The Radioactive Redhead with The Peach-Blonde Bomber

by John Zakour

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson,” the policeman said, “but we have orders from Ms. Sprockets’ people that you are not to be allowed in the arena.”

  “What?”

  “Apparently, you’re no longer in Ms. Sprockets’ employ.”

  “I know that but I have to get in. She’s in danger.”

  “Which might be why there are like five hundred cops in and around the arena right now.”

  “Look, just call Tony Rickey. He’ll vouch for me. You could even call the governor.”

  “Mr. Johnson, no offense, but I have fifty thousand people to deal with right now. Why don’t you call Captain Rickey or the governor or the World Council yourself.”

  The cop turned away and I was pushed aside by the throng of fans. I desperately netted with Tony on my wrist interface.

  “Tony.”

  “Zach, you can’t come in.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. Sexy and Smiles went directly to the Fart management. They said that if you are found inside the arena, they will cancel the concert. We have to keep you out. I had to pull a few strings just to keep them from having you banned from New Frisco entirely.”

  “Tony, you have to get me in. They are going to try to kill Sexy tonight on stage.”

  “Who is?”

  “I don’t know but it’s a professional hit man.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely. Rupert Roundtree confessed it to me twenty minutes ago.”

  “Rupert Roundtree? I thought he was trying to kill you.”

  “Yeah, it’s a long story.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  “Other than an unrecorded confession that took place in the presence of the governor? No.”

  “The governor was there?”

  “Like I said, long story. The point is that we have to cancel the concert.”

  “Do you have a description of the hit man?”

  “Nothing. It was an anonymous hire.”

  “I’ll speak to Sexy’s people,” Tony said, “but if we cancel the concert now, we’re going to have a riot on our hands.”

  “At least get me inside.”

  “Then I know there’ll be a riot. Like it or not, Zach, you’re not coming in.”

  The screen went blank and a wave of despair and frustration washed over me. I could hear the crowd inside the arena chanting Sexy’s name, begging her to come onstage. The pressbots and correspondents were scurrying around, prepping themselves for live netcasts from the scene. The ground itself was vibrating from the excitement of the nano. The night was hot, the air was electric, and there was murder on the wind. My client was going to die and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

  And that’s when my head started to buzz in a very familiar way and a very well-shaped silhouette appeared from the shadows like a wraith from the forest.

  “Hey there, Sadsack. You look like you could use some help.”

  HARA had returned.

  42

  She was wearing a tight tweed skirt and matching jacket over a white blouse. Her heels were high and a wide-brimmed hat covered half of her holographic face. Her look was one hundred percent femme fatale, which sent a chill down my spine.

  “Before you say anything,” she said as she approached, “I just want you to know that I’m still angry with you.”

  “I figured that. Join the club.”

  “But as I said yesterday, I’m a professional. And we have a job to do. So I’m setting all our emotional baggage deep into my random access memory while we see this through.”

  “HARA …”

  “After that,” she said, holding her hand up to silence me, “all bets are off. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Got it. Are you up to speed on the situation?”

  It was her turn to nod this time. “I monitored your call with Captain Rickey. Now come on, let’s get you in the arena.”

  The HV reporter was looking at the notes on his palm computer and finishing a cup of coffee. He was a little thinner than me but about my height, which is pretty much all I was looking for.

  “Hey,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder, “you’re, um …”

  “John Blue from Instant Buzz,” HARA whispered.

  “John Blue from Instant Buzz,” I said.

  He turned to me and flashed me a smile.

  “Yes, I am. And you’re Zach Johnson. Good to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said, looking closely at the all-access pass around his neck. “You’re here for the concert, huh?”

  “No, not really,” he said with a smile. “I just like the coffee.”

  “Funny. Well, good meeting you,” I said, turning away. “Enjoy the show.”

  “You, too.”

  He smiled and turned away, and when his back was turned I popped my gun into my hand and fired. He spun around quickly, a look of shock on his face.

  “Did you just shoot me in my ex-male model butt?”

  “It’s a tranq dart,” I said, as he stumbled into my arms. “Sorry about that.”

  I pulled him into the shadows of the building, grabbed his pass, and sat him by the wall. HARA threw a hologram over me that made me look exactly like him and we were back in business, that is until I rounded the corner.

  “There you are, John.”

  I turned and saw a pretty blonde woman approaching, a cameraman at her side.

  “Andrea, your cohost,” HARA whispered.

  “Andrea, my cohost,” I said, waving.

  She came up and stood beside me as the cameraman squatted in front of us, prepping his camera.

  “I was starting to wonder if you’d been kidnapped. We’re doing a live bumper in about ten seconds.”

  “Live?” I asked. “Why don’t you do this one?”

  “Right,” she said, giving me a joking poke in the ribs. “You mean you’re actually going to let me get a word in this time?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just kidding.”

  “And by the way,” she said, “you better lay off those doughnuts. You’re starting to lose that ex-male model body.”

  The cameraman finished his quick-prep and shouted to us.

  “And we’re on in five, four, three …” He held up two fingers, then one and pointed to us as the red light on his camera went on.

