“I can’t do it,” Mr. Silvestri said finally, spreading his hands wide and pressing his lips together apologetically as he leaned forward. “I’m sorry.”
Talia frowned, confused. “Can’t do it? What do you mean?”
“I can’t offer you my services, Ms. Anders. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Not appropriate? What does that have to do with anything?” She looked around the room again, wondering not for the first time if she was playing into Capper’s hands by appearing in such a public place. “I have the cash. You have the service. I was told by an old fence of mine that you’re a serious player.”
“I am a serious player.”
“So do you want my creds or not?”
Mr. Silvestri leaned back again. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t.”
Talia exhaled, annoyed. “Mr. Silvestri, I came here at great risk to myself. I shouldn’t be seen in public, not right now.”
“This is where I conduct business. I don’t meet elsewhere.”
“And now, after all this, you tell me you can’t help me?” He sat very still and made no response. “Look, I’m not rich, but I’ve scraped together some creds over the years. I’m prepared to reward you very, very generously for your time–”
“It’s not about the cash.”
“Look, Mr. Silvestri, it’s real simple. You protect me for twelve hours, and I give you a load of creds at the end of it. No big deal.”
Silvestri shook his head. “I play the odds, Ms. Anders. And this man you speak of, this Capper… I don’t like the odds of going against him.”
“What are you afraid of? He’s just a small-time hood–”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Silvestri said calmly, staring down at the silver dollar in his hand. “I said I don’t like the odds.”
“I was told you would offer protection for the right price,” Talia said acidly, attempting to get under his skin. “Seems that wasn’t strictly true.”
Silvestri frowned slightly as if mildly perturbed. “You don’t know anything about Capper, do you? I can tell.”
“No. Never heard of him before a couple of days ago.”
“Let me fill you in.” Silvestri leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “This man, Capper, he’s not a powerbroker in Link. Not yet. But he’s something that might be even worse than that. He’s unpredictable. Irrational. They say he walked into the Enforcer barracks here in Link last month asking to see the superintendent about some grievance. An hour later he walked calmly out of the building, thanking them all for their time, and when they checked the superintendent’s office they found that he’d been gagged and tortured before having his throat slit.”
Talia snorted. “You believe that bullshit? How’d he get the supe alone?”
“It’s not the only story I’ve heard about him. There’s plenty more.”
“So you’re afraid of fairy tales.”
“I have reason to believe there’s truth in at least some of them.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“He only has a few men in his crew,” Mr. Silvestri went on, “but if he’s after you, I fear that he’ll send them at you in ways you won’t see coming. That I won’t see coming.” He shrugged. “So whether or not there’s a nice reward waiting at the end of this is irrelevant to me. If I don’t like the odds, I don’t join the game.”
“In that case, you’re no use to me,” Talia said flatly.
Mr. Silvestri inclined his head. “So it would seem.” He held up a finger as Talia made ready to leave and she stopped, glaring at him impatiently. “How did you get on the bad side of these people, Ms. Anders?”
Talia made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “That’s the stupid part. They think I have something, but I don’t. I’ve already told them as much, but…”
“But they won’t listen to reason.”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Is there no one else who will take you in?”
Talia smiled sourly. “Doesn’t seem to be. I spent so many years with my head up my ass that it looks like I don’t have any friends left at all.”
“Perhaps you could lay low somewhere?”
“Look, thanks for the pep talk,” Talia said dryly, “but I can’t wait here any longer. Those guys are out looking for me, and it’s only a matter of time before they stop by here.”
“Wait,” Silvestri said, leaning forward.
Talia felt something on her leg underneath the table, and when she looked down she saw the stock of a revolver resting on her thigh.
“What–?”
“Take it.”
“What’s the deal?” she said quizzically.
“I’m giving you that as a…” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “As a kind of apology. Even if I can’t help you, I understand your plight.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. And I don’t often turn people away.” He glanced around. “The truth of the matter is, I have a lot on my plate right now, Ms. Anders. A couple of large, important undertakings. I came out to see you as a courtesy to a client, for the most part. I wouldn’t have the time to stay with you for half a day even if I did think this was an easy pay cheque.”
Talia’s fingers closed over the butt of the gun and she eyed it surreptitiously without taking it out from under the table. It was an old .22-calibre revolver, similar to one her father had once owned many years ago. She hadn’t seen one like it since.
“There’s ten shots there,” Silvestri said. “My advice would be to go a long way away from here, but if you stay, you might need all ten rounds. If you have to use them, make them count.”
“You might as well have given me a flyswatter,” Talia said sourly, shoving the revolver into her belt under her blouse. Silvestri made no reaction, but she regretted the words almost instantly. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softening. “I’m tired and scared and I’m not sure I can make it through this.”
“Like I said, I understand your plight, but there’s not much more I can do for you.” He leaned back again. “Now it would be best for you to leave.”
She nodded. “Thank you, I guess.”
