Insynn

by Loren Walker

  III.

  After a long negotiation of territory in Lower Lea, Theron left Bianco to wrap up the meeting with handshakes and half-hugs; an amazing conclusion, after so many hours of men yelling insults and threats.

  The bodyguard, Grey, went first, as per usual, into the parking garage. Following steps behind, Theron did his best not to sigh audibly. Instead, he flicked open his Lissome, and did a quick search to see if there were any hits on his algorithms. For weeks now, he’d kept track of several persons of interest, peering into their changes of location, their transactions, their public appearances.

  Anandi Ajyo, one match in the public network.

  Theron slowed his step, glanced up to ensure that Grey wasn't watching him, and scanned the contents. The new leader of the Hitodama, a hacktivist group in the North, had a warrant issued for her arrest. What was that now, the second? Third?

  She’s getting sloppy, Theron mused. She knows better.

  Still, Anandi’s influence might be an asset at some point. They had no quarrel with each other; they knew each other as children, and their families were affiliated, but nothing more. It would be smart to keep her favor. When he got back to the apartment, he would alter the details of her warrant, just the tiniest details so a match would be impossible…

  The lights went out in the garage.

  Theron froze, searching for the silhouette of his bodyguard. He heard loud mouth breathing, and the click of a firearm safety being released.

  Theron ducked behind another transport, reaching under his jacket for the concealed Sentry firearm. As he drew it out, he felt the familiar vibration in the barrel; the Sentry’s safety was off, the gold ring on his middle finger sending the signal to release.

  There was a yelp, followed by a high-pitched shriek. The sounds of something liquid, squelching. Shuddering breaths turned into gurgling. Theron held his breath, every muscle tensed to attack. But he couldn’t see anything.

  The pavement vibrated beneath him. There were no more sounds.

  Theron felt for the Lissome in his back pocket. His hands shook just a little as he twisted the device to activate a tiny flashlight. He aimed his Sentry with a straight arm before him, the Lissome crossed under his wrist to shine a path, and searched.

  Blood was running into one of the sewer grates.

  And Grey was facedown, the top of his head shining with three fresh gashes.

  “Theron!” Bianco’s cry echoed through the garage.

  Theron swiveled, swinging his Sentry along with his gaze. The garage was silent, and empty.

  The overhead lights flickered on, but a reddish haze lingered at the edge of Theron’s peripheral vision. He swiped at his face, wondering if he was bleeding. Nothing was there.

  The red cleared, finally, and the florescent lights illuminated the bodyguard's body, sprawled on the ground, blood gathering like a puddle of oil.

  Meaty hands clapped down on Theron's shoulders. “My boy,” Bianco panted. “Back inside, now. Now!”

  Theron let himself be pulled into a transport’s darkness and cold, re-circulated air, even as he shut his eyes tight and opened them, again and again, trying to find that trace of red.

  * * *

  One hour later, Theron sat in his leather armchair in his apartment, legs splayed, as he tried to process what happened only sixty minutes ago. “Do you know who is behind this?”

  From across the room, Bianco let out a short, barking cough. “No.”

  Theron caught sight of Bianco’s silhouette within the doorframe of his apartment. “You must have some ideas."

  “I have suspicions,” Bianco said. “A direct threat to you calls for severe retaliation, and the breaking of blood bonds. Even to attack those who serve you, it is madness.”

  “Someone from the outside, then?"

  “Don’t trouble yourself with it,” Bianco soothed. “We have many things to do tomorrow, and you need to focus on appearing strong.”

  “Grey was just butchered in front of me,” Theron retorted. “I think I’m staying inside for a while."

  “Of course not,” Bianco objected. “What kind of message does that send? You must be a man, be the leader that your grandfather - ”

  “All I’ve done is ‘send the right message,’” Theron interrupted, pushing up out of the chair and rising to his full height of six-foot-six. “If it hasn’t been received yet, then maybe I’m not the one for this job.”

  Bianco’s voice was sharp. “Your grandfather would be disappointed."

  “Well, that was a common event,” Theron said sourly.

  “Your grandfather loved you very much.”

  Theron snorted, turning away. He pressed a hand to the window, noting the ghostly condensation that formed around his fingers.

  The sound of Bianco’s heavy gait drew closer. The man stopped six feet away, perpendicular to him. “Did you ever think of how devastated he was to lose his two children, how it was to be the sudden guardian to four orphaned children who never knew him?” Bianco said quietly. “Who were soft and weak and spoiled? Look at you now, what a man you have become, a better man than your cousins -”

  His voice cracked, and Theron felt a twinge of guilt. Bianco loved Iyo, there was no denying that fact. Bianco was still in mourning. The facts floated through Theron’s head. He let them pass as Bianco kept talking. “He experienced nothing but loss. But he remained loyal and true to those who stayed, including me. You didn’t know who your grandfather was, who he truly was…”

  Bianco trailed off.

  Theron didn’t react.

  “A new man is on his way now,” Bianco said with a sigh. “We have a lot to accomplish, my boy. Remain strong. We will resolve this misunderstanding, make no mistake. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  “Get this over with as soon as possible,” Jetsun instructed as they entered the Lea patrol station. “Say nothing unless I give you permission."