  “Andrea and John here at New Frisco’s famed Fart Arena for what has become the musical event of the year, Sexy Sprockets’ death-defying Ménage Abattoir Tour. And the energy out here is absolutely radioactive. Isn’t that right, John?”

  “Actually, it’s, um, it’s really boring here,” I said.

  “What?”

  “It’s a total snoozefest,” I said. “There’s nothing happening here whatsoever. Anyone thinking of coming here should think again because this is concert is duller than dull. I’m leaving now, as a matter of fact.”

  “John?”

  “So just to recap, it’s really dull here. Nothing to see. Please stay away. Oh, and don’t watch the Faux Network. It’s an insult to humanity. This is Jeff and Angela.”

  “John and Andrea.”

  “Right, John and Andrea, signing off.”

  Andrea and the cameraman stared at me openmouthed and unbelieving for an uncomfortable nano. I shrugged my shoulders and turned away.

  “I gotta go.”

  As I left I heard Andrea say, “he’s cute but dumb as a door knob.”

  I used John’s all-access pass to get into the arena through the press gate. HARA kept the holographic disguise on me as I made my way backstage.

  “What’s the plan?” HARA asked, appearing beside me.

  “We have to find Sexy and get her to cancel the concert.”

  “Wow, that’s a generalized and bad plan even for you.”

  “We have to stop the show.”

  “You don’t think the fans will riot?”

  “There’ll be a bigger panic if Sexy’s killed on stage.”

  We moved quickly through the back
stage area and down the hallway to Sexy’s dressing room.

  “Sexy, it’s Zach,” I said, knocking on the door.

  I heard music playing loudly inside. It was a fast paced track of Sexy’s called “Google My Soul” that she liked performing late in her concerts. It worried me a little that I was becoming so familiar with Sexy’s music, but I tried not to think about it too much.

  I knocked again, pounding this time and shouted.

  “Sexy, you’re in danger tonight. Let me in!”

  There was no answer but the music continued.

  “Can you still open this lock?” I asked HARA, stepping away from the door.

  “Just put your eye to the interface and let me do the rest,” she said.

  I did as I was told. The red databeam flashed from my eye into the lock. The door popped open and I stepped inside.

  Immediately I was hit with a blast of the music. It was louder than I had expected. The lights of the room were off but the flaring meditation chamber bathed most of the room in a molten burgundy glow.

  Sexy wasn’t there but what I saw instead made my stomach turn.

  Carol was in the meditation chamber this time. Floating in the air and bathing in the deep red glow. Smiles stood beside the projector, his grin smug, his expression hungry.

  I was too furious to speak, consumed by a rage more violent than I’d ever known. I moved toward him without thought, fueled only by emotion. He turned as I approached and didn’t recognize me in the holographic disguise.

  “I’m sorry but this room is off limits to the media.”

  I hit him in the face and felt a few of his teeth break free of his jaw. He fell to the floor like a rag doll but I lifted him up by the shirt collar as HARA dissipated the hologram. He turned to me still conscious but dazed.

  “Johnson,” he spat.

  I hit him again in the face and felt the cartilage in his nose crack against my fist. He fell to the floor again, bleeding from the mouth and nose now. This time I left him there.

  “Turn this thing off.”

  “It’s set at a very high level,” HARA said, forming her hologram beside me. “We may need to power it down slowly.”

  “Turn it off now!” I shouted.

  “Get your eye close to the interface,” she said with a sigh.

  She flashed the databeam into the machine and powered it down quickly. Slowly Carol sank to the floor. I stood beside her as she descended and cradled her as the last of the red glow faded and the room lights came up.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Her vital signs are fine,” HARA said. “Her heart rate and breathing were low due to the meditation but they’re returning to normal. Radiation is dissipating. She should be coming around in a couple nanos.”

  “Good.”

  I gently laid her on the floor and put my coat under her head. Then I walked over to the meditation chamber. I popped my gun into my hand and blasted it to bits. I grabbed the biggest piece of the debris I could find and angrily threw it at the wall. Then I turned to Smiles who was sitting on the floor, holding his handkerchief to his bloody face.

  “Keep your hands off her,” I said, grabbing him again by the collar and shaking him furiously. “Keep away from her or I swear I will kill you with my bare hands. Do you understand me?”

  He moaned as I shook him and I gave him a slap to the face with the back of my hand.

  “Do you understand me?”

  He didn’t answer and I hit him again.

  “Zach …” HARA said softly.

  “Do you understand me!” I shouted hitting him again.

  “Leave him alone!”

  The words were a command rather than a request and I felt them deep in my head as well as heard them. I turned and saw Carol, fully awake now and crawling toward us.

  I let Smiles go and backed away from him as she approached. He slumped to the floor and she cradled him in her arms.

  “Don’t touch him again.”

  Again, her words echoed in my head. They were bitter and anger-filled. I could feel her reaching into my mind, trying to get control. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that she was doing it, but thankfully I was wearing a psi-blocker. That and HARA’s presence in my head, gives me protection against psionic attacks. Even so, I had to fight the urge to obey her.

