by Mel Odom
On the screen, Larisa stood up. Evidently she’d been too tense to sit any longer.
“I really wanted to tell you about her five months ago. I’d already started to lean on you more, and you know it. That’s why you were pulling back. Looking back on it, I realize I’m partly to blame because I was pressuring you and you didn’t have a clue why.”
The suite’s regular telecom suddenly beeped and Archangel started to get up to answer it, but Skater waved her back down again. He tapped a key even as Larisa’s voice continued, and found a message waiting for him at one of his drops. It was from Kestrel.
“Then I thought maybe even if I did tell you,” Larisa went on, “we wouldn’t be able to run. Not without a lot of money. I didn’t know how much you had put aside, but I had nada. And these people, Tone and Maddock, they weren’t nitbrains. Maddock is slime, and Tone likes to hurt people; that’s why they got him.”
Skater keyed up the message from Kestrel. There was no vid, only the fixer’s distinctive voice. “Carbone will talk to you.” An LTG number followed.
“I overheard Maddock and Tone talking a few weeks ago.” Larisa said. “Tone was bragging. He likes to do that anyway, but he was boasting even more than usual. He told Maddock about a Tir freighter called the Sapphire Seahawk, and said it was carrying some files worth millions of nuyen. Just like my baby.”
Skater punched in Carbone’s LTG number and listened to it ring. He wasn’t worried about the call being traced; Archangel had seen to setting up cut-outs along the way.
“So I got hold of you.” Larisa went on. “I knew if the paydata aboard the elf ship was worth anything, you’d see to it I got my share. I was hoping it would be enough to get Emma and me clear of Maddock and Tone.”
A gruff voice answered the telecom.
Skater asked to speak to Carbone and added his name. He was told to wait a moment.
“Since you’re getting this message,” Larisa said, “I guess something went wrong. Maddock has been acting edgy the last tew days, so I suppose they’re going to try to take Emma soon. I don’t know everything that’s behind the scam, but I do know that an elf couple somewhere is wanting to buy an elf baby, and that they’ve got millions to spend doing it. The doctors checked me to make sure Emma was an elf embryo. Maybe if she hadn’t been, they’d have let us go. I don’t know.”
The gruff voice came back on-line and barked out another number, a private line to Mr. Carbone’s office.
Skater said thanks, but the connection had already been cut.
“I don’t think Tone is the brains behind it all, but he’s definitely over Maddock.” Larisa said. “Find him, Jack, because you’re Emma’s only hope. No one else will care. If you’ve got this, it means you’ve met my mother. You know it’s true.” Her voice broke, but she forced herself to go on. “You and I, we almost made it. But the secrets we kept got in the way. it’s hard giving up those secrets when you’ve learned to close off so much of your life from other people. I know you didn’t want ties or responsibilities. I didn’t want them either. But Emma .. . she’s got no one. And these people who took her, I don’t want our daughter to be some kind of prize. Find her, Jack, and take care of her when you do.”
The screen on Skater’s telecom flatlined into a gray surface. No one said a word, but the group gradually broke up. Archangel returned to her deck and jacked in while the others went to see about assembling some kind of a meal. Even with Lofwyr’s help, all were aware that they couldn’t stay hidden forever. And there was the deal they’d made with the dragon. Time was running out on all fronts.
Skater had a call to make and he punched in the numbers, one by one.
“Carbone.” came a cultured voice after a few moments. A brief instant later, the vid image flickered to life. The man had thin blond hair that lay plastered against his scalp. His eyebrows were almost colorless, thin edges against pink skin, but his dark blue eyes fit the Vashon Island suit he wore. He was inspecting a compound bow, plucking at the drawstring with his fingers. When he did, a laser aiming light fired a ruby shaft out of the telecom’s view along the bow’s sighting line.
Skater pushed all the swirling emotions out of his mind and concentrated on dealing with Carbone. “I’m Jack Skater.”
