The Radioactive Redhead with The Peach-Blonde Bomber

by John Zakour

  She ran ahead of me and hopped onto a high speed elevator with Misty, Sissy, and Lusty. She made no effort to hold the doors open for me as I stared at her.

  Sexy spent the rest of the afternoon behind closed doors with Smiles and Carol. Smiles said that Sexy needed some time to clear her head from the ordeal and get her mental focus back on the upcoming performance. That left me the odd man out at the hotel, which was just as well, because it gave me a chance to beef up security for the concert. That meant telling Tony everything I had learned the night before. His initial reaction was pretty much what I expected.

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  I had found a spare room on Sexy’s main floor of the Elite and set up a sort of pseudo office for the afternoon. It wasn’t much but all I really needed was a place to rest my wrist interface and a hook to hang my trench coat. The room I’d found didn’t actually have a hook, but it had a comfy couch and a fully-stocked mini fridge, which was okay too. There was music in the background as well, which I assumed was Sexy practicing for tonight’s show.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” I said, munching on my second package of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.

  “The governor hired a hit man to kill Sexy because she’s a political rival?”

  “It wasn’t actually the governor.”

  “Right, just one of his billionaire supporters.”

  “There can’t be that many of them.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Tony, I never said this was going to be easy.”

  “You never said it was going to be career suicide, either,” Tony said. “I cannot arrest the governor.”

  “I’m not saying you have to. Not yet anyway. I just wanted to make sure that you knew everything I did. And you have to admit, it’s helpful to know that we’re dealing with a professional killer rather than an extremist group.”

  “Yeah, that really lightens my day,” Tony replied. “But if it’s a professional killer, how do you explain the kid with the bomb last night?”

  “Maybe the killer didn’t want to do it himself, so he set up the kid to do the dirty work. That would at least explain where the nano-explosives came from.”

  “If it’s a professional, then why use the kid?”

  “I don’t know, maybe he’s shy?”

  “A shy assassin?”

  “We’ve seen stranger things in our time,” I said.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “So you’ll have a few extra people backstage at the show tonight?”

  “They’ll be there,” Tony replied. “Try not to make any of them shoot you.”

  “I’ll do my best, Tony. Thanks again.”

  Tony’s face disappeared from the screen just as HARA appeared beside me on the sofa. She was wearing a gray pantsuit this time, with a short blazer and a white shirt opened one button too many to qualify as businesslike. Still, I appreciated the Hepburn homage she was clearly doing.

  “Do you think Captain Rickey ever gets tired of the difficulties you bring to his life?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, “Tony’s way past tired of me. But keeping Sexy alive is high on both of our to-do lists at the nano, so he’ll put up with me. Our friendship has survived worse than this.”

  I got to my feet, grabbed one last package of nuts from the refrigerator, and picked my coat up from the floor.

  “Right now,” I said, “I’d like to find out where that music is coming from. Sexy’s vocals sound kind of different than usual.”

  “That’s because they’re in tune.”

  I paused for a nano and listened more closely.

  “Wow, you’re right. I wonder how she stumbled onto the right key.”

  The music was coming from a small room two doors over, which was surprising because Sexy’s main suites were on the other side of the hotel. But when I stepped inside, it all made sense because it wasn’t Sexy who was singing. It was Lusty.

  And she wasn’t bad.

  She was practicing a dance routine that I’d seen from last night’s show. Her concentration looked to be on her moves with the singing as sort of an afterthought. She wasn’t singing actually, just sort of humming the lead vocal line over the recorded music. No words, just a lot of da-das, but they were all on key. Her voice was strong and controlled with some real emotion behind it. This was the first time I’d heard her make any sound at all, which only made the quality of her voice more surprising.

  She saw my reflection in the room’s mirror wall after a nano or two and turned to me quickly, a flick of her hand remotely killing the music playback. Then she looked away, as though embarrassed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  She said nothing and stared shyly at the floor.

  “Thanks for the hand today with the hoverboarder. You flattened him good.”

  She nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “I didn’t know you could sing,” I said. “It sounded really good.”

  She kept her gaze on the floor but she smiled a bit.

  “Have you ever thought of singing on your own?”

  She shrugged.

  “Sexy will be retiring soon. Maybe you could take her place.”

  She shook her head silently and then whispered, “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Everyone knows you can dance. And from what I just heard, you have a beautiful voice. You could even be your own bodyguard.”

  That got her to smile for real. She turned away from the floor and looked at me for the briefest of nanos before turning away again.

  “I can’t perform,” she said softly.

  “Why?”

  “I have an … accent.”

  “An accent?”

  She nodded.

  “You sound fine to me.”

  “Trust me, I have an accent.”

  “Lusty, if Sexy can sing the way she does and be the biggest star in the world, I can’t believe that an accent that I can’t even hear will prevent you from becoming a singer.”

