Code Noir

by Marianne de Pierres

  ‘Boss says plain and simple,’ he said to his jotr.

  Boss? Was e-v-r-e-e-w-o-n taking the piss?

  ‘Plain and simple,’ I echoed aloud. ‘Don’t forget.’

  I dumped Ibis on Teece and said I’d meet them at Torley’s. Then I headed to my old digs to rescue Merry3#.

  A babe had moved in - a pretty little piece with an extra breast. She answered the door dressed in a multi-cupped bikini that changed colours against her skin.

  ‘I want my holo back,’ I said shortly. ‘You can keep the rest.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You must be the last tenant. The landlord said you’d died and had no family. Said I could sell your belongings. I liked the holo, though, so I kept it.’

  No family! Well he was almost right about that, with sister Kat playing pro-ball in Eurasia somewhere and Irene down and out for the mattress count. That’s if Kat was still alive. Performance enhancers got all the pro-athletes in the end. As for stepdad Kevin . . .

  I laughed shortly. ‘I am the landlord.’

  ‘Oh.’ She seemed at a loss then. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  Her accent was cultured for The Tert. So were her manners. Maybe she was lost.

  I stepped across the bloodstains on the threshold - more memories of Jamon’s ’goboys. I wondered if that one had regrown his eye. Inside was the same drab ’creted walls, same narrow bed.

  Not so same the girlie bits - stuffed bears perched glassy-eyed on the kitchenette shelf, along with twirlystoppered fuck-me lotions and a limp dream catcher dangling where the window may have once been.

  The dream catcher spurred a thought.

  Without asking I dragged a chair across and peered up into the manhole. I had the ceiling stuffed full of precautions - motion sensors, light sensors, every damn thing that beeped and bopped - to keep out uninvited wasters. You’d be amazed what could crawl through a Tert ceiling.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ She sounded nervous.

  ‘You c’n sleep safe at night . . . er . . .’

  ‘Tingle Honeybee,’ she offered.

  I tried to say the name, choked on it, and gave up. Who in the freaking Wombat would call themselves Tingle Honeybee?

  ‘Yeah, well. Leave what’s up there alone and it’ll warn you if something’s planning a visit,’ I said.

  ‘But what would I do then?’ she pouted.

  ‘Buzz off, I guess.’

  I scooped Merry 3#’s control unit off the floor and left, stifling a guffaw until I was outside. It had been so long since I’d laughed, it hurt.

  My stupid, weak joke had me sniggering all the way back to Jamon’s. I backhanded the tears from my eyes and waited impatiently while Merry 3# reinstated on her new commlink. A personal organiser wasn’t worth a pinch without a line to Common Net and One-World .

  She shimmered into life looking pretty damn pouty. ‘You’ve been out a while,’ she complained.

  I ignored her whinging. ‘I’m waiting for an important call. Anything come in?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘Well, show me.’ I dropped on to a couch that had appeared in my absence, courtesy of Larry Hein no doubt. This warlord thing had some perks, apart from the fact that every joker in The Tert seemed to be able to get into my place.

  Merry 3# cleared her throat, interrupting my reverie. ‘Only one recent . . . and urgent.’

  ‘ Shoot.’ I sat up, praying it was Larry.

  Merry 3# snapped her fingers and a board appeared. Her clothes morphed - skin-tight duds to a barely bikini. Just like a One-World weather grrl.

  ‘Fashion junkie,’ I sniped.

  ‘Fashion tragedy,’ she retorted.

  I smoothed the fringe on my jacket and vowed to find the tekboy that made Merry and get him to service her. A few weeks with Tingle Honeybee and she’d turned psychotic.

  ‘Give,’ I ordered.

  ‘Oh yes, that’s right.’ She slipped back into her skin-tights and was filing her nails.

  The blackboard switched to a screen. It was Teece, his face bulging purple. ‘Where ’n hell’s gonads are you, Parrish? I got trouble.’

  Chapter Six

  I hit the pavement in Torley’s at full sprint. Teece didn’t shout ‘help’ very often. Never, in fact. He was a big boy. Able to handle himself.

  Outside Hein’s a mini stand-off was happening. A bunch of Plastique heavies and a tiny band of masked-up ferals brandishing a vial, with a crowd of Hein’s regular punters caught in between. They saw me coming and the sea parted.