Mr. Silvestri tossed the coin up and caught it in his palm.
“May the odds be in your favour,” he said. “And keep that weapon close.”
Talia stepped away from the table and began to push through the crowd, looking for a way out of the tavern and dreading what she might find outside.
19
Duran flexed his arm tenderly and clasped at the small red spot in the crook of his elbow. It still ached from where Zoe had jabbed him with the stim a few minutes earlier, the nerves around the puncture wound raw and twitching spasmodically with jolts of pain that ran down his forearm and up his shoulder into his neck.
Not that he should be complaining. Without the stim he would still be lying in bed, unable to muster the energy to walk more than a few steps without tiring. After the injection, he’d felt better right away. Not firing on all cylinders, it had to be said, but well enough to get up and start moving.
He hadn’t wanted to stay within the sewer-like confines of Scimitar’s hideout any longer than absolutely necessary. He didn’t see the point. They’d treated him well, and for that he was thankful, but Duran didn’t belong there. He wasn’t prepared to become a vigilante no matter what they said. Better to be on his way and face the music with Commissioner Prazor than to stay a moment longer.
“You doing okay?” Zoe said, barely bothering to contain the scorn in her voice.
“Fine. Thanks for the stim.”
Zoe shrugged. “Hey, if you’re so set on leaving, it’s the least I could do.”
“Yeah.”
“So now you’re free to get on with… whatever it is you’re going to do.”
Duran was silent for a moment, then said simply, “Yep.”
After leaving the hideout, they’d emerged i
nto the familiar, darkened streets of Juncture Nine. Duran hadn’t known exactly where they were initially, but now that they had made their way across a couple of streets he was beginning to get his bearings.
“I’ve got it from here,” he said after a while. He slowed his pace as he prepared to say goodbye. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’ll walk you a bit further,” Zoe said, never losing her stride.
Duran limped forward to catch up. “That’s not necessary.”
“Sure it is. Wouldn’t want you to suddenly collapse out here in the street, Duran. Your buddies might come snooping around asking questions about how you got here. They might come looking for Scimitar.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. I don’t have any ‘buddies’ left.”
“You know what I mean.”
Duran had wondered about Zoe’s escort from the moment they’d stepped outside the hideout. He’d assumed that she would blindfold him and lead him away, then cut him loose when he was safely removed from the entrance so that she could protect the location of the hideout.
But she hadn’t done that. She’d made no effort whatsoever to keep her secret, and that caused him to worry about her intentions.
He figured there were two possibilities. One, she’d already decided that Duran was a spent force, that he would pose no threat to her or to Scimitar even if he decided to rat on them. And that was probably true. Duran couldn’t see why the other Enforcers would bother listening to a single thing he said by the time he returned. Once Prazor had interrogated him, they’d likely lock Duran away in the Cellar for a very long time, keeping him stuffed away in the darkness where he couldn’t cause any further trouble.
The second possibility was no better than the first. In this scenario, Duran figured that Zoe had no intention of letting him walk away at all. As soon as the coast was clear, she would put a bullet in the back of his head or push him down an open elevator shaft, effectively removing him from the equation and keeping the location of the hideout secret. In his weakened condition there would not be much Duran could do to stop her.
Either way, at that moment Duran felt completely powerless. Right now it was an effort just to haul his body across the pavement. There were no energy reserves left within him that would enable him to influence the situation one way or the other.
Zoe would have her way with him. That was the only outcome.
“What is your plan, anyway?” she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.
“My plan? For what?”
“For when you walk out of here.”
Duran shrugged. “Turn myself in.”
She gave a disdainful shake of her head. “So that’s it? You’re going to hand yourself over. Just like that.”
“Just like that.”
“Do you know what they’re going to do with you?”
“I can probably guess.” Duran pretended to weigh things up, adopting a sarcastic tone. “First up, a beating, then an interrogation. Then several more beatings interspersed with several more interrogations–”
“And you’re just going to allow that?”
“I’m going to take the punishment for what I did. I broke some pretty serious protocols up there, y’know. The Consortium don’t take kindly to being fucked with. If the Enforcers aren’t seen to be doling out justice–”
“There’s your problem right there, Alec,” Zoe said, exasperated. “That’s not justice you’re talking about. That’s retribution. You were trying to do your job up there, trying to stop a criminal.”
“I did the wrong thing. I let my personal feelings get in the way of my better judgement–”
Zoe stopped dead, staring at him incredulously.
“My god, what happened to you?” she said. Duran averted his eyes from her gaze, seeing the disappointment and disillusionment in her face. “You were one of the good ones. One of the few who really believed in what they were doing. Now look at you.” She gestured helplessly at him. “Now you’re just this pathetic sack of shit whose only goal is to wallow in his own sense of self-defeat.”
“Just because my values don’t coincide with yours–”
“That’s bullshit, Alec. You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you?”
“Listen, Zoe. Why don’t you just do whatever it is you’re going to do to me–”
There was a ringing sound and Zoe snatched up her holophone, irate.
