by Rob Preece
"A couple of girlfriends and I are hitting one of the meat markets in Deep Ellum,” Theresa finally blurted. “The Golden Lying Club. Uh, the name is sort of a joke. If you wanted to join us, we'll be there around ten."
"I'll probably be too tired,” Danielle confessed. “But if I have the energy, I'll try to make it."
"Either way, see you tomorrow,” Theresa told her. She looked like she wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
"Thanks for your help today,” Danielle said. “I swear these computer systems are a completely tangled mess."
"Hey. Us girls have got to stick together."
Theresa popped her bubble gum and headed for the door.
Half an hour later, the Warder building was largely deserted. Lights shown in a few of the cubicles and at the gym where a few overly built jocks insisted on pumping out a few more reps.
It was time to move.
Danielle had pumped Mary for information about her children, learning about her beloved grandchildren, her favorite car, and the rock-and-roll bands she had loved as a teenage girl. All the information a practiced hacker needed to break through computer security.
The door to Mary's office was locked, but it was equipped with a standard government-issue lock, designed well enough to keep out an under-motivated three-year-old. Against a trained warder equipped with a shaped paper clip, it gave way in seconds.
Mary had turned off her computer before going home for the evening. That was a bit of a disappointment, but nothing Danielle hadn't planned for.
She snapped it on, waited for it to run through its boot-up sequence, then faced the password screen.
The Academy had offered classes in breaking into computer systems. About half the time, users leave their passwords attached to the computer monitor with sticky notes. Mary wasn't that bad. Fortunately, for Danielle, Mary followed the common practice of using a family name for her password. Allison, a granddaughter, with the two ‘l's’ being replaced by the numeral ‘1,’ proved to be the password.
Danielle was in.
* * * *
Ten minutes later, she found the encrypted file that cross-referenced informant i.d. numbers with their identities.
The list was thousands of names long. Danielle was almost sickened as she scanned down. She knew some of these people. One was even on Carl's staff. Another was a student in her dojo.
There was no way she could remember all of those names. And naturally, Mary's computer lacked any sort of portable storage. Danielle would have to print the entire list out and then determine a way to smuggle the printout back to the zone.
Since she was planning on leaving, she had the computer overwrite the entries as it read them. Tomorrow, the warders would find that every informant was listed as being Benedict Arnold.
Double sided with a small font size, the printout made a huge sheaf.
Being in the Human Resources Manager computer gave Danielle powers she hadn't imagined. While the laser printer ground out the pages, Danielle adjusted Warder Agent work assignments, eliminating the mandatory overtime that had been posted that morning and assigning vacation duty to as many agents as she could. With luck, that simple precaution could delay the attack for days.
Once she got back to the zone, she'd have to decide what to do with the informant names. Many magical were angry, ready to take out their frustrations. She was certain that most of the informants would be driven underground or killed if she published their names. But would that really be a good thing?
Some of them were probably just mercenary. But many might have been blackmailed into acting against their principles to protect a loved one still on the normal side of the zone border. A few might believe that they were doing the right thing, helping the lawful authorities against the armed mobs that constituted the power within the zone—just as Danielle had believed, only days ago.
Danielle realized she had no idea how many might be phantom informants: names supplied by Warders who provided the information themselves, and pocketed the informant's pay? Or even completely innocent people whose names the warders used to inflate their payrolls.
If she wasn't careful with the printout, she might create more problems than she would solve. Still, the sheer magnitude of the list made it obvious that Carl had a problem.
The printer stopped abruptly, its lights flashing to indicate that one of the pages had jammed.
Great. She yanked open the doors and started to pull out the errant page.
"What the hell—"
Joe Smealy stood blocking the door to Mary's office.
It was hopeless, but Danielle tried to talk her way out.
"Mary needed to go before she'd finished running this job. She asked that I stay and make sure it was locked up before I left. Good thing I did. This ancient printer keeps getting jammed."
Not bad for a complete improv, she told herself.
"What job?” He sounded suspicious, but not completely distrusting.
Danielle shrugged. “Like I know about human resources? She knows I'm on punishment duty and stuck me with makework."
Joe shook his head. “Wrong answer, Warder. Now how about telling the truth. For a change.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed.
She knew she only had a few seconds. When Mary picked up the phone, all the air would leak out of Danielle's story. She needed to use the one advantage she had: no one would suspect she was actually working for the enemy.
She gathered what had printed and stepped toward the SAIC. “I know Mary has been with the organization for a while, but I'm not sure you can trust her. I noticed some anomalies when I was logging the informant data this afternoon,” she babbled. “At first I figured, hey, they're magical. Who can trust them anyway? But then I started to notice a pattern."
She was close now.
He spoke into the phone, “Mary? It's Joe. I might have a problem here. Just a second."
He put a hand over the transmitter. “Yeah, Goodman. What pattern?"
"This.” She shoved the entire stack of paper in his face.
The fluttering paper distracted him only for a moment, but that moment was enough to follow up with a kick to his groin.
