Violet’s fingers paused their work. “Do you think that they know the truth?”
“Maybe.” Bobbi folded her hands in her lap. “I guess it depends on who it is. I told you what Anderson said. He said he knew who I was.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if that’s true.” Violet resumed her massage. “You know how these fuckers are, they like to seem superior even until the end. And given the wetworks – that was very brave of you, by the way, I haven’t said it yet – he may have thought that you were one of Scalli’s people. You know how the up-close-and-personal is more their thing.”
Bobbi sighed. “Yeah, don’t remind me, huh?”
“I’m sorry. I know that’s hard for you to think about.” Violet gave Bobbi’s shoulders a squeeze before letting go and crouching nearby, looking up at her. “You doing okay?”
Bobbi gave her a look. Violet shrank a little, but stilled as Bobbi reached out and put her forehead against Violet’s. “I don’t know.” She realized at that precise moment how little sleep she’d gotten since their flight from Seattle. “People are reporting in okay, it’s just…”
“You don’t want to fail anybody.”
Bobbi grunted. “I’ll start worrying about failure when people start coming up dead.”
“If they do, you’ll be there.” Violet closed her eyes and sighed. “You’ll get there. I know you will. And I’ll be right there with you.”
“Yeah.” Bobbi smiled as well, but the brief wave of emotion subsided, leaving her hardened anew. “Right.” She sat up again. “If it is the Yathi cracking down on killers, and nobody of ours has been killed…well, maybe Scalli’s managed to fuck something up and his people are getting hunted down. I need to talk to him.”
Violet leaned back and frowned up at her. “If he’s getting his people killed, then that’s his problem. It was his fault the movement’s been divided in the first place, taking his toys and going home. Fuck that guy, I’m tired―”
“Enough.” Bobbi said it gently, her tone steely.
Violet quieted.
Bobbi drew a soft sigh. “Look… I’m sorry. Like you said, it’s a sore subject, and though I’d really rather not talk to the guy, considering everything, the fact is that these people are another front against those goddamned monsters. We need them, and not as a shield.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my grudgingly accepted asshole ally who calls me an inhuman creature,” Violet said acidly.
Bobbi smirked.” Yeah. Something like that. Anyway, I’ve reached out to the channels I still know about, but he’s not talking back. Another thing we need to talk to Pierre about.”
Violet stood. “What does Cagliostro say about it all?”
“Cagliostro.” Bobbi spat the word out as if it was a curse. A week of calling, and we haven’t heard anything. But you know that’s not uncommon for him. It’s been ages since we’ve heard shit from him at all.”
The ancient clock on the wall, a gorgeous Viennese analog affair converted to digital with holographic hands on its exquisite face, chimed an alarm. Bobbi brushed Violet’s hands away and rose to her feet. “All right.” She felt grateful for a departure from the truth and from uncomfortable thought. “Let’s go see Pierre.”
No longer bound to Seattle, Pierre’s fortunes had carried him far. He operated out of an apartment on Avenue Kléber. Bobbi and Violet took a rented secure car across the city, traversing the great gilded lily that was Paris while the car quietly murmured on about landmarks and points of interest. Violet took guard duty, having plugged herself into the car’s sensory systems and busied herself watching with its cameras and sensors. Her eyes stared into forever, blank marbles of blue glass.
Bobbi, on the other hand, had taken two tabs of haliptozine and worked on finding a cosmic center that seemed to only exist through pharmacology. She closed her eyes and imagined the buildings passing, the beautiful modern state that Seattle only mocked – towers of steel and glass glittering in the muted sunlight, but the ancient monuments were properly protected, not turned into corporate exhibits. As the center she sought unfolded within her, becoming a golden anchor, the car’s travelogue trickled into her mind. Names rose and faded – Rue du Jardin, Place de la Concorde, Rue de la Paix, Monmartre – words which had little meaning to her, yet were beautiful nonetheless, because they were so human. Bobbi found herself wondering what the Yathi would call such places in their own horrible tongue, and had a vision of the Louvre’s glass pyramid littered with the horrible green balefires of Yathi lamps whilst monstrous corpse-machines patrolled the Cour de la Napoléon. Places like Paris, where much of its prosperity had started long before the Yathi came to the world, still served as proof to her that things could turn out, that things could be better. Or, at least, they could turn out according to human plans, and not those of invisible masters.