  “Carol, he was poisoning you.”

  “Get out of here,” she spat.

  “Carol, he’s done something to you.”

  “I said, get out of here. And don’t come near me again!”

  The vitriol and hatred in her voice was like a slap to my face and I couldn’t speak at first. I got to my feet as she helped Smiles wipe the blood from his face and turned away.

  Just then the chanting of the audience in the arena changed into a roar. The heavy bass riffs of the opening song sounded and I knew that the curtain was beginning to rise. Sexy’s throaty whisper rolled out over fifty thousand screaming fans (and one killer) pumping them into a frenzy.

  “Mesdames et messieurs … amants et rêveurs … bouchers et bétail …”

  I was too late. The concert had begun.

  43

  I ran down the hallway toward the stage as Sexy ripped through the opening number. The roar of the crowd was deafening, almost drowning out the music itself, which wasn’t exactly a bad thing. I wanted to put my earplugs in but the psi-blocker prevented me from doing so. I was tempted for a nano to take the psi-blocker out but didn’t, choosing instead to protect myself against the evil I didn’t know rather than the music I did. HARA’s hologram ran with me (putting special slow-motion effects in her hair and clothes as she did so).

  “Contact Electra,” I shot to HARA through the mindlink. “Tell her Carol’s in trouble and that she needs to get here right away.”

  “She may not like having the message come from me,” HARA said as we ran.

  “There’s no other way. She wouldn’t be able to hear me over the noise.”

  I made it to the backstage area and cast a quick glance at Sexy onstage. It was pure bedlam, as I knew it would be. The crowd was even more raucous than before with fans charging the stage steadily in ones and twos and each time being grabbed by security and hauled away. Tony’s men were in full force around the arena and I was actually afraid that one of them would spot me and try to drag me away as well.

  “HARA, I need to talk to Tony.”

  “Done,” she said. “He’s on the interface.”

  “Tony, it’s Zach. I’m backstage.”

  “How’d you get inside?”

  “Don’t worry about it, just let your men know that I’m here and that they shouldn’t arrest me.”

  “That will be a hard sell,” he said. “Arresting you is like second nature to them. Any sign of the killer?”

  “I’m sure there is. But I can’t tell since I have no idea who it is. Have you screened the audience?”

  “We checked them individually going in and we’re area scanning for weapons every five minutes. No sign of any weapons so far.”

  “I don’t like this,” I said.

  “You’re making me nervous, Zach. I mean more so than usual.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

  I circled around the stage looking for any signs of trouble. I even discreetly watched Sexy’s first costume change (slipping out of something small into something smaller). I saw signs of chaos, lunacy, and tastelessness everywhere I looked, but nothing out of the ordinary (in the context of everything else). And no sign of anything that looked like a killer. That’s when I knew things were bad.

  “I don’t like this,” I said. “We’re missing something. Something very big.”

  “Any idea when during the show the killer is supposed to strike?” HARA asked.

  “None whatsoever but let’s figure this out now, if I’m a killer, how do I kill Sexy?”

  “Make her listen to her own music? Or maybe make her wear a skirt with a hem below the knee?”

&nb
sp; I was standing in the wings on the right side of the stage with a full view of Sexy onstage and the lion’s share of the arena crowd, my mind desperately running through the possibilities.

  “A sniper’s no good. There’s too much movement on stage and there’s no place to get off a good shot except for the luxury boxes. Does Roundtree have a luxury box here?”

  “Captain Rickey’s men are stationed in all of the luxury boxes,” HARA replied. “And they scanned negative for weapons.”

  “What about a crazed fan with a sidearm or a bomb then? They could get close to the stage and attack.”

  “The audience has been scanned for weapons as well.”

  “The press too?”

  “Yes,” HARA said. “All negative.”

  I turned my gaze back to the stage, scanning the musicians and stage sets.

  “What about something onstage?”

  “It scanned negative before the show for weapons and explosives.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a bomb,” I said. “The set pieces could be sabotaged.”

  “That would mean that the killer would have access to the backstage area,” HARA replied. “Do you think it’s an inside job?”

  “It has to be,” I said. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together in my mind. “The PATA notes—they all indicated easy access to Sexy. The kid with the bomb flowers had a legit backstage pass. And he was chosen because of his history of chasing Sexy. That was no coincidence. DOS it. This has been an inside job all along and we didn’t see it.”

  Sexy ended her Poor Little Rich Girl ballad to another roar of the crowd and the synthesizer and Arabic drums of “Love Cutlets” kicked in. Sexy and the girls shimmied across the stage as the dancers (minus the ones I had injured two nights before) strode onto the stage.

  “It’s one of the dancers,” I said. “It has to be.”

  “They don’t have access to Sexy’s hotel,” HARA said “And I checked them out, they’re dancers. Not killers. They’re built to sway, not slay.”

  And it clicked.

  “Baba Wawa,” I whispered.

  “What?” HARA asked.

  “It’s a joke from an old television show about a newscaster with a speech impediment. She couldn’t say her name right and it came out Baba Wawa.”

  “That’s … totally unhelpful here, Zach.”