  “Not certain why we’re complying in the first place,” Theron shot back, noting how the crowd parted as they walked through the front lobby. Jetsun had appeared at his apartment that morning with an official summons for questioning of Grey’s murder, issued by none other than Detective Daryn Ozias (again, worming into Sava business!).

  “Better to keep them satisfied, at least on paper,” Jetsun said. “If you come in, they can’t accuse you of stifling the investigation. The last thing we need is more attention on you for something like this.”

  “Fine,” Theron interrupted her. “But I’ll see her alone.

  “Don’t be foolish.”

  He shot her a look, and she fell silent.

  She knows her place, he mused. I suppose I have to live up to mine.

  “I’m right outside,” she finally said. “If you need me, I’m right outside.”

  An officer opened the door for him. Theron ignored the man’s stare and ducked through the doorframe. Inside, the room was darker than he expected. Theron hesitated, flashing back to the parking garage; there were too many shadows, too many options for concealment…

  “Mr. Sava." Already seated at a metal table, Detective Daryn Ozias gestured to the seat across from her. “Jetsun isn’t joining us?”

  Theron said nothing. He yanked the metal chair so it scraped loudly across the floor, and folded his body down onto it. When seated, he fixed his glare on Ozias.

  “Thank you for coming in,” Ozias began. “My sympathies for your recent loss. I’m sure it was a great shock to you and your family."

  “Question, Detective,” Theron interrupted, tilting his head back to look at the broken lights in the ceiling. “Shouldn’t an interrogation room be bright? What is this?"

  “This isn’t an interrogation,” Ozias corrected. “But yes, I’m sorry, there’ve been budget cutbacks.”

  “Why are you apologizing?” Theron broke in again.

  Ozias’ expression didn’t change. “Being polite, I suppose.”

  “Not necessary,” Theron said. “You’ve got fiv
e minutes. What do you want?”

  “Was Grey’s assassination meant for you?”

  There was no point in lying. “Very well could have been."

  “I’ve followed your family’s activities for years, you know."

  “If you’re so well-informed, why bother to bring me in?” Theron emphasized the word informed with a rush of anger before he could reel it back. Ozias caught it, though. Theron saw the smallest shift in the woman’s eye.

  “Thought it would be good to meet the new heir to the throne, so to speak,” Ozias said. “Especially when, upon succession, his bodyguard is killed in front of him. Maybe he’s interested in talking. How much are you like your grandfather, I wonder?”

  Is this your plan? Theron thought. Trying to get me to brag, to declare my dominance over everything? Make denials and threats?

  At Theron’s silence, Ozias activated the room’s Lissome, projecting an info screen between them: a portrait of Grey, his body framed by the metal of the morgue. The deep gouges in his head, chest and throat had been closed to thin red lines. The pixels shuddered over the table.

  “You want to tell me what happened that night?” the detective queried.

  “I was walking to my town car,” Theron said. “Grey went ahead of me, as always. Then the whole place went dark, I heard a noise, and he was dead when the lights came back up.”

  Theron saw the slightest twist in the woman’s jaw. “And nothing else?"

  “Were you really expecting details, Detective? Even if I had them, you wouldn’t hear about it.”

  With a flick of her fingers, Ozias expanded the Lissome screen, so the camera zoomed to the gash at Grey's throat. Theron could see the ragged edges stitched together, the discoloration under the harsh fluorescent light. Theron’s stomach turned, just a little. He didn’t care much about the bodyguard, but it seemed like an awful way to die.

  “The fatal wound to the throat wasn’t administered with a knife,” Ozias confirmed. “Nor any kind of clean blade. But metal, that we know. And tapered.” She glanced at Theron. “Pretty unusual, even in your world."

  “And why tell me these details?"

  “I’m following protocol, Mr. Sava.”

  Theron looked at the image again. The detective was right. Business in the Sava family was resolved with a single gunshot, or a wire cord around the neck. Not with ripped flesh and bleeding out in public. So what was it, then? And was Grey the target? Or was Theron?

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Theron finally said. “I don’t know what happened. But you’ve followed my family for long enough to know that it’s time to step aside and let us deal with it.”

  Ozias jabbed a finger into the table. “This is a man’s death. It might not mean much to you, given your family, but it deserves respect. And if there’s a public threat, we need to address it. This goes beyond your borders, Mr. Sava.”

  Theron did the most infuriating thing he could think of: he shrugged one shoulder at the detective.

  A knock at the door. Ozias shut down the Lissome, the digital screens sucked back into the square. The room went dark again.

  “Stay in town,” she warned Theron. “I might call you again."

  “I’ll decide whether or not to answer,” Theron retorted. “If you keep clear of our affairs. And stop others from making that mistake.”

  Ozias frowned. “Who are you talking about?”

  But Theron was already up and outside, Jetsun hissing at his side. “That was short. What did she say? What do I have to do?”

  “Nothing,” Theron said, quickening his stride. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  IV.

