"We did it. We got something. The spirits were smiling. Tonight I can get a good look-see at what Transys has got on us."
28
Arriving home, Rani had to face far stronger opposition than she had expected. Imran had shaken Sanjay out of his usual self-indulgence, and the two brothers confronted her angrily. She’d been out all night, she’d been seen on the street, talking to strange men—none of which she should be doing if she had any respect for the family’s good name. She belonged in the safety of the home. They were worried about her. The streets were not safe. All the old arguments came pouring out. Finally, Imran forbade her to leave the house without his permission for the following week.
"Oh, so you can take care of business? And what have you been doing about our vengeance?" she spat out defiantly.
They argued long and hard, yelling at the tops of their voices until the old people trying to sleep upstairs started hammering on the floor. Even then, they ignored the complaint and just went on arguing.
When they finally sank into sullen silence, having reached no agreement, Rani felt only contempt for her brother. He was trying to compensate for his own inadequacy by belittling her, using every shred of emotional blackmail he could dig up. Anand, their father, would not have wished her to do what she was doing, he said. The family would be ashamed of her, being out all night and up to no good. Such conduct would be shameless from any Indian girl, but from an ork it could destroy any hope of a satisfactory arranged marriage. She had deserted her brothers and failed in her duties in the house. She was a Bad Girl.
When the argument flared again after midnight, Rani was in no mood for further antagonism. She turned on her heel, told Imran to rakk off and die, and stomped up the stairs to her room. When he banged on the door, demanding an apology, she jammed a chair underneath the door handle and merely told him again to rakk off.
In the morning she didn’t bother with breakfast, but simply headed straight down the stairs with the bag she’d packed. She had a wad of notes, people to see, and business to conduct. She could eat on the hoof. When she got downstairs Sanjay was waiting for her.
"You heard Imran last night," he said, sorrowful eyes averted, but with his body determinedly barring her way to the front door. "You stay here."
"If you don’t get out of my sodding way, I’ll kick you so hard you’ll never be able to rub any white trash again," she yelled. She advanced upon him. He just managed to avoid her knee striking home, but the kick numbed his leg enough to prevent him from stopping her from scrambling out the door.
Monday morning was freezing fog and a shopping list of missions. Precious hours were spent putting the word out for Mohinder, dispensing small change to get some local street kids to learn what they could by scurrying around Fenchurch Street, and then visiting the first Mary Kelly on her list.
The nobleman had found only four women by that name in Rani’s patch, so she figured she could check them out personally. This one lived just off Brick Lane itself—or at least she once had. The squinting, rat-faced landlord told Rani that Mary Kelly didn’t live here anymore, and his toothless grin said she’d have to dispense some money to learn anything else.
A handful of notes got her access to Mary Kelly’s old room in this rancid dump of a flophouse, but the chamber yielded no sign of its former tenant. A vacant-eyed, anorexic trancer stared unseeingly at Rani from the single rickety chair in the almost lightless shoebox of a room. What she finally learned was that Mary Kelly Number One had died on the streets a couple of months back, choked on her own vomit most likely. She had been a wino so hopeless that even this landlord had kicked her out onto the streets.
Rani got her first break in the middle of the afternoon, while sipping her coffee at Beigel’s Bake. An ork contact who looked at her with the respect money brings told her quietly that the pimps had cleaned up a mess at their place and dumped some unidentified stuff into the river. One of them had bought enough disinfectant to swab down the public baths. Since Rani hadn’t told the ork about the murder, she thought it very likely he was telling her the truth. As expected, the pimps had gotten rid of the evidence and virtually no one knew about the cruel midnight slaying. Life was cheap hereabouts, and nobody wanted the baggies knocking at their door. Especially if it was the door to a brothel.
The ork was eager in the way he talked, hoping for a good payoff. She looked at his disintegrating plastic shoes, the trousers with more patches than original cloth, and she remembered having seen him out shivering in the cold in his thin jacket and dirty, discolored vest. She gave him two hundred and fifty and he looked at her like she was some Indian goddess sent down from the heavens.