  I kicked the door wide, Luger in each hand.

  Melodramatic? I didn’t think so.

  A quick recce told me Larry had the damage meter set to holocaust. Not a drink to be seen, not a stale bread stick in sight. Nothing but some uninvited parties, Teece with a shok-rod stroking each ear and Ibis strung upside down from the overhead light grills like a pig ready to be spitted.

  ‘Easssy,’ hissed Teece.

  I breathed hard and fast. His look told me he was worried about what I might do that would cause them to scramble his brain. Permanently.

  The guys that held the shok-rods were my size. Skewbalds - face, brown and white. Skin-mixed jerks with cheaply sculpted muscles. More Plastique types.

  Too far from home!

  They shifted a little, dragging Teece with them.

  I noticed a small figure behind; seated at a table. I didn’t need any introductions.

  ‘You could have just called, Road.’

  He butted out his smoke and flashed me a smile.

  Road Tedder. Mover on the southside of The Tert, in Plastique, where you could buy anything for a price. Rumour had it he’d killed and eaten his wife when he’d lived in the ’burbs. Been hiding out ever since.

  Couldn’t see it myself. A walking cadaver with a concave stomach.

  Emaciated or not, Road still stirred plenty of aggravation round here. Gave my one-time lover, Doll Feast, ulcers.

  ‘Hear you’re a busy girlie. Wanted to get your attention. ’

  Girlie. GIRLIE!

  Only one other thing made me spit more than that term - anyone threatening my good friends. Those that cared for me got looked after by me. Period. In truth, it was all I had to give in return.

  And Teece and Ibis got more than most.

  I spared Ibis a quick glance. He looked terrified, but that was sham. Ibis was smart and tougher than spectra. What I couldn’t work out was how the two of them got taken unawares.

  ‘You got it, Road. But not the way you might like.’

  ‘Put the guns away. And let’s see what sort of a business head you got, girlie.’

  I began to imagine what fertiliser I’d mix him with.

  Not a good thought to have. The blood lust started and the world reduced to sharp outlines. My body pulsed with revenge. I fought the sensation down with every ounce of my inner strength because it kept me from doing the smart thing, and got me doing the messy thing.

  ‘What business is that?’ I ground out.

  ‘Jamon and I had a deal.’

  His words dampened my blood hunger better than a dunk in the Filder River. My vision cleared some.

  Road lit up again and inhaled. Wet, sucking noises. ‘Supply and supply. Mondo supplied the punters, I supplied Mondo.’

  I stared stupidly at him.

  In my corner sight Teece writhed a little, trying to tell me something.

  Then it hit me. Drugs. Tedder moved most of The Tert’s drugs.

  You could buy anything from anyone round here, but the bulk procurement and sales were divvied up as tidily as sashimi.

  Far as I knew, it went like this. Tedder lauded over Plastique, sold the drugs and ran the black-market trade. Doll Feast carved a chunk out of that pie and dabbled in prosthetics and body parts. Jamon Mondo psuedopimped Torley’s, Shadoville and The Stretch, and made sure the punters got entertained. Topaz Mueno barely controlled The Slag and a thousand knifed-up Muenos.

  Io Lang - the shape-shifter I’d
pinged right here in Hein’s - had supposedly been the man in Dis - but I wasn’t so sure who really lorded over the sinister heart of The Tert. According to Teece the name ‘Dis’ had some obscure connection with hell. Nothing obscure about it as far as I could see.

  Geographical demarcation in The Tert was more than lines on a map. It was something you just knew. Usually by the look of the punters strutting the pavements, the crappo decorations on buildings, and whatever the vendors hawked. The Muenos had toll points on the main thoroughfares. Plastique had toll for those that came in off the Transway.

  I knew it like the classroom of my net-school when I’d lived back in the ’burbs.

  Yet I didn’t know Dis. Hopefully I never would. Hard-core crazies, hard-core heavies. Even for Parrish Plessis - Warlord.

  Actually I was working on another word for my current job. And the first scud that called me ‘war-babe’ would see thick end of my garrotting wire.

  ‘What are you offering me?’