Her boss went down hard, the cell phone cracking as it hit the hard tiled floor.
Danielle leapt toward the open door.
* * * *
She figured she had about one minute before Joe recovered and called security. If they used the same level security on those leaving the building as they did on those entering, she was in serious trouble.
She should have finished Joe off but she couldn't make herself do it. Even though he had lied to her, he had also saved her when she was young and damaged. And he was damaged too. Killing him when he lay there stunned was not an option.
The red exit sign pointed the way to her final turn. Beneath it, a fire alarm box sat waiting for an emergency.
Well, this was an emergency wasn't it? She yanked on the red handle.
The building filled with a wailing alarm.
She burst through the doorway into the guarded entryway.
"It's the SAIC. His office is on fire again. I tried to get him out but he's unconscious and I couldn't lift him."
Guards scrambled.
One looked at her suspiciously, but she tried a Theresa impression. “I wish I'd been stronger. A man like you would have been able to carry him off without any problem."
"I'm sure you did the best you could.” The guard flexed an arm muscle and sucked in his stomach.
"The poor man.” Danielle laid it on thick. “Two fires in one day. What terrible luck."
"We'll make sure he's all right."
Danielle nodded and headed out the door. She wanted her weapons, but right now, it was more important to get out.
She reached the doorway, opened the heavy glass door, and stepped into the cooler air of Dallas.
"Hey, you. Girlie. Stop."
Her distraction had run out. The time for subterfuge was over.
>
Danielle blurred, ducked, and took off in a zagging run.
A burst of bullets, fortunately aimed high, sent tracers flying over her head.
She ducked into a parking garage, then out the other side.
Around her, sirens blared to life.
She slowed to a walk and looked around as if suspicious.
The streets of downtown Dallas weren't anything like those of New York or New Orleans or Boston, or even the Dallas zone. Dallas's downtown was strictly a business district. After business hours, the city folded up its sidewalks.
There were only three pedestrians in sight. All three glanced back at her, as suspicious of her as she pretended to be of them.
She needed to get off the road.
She really needed to get to the zone. Unfortunately, once Joe had a chance to look at the printout, he would know that she had turned. By the time she got anywhere near the zone border, they'd have so many guards assembled she wouldn't stand a chance of getting through.
Instead of heading toward safety, she'd have to lay low, let the initial heat die down, and plan her next move.
A city truck slowed for a red light. Its driver glanced around for oncoming traffic, saw none, and accelerated through.
Danielle grabbed onto the back, hooking her feet onto the fender while gripping the door handle and ducking her body, as much as possible, below the driver's vision.
She waited for the almost inevitable cries of alarm or the sudden braking as the driver realized he had picked up a hitchhiker. Nothing else had gone right that day. Why should this be any different?
Instead, the truck continued to accelerate.
Danielle exhaled, only then realizing she'd been holding her breath.
Stupid, Danielle, she told herself. Oxygen debt wasn't going to solve any problems.
Neither was riding this truck to whatever city garage it was heading toward. Still, she held on as long as she could, grateful that every second it was moving her away from the Warder office building, away from the alarms, and away from anyone who would recognize her. As long as the truck didn't get on a freeway or run past a warder patrol, she was in good shape.
She stayed on until the truck veered off Commerce Street, hopping down when she noticed a neighborhood drug store.
She stepped in.
Twenty minutes, three stores, and ninety dollars later, she was equipped and ready.
A padded bra maximized her assets and filled out her athletic figure. Purple spray-on hair dye would distract the casual observer's eye, playing into the psychological fact people see only what they expect to see. A slinky jade-green blouse replaced the rumpled warder tunic jacket she'd worn at the office—after an intermediate switch into a truly ugly but brilliantly ubiquitous pale green nurse's scrub. Her black pants were sufficiently generic she didn't need to change those.
It was time to blend into the Dallas nightlife.
The Golden Lying Club had a long line outside. Tough-looking bouncers in sleeveless T-shirts, their arms crossed over muscular chests, guarded the club from the hoi polloi and did their best to convey the message that Golden Lying was exclusively for the beautiful people of Dallas.
Danielle pushed forward. “Some of my friends were going to club here tonight,” she told one of the door guards.
"Yeah? Your friend have a name?"
He sounded suspicious, but not too suspicious. Danielle noticed that many of those kept waiting outside were unattractive, and some of the attractive ones looked suspiciously like they were being paid to make the club look popular. They even had coolers and portable sound systems to entertain themselves.
The best looking were whisked inside without much of a wait at all. Which meant the bouncer's suspicion said she might not be one of the beautiful people they were trying to appeal to.
Not that she cared what some brainless, muscle-bound bouncer thought about her.
"Her name is Theresa Ortez,” she said. Theresa had said the gang would arrive around ten. It was only nine now. Danielle hoped that she would be gone before anyone she recognized showed up.
"Oh. Yeah.” The bouncer's voice shifted into a friendly tone. “Theresa hangs out here a lot. Wouldn't mind going home with her myself, but she seems more interested in lawyers and such. Don't know what the appeal is there."