  She turned to me again and this time held my gaze. Her eyes were wide and I noticed that they were a very soft shade of brown. Her face lost the sneer of indifference that it had worn since I met her and she looked vulnerable for a nano, as though she was taking a risk by saying the next few words.

  “I can’t say ewse.”

  “You can’t say what?”

  “Ewse,” she repeated.

  “Owls?”

  “No, ewse. The wetter ew.”

  “The what?”

  “The wetter ew!” she said. “Aych, eye, jay, kay, ew!”

  “Oh, el!”

  “Yes, ew. I have a soft pawate and an abnormawity in my tongue. That’s why I try not to tawk. It makes me sound wike an idiot.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I said. “And it’s just one letter. It shouldn’t stop you from singing.”

  She shook her head and began to sing. The voice was beautiful. The words on the other hand …

  “Wook at my wegs. They are wean and wong.

  Wook in my heart. My wove’s awive and strong.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said. “Can’t you just avoid songs with the letter el?”

  “A singer who doesn’t sing about wove or wust or even wipgwoss? Sammy says that it’s imossibwe.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s awight. I’ve accepted it. I’m part of the background. That’s the part I pway.”

  “You’re a great dancer,” I said. “And a really good bodyguard.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And els or no els, your voice is light years better than Sexy’s.”

  “Don’t wet her hear you say that,” she said with a smile.

  “Right. Our secret?”

  “Our secret.”

  “Well, I need to check on security at the Fart,” I said. “I’ll let you get back to rehearsing. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No probwem,” she said. “See you wayter.” />
  She smiled as I left. As I walked down the hallway back toward Sexy’s main suite, I heard Lusty begin her own rendition of “Love Cutlets” (Wove Cutwets), and I thought about how unfair the showbiz fates can be.

  27

  Sexy remained behind closed doors with Smiles (and Carol) for most of the afternoon while HARA and I did the rest of the pre-concert security prep at the Fart. The stage crew had rebuilt the stage overnight so the set pieces were back in place in all their garish glory. I had convinced Sexy and Smiles not to hire new dancers for the “Love Cutlets” number to replace the ones I injured the night before. I didn’t want to deal with any new people on stage. Sexy and Smiles figured that they’d keep the remaining two dancers with Sexy and let the girls dance with one another during the number. As Sexy put it, “a little girl-on-girl action” always gets the crowd going.

  HARA and I went back to the Elite and then brought everyone over in the new limo (rented directly from Randy and equipped with more shielding and firepower than Frisco’s naval base). Twenty minutes before showtime HARA and I were cooling our heels outside Sexy’s dressing room while Sammy gave her one last go-round in the meditation chamber.

  “So you’re monitoring the communications between Tony and his men?” I asked.

  “No problem, big guy. Everyone’s in place and everything’s moving smoothly. The audience is almost entirely seated. Even the press is behaving themselves.”

  The press, not surprisingly, had turned out on a grand scale for the show. The attempt on Sexy’s life the night before, coupled with the fireworks at MHV this afternoon, had pumped everyone into a frenzy. Entertainment pressbots were teamed on camera with science and tech commentators discussing the best ways a killer could get past the security setups and get to Sexy. As Smiles had predicted, the focus of the coverage had shifted unceremoniously from Sexy’s retirement to her immediate peril. It was the juicier story. Smiles pointed this out to Sexy every chance he got and blamed me whenever possible (which was always). But I noticed a very satisfied grin on his face that evening as we flew past the massive press throng on our way into the arena. It was clear that his eyes were on the bottom line and in the end the additional attention would only increase the profits.

  “So everything’s going perfectly,” I said, starting to relax just a little.

  “Except for the sudden spike in ambient radiation,” HARA replied.

  “You just couldn’t let me have one worry-free nano, could you?”

  “I doubt that your metabolism would know what to do if you weren’t worried. You’d probably slip into a coma from the drop in blood pressure.”

  “Is the radiation dangerous?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend long term exposure to it but it poses no imminent threat.”

  “What’s causing it?”

  “I’m formulating a theory on that,” HARA replied. “I’ll let you know when I have something substantive.”

  “Terrific,” I said, looking at my watch.

  The crowd had begun chanting Sexy’s name five minutes earlier and the volume had been steadily rising ever since. Once again, the floor was rumbling and the crowd’s roar echoed through the halls. I was about to knock on Sexy’s dressing room door when it suddenly burst open. The red glow of the meditation chamber flooded the hall and Smiles and Carol emerged from within. Neither of them spared me a glance.

  Sexy came out last and I had to say that she was quite a sight. Her face was picture perfect. Her hair had a sensual, slightly messed look, her eyes were wide and smoky and her smile was girlishly sensual. Her game face was on and when she gave me a wink and a smile, I thought the hairs on my neck would catch fire.

  I followed her to the stage and the concert began with a roar that sounded like a thousand hoverjets.