Carbone nodded. “I got your name when your call was transferred back.” He plucked the bowstring again. “I know who you are. What I want to know is why I should give you the time of day.”
“Because,” Skater said, “I can take Synclair Tone off your hands. From what I gather, that’s something akin to losing a cranial tumor.”
“Interesting.” Carbone laid the bow on an ornate desk that looked like it had been assembled by elven carpenters. Then he seated himself behind it. “Except that Tone happens to be protected property.”
“And you’re doing the protecting.” Skater agreed. “Somewhat less than enthusiastically.”
“But with no lack of professionalism.” Carbone leaned back in his chair.
“Agreed. That’s why I’m calling you. If I could do this without disrupting what you’re doing, I would.”
“And in the event that you somehow succeeded, I’d have you tracked down and geeked.” Carbone steepled his hands in front of him. “Just so we both know where we stand in this thing.”
Skater nodded. In his mind, Larisa was telling him again that the baby’s name was Emma, that she was his daughter. He put a lid on the thought with real effort.
“Getting Tone flatlined while in my employ could be somewhat embarrassing.” Carbone said.
“Keeping him around could prove to be even more embarrassing.” Skate replied.
There was only a slight hesitation on Carbone’s behalf. “Yes.”
“And there could be rumors circulating that you paid for someone to whack Tone yourself. Of course, these would remain unfounded. You are not, however, in the protection business, so it shouldn’t affect your real marketability.”
“Indeed, I am not.” Carbone laughed, and the sound of it was cold and brittle. “It would be poetic in a way, I suppose, people saying that even I wasn’t safe from myself after the contract had been accepted. But—how do I know you can deliver?”
“Even if I wasn’t able to remove Tone, you’d still be in a position of deniability.”
“True.”
“I’d consider that a win-win situation for you however it goes.”
“What is it that you want from me?”
Skater didn’t let a smile touch his face as he slid into position to deal. He knew he couldn’t ask who Tone belonged to, but he knew the man’s boss had to connect somehow to Silverstaff. “I know about the casino Tone has cut himself a part of. All I want from you is a bit of laxity.”
“Later, it will be questioned how someone was able to take Tone from my watch.”
“Are you Tone’s keeper,” Skater asked, “or are you being used as a cover?”
“Suggesting that my responsibility to Tone ends somewhere?”
“You didn’t authorize him to cut into the casino.”
“No.” Carbone answered. “Though it’s well-known that I keep a close eye on my staff.”
“It’s also known that Tone isn't exactly one of your staff.”
Carbone took a long, slim cigarillo from an ornate box of worked metals. “Yes.” He tapped one end and then lit it with a sculptured lighter. “What is your interest in Tone?”
“Personal.”
Exhaling twin streams of smoke through his nose, Carbone said, “So you’d risk much to get him.”
“I think I already have.” Skater said. “Approaching you about getting rid of him isn’t the wisest thing I could do. Especially when you could sell me out to any of a handful of interested parties. I’m betting that being rid of Tone is worth more than that. You’ll let me know if I’m right.”
Carbone blinked once, but otherwise his face might have been stone. “How soon could you make your move?”
“Five minutes after this transmi
ssion.”
Carbone nodded. “Give me an hour. I’m sure arrangements can be made. But keep in mind one thing.”
Skater listened.
“If there are repercussions, if I am asked to look into the matter and take care of it, I will. Never doubt that.”
“I don’t.” Skater replied. “I’m gambling that whoever ultimately owns Tone doesn’t really prize him. Tone is just a piece in a very deadly chess game. He has no real worth, except as a planned sacrifice. I’m just going to take him out of the game prematurely and change the relationship of cause and effect.”
“We’ll see if you’re correct.” Carbone leaned forward and broke the connection.
Skater let out a tense breath and hit his own Disconnect. It was time to find out if he was right.
