Preying for keeps s-29

by Mel Odom

  He glanced at Archibald's door a short way ahead. The security light over the door was still dark from when Elvis had removed the bulb. Three minutes and eleven seconds had passed.

  "Duran," Skater said.

  "Yeah, kid."

  "You got a hobby?"

  Three steps passed in silence. "A hobby?"

  "Yeah." Skater stepped off the curb, looked up and down the street, then started across. A breeze kicked up and blew papers, wrappers, and plastifoam cups bouncing along ahead of them, "Something you do in between jobs. You know."

  "You sure you didn't get your wetware scrambled back there?" Duran asked in a casual tone.

  "I'm sure." Less than a hundred paces separated them from the darkened door, Skater slid the Predator free and kept it hidden beside his leg.

  "You want to tell me why you're interested in this now?"

  "Because there might not be a later." Skater didn't want to try to put all the tangled emotions he was feeling into words. There was so much going on, so much to sort out, and his time might already be nearly up.

  "Horses," Duran said. "I like to go to the races. Straight ones, though, where it's only heart and muscle that makes the difference. Not tech."

  "Win much?" Skater looked at the big ork beside him, surprised at his own interest now that he'd breached forbidden ground.

  Duran shook his head. "I never bet."

  “Then why go?"

  “To see 'em run," Duran said. "I just like to see 'em run."

  Skater considered it, then decided that was probably as good a reason as any.

  "And I like the Sloppies, too," Duran went on as they gained the other side of the street. "And watching the women. Females get crazy when money's changing hands and they never know if they've won until the horses hit the wire. And they dress nice. Synthleather pants that fit like a monofilament edge."

  "Have you got somebody…" Skater hesitated over the word choice as they walked under a tattered steel-framed awning. "…somebody special?"

  "A woman, you mean?"

  "Yeah."

  "Sometimes. Me and women, it's a nice thought, but kind of like mixing oil and vinegar. Got to keep it really shook up to make it run smooth. I don't have that kind of time to invest, and I've never found one who could keep my interest for that long. I've been told I'm hard to get to know."

  Skater nodded, remembering conversations with Larisa. "And you're too controlling, too guarded, too paranoid."

  "Bingo."

  "But you try."

  "Not as often as I used to."

  Skater felt perspiration run down the side of his face. A crimson-tinted bead paused at the comer of his eye till he blinked it away. He took a fresh grip on the pistol as he walked to within knocking range of the apartment door. Four minutes thirty-seven seconds had elapsed. "I hope you get to see the horses run again once this is over."

  "Me too, kid."

  Before Skater could touch his knuckles to the door's surface, it opened. He hadn't walked right in just in case the apartment had already been invaded by Lone Star and no one was watching the door. Surprising a lax sentry could have led to a gun battle that he definitely didn't want.

  At the side of the door, Duran was already in position with the Scorpion out in the open.

  "We're leaving," Archangel said as she came to the door. The lease is up on this place." She had her deck in its case and was dressed to go. "Anything we couldn't carry has been destroyed. Where's the car?"

  Elvis stood behind her, a large suitcase in each hand. He eyed the street warily.

  Skater called Wheeler over the link. "Let's go."

  "On my way," the dwarf replied. Three blocks down, the van's headlights came on and carved tunnels in the shadows. The vehicle pulled smoothly out into the street.

  Archangel obviously didn't feel comfortable standing in the doorway. She started toward the van at a sedate pace.

  Skater fell into step beside her, feeling her tension and seeing it in the rigidity of her movements. "Problem?"

  "You and Duran were made to this area by some street snitch," Archangel said. They broke it on the trid not long ago. You're still wanted in connection with Larisa's murder. Lone Star only started the house-to-house searches about forty-five minutes ago. Some of the crews got pulled once the action began at the restaurant." The van pulled up alongside them, and she took a seat beside Trey, who was conscious once again.

  The seam on the mage's arm looked shiny and pink and new, like a sunburned strip. Skater didn't think it would scar at all.

  "I take it the meeting didn't go well," Archangel said.

  "No," Skater told her as he took a seat further back.