  Over the next week, the fervor around Grey’s death began to lessen. Familiarity resumed: windows and wheels, marble and quartz, leather and mahogany. Another bodyguard arrived. Wicks was bigger, stronger, and heavily armed under the white suit that all protectors wore in the syndicate. Wicks trailed Theron on another date with a pre-selected girl. Time passed in a perfumed blur. Bianco seemed satisfied, hustling Theron from place to place, making introductions, watching from a distance. Only Jetsun seemed different: a little quieter, her amber eyes running over Theron at their weekly meeting, but quickly averted when he demanded she speak up.

  He only had moments to check on his algorithms, in between supervision. The sudden death of entertainer Em Lee was still in the news, though the fervor had gone down over the weeks. The public was told that Em Lee died in a tragic mountain climbing accident, in the midst of a meditative retreat to prepare for her next album release. No news source identified Em Lee, real name Marette Lyung, as part of the original NINE. Nor did anyone seem to know that she was actually killed in Toomba after a shootout with the mountain militia, her body likely disposed in the caverns. It would probably never be public knowledge. But the sooner her name faded into memory, the better.

  No correspondence from Renzo Byrne, or anyone else from that family, either.

  Wicks remained by Theron’s side as they entered his apartment building, and travelled in silence up the elevator. Even when Theron came to his door, Wicks remained six feet behind him.

  “I’m fine,” Theron instructed, a warning in his voice.

  “I’m supposed to come in with you, sir,” Wicks huffed. “Mr. Bianco isn’t here, so he asked me to do a sweep."

  “Not necessary.” The last thing that Theron needed was this man peering into all his corners. It was bad enough that Bianco was always watching.

  “I insist, sir."

  “And I’ve given my order,” Theron said icily. “Stay where you are.”

  The man nodded, straightening. “Yes, sir.”

  Locking the door behind him, Theron groped for the light sensor with the other hand, already exasperated with the effort, and the swallowing darkness.

  Nothing happened.

  He waved his hand again. Not even a spark.

  His heart quickened, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. There was none. But the walls of his living room looked strange.

  He crept closer, trying to make out the detail.

  There was a jagged, horizontal path running across the middle, around the whole perimeter of the living room, the drywall ragged as ripped skin.

  Then the edges turned a strange shade of red.

  And on the other side of the front door, there was a heavy thump.

  * * *

  A clean-up crew and a bottle of liquor later, Theron was somewhere between dreams and hallucinations when he heard the sound of his name. Slumped in the chair behind his desk, he squinted across his apartment, trying to determine if the dark silhouette on his threshold was real.

  “Mr. Sava, can you hear me?”

  Theron forced his eyes to focus. It was Detective Ozias. Startled, Theron rubbed his palm over his face, sniffing in a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said automatically, before chiding himself.

  Ozias smiled at him, though it was more like a wince. “Do you need something? Some water, perhaps?"

  “No,” Theron said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “A little hard to stay away, Mr. Sava.” The detective glanced over her shoulder. “So what happened this time?”

  What could Theron say, really? He had left Wicks to his death. Someone had scratched a horizontal path through the walls of his apartment, then did the same to Wicks, ripping him in half. Maybe if he’d let the bodyguard come in, the man would still be alive. His gaze wandered to the faint remnants of blood splatter on the walls in the hall. The crew had missed a few spots here and there. And on the ceiling too. Arterial spray was a killer.

  “Take my advice, Detective,” Theron finally said. “It’s not necessary.” How many times could he warn the woman to back off? People would get to know her face, her nosiness, if they didn’t already, and one wrong word, one perceived insult….

  From far away, the clunk of elevator doors. Then Bianco appeared, a murderous look on his face. “Out,” he spat at the detective. “Now. This is private prope
rty.”

  “This is a homicide,” Ozias said. “And potentially a serial killer.”

  Shut up, Detective. Theron thought. Shut up if you know what’s good for you.

  Bianco shook his head again and again, so infuriated that he didn’t seem able to speak. “Out, now!” he finally barked. “No more talk, no more questions!”

  Her hands lifted, Ozias slid past the furious Bianco and disappeared.

  Bianco took out a handkerchief, mopping his brow. Then he threw it to the ground with a sudden grunt, strode across the room, and shoved Theron in the chest.

  “What are you doing?” Theron exclaimed.

  But Bianco lifted a finger to his face. “You tell me the truth now. Did they anger you?”

  “What?”

  Bianco’s voice grew whispery and sympathetic. “Is this some kind of revenge? Because you have been put in this position? Understand now, you don’t know the harm you are doing, in acting this way.”

  “I didn’t kill them!” Theron said, taken aback. “Is that what you think happened? That I lost control and killed them?”

  “I promise, Theron,” Bianco soothed. “I would not judge you if you did. Your grandfather had his moments, too. But we are in a delicate state, until your position is official....”

  Bianco trailed off, patting Theron on the arm.

  The silence stretched on and on. The longer it went, the more Theron questioned the red haze he’d seen both times, before the murders. Maybe his personality was split in two, after so many seizures. Maybe he should have listened of that doctor, had new brain scans done….

  “You make a statement,” he heard Bianco murmur. “You show them that you are taking this seriously. Start with the likely suspects. And I will stay with you, Theron, and protect you myself. You have my word.”