"This buys silence, right?" Rani said sternly. "Don’t tell anyone about it. I’ve got others on the payroll who’ll know who to box if you get so much as a touch of the gators about this. You know what I mean?" He shrank back in fear, pleading his trustworthiness over and over. She looked at him more kindly.
"Okay, Merreck, I’ll trust you. Maybe I’ll have something else you might be interested in a week or two from now. I’ll know where to find you?"
He was pathetically eager, promising anything she could possibly want. Two-fifty was more than he’d see in a month. He shuffled out the door and dreamed of real American jeans. First, though, he’d get some hot food into his grumbling belly. A really fat, juicy burger stuffed full of onions and chemicals. The kids would also be getting their first decent meal in a week, so it wouldn’t hurt if they had to wait a bit longer.
Rani realized the power money gave her and for a time she reveled in it. But she kept cool, knowing not to advertise her wealth. The notes were safely stashed in the locked money belt. Anyone who wanted them would have to kill her first.
Next she phoned Mohsin and arranged to visit London Hospital after work the next evening. She was on a roll, and needed to get her hands on some meaty hardware to keep that good feeling going.
Finally back home that night, having capped a fairly successful day by picking up a good lead on where Mohinder might be the next morning, she found a reception committee in all its splendor waiting for her. There was Imran and Sanjay, of course, and a handful of male cousins as well, all gathered in the front room. In the back room she could see the swirl of saris.
Oh, here we go, she thought. The men are going to put me in my place and then the women are going to tell me how good it is to be there. Stuff this!
Anger boiled up inside her as her cousin Dilip began a placatory speech to which she wasn’t even listening. She was livid. How dare they? I’m growing up and I know what I want. Well, maybe I don’t, but I like being on the streets. I like talking to the people in Beigel’s, I like putting some money the way of street people who need it and who look at me with real respect. Rakk it all, I’m becoming a samurai, I know I am. I’ve got rich friends who trust me with their money. And I believe they like me. I remember what that funny-speaking nobleman said when I was leaving. If I was just a nobody, he wouldn’t have told me about that. I mean something.
"Rakk off!" she shouted at the men before her. "I’ve got my own life. I’m not going to be a good little girl.
Be like them?" She pointed to the back room. "Tied to the sink and allowed, honored, to pander to every wish of my menfolk when they care to come home? That is, when they aren’t rubbing white girls like Sanjay does, or if they aren’t spineless slints like my own brother, doing nothing to avenge dead family."
"As for you, Dilip, why don’t you tell Kriss there how you cheated him on those chip deals last March? Kriss, those chips weren’t worth half what you paid for them, and Dilip and Imran had a really good laugh about that. I wasn’t supposed to hear because I was in the kitchen cooking supper like a good little girl. We women can’t hear anything in the kitchen, right? They were too steaming to care anyway. So who are you to lecture me? Honor and duty? There isn’t one of you who wouldn’t kill the other to save sixpence, and you bloody well know it!"
The men were thund
erstruck. Kriss looked at Dilip, who tried to avoid his gaze. Her revelation had set the men against each other, while Imran was looking away from everyone in shame. Silence descended on them. She seized the initiative and delivered a parting shot.
"You’re pathetic! You make rakking pennies from little deals, and half the time you’re swindling each other. Or like my brother, you’re stupid enough to let people sell you as fools and dupes, and then have family die because of it. But the world isn’t only losers like all of you. I’m eighteen years old. Old enough to get out of here and that’s just what I’m gonna do before you make me toss my dinner." Rani turned and walked out, not daring to look behind her. When the men finally recovered their wits enough to chase after her, she was already far enough down the road to elude their pursuit.