Yeah, Danielle managed to keep herself from blurting out her sarcasm. Why would a woman be interested in a man with a decent job and a brain?
"How about I suggest to her that she doesn't have to look past the front door,” Danielle said, flashing what she hoped was a flirtatious grin.
"Hey.” A huge smile lit the bouncer's face making him look like an overanxious boy rather than the scary man he pretended to be. “Would you really do that? Cool. I mean, she's always like butter wouldn't melt. I mean, I'm intimidated. Afraid to talk to her, even."
Danielle suppressed a momentary feeling of guilt. If she ever ran into Therese again, she really would mention the bouncer. Who knew, maybe the two of them could make magic together. Anyone would be better than Joe Smealy.
"I'll see what I can do,” she agreed.
"Cool. Uh, do you mind a word of warning?"
She gazed at the bouncer trying to put a load of trust into her eyes. “Is there a problem?"
"Seriously! The managers are trying to cover it up, but we've been having problems with drugs."
Big surprise. The whole world had problems with drugs. The return of magic had only created a new category of drugs that relied on formerly unknown chemicals like elf-blood, vampire heart, and even more disgusting things.
"I'll stay clear."
The bouncer shuffled uncomfortably. “That's the problem, lady. Because the thing is, some of our patrons are drugging the others instead of just themselves. They seem to go after women. Know what I mean?"
She knew exactly what he meant. Predators weren't limited to the magical. “I'll be careful."
"Don't touch a drink anyone offers you,” he urged. “Don't let them get near enough to your drink to put something in it. And, uh, don't forget to tell Theresa about me."
She patted him on his shaved head. “No guarantees, big guy, but I'll see what I can do."
The club interior was a disappointment.
Music crashed from speakers embedded in the walls and ancient disco balls flung glitters of light through the otherwise dimly lit bar.
Nooks and semi-detached rooms veered away from the dance floor.
The dance floor itself was surrounded by tables, each home to a small gang of nattily dressed Dallas women, busy entertaining one another with cutting remarks about the dancers and the women at other tables, nursing drinks, and pretending not to notice the men.
Further out, lining the walls, single men lounged hungrily, occasionally making their moves when one of the women became separated from her group.
Danielle became one of those few separated women as she made her way to one of the many bars scattered around the club.
Unlike women, who thrived in packs, the men were solitary hunters. The women chatted continually, while men made occasional grunts as they jockeyed for position, squeezing back the less male, the less formidable, the unsuccessful. Losers retreated into womanless side rooms where the unfortunate and unhappy belted down drinks in an effort to regain their confidence before heading back to the battle.
Occasionally a desperate or criminally ignorant male made a rush at one of the tables, grabbing an empty chair if there was one, or simply crouching down near the women.
Anyone could see that this ploy would be unsuccessful, and it always was. The women would have to see their co-workers the next day. Anyone who let herself be picked up too quickly, without too much alcohol in her system, would be marked as easy, a failure.
Still, the men lined up—and were shot down.
Danielle caught the bartender's attention and ordered a tequila sunrise.
It wasn't her favorite drink. In fact, alcohol was low on Danielle's list of vices.
The late-night raids at the Warder Academy weeded out those who enjoyed alcohol too much. But her purposes weren't to get drunk. She was intent on finding a lair—someplace she could escape the hunt she knew would be launched after her. The drink was protective coloration.
The bartender brought her drink, and moments later, another.
"I didn't order that."
"Gentleman sent it to you.” The bartender hitched a shoulder in the direction of a blond male who looked like he might have been captain of the SMU crew team a few years earlier but who was gradually letting his physique deteriorate.
He was probably younger than Carl, Danielle realized. But he lacked the male presence that made Carl stand out in a crowd.
She gave her SMU jock a smile.
He gave a hard elbow nudge to the man standing next to him and strutted over to Danielle.
"Haven't seen you here before,” he remarked. That remark had to be the soul of originality.
"My girlfriends will be getting here later."
"But why wait to party?"
She could have given him any number of reasons, starting with the fact that he wouldn't be on the top half of her party list. Instead, she nodded. “I guess."
"You from around here?"
"Los Angeles,” she told him, mostly truthfully.
His eyes lit up. “From out of town, are you? Well, us Texas men have an obligation to take care of beautiful women from out of state. Make sure they have a good time."
He was after a good time all right, but Danielle didn't think he would care much whether she had one.
"That's awful generous of you."
"Any red-blooded Texas male would do the same. Uh, how about another drink?"
He leaned forward, brushing his hand across the top of her glass as if gesturing at it. He was smooth. In the dusky light of the club, the trace of powder remaining at the top of the cocktail would have been invisible to someone not expecting it, not looking for it.
"I'm all right,” she told him. “Two drinks and I'll be flying high."
"No problem. Unlimited ceiling here."
She gave him points for that one—it was at least a little clever.
"Well, drink up.” He took a swig at his beer.