  ‘I’m offering to let my men come in here and distribute Lark and Speed. You get a percentage. ‘

  Lark and Speed. Basics. Not much appeal for designer-shit in The Tert.

  I wasn’t big on chemical entertainment myself. With a body as infested as mine there was no room for extras. Left to me, I’d shoot the Lark dealers soon as I’d buried all the Sensil teks. But I’m not stupid - that was a crusade I couldn’t win. Or wanted to. Just a personal preference.

  One thing I did know, though. Tedder’s men weren’t selling on my turf. The slimy little anorexic wasn’t getting a fingernail in here.

  ‘What arrangement did you have with Jamon?’

  He hesitated over the truth.

  ‘Jamon got twenty per cent.’

  ‘He distributed, right?’

  Tedder nodded.

  ‘You’re a liar, Road. I’ve seen Jamon’s notes.’ I had, but they’d made no real sense. Tedder didn’t have to know that.

  I saw Teece stiffen at my provocation, wondering what the hell I was up to while he had a shok-rod inserted in either ear.

  Tedder quivered, sucking deeply. ‘Twenty per cent or nothing - a very generous offer. You can continue to collect your protection money from the bars and not worry your head about the rest.’

  ‘Forty per cent and I distribute. I don’t want to see your dealers within cooee.’

  Tedder paled, twitching. He inhaled deeply once more. ‘Scramble the boyfriend,’ he said.

  My world narrowed to the space between Teece, the Plastique boys and me.

  I couldn’t get there in time, but if I could just get them to shift their rods a fraction . . .

  ‘OK,’ I said hoarsely. ‘Ease off the hardware and I’ll do it your way.’

  Tedder smiled thinly at me. He nodded at his boys to dismount. ‘Watch her.’

  My smile was for Teece. Bright and jaunty. I hope he got my meaning.

  The skewbalds released their triggers in unison, retracting their rods a fraction from his ears.

  I shot them both instantly.

  Teece dropped like a stone to the floor with them. I didn’t look at him, whipping the Lugers straight on Tedder.

  He was quick. He had Ibis as a shield, an ugly little meat cleaver jammed against his throat. The blood had already begun to trickle. ‘You’ll regret that, bitch.’

  ‘Bitch is fine, Road. But don’t call me “girlie”. And don’t ever think you can play me,’ I snarled in reply. Blood thundered in my ears. The creep had pushed me to risk Teece’s life and now he had Ibis trussed like roast about to carve.

  Yet I couldn’t let him win. Everything that had gone before would be wasted.

  In some distant, removed, part of my brain, I wondered how long it would be like this for me. Dealing for power. Is that what warlords do?

  I stared into Ibis’s eyes. He quivered. This time for real.

  ‘Don’t harm him, Road,’ I warned. ‘I’ll . . .’

  I didn’t need to finish my threat. The hand that held the knife at Ibis’s throat suddenly spasmed and fell away. The cleaver clattered to the floor, Tedder alongside it.

  I pounced on it.

  Tedder writhed in pain. I stamped my boot across his hand and shoved both Lugers in his face.

  A scrabbling noise over my shoulder and Roo crawled out from a panel underneath the bar. I heard the slight whine of his limbs. One of his digits, peeled open like starfish, had shot a dart into the back of Tedder’s neck.

  ‘You!’ I accused.

  His hair gleamed blond, tousled and freshly washed. Green eyes observed me calmly. ‘Didn’t I do the right thing?’

  Relief and anger coagulated in my breast, making it hard to breath. ‘Watch he doesn’t move.’

  Roo took up sentry duty and I ran quickly to where Teece had fallen, reefing off the bodies of the Plastique boys.

  He erupted from under them, a wild animal, flailing. ‘Jeesus! Jeesus! Frig the Wombat, Parrish. What the hell were you thinking of?’ he demanded with a roar. Blood smeared his face. ‘I could catch something from these jerks.’

  He felt himself all over while I held my breath. A burn on his cheekbone, muscle spasms down one side of his face and singed hair.

  ‘I’m alive,’ he pronounced finally, wiping saliva from his lips. He danced a couple of steps. Then he swung at me. The punch caught me square in the jaw and took me down.

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ he whispered hoarsely and stormed out.

  The punters teemed back into Hein’s after Larry decreed the holocaust over. Seems I was good for business after all.

