Technomancer

by B. V. Larson

  “Who are you going to tell that crap to, Draith?” Bernie asked me. “Oh yes, I know your name. I know you are wanted for murder as well. I doubt anyone is going to take your word in this fabrication.”

  “They certainly won’t take yours either,” I said. “But our lovely bride is very believable, isn’t she? Her man is missing, and you definitely are involved somehow.”

  Bernie slid his eyes to her, then back to me. He looked defeated. I thought that Jenna rather liked playing the part of the lovely female guest. Either that, or she was enjoying Bernie’s discomfort, which was now obvious.

  “The question for us is whether to shoot you and put together a cover story,” I said, “or to perform a citizen’s arrest and call the police.”

  “Shoot me? Why the hell would you do that?”

  “What if we had a system to make a vast amount of money off the casinos? A system that is so perfect, it compelled you to come in here and risk everything, just because you suspected we had it. Wouldn’t we want to protect that?”

  Bernie was sweating now. He slid his eyes from one face to the next. Neither of us smiled. “You two are in this together,” he said. “You were working the con from that very first night I saw you at the blackjack tables.”

  “What you need to be thinking about is your own skin,” I told him. “You need to bargain with us to keep it intact.”

  Bernie snorted. “What have I got to bargain with?”

  “Information.”

  “What information?”

  “About Rostok,” I said. “Your former boss. And about something called Ezzie.”

  Bernie looked more than surprised now. He looked positively sick.

  “I’m not talking about my employer,” Bernie said. He crossed his arms above his ample belly.

  “Jenna, use your cell to take a picture of our good friend,” I said.

  She did so, and he scowled at us.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I can’t talk about that stuff,” he said. “If I do, I’m a dead man.”

  “You’re a dead man anyway if you don’t.”

  Bernie looked at me and twisted his lips. “You talk big, but I don’t think you have the balls for a murder, one right here in this hotel room.”

  “Well I do,” Jenna said. “You pushed your way in here and I had no choice. It was self-defense.”

  Bernie licked his lips, eyeing her with concern. But I could tell he still wasn’t going to talk.

  “Quite right, Jenna,” I said, “but we don’t have to do the killing. We’ll simply spread rumors. I know several people in the Community. Dr. Meng, and the rest. You were in Rostok’s confidence, Mr. Kinley. You were fired, so you blabbed. Everything I know I’ll relate to everyone I see, putting your name down as the source. Actually, it will be quite helpful. I can cover my own tracks using your name. They’ll believe everything I’ve learned came from you. That allows me to safely cover my real sources.”

  He was sweating again. “What do you know? Probably nothing.”

  I put the gun down on the table. “You’re free to go,” I said.

  “What?” Jenna said in protest.

  I put my hand up. “He’s worth more to us alive than dead. We’ve got the perfect fall guy. We don’t even have to feel bad about it, as he moved on us first.”

  “Wait a minute,” Bernie said. “The Community doesn’t like people with big mouths.”

  “Oh, I know all about that, friend.”

  Bernie sat there, staring at us for a second, his eyes flicking back and forth. I could tell he was thinking hard. Jenna had joined in my act now. I could tell she had figured out my plan. She picked up her cell and tapped at it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m broadcasting your picture,” she said. “You want to take another shot while hugging me or something? No—I guess not.”

  “Who are you going to send it to?” he asked, still trying to look disinterested and failing badly.

  “Detective McKesson, for one,” Jenna said.

  Bernie’s face reddened further, although I would have thought it impossible just a moment before. “That rat bastard?” he asked. “He’s a rogue, just like you. Figures you are working with him.”

  “Are you talking or am I sending?” Jenna asked. Her finger was poised over the face of her cell phone, ready to tap the send button.

  “We probably know most of it anyway,” I told him.

  “Just tell us about your ex-boss,” said Jenna. “About the murders. About all the strange stuff going on lately.”

  “If I tell you what I know, it won’t leave this room?”

  “Not with your name on any of it,” I assured him.

  “And all of this break-in stuff is forgotten?”

  “Right,” Jenna said.

  He let out a long sigh. “I don’t know much,” he said.

  Then he began to talk, and it turned out he knew plenty.

  Bernie Kinley’s words painted a strange picture. He had worked for Rostok, a man who was a recluse—who never left the twin towers of the Lucky Seven. Rostok was a Ukrainian immigrant who’d come from a tough criminal background from Kiev. Some said he was ex-KGB, or ex-military. No one knew for sure, but he’d come to Vegas and worked his way up quickly in casino security. He’d built a reputation for predictable brutality. No one wanted to cross him. About a dozen years ago, he’d gone from managing security to managing the casino itself. Then he’d somehow grown rich enough or frightening enough to purchase the entire enterprise. There were tales of disappearances and horrible deaths associated with the man, but nothing had been proven by anyone. There were never any credible witnesses—when there were witnesses at all.

  At some point over the last decade, Rostok himself had disappeared from the public eye. Very few had seen his face since then. There was a rumor that held that he had been disfigured in some way. People hinted this was the reason he kept the lights off on the rare occasions when he did meet with people.