30
Stinky-Fingered Al’s occupied the bottom two floors of what had once been a four-story hotel. The new security bars over the windows and the reinforced security door creating an isosceles triangle with the two cross streets contradicted the peeling paint and graffiti.
Skater double-parked the Ford Americar he and Duran had boosted behind a delivery truck servicing a small troll restaurant across the street. A hand-lettered sign running down the length of the cafe door said RIBS. The scent of simmering barbecue sauce filled the air.
“I hear Stinky-Finger bought the hotel from a real estate company that was never able to get it out of the red.” Duran said from the passenger seat. He ran a hand through his unruly coarse hair, then slipped the Scorpion’s sling over his shoulder where it would be hidden by his combat-cut jacket. “Guess the gambling action here is wiz, though.”
Skater had to agree. Sandwich boards on sawhorses advertised available parking in three different areas. A local go-gang called the Leather Devils had evidently set themselves up as the parking franchise for the casino.
Adrenaline surged inside Skater as he crossed the street. His focus was there, but not quite in reach. Thoughts of the baby—Larisa’s daughter—kept cycling around in his head, moving but going nowhere. It was hard to keep from operating out of emotion, and the strongest one he felt was confusion.
“You chill?” Duran asked as they stepped up on the curb in front of the casino.
“Getting there.” Skater shifted inside his duster, adjusting to the feel of the Predator in the break-out shoulder rig under his left arm.
"Don’t worry about getting around everything right now. It’s been coming at you too fast. Take care of the biz you can, and let the rest of it come when the time’s right.” The ork pushed one of the doors open and waited for Skater. “Tonight, it’s time for Synclair Tone.”
Skater nodded. He had to work on that too. The closer he got to Tone, the more tightly the anger inside him coiled. He knew that Duran was aware of it.
"What’ll it be, gentlemen?” The woman lounged behind the bulletproof windows of the ticket booth. She was young and black, wearing a diaphanous top and tight shorts.
Two yabos in black pants and black tee shirts with SECURITY across their chests in red letters stood on either side of the entrance. Both held automatic rifles, and pistols were leathered at their hips.
One of them took up a wand plugged into a wall power outlet. “We need to check you over before you go in. Policy.” His eyes were cybered, steely death.
“Mr. Carbone thought it would be no problem if we went on in.” Skater said.
The gillette stared back hard, but didn’t say anything.
“Anybody else going to come in here and tell you that?”
The yabo put the wand away. “They’re expecting you.” he said, sounding like he took it as a personal offense. “Go on in.”
Duran followed Skater through the door.
On the other side of the entrance, the smell of the casino hit Skater like a physical force. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, beer, cheap perfume and sweat, interfaced with the sour smell of desperation, all combined to make an olfactory haze that thickened the canned air put out by the AC.
The tables were filled with the after-hours crowd. Several of the patrons still wore their uniforms and talked loudly as the booze worked in them. The carpet was worn, as tight against the floor as ligaments on a man dead two days, and suspiciously stained in wild patterns. The decor was lacking, but the lighting was low enough that most of the crowd wouldn’t have missed it if they’d cared enough to look.
But the action at the tables was hot. Cards and dice and chips whisked out across the new green felt. Croupiers and dealers kept the players properly antagonized and sympathized with as the need arose. At least three tables were devoted to virtual-reality maze chases where the watchers bid against the house on the outcome. Floppy display monitors overhead charted the progress of the challenger and the house champion. Other games included simboxing and simdog-fights with aircraft ranging from Kitty Hawk to the latest Aztlan releases.
A long-legged brunette elf carrying a tray of bottles and drinks stopped in front of Skater and Duran on her way back to the bar. “What’ll you have, chummers?”
“I’m looking for Synclair Tone.” Skater said.
The smile didn’t leave her face, but it tightened and all the warmth drained away. “He’s in the back at his usual table. You can’t miss him.”
