The woman with all the chips was stunning. Wearing a low-cut black cocktail dress that made her look like she had just stepped off the set of the latest 007 movie, she held herself with an assurance common only among those who'd grown up able to get anything they wanted. She might have been a princess from a European family with her classic features, intelligent brown eyes under sculptured eyebrows and auburn hair looking like her stylist had only just stepped away from the blackjack table after a couple hours' intensive work. Seb had his doubts that any member of a royal family, however obscure, would display quite that amount of cleavage. She was paying for the drinks of about thirty hangers-on by flicking the occasional $1000 chip at a waitress and ordering more champagne. Seb thought that was pretty smart if you were cheating in some traditionally undetectable way. Lots of witnesses who were on her side, willing her "lucky streak" to last as long as possible, so she would keep topping up their glasses.
There was a king and a five showing in front of her and she tapped the table for another card. She had what looked like about $50,000 of chips riding on the outcome. No wonder the floor manager had come down personally. Anything above a six would bust her. The crowd held its breath, but the woman didn't even glance at the card as it was turned, signaling instead for another bottle. When the crowd saw the card and responded with gasps, murmurs and one short scream, her attention snapped back to the table. The card was the seven of clubs. Busto. As the dealer pulled the chips away, she grabbed the remains of her stack and looked sharply around the crowd. When her eyes found Walt, she froze, her gaze suddenly cold and angry. Walt nodded slightly and she stood. The crowd started to disperse disappointedly as she swept through them, heading straight for Walt and Seb.
"I'll meet you back here in an hour," said Walt before the woman reached them. Up close, she was even more stunning and the cliche about anger enhancing beauty was revealing its roots in an ancient truth. Her pulse was throbbing in her neck.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing?" she said. Walt bowed slightly, a polite smile on his lips.
"I'd be delighted to explain, my dear," he said. "Let's go somewhere a little more private, shall we? Please follow me." He walked away and she followed with the absolute self-confidence of one who knows they have nothing to fear. Seb couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for her. He was also just a tiny bit disappointed she hadn't even glanced in his direction. Not only because of her looks, but because she was someone else who could use Manna, someone he might want to talk to. He had no reason to distrust Walt - he had saved him on the train, after all - but that didn't necessarily mean his motives were pure. He grew up a gangster, then joined a blackmailer, it's hardly a glowing resumé. Seb decided he would try to speak to the woman before she left town. Meanwhile, he had an hour to kill. He headed for the bar, but before he'd got halfway across the casino, a huge guy with a shaved head and an earpiece stopped him.
"Excuse, me, sir," he said. His voice was so deep, Seb actually felt it in his stomach. Seb looked up at him. At six feet tall, Seb had never felt short, but his eyes were currently level with this giant's badge, which read Casino Security.
"Is there a problem?" said Seb.
"Mr. Ford wants you to join him," said the man.
"Mr. Ford?" said Seb.
"Walter Ford, sir, he said you were working with him."
Seb nodded. "Oh, sure, ok. Where is he?"
"Please follow me, sir." Seb had to take three steps to the giant's two, making him feel like a kid trying to keep up with an adult. They rounded the corner into the corridor Walt had taken with the woman. The giant knocked at a door, paused, then opened it, gesturing to Seb.
"After you, sir." Seb walked into the room. The giant followed and shut the door behind him. Walt's office was another 30 feet down the corridor, but as Seb hadn't actually seen where he went, he couldn't possibly know that. He knew for sure he was in the wrong room now. And as far as wrong rooms go, this one couldn't have been more wrong. There was no furniture at all, apart from a hospital gurney to one side with a drip attached and small man in a paramedic uniform stood next to it, holding a needle. Two other heavily muscled men in suits - one blonde, the other with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once - stood in the middle of the room.
"Wha-," said Seb, just as the blonde man took a quick step forward, raised his arm and sprayed something at his face.
