asked.
“I’ll give you till ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” Skater replied. “If you can prove to me that you spent time and effort on the search, we can deal then.”
“Ten o’clock.” Dragonfletcher stared at hi
m.
“Another eight hours isn’t going to make a major difference to whatever you’re involved in.” Skater said.
“Ten o’clock is acceptable.” the elf said. “Anything after that, we hunt you down and you can try to make good on your threats.”
“It’s no threat.” Skater said. He took a card out of his pocket. “Here's a number where you can leave a message for me. It’ll be operational in the morning, from nine-fifty-five to ten-oh-five a.m. You can’t trace it, you can’t find it. The number and the exchange won’t exist until then, and it’ll disappear forever afterwards.” Archangel was redirecting the com-call trail.
Dragonfletcher put the card in his jacket pocket. “Why the interest in this woman?”
"She was a friend.” Skater said. “I don’t have many of those.”
The elf nodded.
“Take care of this.” Skater said, pushing the credstick toward the elf again. “We’ll be wanting it back.” He could tell from the way McKenzie shifted that he wanted the credstick back himself to make the switch again, but there was no way to ask for it. He knew that Dragonfletcher would check the credstick over, especially since Skater had held it for a time. When the elf did, he’d find the ten percent missing. It wouldn’t make sense for Skater to take it and leave the rest, so Dragonfletcher would jump logically to the conclusion that McKenzie had tried to cut himself in for a bigger piece of the biz. Skater wondered how the partnership would weather that revelation.
Dragonfletcher pocketed the credstick but didn’t say anything.
Skater stood up and looked at McKenzie. “Maybe we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“Count on it.” the Mafia boss said.
No matter what else happened, Skater knew he’d made a dangerous enemy by double-crossing McKenzie.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a fusillade of gunshots suddenly exploded the quiet decorum of the restaurant. Skater ducked immediately and palmed the Predator II from the streamlined holster on his belt.
“C’mon!” Duran roared, grabbing the back of Skater’s jacket and hustling him away from the entrance to the lower dining room. He had a Ceska Black Scorpion in his hand spitting flame and thunder.
At first, Skater thought that one of McKenzie’s gunners had opened fire. Then he spotted the grim faces of what could only be yakuza marching into the room, systematically setting up fields of fire and burning down anyone who tried to stop them. The yaks were easy to spot, dressed in black suits and wearing enhanced sunglasses even at night.
The Mafia gunners held their ground, overturning tables to set up makeshift gunports. Bullets chewed into the furniture, but the noise level was low as the snarl of silencers wound through the restaurant.
“Wheeler,” Duran called over the commlink, “get ready.”
“Call it,” the dwarf replied, “and I’m there.”
Skater brought up his pistol and fired two rounds at a yakuza who was moving into the main dining area and sweeping the diners mercilessly. He aimed for the man’s chest, not wanting to chance a headshot.
The bullets crashed and knocked the dark-suited man back. Skater wasn’t sure if the bullets actually struck flesh or just flattened out against Kevlar. Duran released Skater’s jacket, evidently satisfied that he was keeping up.
They reached the corner opposite the entrance at the same instant someone cut the power to the dining room. Darkness swallowed the recessed lighting in an eyeblink. Only the floodlights outside the glass wall and the uncertain scattering of muzzle flashes trapped inside the room provided any kind of illumination.
Skater switched over to low-light vision and scanned the impromptu battlefield. Evidently the yakuza had come prepared for the lights-out situation, because they were moving freely. Obviously many of them were wearing low-light glasses. However, a squadron of elves had also rushed onto the scene, outnumbering the yakuza in seconds. McKenzie and Dragonfletcher must have had an army standing by outside the restaurant. The bloody tide of the small war quickly turned.
“Skater fragging sold us out to the yakuza!” McKenzie roared. “It’s a set-up!”
Tracking the voice, Skater scanned the dining area and spotted McKenzie kneeling behind a yakuza slumped across an overturned chair. The crime boss had both hands wrapped around a Manhunter that was sprouting a ruby beam.
Light blinded Skater for a second, then he was aware of the ruby dot that took shape just below his left eye. He was moving when he felt the force hit him, knocking his head back against the wall. He struggled with consciousness as his back scraped and bumped him down the wall and the blood ran warm down his face.
21
Throbbing pain filled Skater’s head and he had to fight to get his arms and legs moving. His vision doubled, then blurred, and the low-light enhancers fragged up his depth perception altogether by overreacting to light and shadow.
“Kid!” Duran roared from somewhere nearby.