Of course it was crazy. She knew already that the family would disown her—after they’d tracked her down and made some vain and insulting attempt to bring her back. They’d never succeed. Maybe she had no real skills, nothing she was especially good at, but she had youth and energy and a heart beating fast inside her chest. Tonight, that seemed plenty. The money would rent her a room for the duration. She was on her own now.
* * *
Rani finally tracked Mohinder down at Grits the next afternoon. She was edgy now, unhappy about what had happened with her family. Waking from her restless sleep in the cold light of dawn she realized that she might well have burned her bridges. But if she could control her fear, she’d be all right. Maybe it wouldn’t show. Just don’t be too eager, girl, don’t give too much away.
"Like to do business with you, big man," she chirped as she approached his table.
Mohinder’s chest puffed a little with pride. He chewed at his burger and eyed her coolly. "More business, huh? Well, what are you in for this time?" He sounded faintly amused.
Rani tried hard not to get riled. "A few things, actually. I know you don’t come cheap, Mohinder, not someone with your reputation. So let me say straight off, I can pay you what you’re worth." Flatter him, Rani, her common sense was insisting. He looked suitably happy. "First thing, you know that Predator I sold you?"
He gave her an almost friendly look. "No problems, girl. Lovely gun. Thank you for that one." He devoured the last chunk of the soyburger, which to Rani smelled like something had rotted to death inside the bun. Why didn’t some slint come up with an artificial scent that wouldn’t affect the greasy taste of those things? They could make a fortune.
"I can pay you double the price to get it back." She gazed at him without blinking. Her expression said, I want this and I can pay. I have money. No kidding today.
She saw some respect in the way his cybereyes gazed at her, but he shook his head. "Rani, you can’t get Predators over here. I don’t know where you got this one, but it’s a precious thing. I haven’t even sold it. I kept it for myself. I can sell you someting almost as good for your money, and I won’t rip you off, but that Predator is too good to let go. Sorry." He slurped a great mouthful of scalding soykaf and almost had to spit it back into the cup.
She had her reply ready for the refusal. "Three times. I'll pay you three times what you gave me for it. That’s my final offer." She really didn’t want to go that far—it took out too much of her funds—but she knew how much the elf wanted to check out the gun.
"You’re persistent, huh?" He smiled at her, not taking offense. "Honestly, Rani, no way. That gun’s mine now. Not for sale. Just the sight of it can make people back down, you know? Big people. It gives me a real edge. And money can’t buy that. Not the way a Predator II can when you’re pointing it into the face of some snakeboy."
She had half-expected as much. She dared not push the request any further, for fear of losing the other things she wanted from him.
"All right, Mohinder, so be it. But I need to get my hands on some good weapons. I mean good, the best. If I can’t get the Predator, I want the best pistol I can get by, say, Friday night. Best ammo, too. A crossbow wouldn’t go amiss either. Say a couple of each.
"Also, I heard a news report that some baggies lost their stun batons in one of the Squeeze checkpoints south of the river last week. And, well, I would be terribly interested in any that may have found their way down here."
He laughed until he realized she was serious. "Where you getting the money for this, little gopi?" he scowled at her.
"Oh come on, Mohinder! I don’t ask you where your dosh comes from, now do I? Hey, tell you what, I’ve got an even better proposition for you to think about. I’ll be in the market for street samurai and willing hands for the weekend. Local work. You’re the best, so I talk to you." Boy, was this man a sucker for flattery. She could see him virtually preening. Even his cybereyes seemed to be twinkling with pride.
Then, with some weird intuition, she took a complete leap in the dark. "I’ve also heard that you might be able to lay your hands on automatic weapons. Heavy duty. As I said, I can pay."
Mohinder grimaced angrily and grabbed the front of her jacket with hands the size of sledgehammers. "You heard what? Who tells you such things?"
She decided to brazen it out. "I’m nobody’s little gopi now, Mohinder. I’m eighteen. I can go to jail for refusing to pay my poll tax just like any other adult now. And I’ve got friends with money, friends who, like me, want your services."
"Show me."