By the time the car had pulled up to Pierre’s building, Bobbi had found her center. She never liked dealing with him anymore, but he was vital to her efforts and perfectly happy to assist. He had no idea what she was into, nor did he care. He also had a thing for Violet, which is why the two of them stepped out of the car at Pierre’s door, at eleven thirty in the morning, dressed as if they were attending a board meeting.
Bobbi’s hair was up, her makeup dark. She wore a sleek black Verana pantsuit, that year’s executive collection. The jacket had Verana’s trademark broad shoulder and a rounded collar that stood up to the back of Bobbi’s head, which made her look like a vampire version of Queen Elizabeth’s PR rep instead of a datanaut-turned-terrorist.
Violet was a little more daring, wearing her Pietro Bana pantsuit without a blouse and only the bottommost button of her blazer secured. Violet hated Pierre’s guts, but she sure liked to tease him.
A copper gargoyle perched by the door, a Next Wave Deco creation turned green with oxidation. Its eyes stared bluntly ahead. The button in its mouth glowed feebly like a dying cinder. Bobbi pressed it and waited.
“Bonsoir,” came a voice after a minute or two, emitted from somewhere in the vicinity of the gargoyle. “You are not welcome here, do you know?” It was a woman, young and snotty. Just as he preferred.
Pierre liked to pander to stereotypes.
“I’m here to pay my respects,” Bobbi said, her voice flat. “Professionally speaking.”
“I say go away.” The woman’s voice slurred around the corners. Young, snotty and drunk – definitely Pierre’s kind of girl.
“I’d like to speak to Monsieur Gatineau himself, please.” Bobbi couldn’t help but add, “I’m not in the habit of speaking to secretaries.”
That got her riled; Bobbi could hear it in her voice as she answered, imperious and angry. “You are not speaking to him at all. You are not even going to speak to me. Now go away before I call security, you silly American bitch. I will –”
A muffled sound preceded a yelp of rage, and a new voice came from the Gargoyle’s mouth. “Monsieur Gatineau, eh?” Pierre made his girl sound like modesty’s immortal soul, he did. “It delights me to hear you refer to me in such a way.” He sounded…interested. Smug as fuck, but interested. “What brings you to my door at so late at night, Bobbi?” His accent mangled her name into something sounding like ‘Bubbee.’ “Or perhaps I should call you Mademoiselle January?”
“Whatever you like,” replied Bobbi. She’d already gotten bored of Pierre’s lizard charm. “I’m here to see you, please.”
“S’il vous plait.”
She paused a moment. “I’m sorry?”
“You have to say it en Francais. ‘S’il vous plait. ‘“
A faint sniggering emanated from the speaker, the girl again. Bobbi imagined her with a white face and a giant hairstyle, birdcages and everything. Then Bobbi imagined her head in a guillotine basket and smiled. “Then I would like to see you, s’il vous plait.”
“Tres bien.” The magnets in the door’s frame buzzed and it swung open. Bobbi only had a moment to jump back, wrinkling her nose as the thick door sto
pped on its hinges. She shot a look to Violet, who wore a frown that could curdle blood, and led her through.
Pierre and his girl were waiting for her in the apartment, which resided on the third floor. The place had all the elegance Bobbi expected, befitting a man with his sort of self-image. He’d decorated the place with simple, attractive furniture in chromed tube steel, leather upholstery the color of brick, and a glass-topped Verrano coffee table between a pair of sofas. A console cabinet stood in one corner where an ornate Sony coffee maker bubbled fragrantly away. Bobbi couldn’t be certain how much of Pierre’s building he actually used. All she had ever seen was Pierre’s office, which lay on the other end of this room through a featureless black metal slab of a door.
