The Radioactive Redhead with The Peach-Blonde Bomber

by John Zakour

  “How’s the background screening going?” I whispered to HARA.

  “Slow but steady, she replied in my head. “I have visual matches on eighty-five percent of them. Everyone checks out so far.”

  “The crew too?”

  “Already done,” she said. “They’re all clean.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  “You’re just afraid that she’ll sing.”

  “Just keep scanning and let me know if anything odd turns up,” I said. “You did pack the earplugs, though, right?”

  Before HARA could answer a thin man with a headset and handheld computer stuck his head in the room.

  “One minute, Ms. Sprockets.”

  Sexy and the girls bounced up from their chairs and headed toward the studio door.

  “Showtime everyone,” Sexy smiled.

  The plan was for Misty, Sissy, and Lusty to do the interview along with Sexy (which made me happy). They’d be background scenery. Sexy would do the talking but it gave me three more bodies near Sexy. I, on the other hand, was clearly not attractive enough to be part of Sexy’s posse so I planned to be just out of camera frame in case of trouble. But all that changed when the non-studio door of the greenroom opened and a familiar voice sent a chill up my spine.

  “Zach-a-lacka-ding-dong-fooey,” Rupert Roundtree called out. “How’s every little thing?”

  24

  Sexy’s eyes shot daggers at Roundtree as he entered the room, arms spread and smile just as wide. Misty and Sissy had to hold her arms to keep her from going after him. I was no help at all. Lusty actually had to hold me back (her grip was surprisingly strong). But my composure returned after a nano.

  “Sexy, take the crew onstage. Do the interview,” I said. “I’ll handle things here.”

  “Are you sure, Zach?”

  “Trust me. You’ll be safer upwind.”

  Sexy and the others left, closing the door behind them. I heard the crowd go crazy a nano later as Sexy was introduced and stepped onstage.

  “That’s what I like about you, Zacha-jewea,” Roundtree said, making himself comfortable on the greenroom sofa. “You’re always thinking of others.”

  “That’s true,” I said, taking a seat across from him. “Right now, for instance, I’m thinking about you and the best way to break both of your legs.”

  Roundtree guffawed so loudly I thought he was going to cough up his spleen.

  “You’re precious, Zacher, but there’s no need to get rough,” he said. “I’m here under a flag of truce. I know you have some questions for me.”

  “You mean like, what are you doing here?”

  “Yes, like that,” he said. “I wanted to have a little sit-down with you here to sort of ease the tensiosity that you’re probably feeling.”

  “You’re here to give me answers, huh?”

  “On my word, Action Zachtion, you’re safe in this room.”

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “I own the network, Zachrobat. The youth market’s a real profit center now and they’re the movers and shakers of tomorrow. You gotta get ‘em on board when they’re young if you’re gonna rule the world, right? But that’s not what you really want to know, is it?”

  I shook my head and sat back in my chair.

  “You’re right,” I said. “What I want to know is how you do it.”

  Roundtree sat back and smiled. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cigar, and lit it.

  “I know, I know, it’s illegal” he said, motioning to the cigar. “But I own the place so I don’t think anyone will turn me in.”

  He blew a smoke ring that hovered over his head for a nano like a nicotine halo before breaking apart and dissipating on the air-conditioned greenroom breeze.

  “How do I do it?” he said, staring past me into the studio. “I do it by seeing where the world is going and then looking another 10K down the road. I do it by giving the people what they want before they even know that they want it. That’s my job, Zactoid. I’m a visionarian, an edge-ripper. Because in the world of entertainment, you have to keep raising the bar tab. Face it, yesterday’s shocking is today’s mundane. Today’s obscene is tomorrow’s afterschool special. You either push the edge or you get sucked into the pop-cult quicksand of kitschiness. Be the shark or jump it—that’s what it comes down to.