Chapter 22
Walt had a private office in every casino he worked for. Each of his rooms looked broadly the same. Old, dark furniture, a huge desk and one wall stacked with books floor to ceiling. No window. The woman walked to the desk, put her hands behind her and boosted herself onto it, crossing one leg so that a high heeled shoe dangled from her foot. Her dress rode an inch up her thighs and she smiled up at Walt.
"I'm a bit old for flirting," he said.
"You're never too old," she said, " and anyway, what makes you think I'm your junior?"
Walt walked around the desk and sat in the large leather chair. She was too confident, too assured. He started reappraising her as she smiled coquettishly at him over her shoulder. He nudged a trackpad on the desk and a computer screen blinked into life. He glanced at it.
"Ms Svetlana," he read. "You're Russian? Welcome to America."
She smiled. "Georgian, actually. I know it all seems the same to you, but, believe me, it's a very different country."
"My apologies, Ms. Svetlana," said Walt.
"Oh, do call me Sonia," she said, playing with her necklace, which brought Walt's gaze back to her cleavage. As she no doubt intended.
"Sonia," he said. "My name is Walter Ford. As you saw, I share similar abilities to the ones you were using to cheat at the tables. The casinos employ me to stop people like you ruining a profitable business. I have no objection to you staying in town for a while. There are some wonderful shows you might want to take in before moving on. However, I will have to insist that you stay away from gambling from now on. Unless you are willing to do so in the traditional way."
"Let the house win, you mean?" She stroked her red bottom lip with her index finger. Slowly. Walt swallowed. "Oh, I think I'd rather quit while I'm ahead," she said.
"Then our business is concluded," said Walt. "Just a word of advice. Be careful how and where you use your power while you're in this country. There aren't many of us and we respect each others' privacy, but we do look out for each other."
"Thank you, Mr. Ford, I will be sure to take your advice." He wondered if she was just playing with him. She had seemed angry enough on the casino floor, now she was compliant and flirtatious. Why? He stood up and walked to the door. As he did so, he heard her move behind him. There was a rustling sound.
"Mr. Ford?" she said. He turned. The dress she'd chosen for the night was of the kind of clingy material that led men to speculate as to the existence - or otherwise - of underwear. The dress was now on the floor, so Walt had no further need to speculate. She hadn't worn any underwear.
"No need to rush back, is there?" she said, smiling.
***
Seb began to tense, but as the spray came toward his face, it seemed to freeze in mid-air. Seb could see individual droplets in the fine mist. He realized they were still moving, just incredibly slowly, the kind of super slo-mo he had recently seen in a TV documentary about bees, which made every beat of their tiny wings last two or three seconds. At the same time he felt a prickling sensation in his head and the room seemed to brighten, every detail standing out. The spray, the frowning face of the man behind it, the paramedic and the other man, standing still but alert and ready; the giant behind him, close enough that Seb could feel the guy's jacket lapel touching his right shoulder. It was as if he could pay attention to everything simultaneously rather than have to focus on one thing at a time. It was dream-like in its surreality, but unlike a dream in that everything seemed more solid more real, more there. So when he heard the voice in his head, Seb wasn't the least surprised.
"If you'r
e feeling wired, it's mostly because whole areas of your brain have just gone dark," said Seb2.
"You pick your moments," said Seb, marveling briefly about how preternaturally calm he felt.
"Yeah, well it seems the fact I - you - we - have been a regular human being for 32 years means we're still thinking and behaving like one. I haven't been able to communicate with you unless there's a moment of great enough stress to make you lose consciousness."
"I'm conscious now," said Seb.
"Yep," said Seb2. "We're improving. This is much more useful. Now shut up, this isn't the time. You need to win this fight."
"There are four of them!" said Seb. "One's got a needle, Blondie and Broken Nose in front look like they live in a gym and the guy behind me could kill me just by sitting on me. Hang on - don't tell me - I know kung fu?"
"Don't be a pillock," said Seb2. Mee had taught Seb many of Britain's more unusual insults and he relished any opportunity to use them. "You can only use knowledge you actually possess. So I kinda wish you had signed up for self-defense classes, but we'll work with what we've got."