“There you are.” He was a blandly handsome man, Pierre, his eyes cool blue and his face a tanned mask. His dark hair had been combed back to give him a severe look. Light seemed to fall into his dark suit. The girl on his arm was tall and thin, her face forgettable in its engineered beauty, all blue eyes and honey-blonde hair styled in thick curls that fell around her shoulders. She wore a red Ashley Peyton evening dress open down to within an inch above her pubis in a narrow ‘v.’ Her breasts glittered with applique crystals. Hers was a synthetic beauty, a girl who became the dolls she played with when she grew up. Plastic, like Pierre. Just as nasty, too, from the gleam in her eyes and the smirk on her lips.
“I don’t like her. “The girl hung on to Pierre’s arm for support. Her pupils were enormous. “She wears Verana.” She made the statement as if it answered everything.
Bobbi smiled.
“Non, non.” Pierre smirked faintly as he inclined his face toward his companion, his black eyes training on Bobbi’s face. Verana is the businesswoman’s choice, Sophie. Bobbi is showing that she is here to do business.”
“She looks as though she is here for a funeral.” Another flash crossed those cruel blue eyes, and Bobbi wanted to smack her.
She listened instead, quiet as a stone, watching Pierre’s face. Despite her calm, Bobbi felt the weight of the flechette pistol hidden in her purse a little more with those words.
Instead of laughing at Sophie’s comment, however, Pierre’s expression darkened, promising violence. “You do not know what you are talking about.” He untangled himself from Sophie. “You stupid whore! Go into the bedroom and keep your mouth shut.”
Sophie blinked at him, but obeyed. The sullen look she gave Bobbi as she went told her this abuse was nothing new, and Bobbi found a new reason to really dislike Pierre. She watched Sophie until the door sealed behind her, then looked back to him. “Awful rough with her, weren’t you?”
“She doesn’t know her place.” Pierre shrugged. The blackness of his expression had evaporated, the lizard charm returned. Bobbi shivered internally. “She always opens her mouth, never showing anyone any respect. She wants so much to be the gangster’s girlfriend, I think.”
“Well, she certainly has the mouth down,” Bobbi said, keeping her tone light. “So…here we are.”
“Here we are.” Pierre looked her over, folding his arms over his breast” “I am impressed. You look good in that. It suits you very much, I think.”
“Thank you.” Bobbi cleared her throat.” Well. Shall we start?”
“Indeed.” Pierre stepped away from the coffee table and slid onto one of the couches. He crossed his legs, folding his hands atop one knee. “Do sit down.”
Bobbi did. Violet floated by her side, smiling that plastic smile of hers. Bobbi knew she still had deployable fractal edges in her teeth that could remove the majority of Pierre’s throat in a bite, and a thermite rail pistol tucked in her jacket. Flash ‘em and blast ‘em, Violet’s logic. It had worked enough times in the last four years that Bobbi didn’t question her.
“I like how you can be so insufferable, even when I know you’re being pleasant and happy to do business,” Bobbi said, smiling faintly. “It’s a talent.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Pierre inclined his head a bit. “I find it’s best to turn even your flaws into something that others will happily go to bed with you for.” He gave Violet a long, greasy look. “Don’t you think?”
Violet smiled back at him.
Bobbi caught the slightest glimmer over polished white. Be good.
“I wouldn’t know, m monsieur,” Violet said around that glittering smile. “I’m just the help.”
That was enough of that. “So let’s get down to it, Pierre.” Bobbi’s voice was calm, but only due to the zenlike core the drug had given her. On any other day, she would be grinding her teeth. Which is of course why she took the stuff in the first place. “You said you had two things to discuss with me?”
“Oui, that I did,” said Pierre with a faint smile. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing a slim thing the size of an ancient cassette tape; flat black, banded on one corner with a pair of bright yellow bars. “First, the question on investigations into your activities, such as they are.” Pierre’s brows arched. “You will be very happy to know that my connections have reported no such interest into your work or your person. Of course, I do not know the full extent of your activities…”
He trailed off a moment, brows lifting, but Bobbi wasn’t taking the bait. “Do go on.”
“Oui.” Pierre chuckled. “You do check me so. Very well, it is as I have said. There are no outstanding investigations into your work. Your patron confirms this.”