  "McKenzie's not exactly thrilled with us at the moment." He explained about the switched credsticks. "I was figuring on cutting him out of the loop so we'd have only the elves to deal with. I'm sure they don't have their own base of operations here in Seattle yet. I thought maybe it would give us some breathing room with McKenzie out of the way. But it seems like McKenzie fed the elves some lies."

  Duran took the passenger seat up front again while Elvis dumped the baggage into the back and shut the door. He had a hard time getting his bulk comfortable as he took a seat beside Skater.

  “The yakuza showed up too," Trey said. "Unannounced. Which means someone tipped them off. Again. All in all, the whole little party was absolutely fascinating. It's hard to keep up with who might be double-crossing who at any given moment."

  "Doyukai's people?" Elvis asked.

  "Probably," Duran answered. "What with all the hell breaking loose, we didn't have time to check their bonafides."

  "So you're thinking someone in Dragonfletcher's group sold him out to the yaks?" Elvis asked.

  Wheeler had the van rolling steadily now, headed out of downtown. "Where to?" he asked.

  "It could have been somebody from NuGene," Skater said to Elvis, then turned to Wheeler. "I'm open to suggestions."

  "I've got a warehouse with the Fiat-Fokker juiced up and ready to fly."

  "We took damage on the freighter raid."

  "Yeah." The dwarf rigger nodded. "She may not be pretty, but she's navigable."

  "How secure is this place?"

  "I left the amphibian there," Wheeler pointed out. "We've got considerable investment wrapped up in that bird."

  "Easy in, easy out?" Skater asked.

  "It's wiz. Place is totally chill. I've had access for awhile, just never used it. One of those hidey-holes you keep like an ace up your sleeve."

  "Let's do it."

  "It's also possible that one of McKenzie's men sold out the meeting," Archangel said.

  Skater nodded. "With the meet arranged the way it was. I'd say there are only three avenues for the information to get to the yakuza. McKenzie, NuGene, and us."

  "Since us have nearly got our collective hoops shot off on different occasions during the last twenty-four hours," Trey said, "I vote we be left out of the running."

  "No problem," Skater said. "The only other option is that Doyukai has someone planted in either McKenzie's or NuGene's camp."

  "Doubtful," Duran said. "Those slags seem to play things pretty fraggin close to the vest."

  "Then how did we get tipped to the cargo aboard the Sapphire Seahawk?” Skater retorted.

  "True," the ork growled. "Me, it's jamming my hoop where the word came from. I'd like to get the scan before we go much further."

  "McKenzie's a pretty involved man at this point," Archangel said.

  Skater raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I don't have anything solid," she said, "but I was able to do some prowling around. From what I hear, McKenzie's trying hard to retire."

  "You'd never know it," Trey said. "The slag I saw in action tonight was pure street savage."

  "Where would he go?" Skater asked. "He's got millions stashed in dozens of accounts," Archangel said. "I don't have any solid figures or bank names or the aliases he might be using for the accounts. But I got enough to know he won't b
e deprived of anything he enjoys right now. Maybe he's been skimming from the biz he handles for the Family."

  "Think he's about to get caught with his hand in the cookie jar and wants to get out before they take his head too?" Skater asked.

  "The Mafia expects a little graft," Elvis said. "It's figured in. A slag who's good at what he does can afford to get greedy because he's keeping the Family coffers full."

  "And McKenzie's been that kind of guy."

  "Without question," Archangel stated. "But lately he's been investing in more legitimate enterprises."

  "Have they been good investments or has he been losing his shirt?" Skater asked. "From the way he acted about the money tonight, he must be strapped."

  Archangel shook her head. "It sounds to me like he's built up quite an impressive portfolio." She glanced at notes she'd scribbled. "He's not really making any profit, but he's leveraging money from different banks to buy interests in companies and businesses and stocks."

  "Laundering his own money," Skater said.

  Archangel nodded. "I think so, too, but it would be hard to prove."

  "Then he's dealing with considerable shrinkage working through the money scammers," Wheeler said. The lights of the sprawl washed over the van's windshield, a neon jungle war waged in advertising. "Joker taking financial hits like that, this biz with NuGene could sound pretty good."