Skater tracked the ork’s voice amid the gunfire and screams. Gunpowder stink filled the air. He turned his head and concentrated on the rectangle of light coming from the wall of glass. Evidently the floodlights out in the Sound operated independently of the ones inside the Gray Line. Shapes slipped across the glass surface and threw moving shadows into the room, but he couldn’t distinguish what they were.
A yakuza came out of the darkness at him, chipped eyes gleaming in the dark. He carried a taser, and the dart on the end sparked blue-white electricity.
Skater raised the Predator and fired till the man went down. Dumping the empty clip, he shoved another one home. He activated the commlink. “Trey.”
“I’m here, chummer.” Trey was positioned out of sight and using an external mike.
Skater threw himself behind an overturned table and had to shove the corpse of one of McKenzie’s men out of the way. Bullets and fletchettes thudded into the table top. One of them skidded off the Kevlar weave of his jacket. The side of his face was covered with a warm, bloody mask. He couldn’t tell how bad it was, but his vision was coming back on-line. “Time to go.”
“I’m ready. On your mark.”
At the back of the room, highlighted by the uneven illumination coming from the glass wall, McKenzie’s shaman stood making intricate gestures while his razored girlfriend stood guard. She’d taken a clear bulletproof shield from a shopping bag at her feet and was holding it in front of their faces. Bullets drew lines of fire across the surface.
“Shaman’s scanning a bead on us.” Duran warned.
“I see him.” Skater said. Another fusillade of bullets tore chunks from the table as two Mafia yabos came streaking toward his position. He got his feet under him, knowing it was all going to happen quickly. Blood blurred the vision in his left eye and tasted of salt on his lips.
A fireball flickered into view in the shaman’s hand, then arced the length of the room with a fiery tail twisting out behind it. As Skater abandoned his position, the ball of fire struck the table and reduced it to flaming splinters that pinwheeled through the air.
The smoke given off by the blast cut deep into his lungs. Oxygen in the nearby area was reduced.
Counting on the distraction of the fireball exploding so close to the two men rushing him, Skater threw himself into the air and hit the second man with a flying kick. He landed, keeping his footing with difficulty as the after-effect of the fireball shot a glare of light across the room. Before the first man could turn, Skater shoved the Predator to the back of the man’s skull and pulled the trigger.
The corpse dropped to the restaurant floor, most of its head missing.
McKenzie was in front of him, but partially blocked by yak gunners and the restaurant’s panicked clientele. Gripped by a berserker rage, McKenzie shot into the screaming crowd. A mother and a small child went spinning away from the gunfire. They’d never had a chance to get clear.
The sight made Skater sick, but he couldn’t fire at McKenzie without hitting innocents himself. “Wheeler!” he yelled ov
er the subdermal radio. “Blow the glass!”
“Fire in the hole!” the dwarf responded from the boat waiting at the dock above.
Skater looked at the wall of glass in front of him. A frozen instant juiced by the adrenaline hitting his nervous system afforded him a crystal-clear clarity. He felt a bullet smash into the back of his leg against the Kevlar, buckling his knee with numbing force. He almost went down, but maintained his stance through an effort of will.
The glass wall had been pockmarked by earlier gunfire. Bullets were stuck in the glass in misshapen chunks of lead. Cracks bled away from them like crater veins. The damage distorted the view and affected magnification.
Without warning, but right on cue, the glass wall shattered into thousands of shards and the water rushed in. Emergency klaxons shrilled. Panels moved away from the baseboards of the walls, revealing drains. Pump engines fired to life, the sound venting through the drains.
It was all going as planned. Skater had known about the pumps because of a robbery a few years ago here at the Gray Line. The incident had escalated to a gun battle with Lone Star and to the shattering of the original glass panes in the restaurant’s wall. Twelve people had drowned and jewelry worth a hundred thousand nuyen had been washed out into the Sound. Divers still occasionally combed the area looking for it. but it had never been found. Lawrence Bjelland, the owner of the Gray Line, had rebuilt the room and added in the emergency pumping stations against further accidents and incidents.
The water came over Skater in a rush, cold and briny, and filled with the flip-flop of the rainbow-colored fish that glowed in the dark. He remained standing with difficulty, the Predator tight in his hand. Salt burned in the wound along the side of his head. In a heartbeat, the water level had risen from his ankles to his thighs, swirling across chairs and tables, pushing everything before it.
He shoved an approaching chair out of the way and looked around for Duran. The ork was out of the torrent’s way, holding his own in the corner beside the shattered glass wall, his hair matted to him like an animal’s. He was firing measured shots in various directions, targeting both Mafia and yakuza gunners.