  Larry’s bouncers saw Road and his remaining skewbalds safely on to the Transway back to Plastique. It didn’t pay, I thought, to damage Tedder any more, although I was tempted. The ferals went along to make sure the job got done. Seems they’d look after my interests whether I liked it or not.

  I’m not sure what Larry did with the bodies, but by the time I’d cut Ibis down, given Roo an earful about sneaking around, and rubbed my already bruising jaw in self pity, they were gone.

  My jaw throbbed but not as much as my heart. I’d killed two people. If I hadn’t, Teece would have died.

  Ibis glared at me from where he sat at a booth gulping his brimming beaker of scotch. His eyes were shot.

  I sat opposite him with three measures of tequila lined up. As I swallowed the first I banged the glass against my jaw and winced.

  ‘I-it serves you right, you know.’ His teeth still chattered slightly. ‘P-playing with h-his life, P-Parrish.’

  Tears welled, catching me by surprise. I blinked them away before Ibis could see.

  ‘I claimed salvage rights here, Ibis. If I don’t protect them now, every no-brain in The Tert will come for me. Me and everyone who’s linked to me,’ I said harshly.

  He took another sizeable swallow.

  I went on: ‘I took a risk that paid off. I’d probably take it again.’ My tone softened. ‘You can get out now. Get out and don’t come back. I wouldn’t blame you.’

  ‘I’m thinking about it.’ He glowered and waved at Larry for another drink.

  Some time later, close on dark, Ibis and I staggered back to my new home. Roo trailed behind and I didn’t mind. The visions that I’d staved off after my set-to with Road Tedder hovered like an unwanted salesman.

  I hoped no one else wanted a piece of me tonight - I didn’t know if I’d be good for any more conflabs with Jamon’s unhappy ex-business associates.

  We made it home without incident. Along with the new couch, a proper bed had found its way there. I swore tomorrow I’d chase Minoj up on his promise to fix my security and tipped Ibis into the bed. I ordered Roo to the couch and I took the rest of the tequila bottle into the den.

  Merry 3# yawned as if she’d been waiting up for me.

  I made a list of things I wanted to make the place more liveable and told her to send it to Larry Hein. Nothing special. Some mats, a table and chairs. The kitchenette didn’t interest me much - what would I
do with it? Instead I sent Larry another message telling him to negotiate a line of credit with some of the palatable food vendors. The rest I would shop for myself.

  Myself? I laughed at the thought of doing something so simple. So normal.

  I sat with my feet up on the PC and listened to Merry 3# gab my messages back to me.

  Several from small-time sharks who’d heard I was the new capitan. Two from Gigi the Cashier who’d no doubt seen the transfers from Jamon’s account. And one call from Stenhouse.

  Stenhouse bootlegged the Sensil tekware from the supercity corps and sold it to the movers in The Tert. He also fixed it when it broke.

  Another from The Cure. The Cure was the cute name for a bunch of shady medics who inserted the Sensil routes in between punters’ vertebrae.

  A while back one of them, who practised under the name of Doc Del Morte, got ambitious and started biomek butchery on stolen kids as a sideline. When word got out about his failure rate, and how he was getting his test subjects, the Cabal ran him out of The Tert.

  Even they had limits as to what they would tolerate. Del Morte left behind him forty or more kids - Pets - in varying stages of bio-robotic decay. No one else knew how to maintain them. Their specs had disappeared along with their architect. They were all dying from their condition - some more quickly than others. Roo was one of them.

  From my understanding, The Cure and Stenhouse’s crowd splashed each other’s boots and scratched each other’s balls.

  A headache started behind my nose and climbed up into my forehead. Frustration. I didn’t have time for all this. And yet I had no trace on the missing karadji. Perhaps Larry wasn’t the one. Perhaps . . .

  I put my head in my hands and spoke sternly to myself. Larry was the one. If he couldn’t find a lead, there wasn’t one. Meantime I had to keep busy.

  ‘Problems?’ The voice started me out of my chair. The blistered face and singed blond hair had me falling back into it. ‘Jees, you look terrible. I’m so sorry, Teece.’

  He ignored my apology, staring at Merry 3# who’d flashed back, dancing to some tune in her empty head.