  “How does McKesson fit into all of this?” I asked.

  Bernie shrugged. “He’s the cleanup man for the Community. He puts an official face on anything that goes—wrong.”

  “You mean when something bad happens? For example, when a creature like Ezzie gets loose?”

  Bernie stared at me. “I’ve never seen Ezzie. It’s some kind of pet of his, or…”

  “Or what?” I asked. “Pets don’t usually talk. I heard Ezzie talk.”

  “I don’t know,” Bernie said. “I’ve heard theories. People tell stories. Some say she’s a mentally defective relative of his from Russia.”

  I snorted. “I think she’s from farther away than that.”

  Bernie shook his head. “I really can’t help you on that topic.”

  I believed him, but pressed for more. Oftentimes people knew things they didn’t think were important. “Have you heard stories about fires?” I asked.

  “Fires?”

  “In rooms, maybe. People burning up mysteriously?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. We’ve had a couple of cases like that. Sometimes we find scorch marks or little piles of ash. McKesson told me once it was something called spontaneous combustion, and that it probably meant the hotel had wiring problems. That guy is so full of shit.”

  “Scorch marks?” I asked. “Like the one in Jenna’s bathroom?”

  “Yeah. We thought, at first, when Mrs. Townsend claimed her husband had vanished, it was one of those events. We were even more worried when we learned McKesson was involved.”

  “Does McKesson have a good record of figuring these things out?” Jenna asked.

  Bernie laughed unpleasantly. “He’s got a perfect record. He never figures out a damned thing. At least, nothing that he ever shares with the rest of us.”

  Jenna didn’t look happy with that answer. I could understand why. She’d hoped the police were on her side and were going to help locate her lost Robert. As it appeared now, that was the fur
thest thing from anyone’s mind.

  “So when McKesson showed up, you knew you had one of those special cases, right?” I asked. “Did you suspect Rostok’s involvement right away?”

  Bernie shook his head. “No, not really. Your husband was nothing special to us, Mrs. Townsend. He didn’t do anything to make us notice him. When people had vanished before, they were always clear enemies of Rostok.”

  “So why did he do it this time?” I asked him.

  Bernie shook his head again. “I don’t think that he did anything. I think that’s why he let you go. He’s not sure what’s going on. He asked you to check around, didn’t he?”

  I nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

  We talked for a while longer, but that was all the ex-pit boss had for me. He really didn’t know all that much, but he had confirmed a number of my suspicions. I decided I needed to start talking to more members of the Community. They might be in a mood to cooperate now that I had further evidence someone was moving among their domains, stirring things up.

  After Bernie left, I told Jenna she couldn’t stay here any longer. She was easily convinced. One man showing up with a gun to steal her ring was one too many. I helped her pack up her things. Tears glistened on her cheeks as she folded her wedding dress.

  “I was supposed to return this,” she said. “It’s a rental. But I haven’t been able to get myself to do it yet.”

  “We’ve got to find another place for you to stay.”

  “I know,” she said, “but it feels like I’m giving up on Robert.”

  “You aren’t. I’m not giving up on Tony either. I’m not giving up on any of them. I’m going to keep digging.”

  She hugged me, and I tried not to enjoy the feel of her body up against mine. I smelled the hotel shampoo in her hair.

  Before she let go of me, my phone rang in my pocket. She pulled away so I could answer. She went back to packing, but I could tell she was listening while I answered my cell.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Draith?” It was Holly’s voice. “Come to my place—right now, will you? I need help.”

  “Um,” I hesitated. I glanced over at Jenna.

  “You need to leave, don’t you?” Jenna asked.

  “Who’s with you?” Holly asked in my ear. “Where are you, Draith?”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said to Holly. I hung up before she could say anything else.

  Jenna stared at me. Was there a new hurt in her eyes?

  “I’ve got to—” I began.

  “It’s all right,” Jenna said quickly. “Really. I understand—just go.”

  “I’ll be back. We have a lot to do together.”

  “I know you’ll come back,” she said.

  I left her then, feeling awkward. I considered leaving my gun with her, but I figured the odds were higher I would need it than she would.

  As I walked out, I could feel her eyes on my back, but I didn’t turn around.

  By the time I climbed out of the taxi and ran up the concrete steps to Holly’s apartment, it was too late. Her door was a kicked-in mass of splintered wood. I pulled out my gun.

  A woman backed out of the apartment, looking confused. I almost shot her, but managed to stop myself. She didn’t seem dangerous, just disoriented. She saw me and gave a little whooping cry of alarm.

  I slid the pistol back into my pocket, hoping she hadn’t seen it in the fading light, quickly checked the apartment, and came back out. The woman was leaning up against the wall.

  “Where’s Holly?” I asked.

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend of Holly’s.”

  “I’m the manager. She’s had a lot of men over here, but none of them ever kicked in one of my doors until now.” She stared at me suspiciously, and I realized she thought I had broken down the door.