A stab of anger came through the centering mist – he had spoken to Cagliostro, yet the old ghost had not reached out to her. It took a moment’s silence to swallow the questions that roared to be voiced. She kept her tongue and her expression still.” Thanks very much. I appreciate your taking the effort. I hope that your people didn’t get into any kind of trouble.”
“Nothing that could not be circumvented.” Pierre’s smile returned. “And of course, there is payment.”
Bobbi nodded. This, at least, was business as usual. Nothing to throw her off.” Of course. How about those grails?”
Pierre inclined his head.” Very difficult. Even more so than usual. Finding such a machine requires considerable effort under the best of circumstances…these days, it would appear that one would need to practically work black magic to make them appear.” He smiled.” Fortunately, I am such a sorcerer.”
“Praise be to evil spirits,” Violet muttered with a smirk.
His smile widened.” I will take that as a compliment.”
“Yeah, well, okay, Necrodemus,” Bobbi said with a chuckle, remembering an old cartoon warlock from childhood holos, “If you could get those sent to the drop spot today, that would be extremely helpful. Now what did you want as payment this time?”
Pierre clucked his tongue delicately and sat up a bit.” If you please, I would need you to wipe the identities of a few people from the American federal system. Certain employees who wish to vanish.”
“Done,” Bobbi replied without blinking. “Just get me the particulars.”
Pierre nodded. “I have always appreciated your taking care of my sources. And you ask so very little in return for the risk. But of course, one finds oneself constantly under the impression that you are no stranger to risk, more so now than ever in the time that I have known you.”
It isn’t like Pierre to be curious, a voice growled somewhere in Bobbi’s head. No, said another one, but it’s like him to banter. “It’s good business for me. And it’s an expression of trust.”
“Indeed.” Pierre’s sculpted brows arched a few millimeters.” In the spirit of that, I have some information which I will offer to you free of charge.”
Not like him to be so generous, though. The thought flooded her with suspicion.” All right. I appreciate that. What is it?”
Pierre peered at, but said nothing. He folded his hands upon his knee. He had information, and liked to make a show of it. Good old Pierre. “I have a name for you, or rather some information concerning this name. At one point, I believe, it had some connection to
you.”
Bobbi’s brows arched. “All right. What’s the name?”
“Lionel Knightley.”
A weight conjured itself from the ether and settled in Bobbi’s guts. She looked at Violet, then back at Pierre – the Frenchman kept a bland face, but his eyes sparkled. He knew he’d landed something there. “All right. So let’s hear it.”
Pierre’s flat expression broke with a faint smile. “Well… You recall that Monsieur Knightley operated a black clinic in Seattle for some time, non?”
“Yeah,” Bobbi said.” Worked with him a few times.”
“No doubt. As it happens, about five years ago, Monsieur Knightley evacuated his clinic in a hurry. He sold it to a competitor first, of course, and then he promptly vanished.”
Bobbi’s brows lifted a bit. “I had heard that he had sold the place, yes. I didn’t know that he just vanished, though. Last I heard, he had gone abroad. Retired.”
“Perhaps so. It was very hurtful to my business at the time, I don’t mind telling you. His competitor was not friendly to me – at least, not at first.” He nodded toward Bobbi. “As it happened, I had the occasion to speak to a former staff member of his who worked there at the time and who had since become the administrator of the clinic. She told me that one evening a man and a woman brought in a body, that of a young girl, which remained in his custody for some time. A great deal of time. In fact, the behavior she described suggested to me that he had become obsessed with this particular corpse. I believed it had something to do with his decision to depart so abruptly.”
Pierre waggled his brows as Bobbi felt herself go numb despite the drug in her system.
“Very strange behavior,” she said. She would rather be damned than admit her part in things first. “To what do you attribute it all?”
“It’s hard to say. “Pierre let his gaze track the ceiling. “People do things for the strangest reasons. It is simply interesting, that is all – and of course, the woman who helped bring the body in was you. The technician described her as you looked at the time.”
Gathering Ashes (The Wonderland Cycle Book 3) Page 7