"Slowing down time is a neat trick," said Seb, "but I'm still gonna be just as unconscious when that hits my face." The droplets were closer now. Seb realized he could see the giant's reflection in them.
"I didn't slow down time," said Seb2, "but the only areas of your brain now firing synapses are those essential for strategy. I've also increased your adrenaline to an almost dangerous level. Your perception of time is massively skewed because your brain is making calculations fast. Real fast. Now shut up and do as I say."
"Yes, sir," said Seb.
"Ok, two immediate problems - the spray and the huge guy behind you. Duck to your left and drive your right elbow backward."
Seb ducked to the side, wrapped his left hand over his right fist and yanked his elbow backward as hard as he could. The bony end of his elbow made contact precisely with the giant's testicles and, as Seb continued moving left, the huge figure folded in agony, taking a short, ragged involuntary breath as he hunched over. By that point, his face was squarely in the cloud of vapor. His eyes unfocused, his limbs slackened and he pitched forward as he lost consciousness. His fall took him directly into the path of the one with the spray, who spun to his right to avoid him.
"Off-balance," said Seb2. "Sweep your-"
But Seb was already doing it as pure self-preserving reflexes took over. Continuing the momentum started on his duck to the left, he put his left hand on the carpet and used it to steady himself as he swept his right leg into the feet of the unbalanced Blondie. With his weight already shifted by trying to avoid the fallen giant, the man crashed heavily to the floor.
"The neck," said Seb2. "I don't know the medical term for it, but you need to punch him on-"
"Got it," said Seb, moving forwards. He had rarely been a violent man, so he could only assume the moral center of his brain was one of the areas no longer in action as he punched Blondie in the side of his neck below his ear. His body immediately went slack.
Two down.
The paramedic wasn't a threat and was backing away. Broken nose was a different prospect. As soon as Seb had kicked Blondie's legs from under him, Broken nose had gone for his pocket. When Seb looked up, he saw something shooting toward him from Broken Nose's outstretched hand.
"Move to - " said Seb2, then "no! Wait, don't move. It's a taser."
It was closer now and Seb saw that Seb2 was right. Two wires snaked toward his chest, sparks already slowly moving between the barbed contact points.
"It's going to hit me!"
"I know," said Seb2, "hold still, and try very hard not to bite your tongue."
Seb braced himself as the hooked metal pierced his skin. There was a brief flare of pain. Then the sparks raced away from him, back down the lines. Straight into Broken Nose's hand. He danced like some bizarre slowed-down footage from a children's show; a wooden puppet controlled by a hyperactive three-year old, his limbs twitching and jerking, lips pulled back from his teeth and blood spurting from his mouth where he had bitten down on his tongue. After less than two seconds of frenzied twitching at 50,000 volts, he collapsed, jerked once more and was still.
"Ouch," said Seb2. Time seemed to speed up slightly as the danger receded and Seb turned to the paramedic, who'd backed up against the wall and looked very pale.
"And what am I supposed to do with you?" said Seb. The paramedic hesitated for a moment, glanced at the hypodermic in his hand, then stabbed it into his own thigh and emptied the contents into his bloodstream. He sat down.
"One," said the paramedic, "two...th..." As his head rolled forward, his shoulders slumped and his body fell sideways. After a short pause, he started snoring.
"Smart," said Seb2. "Now let's go find-,"
"Walt!" said Seb and turned and sprinted back into the corridor, vaulting the unconscious giant.
***
Walt admitted to himself that he was tempted. Sonia was beautiful, sensuous and achingly available. He hadn't had sex for four days, and 80 years' experience of his over-developed libido meant he was ready to rectify the omission. But the contents of his pants no longer ruled the roost - once you knew you could get all the sex you wanted, you realized not every opportunity had to be quite so eagerly grasped. And his brain was telegraphing clearly the message that Ms. Svetlana had an agenda beyond seducing him.