  "He came up out of the gutter, kid," Duran said. 'Tonight you kicked dirt in his face. No matter what social ladder he might be trying to climb, he's not just going to turn the other cheek."

  Trey smiled wanly. "I get the feeling McKenzie works out of the other testament."

  "How accessible is the info on McKenzie?" Skater asked Archangel.

  'To who?" she asked.

  "The yabos working for him."

  She appeared to consider that, then nodded. "The ones that are well connected could probably find out.”

  "Makes you wonder if any of them has designs on the hole McKenzie would leave behind," Skater said, "They said nature abhors a vacuum. One of them could have cut a deal with the yakuza and sold McKenzie out."

  "I also traced the nuyen that paid Larisa Hartsinger's bills for the last few months," Archangel said. "It took quite a bit of doing."

  Skater felt his stomach tighten. "And?"

  "The payments were drawn on an account in Exchange First, a smaller bank that does a lot of out-of-sprawl biz. I had to run some real burners to figure out who was ultimately on the bottom line."

  "Who?"

  "NuGene."

  "Dragonfletcher said he didn't know who Larisa was," Skater said.

  "Maybe he doesn't."

  "Did you get a name at NuGene?”

  "Arial Baerenwald," Archangel said. "She's an accounts cleric. Probably ran the payments through the bank without ever knowing what they were for."

  "But someone knows," Skater said. He began ticking off points on his fingers. "Larisa sets us up with the raid on the freighter. We get the files, which are corrupt and aren't worth a twisted slot. One step ahead of the yakuza, who've evidently also been lipped about the cargo. Dragonfletcher, head of NuGene security, starts trying to move heaven and earth to catch the people responsible. Someone kills Larisa only a few hours before I can get to her, and takes her baby-which was arranged by Ridge Maddock. She'd been hanging around someone named Synclair Tone, who just happens to be very interested in getting rid of me. Now we discover her expenses have been paid by NuGene. And NuGene, a corp that's been near financial collapse, is suddenly given a new lease on life because Tavis Silverstaff is promoting a new product line. And along comes Conrad McKenzie, Mr. Mafia, taking his own percentage of the action." He raked the team with his gaze. "Am I missing anything here?"

  "Quite a package," Duran commented.

  "No drek," Skater retorted. He gazed out the window at the dark streets of the sprawl rushing by. "We need to know more about NuGene. What it's got on the books. Where the special interest groups came from. And what exactly's in those fragging files." He glanced at Archangel. "How tight is the ice around the Seattle operation?"

  "I couldn't get inside without major effort and time-lots more time than we've got."

  "Then that leaves the parent crop."

  "NuGene in Tir Taimgire?" Trey said.

  Skater nodded. "We've got two choices: Roll over and play dead, or try to figure out where all the heat is and leverage us some back." He met the gaze of every member of the team. "Either way you vote, I'm in for the long haul. There's too many questions I need answers to."

  "Listen to you," Archangel said sharply. "You're talking about invading the elf lands like it was nothing."

  "Can you get into NuGene from here?" Skater asked.

  She hesitated. "No," she admitted. "I've already tried. The corp's R amp;D computers aren't tied in to the Matrix. They're keeping them isolated."

  "We're not talking about raiding the elven strongholds," Skater pointed out. "Just Portland. Security's not as tight there."

  "It's still a suicide run."

  "One misstep," Skater said evenly, "and they all are."

  "Portland security's no Cakewalk," Archangel said.

  "I wasn't thinking it was." Skater looked at her, sensing he had to win her over more than the others. Fear was in her eyes, something he'd never seen before. 'The people who set us up, whether it's NuGene or the yakuza or someone else, they aren't going to take the hammer off of us until we're dead. Even if we try to vanish, I don't know if it can be done."

  "I'm slotting good at disappearing," Archangel said in a cold voice. "I can do it again."

  Skater leaned back, not knowing what else to say. "I've got to go."

  There wasn't much hesitation from anyone else. Wheeler and Elvis agreed readily, followed somewhat reluctantly by Trey.