She couldn’t refuse the challenge. Carefully unzipping one of her pockets, she showed him the first wad. Five thousand nuyen in notes. It was enough for an automatic weapon, more than enough by far. He whistled through his teeth and let go of her.
"Well, the Uzis are my banker, right? Don’t know where you heard it. Don’t know how you could have heard about it. If you speak a word, you’re corpsemeat."
"Mohinder, I wouldn’t be showing you five grand if I wasn’t doing real business with you. I wouldn’t show that to someone I didn’t trust to deliver. And you can take it as proof that there is more where that came from."
He drummed his fingers on the table, pondering. She gave him the final bait.
"The weekend thing, that’s for real too. I need as many good street samurai as you can muster. About six, but only people you trust. If you trust them, that’s good enough for me. They get a couple of hundred in advance to show goodwill, five hundred each to keep the weekend free, and they’ll get the balance on Friday night. Payment for any run required will be negotiated on Saturday. We don’t expect trolls with wired reflexes and assault cannons, but these guys should be able to look after themselves. It won’t be anything dumb; should be antipersonnel. If you can arrange it for me, you get an extra three hundred up front and a five hundred bonus for getting them all in order for the weekend."
Rani gave him her most winning smile. "Sound good?"
Mohinder stared at her in near-astonishment. "You spamming me, girl?"
"Look, if you go for this I’ll give you the advances, two hundred for six guys and five hundred for you, right now. That buys me a group meeting on Friday night, wherever and whenever you feel comfortable. Got it?" Mohinder recovered his professional manner rapidly. "Give me the money, little sister, and I’ll make sure you get some real mean bastards. Meet me Friday night at eleven in the room over Rievenstein’s deli. I’ll have all the weapons you can pay for, and the meat too."
She slipped him the seventeen hundred under the table. Mohinder grinned as he remembered the intimately physical way he’d made their last transaction, but things were very different now. Now it was Rani who was calling the shots, and they both knew it.
Two more Mary Kellys turned out to be a complete waste of time. One had long ago gone back to Tir Nan Og. The other was a hopelessly hebephrenic invalid tended by her dejected family.
Rani had paid the tab at Mohsin’s and got a bagful of goodies for her hard-haggled nuyen: a couple of medkits and some slap patches. She’d been lucky to get those, and they had cost her dearly. There was no time to get any cyberware. Besides, Geraint hadn’t given her the money f
or that. Her bag was bulging and she was happy except for one problem still lurking on the horizon.
That problem was her family. She’d been ready to make the trip back to Chelsea when she’d spotted two cousins heading determinedly toward her flophouse. Sneaking out via the remains of the fire escape was a real risk, but she’d just made it. Hurriedly, she phoned Geraint and left a message, then scurried off along the streets to look for a safe place. She’d have to get away from the old neighborhood, away from the family determined to drag her back to her old life. Just hide out for tonight, girl. Get over there later. A few hours won’t matter.
Rani did not know, could never have dreamed, what the next few hours would bring.
29
Wednesday afternoon was crisp and clear, the watery winter sunshine showing the M4 motorway in all its tawdry gray glory, a succession of roadworks, graffiti-covered overpasses, and potholes. Driving through the latest in a succession of ugly outlying suburban sprawlzones, Geraint cursed imaginatively but anatomically impossibly. What set him off was another snarl of traffic fifteen miles beyond the outer orbital, a tailback from one of the ubiquitous road repairs that had the highway down to one lane of traffic in either direction. Francesca sat beside him with fingers flying, dumping notes into her laptop.
"An interesting yield, Geraint," she said without looking up. She had not heard his curse. "Serrin’s going to positively adore what we got on Kuranita."
Geraint was in a foul mood, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, staring grimly along the column of slow-moving traffic before him.
"That was the cleanest download," Francesca was saying. "We could have done with more on Smith and Jones, but at least now we know who’s employing them. Finally."
Streets of Blood Page 23