  “I choose to forge ahead, push the boundaries, break the taboos, and crush the societal mores beneath the heel of my jack-booted audacity. The sky is the gimmick, everything is everything and nothing, nothing, is taboo! Except the n-word, the f-bomb, and two bare breasts at the Super Bowl, of course, but everyone knows that.

  “That’s how I do it, Zachamoton. That’s how I do what I do.”

  “Sorry, Roundtree,” I said, “but I meant how do you look at yourself in the mirror.”

  Roundtree smiled and put out his cigar.

  “You can’t take this personally, Zachtor’s guild,” he said. “This isn’t personal. It’s business. And there are times in business when you just have to make a good snuff film.”

  He reached forward and gave me a couple of friendly slaps on the knee.

  “Now let’s get moving, Zachadoo. We have episode number four to record.”

  “I thought you said I was safe in this room.”

  “You are,” Roundtree said, looking out at the studio. “But the danger’s not in this room.”

  I followed his gaze into the studio and saw Sexy on the interview couch speaking energetically with the host (a surfer dude with glowing blue hair). I did a quick scan of the audience and saw four tough-looking teens slip into the throng of fans. They wore black polymer armor-pads on their elbows, knees, and wrists, and dark helmets and goggles on their heads.

  “Teen X-Tremes,” Roundtree whispered. “It’s a daredevil show that we’re launching midseason. A guest appearance on Let’s Kill Zach will be a huge springboard.”

  “What happens if I refuse to fight them?” I asked.

  “Well, then we launch the show by having them accidentally do grievous bodily harm to teen sensation Sexy Sprockets.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I snarled.

  “There are very few things that I wouldn’t do, Zachintyre. Daring definitely isn’t one of them.”

  “But she’s not involved in this. She’s just an innocent bystander.”

  “Something you need to learn about this business is that everyone is involved and that no one is innocent, except of course for my mom, the sweetest woman ever put on this planet, or any other.”

  As one, the X-Tremers turned to look at Roundtree through the greenroom window. He gave them the thumbs up sign and they slid their dark-lensed goggles over their eyes then disappeared into the crowd. A nano later they attacked.

  25

  Teen X-Treme began life as a game kids played on the streets of Malibu. Kids on hoverboards and glider blades chase a ball around a floating obstacle course trying to whack it through a hoop. Sometimes they use lacrosse sticks, sometimes hockey sticks. Sometimes they use electromagnetic taser cudgels. That part’s very nebulous because no one actually keeps track of the points. The real point of the game, I’m told, is to turn outrageous airborne tricks and to beat the DOS out of the opposing team. It makes absolutely no sense at all, which is no doubt why it is so popular with teenagers. It’s a street game at the nano but clearly Roundtree and his people were hoping to bring it to the mainstream. Just what society needs, another pointless, hard to follow sport. As if cricket wasn’t enough. The point is that the really good X-Tremers are tough, talented kids and shouldn’t be trifled with (unless of course they’re attacking a client).

  The X-Tremers came at Sexy from the front, like a pack of wild dogs at a three-legged deer. Two were on hoverboards, two on glider blades, all of them carrying hockey sticks. Sexy was answering a question about her songwriting inspirations, her head turned toward the host, so she didn’t see them coming right away.

  I was out of the greenroom door a
nd running flat out the nano I saw Roundtree give the X-Tremers the go sign. By the time they made their move I was on the floor, running for the stage, gun out and shoving audience members aside like a fetishist at a used shoe sale.

  “Sexy get down!”

  I fired once as I leaped, knocking a g-blader out of the air with a stun blast, broadsiding a boarder with a midair football tackle. We landed hard on the main stage (him on the bottom) and I gave the kid a hard knee to the groin as I rolled off him.

  The two X-Tremers still airborne veered away from the stage and back into the crowd of kids who were now screaming and running for the exits.

  Misty, Sissy, and Lusty converged on Sexy as one, pushed her to the floor and surrounded her with a (nicely shaped) girl-power wall of protection. I had to admit, they looked very professional, and hot at the same time. And when the downed g-blader tried to climb to his feet, Lusty put him down for the count with a mean back kick to the face that shattered his goggles.