“What is it?”
“Songbird, you on the air?”
“What’s the problem, Switch?”
“I know you’re in the middle of something, but we have a situation unfolding.”
Zoe glanced at Duran. “What kind of situation?”
“It’s one of your targets. Target Thirty-Seven. ‘Mr T’.”
Zoe seemed to have forgotten about the argument for the time being.
“What about him?”
“You said you wanted to be notified if he tried to return to the place over on Second Avenue.”
“Yeah, things didn’t look good the last time he was there. Is he on his way?”
“No. He’s already there.”
Zoe’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shit!” She began to move away. “When did he get there?”
“A few minutes ago. If you can–”
Zoe didn’t wait to hear the rest of what Robson had to say, shutting off the connection and slipping the phone away again. As she attempted to get into full stride something snagged her wrist.
She turned back to see Duran standing there with an intent look on his face.
“Are you about to do what I think you’re about to do?” he said.
“Get off, Alec,” Zoe snarled, prying at his fingers. “This is not the goddamn time.”
“No. I won’t let you go and butcher someone because you feel like it.”
“I said get off,” she yelled. She seemed surprised by the ferocity of his grasp in his weakened state. She struggled with him for a moment longer before the .38 was suddenly in her hand, pressing against his temple. She lowered her voice to a menacing growl. “Get the fuck off. Right now.”
“Or what? You’ll spray my brains across the asphalt? Isn’t that what you were about to do anyway? Find some nice quiet place to put me down?”
Zoe swung the butt of the gun and struck Duran on the side of the head, knocking him away. She stood over him with the gun held at her side.
“We’re done,” she said simply. “I don’t want to see you again.” Then she turned and began to run.
Duran climbed to his feet, ignoring the weakness that was clawing at him. He forced himself to follow. Zoe was fast, but he managed to keep her in sight as she wove through several alleyways across Juncture Nine. He was puffing and wheezing, and his shoulder ached monstrously, but he did not relent. He kept going, kept pushing himself, and finally she came to the door of an apartment and stopped.
As Duran laboured to bridge the distance between them, he saw Zoe listen for a moment at the door. She placed her fingers on the handle.
Suddenly there were shots from inside the apartment, then an ear-piercing scream. Zoe reeled back, then gathered herself and barged forward, knocking the door open with a splintering crash. She disappeared inside.
Duran, struggling and near collapse, made it through a few moments later.
In the living room, Zoe had stopped dead in her tracks, the gun held at her side. As Duran reached her, he slumped into a stoop, gasping for breath.
When his eyes fell upon the scene in the living room before him, he straightened in shock, his discomfort forgotten.
It was an ordinary kind of living area for an apartment in Juncture Nine. The furniture was old but serviceable, the carpet worn, and there was the ever-present musty smell that came from lack of sunlight and the stillness of the air.
A three-seater sofa rested along one wall. Upon it sat a woman, dishevelled and clearly distraught, her eyeliner smudged as it mingled with the tears that slid down her cheeks. Clasped in ea
ch of her arms was a small child, a boy and a girl, both dark-haired, both sobbing.
On the floor before them was a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He lay there gasping, his arms resting on his stomach as he slowly clenched and unclenched his fingers. There was blood on his chest and neck.
Seeping across that worn carpet below him was a pool of glistening crimson.
Beyond him, Duran saw a figure backlit by the cold white light of the kitchen fluoro. There was a third child clutched in the figure’s arms, dark-haired like the first two, clasped tightly in a raised position as a human shield.
As the figure shifted slightly, the light fell across his face, and Duran realised with shock that he knew him.
And in the same moment the man recognised him.
“I said put the gun down,” Zoe said quietly. “I won’t say it again.”
“Duran?” the man said, ignoring her. He seemed nonplussed.
Duran took a step forward. “Sergeant Tunks? What’s going on?”
Tunks stood edgy and wild-eyed, his gaze flicking from Zoe to the man on the floor and back to Duran again. He licked his lips and pulled the crying child closer against him. In his right hand was a gun, and now he rested its muzzle against the boy’s chest, making his intentions clear.
In all of the times Duran had worked with Tunks, he’d never seen him act like this, not even during the most harrowing moments on the job. Not even during the Deimona takedown, when the whole thing went to hell.
He seemed spooked, crazed. Unhinged.
“I uh… I tracked down a felon,” Tunks said, his voice unconvincing. He pointed to the man on the floor. “This guy right here.”
“Who is he?” Duran said. “What did he do?”
“Bad shit, man.” He glanced at Zoe. “Who the hell is this? What’s she doing here?”
Duran ignored him. “Where’s your partner, Sergeant? If this is a takedown, where’s the rest of your team?”
Tunks shook his head slightly, that crazy look in his eyes undiminished.
“Nah, it’s just me. Going it alone.” He licked his lips again. “Thank… thank god you came by when you did, buddy.”
Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) Page 13