  She wasn’t someone who dressed up for work. She wore crimson sweatpants and a sweater shirt, but they weren’t quite the same shade of crimson. The shirt was covered in sequins in the shape of a rainbow. I walked past her and peered inside again, looking for signs of struggle. There weren’t any, other than the kicked-in door.

  “When did this happen?” I asked. “Did you hear anything?”

  “Yeah, I heard my door split open.”

  “Did you see anything—anyone?”

  The landlady had her fists on her hips. She eyed me critically, but must have seen my concern. She relaxed and frowned.

  “I guess you didn’t do it, then,” she said.

  “No, ma’am, but I think Holly is in trouble. Tell me what you can.”

  “There was a bright light,” the landlady said. “Down in the space between the buildings. I saw that, then heard some hammering on her door. When I came outside, the door was kicked in and she was gone.”

  I pushed past her again and skipped down the steps two at a time. The breezeway between the buildings had scorch marks, not only on the concrete walkway, but on both the bordering stucco walls as well. I imagined the scene then. The air had warped here, letting someone come through. Probably, it was one of the Gray Men. Maybe they’d been looking for me, and my trail had led them here. They’d gone up the steps to her apartment, kicked in the door and…

  And what? I didn’t know what had happened next. She had called me in a panic. Maybe she’d been followed home. Maybe she’d heard or seen the warping of the air.

  “Damn it,” I said. My words rang from the walls of the breezeway. The landlady peeped around the corner behind me, but she kept quiet.

  I looked everywhere in the complex over the next few minutes, but found nothing. I’d made a new friend, and I’d lost her. Maybe that’s why no one had come forward since I’d escaped the sanatorium, claiming to be my close friend or relative. Maybe they were all gone.

  “Draith?” called a man’s voice from behind me.

  I turned around slowly. It was McKesson.

  I told McKesson the few details I knew about Holly’s disappearance. When I was finished, he yawned. I glared at him. He’d made clucking sounds of concern and asked a lot of questions, but none of them were about Holly. He wanted to know how many witnesses there were, what they had seen and heard. I knew he was forming up a mental list, compiling a report on this incident. How big was the exposure? Could it be contained?

  From his point of view, there was no problem. No real witnesses, no residual effects or evidence. Just a few strange words from a landlady who was more worried about who was going to fix her door than about her tenant. I came to understand that no one was going to be overly concerned about the disappearance of an unemployed stripper.

  “Look,” I said to McKesson, stepping close to have few intense, private words. “Forget about the event. That’s minor, and you are in the clear there. Now, I’m asking you to do the rest of your job—find Holly.”

  McKesson sighed. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? Doing more than sleeping on her couch?”

  I didn’t bother to deny his suggestion. It didn’t matter if Holly and I had slept together—even though we hadn’t, I still wanted her back.

  “She’s missing,” I said, “and you know better than anyone what might have happened to her.”

  “Look, Draith, we aren’t about to call out the bloodhounds and helicopters on this case. This isn’t a junior high kid with perfect grades. She had a history with drugs. People like Holly vanish every day on these streets just because they want to. She might be skipping out on her rent. She could be anywhere.”

  I glared at him until I could speak without shouting. “You can’t keep the Gray Men out of here, you know. You can’t keep them a secret forever either. They are getting more and more bold. They are stepping into and out of our world as they please. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  I had his attention now. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It does.”

  “We had a gun battle in that mini-mansion in Henderson. What about the next time? What if they had been inside that place when we got there, a dozen of them or a hundred? A
rmed with weapons we can’t face?”

  “This isn’t an invasion, Draith.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  McKesson smiled wearily. “It’s not like that. They come for their own odd reasons. They’re more like mobsters than soldiers from a hostile nation.”

  “You’ve talked to them?”

  “You just have to trust me concerning their motivations.”

  “All right,” I said. “But something is up. You know that as well as I do.”

  McKesson looked thoughtful. “This is something that you can’t help me with. I would tell you to stay clear entirely, but I don’t think you can now.”

  I stared at him. “Are you saying we have people going through to their side as well?”

  McKesson laughed. “There you go, thinking big again. Thinking of Pentagon boys and agents with perfect teeth and black belts. It’s nothing so formal. We have our Community, they have their equivalent powers. We’ve had a truce for a long time, but—”

  I cut him off. “A truce? How long?”

  “Since the eighties, I guess,” he said. He eyed me as if worried he’d said too much. Finally, he shrugged. “Since the tests ended.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What tests?” I wanted to ask, but suddenly, McKesson leaned away.

  I stepped forward and tried to look over his shoulder. He jabbed at me with his elbow, pushing me back. I came forward and grabbed his arm. I wrapped both my arms around his wrist and pulled his hand toward me.

  We both stared at his wristwatch. The hands were moving, all three of them, all swinging around to point west.

  “Something’s coming, isn’t it?” I asked. “Something is opening up. Is it close to us?”

  McKesson had his hand on his pistol. “Let go of my arm,” he said, speaking each word with slow precision.

  I let him go. He glared at me for a second, then relaxed. “I’ve shot men for less, you know,” he said.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “There is something coming,” he said. “And yes, it will be close.”