  “Zach?”

  Sexy’s eyes were wide with fear. It was clear that she’d seen too much action in the last twenty-four hours and it was beginning to wear on her.

  “It’s okay,” I yelled, scanning the fleeing crowd for the remaining X-Tremers. “These jokers are after me so stay with the girls.”

  “The still conscious attackers are in the back of the room by the exits,” HARA whispered in my head. “One in each corner. Chasing them at this point would only further panic the audience.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s give the bystanders some time to get out. We’ll keep the fight here.”

  “There’s not much cover,” HARA said. “They have the edge with speed and maneuverability. But I think a couple of computer-guided blasts from your gun should do the trick.”

  “Not this time,” I said, picking up the hockey stick from the downed hoverboarder. “I’m suddenly in the mood to hit something.”

  The hockey stick was Teen X-Treme enhanced, which meant that it had a force field generator at the foot that magnified the force of a blow tenfold. I flipped the power toggle on the handle and felt it hum to life.

  “You kids looking for some action?” I shouted.

  The two X-Tremers stepped out from the fleeing crowd and took to the air, hovering two meters above the floor; one on a board, the other on blades.

  “You think it’s cool to attack a bunch of unarmed teenagers? You think that makes you hardcore?”

  The X-Tremers answered by powering up their hockey sticks. I cast a quick glance over to Sexy and the girls. The girls picked up my meaning and hustled Sexy and the show host out of the studio, leaving me alone with the X-Tremers.

  “I’ll show you hardcore.”

  The X-Tremers smiled and attacked in unison. I could tell that they’d trained together because they worked well as a team. The boarder came in high, swiping at my head and the blader came low at the knees. I ducked under the high swing but the blader whipped his stick around widely and nailed me hard in the back of the kneecaps. My legs collapsed and I crumbled to the stage floor.

  They came around again, pressing their advantage. This time the boarder jabbed me hard in the back with the butt of his stick and the blader followed it up with a slam to the stomach. I dropped my stick and fell to the floor on my hands and knees as they split up and circled the room again. Ten seconds into the fight, and I’d been hit hard three times.

  “You sure you don’t want to use the gun?” HARA said in my head.

  “Quiet, HARA,” I said. “You’re killing the moment.”

  The X-Tremers came back around, moving in for the kill this time. They were kids, I could tell; no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. I knew that they’d been flying for a while because they had all the moves. But they didn’t have the fighting experience. And that was going to cost them.

  “I gotta hand it to you guys,” I said, slowly getting to my feet. “You’re first class X-Tremers.”

  They moved in close again, flying in the same formation as the first pass; the boarder high, the blader low.

  “But this isn’t Teen X-Treme we’re playing.”

  I ducked under the swipe of the boarder and blocked the blader’s swing with my stick. Then I kneed him hard in the face. The impact sounded like a dropped melon hitting the sidewalk.

  “This is street fighting.”

  The boarder sailed over me while the blader rolled to the floor holding his now broken nose.

  “You see, in street fighting there’s something we call playing possum. You can do that when you wear body armor.”

  The boarder looped around and came at me head down and fast, his stick leveled like a lance. I held my ground until the last nano and then twisted out of the way, grabbing the end of his stick as I rolled to the floor. It spun him around and down, his own momentum slamming him into the floor.

  “And there are no style points in this business. The only moves that count are the ones that break the other guy’s bones.”

  The blader had gotten back to his feet and, nose still bleeding, picked up his stick and lunged at me. Dazed and bruised as he was, he was way, way too slow. I blocked his first swing with my stick (like Robin Hood with a quarterstaff).

  “And most of all,” I said. “Nobody does this for fun.” (Although, I have to admit that deep down I was having a little fun but I tried not to think too much about what that said about me.)