"Who are you, really?" he said. "Why are you here?"
She took a step toward him, one hand gently cupping a perfectly formed breast.
"Wrong question," she said. "You should be asking 'what', not 'who.'"
Although his resolve wasn't wavering, Walt couldn't help but enjoy the fantasy unfolding in front of him.
"As you wish," he said. "So, Ms. Svetlana, what are you?"
She smiled and took a step closer.
"A diversion," she said.
Walt hesitated, then cursed and turned for the door. He had expected others to be interested in Seb - a surge of power like that would be felt by outliers such as himself worldwide. But he hadn't expected anyone so soon. And he had no idea who this woman was, which faction she belonged to, if any. He reached out for the handle, then gasped in pain as the metal stretched, then wrapped itself around his wrist, pulling him against the door.
Sonia smiled at him and shook her head.
"There's really no rush, Walter," she said. "We're only just getting to know each other."
Walt considered much of his manipulation of Manna close to an art form. He was proud of the creatures he could bring into being and often took minutes to slowly craft an intricate creation, either for his own amusement or to terrify a User who wouldn't comply with his request to leave town. So on one level it hurt his pride to do what he did next. On another level, it was pure expedience. He couldn't afford to lose Seb. The personal consequences didn't bear thinking about.
Ignoring the pain in his wrist and turning away from the smiling centerfold leaning against his desk, he looked toward the huge bookcase. It wasn't there because Walt was an avid reader. It also wasn't the kind of bookcase designed to impress guests with his intellectual credentials. It was there because books are made of paper. And paper, as Walt had discovered over many decades of experimentation, was his favorite medium.
Nearly three hundred books flew off the shelves toward the middle of the room, each one opening as it did so. Spines twisted and ripped as pages tore themselves out. In a whirlwind of motion, the air crackling with power, the shreds of paper and cardboard packed themselves tightly together into a mass which thickened and grew. Within a few seconds, the whirling mass had taken on a recognizable shape - a huge hand, crudely made but unmistakable, twice the size of the woman it swooped toward, its huge fingers opening as it approached. Sonia offered no resistance as the giant fist enclosed her and she disappeared from view.
Walt didn't waste any time once he had imprisoned her, immediately turning his attention to the metal holding him in place. He looked down at it -
antique iron, not only practical and strong, but also one of those interior designer touches intended to lend the casino an air of opulence. Under his gaze the iron softened and became malleable, sliding away from his skin before reforming itself as a door handle. As he put his hand out to turn it, he darted a final look over his shoulder. The enormous fist held its captive firmly - no need to hurry back, she would be his guest for as long as he deemed necessary.
His hand closed over thin air. The handle had gone. He looked at the door disbelievingly. It seemed to have merged organically with the wall on either side. No hinges held it in place, the oak just melted into the plaster of the wall.
A low chuckle sounded from behind him. He turned. As he did so, the hand exploded into a million pieces. The word 'exploded' didn't do it justice - it was more like thousands of tiny fingers had simultaneously grabbed individual pieces of paper and neatly ripped them two or three times within a fraction of a second. The naked body enclosed within was hard to make out for a few seconds as a cloud of confetti drifted down around her like snow. When the flakes had settled, she shook her head ruefully and waggled a finger at Walt.
"And we could have had such fun," she said. As she took a step forward, her dress snaked up her legs and neatly peeled itself back onto her skin. "Your party tricks might scare the neophytes, but I left kindergarten a very, very long time ago."
She raised her hands. Any hint of flirtatiousness had gone. Her gaze was blank, pitiless. Tendrils of black smoke curled around her hands before focusing into something harder and stronger. Some of the paper around her sparked into flame and her hair crackled with energy. Walt had a sudden conviction that the next few seconds would be his last. He still couldn't help but be impressed by her, whoever she was. He hadn't seen such power in a long time. Lesser men might have closed their eyes. Not Walt.
World Walker 1: The World Walker Page 17