Skater nodded and walked around a blackjack table where a troll female was dealing, leaning forward from time to time to engage the players’ interest with the incredible expanse of cleavage available. He stayed away from the pools of light as much as possible, and didn’t make contact with anyone along the way.
Duran was an intangible shadow at his heels, covering his back.
Synclair Tone was seated at a rear table set on a dais raised almost two meters above the gaming floor. Two other tables sat around him, but they were unoccupied. Three women clustered around Tone, scantily dressed and hanging on him. One of them was a black elf, and the other two were human. The human woman on Tone’s right moved like she was chromed, making all the curves dangerous. Skater mentally filed her away as he made for Tone.
“Any particular way you want to handle this, kid?” Duran asked.
Skater didn’t reply, focusing on Tone and kicking his boosted reflexes on-line. Adrenaline rushed through his system, slick as quicksilver and throbbing like a jazzed salsa beat. Grabbing the handrail of the short flight of stairs leading up the tables, he had to force himself to breathe correctly.
“Just keep your head low when the drek hits the turbo.” Duran said tersely. “Guy went to all that trouble to get himself handsome, he’s probably tricked out in Annie-Awesome hardware too. And he ain’t gonna like it none, you trying to mess up what the docs have done.”
The Predator was in Skater’s fist as he hit the last step and wheeled toward Tone.
Tone picked up on him at once, but didn’t move from behind the table. He kept both hands in view; and if he hadn't, Skater knew he’d have already opened fire. He stopped four meters from the table and groped for the twisting center of himself. Emotions and thoughts were all knotted up inside him. He forced out a long breath through his open mouth.
The lights from the gaming floor spilled over his shoulder and fell across. Tone and his table. Two of the women, the elf and the unchromed human, moved away, out of Tone’s reach.
Tone grinned at Skater. “You got a problem, chummer?”
“No,” Skater said in a level voice, “you do.”
Scratching his smooth-shaven skin as if unconcerned, Tone said. “You come in here carrying heavy metal. Your friend too. Makes me wonder how you got past security.”
“You don’t exactly make friends where you go.” Skater said.
“I think I’m doing okay these days.” Tone glanced around, looking for the security teams working the floor.
Skater looked with him, never taking his eyes off Tone or the razorgirl. Evidently the yabos working the front door had passed the message, because the hard guys were leaving the floor.
“Some of those guys belong t
o me.” Tone said. “Stinky-Fingered Al didn’t buy you and send you in here.”
“No. I’ve got a personal interest in you.” Skater said slowly. “Remember a woman named Larisa Hartsinger?” The name hung in Skater’s mind, bringing with it memories from the past. Memories of how Larisa looked in the morning light, the sound of her laughter, the silk of her skin under his fingertips, the scent of her favorite perfume, and the taste of her mouth when passion ran hot between them. An image of her, tearful yet smiling while she held her baby, froze in his mind. And the focus clicked in, turning him into a monofilament whip waiting to be unloosed.
"History.” Tone said. “Days dead, and didn’t even put up much of a fight.”
Skater felt the black rage drop on him, but it wasn’t so much that he didn’t see the small finger signal Tone gave the razorgirl. Without warning, she launched herself af him like a heat-seeking missile. Snap-blades jutted from her forearms, and spurs flicked out from her heels as she flipped through the air. Light glinted from the whirling mix of keen-edged steel as she knifed toward Skater.
The shadowrunner stood his ground, locking eyes with Tone, who was reaching under the table. Duran was back there, Skater knew, and backup didn’t come any fiercer than the ork.
The fusillade of bullets from Duran’s Scorpion whipped by Skater, a few of them actually cutting through the loose folds of the duster where there was no Kevlar lining. He didn’t move.
But the rounds caught the razorgirl as she came out of her flip, her blades extended and reaching for Skater’s throat and face. Centimeters from making contact with her prey, the bullets hammered into her and knocked her back, a shattered puppet with its strings cut.