  I reached back and gave him a stick-shot to the gut with the force field end. His eyes bugged out for a nano and he let out a sound like a cherry bomb exploding in a bagpipe. Then he crumbled like a rag doll and fell flat to the floor.

  “Remember that the next time an idiot entertainment executive tells you guys that terrorizing a bunch of innocent kids will be good for your career.”

  I heard the roar of a maxed out hoverboard behind me and turned to see the last X-Tremer charging. He had gotten up from his hard landing with a serious mad-on and was now coming at me, low to the ground flying down the aisle between the bleacher seats. I held my stick ready to meet his charge.

  But as it turned out, I didn’t need to.

  A shapely, strong arm whipped out at him from between the seats, clotheslining him right in the sternum. His board flew out from under his feet as he let out a squeal and fell backward. His butt hit the floor hard but his face got the worst of the deal because the nano he landed he got kayoed with an open-fisted right cross to the jaw.

  Lusty turned to stare at me once she made sure the guy was down.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She smiled at me and gave the downed X-Tremer one last grind of her boot before walking away.

  26

  The ride back to the Elite went as well as could be expected under the circumstances. Sexy was shaken up. Misty, Lusty, and Sissy were angry with me for putting their friend in danger and I was ready to kill the first media mogul I came across (sadly Roundtree had fled the scene shortly after the start of the X-Treme attack). Only Shreek enjoyed the ride and that’s because he got to sit next to HARA.

  By the time we arrived, Sexy’s interview had aired on MHV and had been picked up by every newsite on the net. I’m sure the network made a fortune in licensing fees selling the footage and, as I watched the slo-mo images of me shoulder slamming the hoverboarder out of the air and blasting another out of his blades, I was starting to feel like a not particularly bright dancing monkey to Rupert Roundtree’s organ grinder. He was cashing in on my hard work, getting rich off my sweat, squeezing every ounce of profit from my efforts without my consent or permission.

  I think I must have ranted something to this effect aloud in the limo because Sexy looked up at me from under her cold compress and said, “Welcome to my world, Zach.”

  And that just about wrecked my day.

  Smiles was waiting for us when we arrived at the hotel. He ran to Sexy the nano we landed on the hoverport, gently wrapped a silk blanket around her shoulders and helped her into the celebrity entrance. He sh
ot me a dagger of a look as he passed but I couldn’t blame him. I was fast becoming as big a danger to Sexy as the hired assassin. The problem was that I couldn’t back out of the job now because I didn’t trust anyone else to protect her.

  I saw Carol at the hoverport door. She watched as Sammy ran to Sexy and hustled her inside. Carol looked a little put off as they passed. When she locked eyes with me, she out-and–out frowned then turned away.

  “Carol.”

  She made no sign that she’d heard me as she entered the hotel. I had to run to catch up with her.

  “Carol, hey.”

  I touched her arm and she turned around slowly.

  “What is it, Zach?” she asked.

  “Is everything okay here?” I asked, a little worried (I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me Zach).

  “Oh yeah, everything’s great,” she said, “if you’re trying to get Sexy killed.”

  “What?”

  “You put her in danger, Zach, just by being around her.”

  “I’m the one who said she shouldn’t do the interview.”

  “But that wasn’t the problem, was it?” she said. “The problem was that you went with her. That’s what almost got her killed!”

  “I don’t think this is the proper time to discuss that,” I said, a little angry.

  “You’re right,” she said, and continued walking.

  “Did you contact Tony like I asked? We’re going to need a bigger police presence backstage tonight.”

  “Sammy didn’t want any more police,” she said. “He said that it would make Sexy nervous.”

  “Since when did you start taking orders from Sammy?” I asked, falling into step alongside her.

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Carol said.

  “Carol, you don’t work for Sammy Smiles.”

  “Well, maybe I should,” she said.

  “What is going on with you?”

  “Zach, please,” she said. “Don’t make a scene, okay? I need to go help Sammy. I’ll see you later.”