  Sexy hit the stage hot, the crowd went crazy, and the first few songs went exactly as planned. The band played well and Sissy, Misty, Lusty, and Carol were especially energetic. Best of all there was no violence. Tony’s men were on their toes, as were the regular concert security staff.

  And even though I’d been less than thrilled with Carol’s attitude of late, I had to admit that she was doing her job onstage, mentally scanning the crowd for signs of trouble. Opening her mind up to so many people was hard on her, I could tell. In all likelihood she’d have a whopper of a headache in the morning from the overload of stray thoughts and emotions. Still, I was glad to have her there. She sent me a couple of quick mental messages during the first few songs, letting me know that a suspicious-looking character or two weren’t dangerous (just crazy, harmless fans).

  “So far so good, huh, big guy?” HARA said, as her hologram shimmered to life beside me. She was wearing a red and white striped miniskirt, white tee top and hat, straight from a 1960s go-go bar.

  “What are you wearing?”

  “I’m trying to blend in,” she said.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m dressed about twenty years more current than you.”

  “A nondescript man in a trench coat and fedora or a redheaded bombshell in a miniskirt, which one do you think is going to get more attention?”

  “It depends what the man has under his trench coat,” she replied with a smile.

  “Forget it.”

  “You really think I’m a bombshell?” she asked.

  “I am not having this conversation now,” I replied turning away.

  “Well, as long as things are going smoothly,” HARA said. “I need you to help me with something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have a theory about the source of the ambient radiation that might be important but I need a little help getting some information to verify my hypothesis.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Break into Sexy’s dressing room.”

  “What?”

  “I need to take a close look at the meditation chamber that Smiles uses.”

  “Can’t it wait until after the show?” I asked.

  “Sexy and Smiles will be there after the show. And after they’ve gone, the radiation will have dissipated. I need to see it now, while the trail is still fresh, while the iron is still hot, while the gun is still smoking.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning away from the stage, “but you have to promise to never use those clichés again.”

  “Fine,” she said, “from here on out, all clichés are yours.”

  I let Tony know that I was stepping away for a couple nanos (he seemed relieved, which I tried not to take as an insult) and HARA and I snuck back to the dressing room area. Smiles had replaced the dressing room door that I’d destroyed the night before. Unfortunately, this one was a lot thicker (blaster resistant). Worse still, it was protected by a DNA-coded lock.

  “The lock looks pretty ripping edge,” I said.

  “It is,” HARA replied. “Apparently Smiles ordered it special. I guess he didn’t want you busting in again.”

  “Is it coded to his DNA or Sexy’s?”

  “His.”

  “Looks like we’re out of luck.”

  “Oh, please,” HARA said. “I could pick this lock while in sleep mode.”

  “But you need Smiles’ DNA.”

  “I snagged a drop of his spittle the other night when he was berating you in the limo.”

  “Great. I’m glad something good came of that.”

  “I broke it down and stored the data as a digital code that the lock will recognize. Just put your eye near the lock and let me do the rest.”

  I did as I was told and bent down near the lock. A red beam of light flashed from my lens like a laser sight on a gun and hit the touch pad on the DNA lock. HARA used the data-filled light beam as an informational lockpick, hacking her way through the lock’s defenses and feeding it what it would recognize as Smiles’ DNA. A nano later, the lock’s status light flashed green and the door opened.

  “Nicely done,” I said.

  “It’s all in the touch,” HARA replied.


  Sexy’s dressing room was as I remembered it; well-appointed and dominated by the meditation chamber. HARA wasted no time approaching the big machine.

  “Radiation levels have dropped but they’re still relatively high,” she said. “Looks like we got here in time.”

  “In time for what?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. Come here, I’m going to need your help hacking into this as well.”

  “Hack in how?” I asked.

  “Same as with the door lock,” she replied. “Just get near the interface and beam me in.”

  “What are you going to do once you’re in there?”

  “You don’t want to know and you wouldn’t understand. Now just let me do my job.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But be quick about it. We need to get back.”

  Again, I put my eye near the machine’s computer interface and HARA shot another databeam through the lens and into the chamber’s central computer. I could tell from the look of consternation on her holographic face that the security on this machine was a little tougher than on the door lock.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Her hologram disappeared from its spot beside me as she directed more of her concentration into the search and her voice appeared inside my head.

  “I’m in,” she said.

  “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Answers.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Not unless I know the questions.”

  “You know, you’re getting to be very cryptic in your dialog.”

  “It’s all part of being a woman, big guy,” she replied. “You’re going to have to learn to read between the lines.”

  “I do enough line reading as it is. I don’t enjoy it.”

  “You’re not very good at it either.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Hush. I’m almost there.”

  “Almost where?” I asked.

  She was silent for a couple of nanos. All I could hear was the hum of the meditation chamber and the morass of Sexy’s music through the walls. It was starting to make me nervous.

  “HARA?”

  “Well,” she said. “This explains a lot.”

  “What did you find?”