  "I'm in, too," Duran growled. "When push comes to shove and the down and dirty gets ugly, I want to see if these stump-skankers can upload it as well as they download it."

  Archangel shook her head. "I can't go. Not to Tir Tairngire." She looked away. "I'm sorry."

  "Okay," Skater said softly. He knew from a glance there was no arguing with the cold, angry fear that suddenly shone in her eyes.

  23

  "Gonna be chancey as hell humping it into the Tir like this," Duran said.

  "Not quite as bad as betting against loaded dice," Skater replied. He peered into the cargo hold of the Fiat-Fokker. Tightly packed cases filled almost the entire area. "And the odds are a lot fragging better than hanging around Seattle." Satisfied, he closed the cargo-hold door and locked it tight.

  "And checking on that stuff is a waste of time," Duran pointed out. "We aren't going to use none of it"

  "Who knows? Depending on who canvasses the scene first, maybe some of those weapons will end up in rebel hands. I've heard Kate Mustaffah never misses a trick when it comes to turning a profit." Mustaffah was an ex-arms runner turned businesswoman and crusader for the failing economic sector in Portland, but rumor had it she still kept her hand in.

  Fatigue ate into Skater to the bone despite the few hours of sleep he'd managed in since they’d left Archibald's the night before. Not all of those hours of sleep had been consecutive, and none had been without dreams of the immediate past and nightmares of what the immediate future might bold.

  He looked up at the ork. "We roll in twenty-six minutes, Duran. You get any bright ideas, let me know."

  Quint Duran dropped a big hand on Skater's shoulder and gave a thin, ork grin that had never been stained by honest mirth. "Just grousing, kid. Drek, I think this is going to be one of the best slotting runs that's ever been put together. The only thing I'm dreading is the long walk back."

  "Who knows? Maybe we can package a deal on that, too. Depending on what hole cards NuGene is hiding."

  Ten meters down from them, Elvis pulled the Leyland-Rover to a stop inside the warehouse and yelled for Duran to come help him. Wheeler was finishing the final check on the plane, wearing oil-st
ained dark blue coveralls and a red and gold San Francisco Forty-Niners ballcap that had seen better days.

  Skater ran a careful hand through his hair. The wound he'd taken the previous night had been tended but was still sore. He walked back to the office set against the wall to his left.

  The amphibian bobbed in a channel of water that cut through the heart of the warehouse while plascrete shoulders on both sides held parking areas and spaces for heavy equipment According to Wheeler, the place had once been used for marine salvage and was now operated as a front for black-market goods moving through UCAS. The dwarf had earned the right to use the warehouse, bul be didn't tell any stories about why.

  The building smelled of diesel fuel and machine oil, with only faint wafts from the sea-scent of the Sound. The windows were all whole, but had been painted black, giving the place a run-down appearance that belied the expansive security system it housed.

  Cullen Trey sat inside the office watching the quartet of sec-cameras with overlapping fields of view. He was dressed casually, but Skater knew it was a casualness that wasn't casually afforded. The mage still looked out of place in front of the three-year-old calendar sporting holopics from a trid-action series about three scantily clad women fighting crime with big guns and deadly magic. The show had a cult audience and stayed in syndication despite repeated vicious slams by critics. August showed a bare-breasted Jolie wrestling a hellbender in a swampy bayou. Standing all around her in their boats were Gulf pirates holding automatic weapons and watching her struggle with lust-filled eyes.

  A trid turned to twenty-four-hours news was showing footage from a grisly piece of biz that had happened in the Renton Mall. Evidently a mother who'd been stricken with the mysterious laughing death disease had gone mad and attacked her own children. The woman had been ill and displayed symptoms now associated with the disease: yellowing of the skin, reddening of the eyes, loss of motor coordination, and dementia. Somehow, she'd got herself out of bed and followed her two children to the Mall where she'd severely mauled them both before sec-guards put her down in a blaze of gunfire. Unconfirmed reports said she had recently been treated by Doc Wagon and, despite lack of definitive proof, reporters were starting to refer to the diseased people as "DocWackos." Lone Star had not released any report on their findings as to the cause of the disease, stating only that it was a virus.