“Don’t send the full pictures around. I’m in the middle of an investigation. Just crop out the eyes if you can.”
Ruth hangs up. The Regulator is working extra hard. Something about what she said—cropping out the girls’ eyes—triggered a bodily response of disgust that the Regulator is suppressing. She’s not sure why. With the Regulator, sometimes it’s hard for her to see the connections between things.
While waiting for Gail to call her back, she looks through the active online ads in Boston once more. The killer has a pattern of killing a few girls in each city before moving on. He must be on the hunt for a second victim here. The best way to catch him is to find her before he does.
She clicks through ad after ad, the parade of flesh a meaningless blur, focusing only on the eyes. Finally, she sees what she’s looking for. The girl uses the name Carrie, and she has dirty-blond hair and green eyes. Her ad is clean, clear, well-written, like a tasteful sign amidst the parade of flashing neon. The timestamp on the ad shows that she last modified it twelve hours ago. She’s likely still alive.
Ruth calls the number listed.
“This is Carrie. Please leave a message.”
As expected, Carrie screens her calls.
“Hello. My name is Ruth Law, and I saw your ad. I’d like to make an appointment with you.” She hesitates, and then adds, “This is not a joke. I really want to see you.” She leaves her number and hangs up.
The phone rings almost immediately. Ruth picks up. But it’s Gail, not Carrie.
“I asked around, and people who ought to know tell me the girls are probably wearing a new kind of retinal implant. It’s not FDA-approved. But of course you can go overseas and get them installed if you pay enough.”
“What do they do?”
“They’re hidden cameras.”
“How do you get the pictures and videos out?”
“You don’t. They have no wireless connections to the outside world. In fact, they’re shielded to emit as little RF emissions as possible so that they’re undetectable to camera scanners, and a wireless connection would just mean another way to hack into them. All the storage is inside the device. To retrieve them you have to have surgery again. Not the kind of thing most people would be interested in unless you’re trying to record people who really don’t want you to be recording them.”
When you’re so desperate for safety that you think this provides insurance, Ruth thinks. Some future leverage.
And there’s no way to get the recordings out except to cut the girl open. “Thanks.”
“I don’t know what you’re involved in, Ruth, but you really are getting too old for this. Are you still leaving the Regulator on all the time? It’s not healthy.”
“Don’t I know it.” She changes the subject to Gail’s children. The Regulator allows her to have this conversation without pain. After a suitable amount of time, she says goodbye and hangs up.
The phone rings again.
“This is Carrie. You called me.”
“Yes.” Ruth makes her voice sound light, carefree.
Carrie’s voice is flirtatious but cautious. “Is this for you and your boyfriend or husband?”
“No, just me.”
She grips the phone, counting the seconds. She tries to will Carrie not to hang up.
“I found your web site. You’re a private detective?”
Ruth already knew that she would. “Yes, I am.”
“I can’t tell you anything about any of my clients. My business depends on discretion.”
“I’m not going to ask you about your clients. I just want to see you.” She thinks hard about how to gain her trust. The Regulator makes this difficult, as she has become unused to the emotive quality of judgments and impressions. She thinks the truth is too abrupt and strange to convince her. So she tries something else. “I’m interested in a new experience. I guess it’s something I’ve always wanted to try and haven’t.”
“Are you working for the cops? I am stating now for the record that you’re paying me only for companionship, and anything that happens beyond that is a decision between consenting adults.”
“Look, the cops wouldn’t use a woman to trap you. It’s too suspicious.”
The silence tells Ruth that Carrie is intrigued. “What time are you thinking of?”
“As soon as you’re free. How about now?”
“It’s not even noon yet. I don’t start work until 6:00.”
Ruth doesn’t want to push too hard and scare her off. “Then I’d like to have you all night.”
She laughs. “Why don’t we start with two hours for a first date?”
“That will be fine.”
“You saw my prices?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Take a picture of yourself holding your ID and text it to me first so I know you’re for real. If that checks out, you can go to the corner of Victory and Beech in Back Bay at 6:00 and call me again. Put the cash in a plain envelope.”
“I will.”
“See you, my dear.” She hangs up.
* * *
Ruth looks into the girl’s eyes. Now that she knows what to look for, she thinks she can see the barest hint of a glint in her left eye.
She hands her the cash and watches her count it. She’s very pretty, and so young. The way she leans against the wall reminds her of Jess. The Regulator kicks in.
She’s in a lace nightie, black stockings and garters. High-heeled fluffy bedroom slippers that seem more funny than erotic.
Carrie puts the money aside and smiles at her. “Do you want to take the lead or have me do it? I’m fine either way.”
“I’d rather just talk for a bit first.”
Carrie frowns. “I told you I can’t talk about my clients.”
“I know. But I want to show you something.”
Carrie shrugs and leads her to the bedroom. It’s a lot like Mona’s room: king-sized bed, cream-colored sheets, a glass bowl of condoms, a clock discreetly on the nightstand. The mirror is mounted on the ceiling.
They sit down on the bed. Ruth takes out a file, and hands Carrie a stack of photographs.
“All of these girls have been killed in the last year. All of them have the same implants you do.”
Carrie looks up, shocked. Her eyes blink twice, rapidly.
“I know what you have behind your eye. I know you think it makes you safer. Maybe you even think someday the information in there can be a second source of income, when you’re too old to do this. But there’s a man who wants to cut that out of you. He’s been doing the same to the other girls.”
She shows her the pictures of dead Mona, with the bloody, mutilated face.
Carrie drops the pictures. “Get out. I’m calling the police.” She stands up and grabs her phone.
Ruth doesn’t move. “You can. Ask to speak to Captain Scott Brennan. He knows who I am, and he’ll confirm what I’ve told you. I think you’re the next target.”
She hesitates.
Ruth continues, “Or you can just look at these pictures. You know what to look for. They were all just like you.”
Carrie sits down and examines the pictures. “Oh God. Oh God.”
“I know you probably have a set of regulars. At your prices you don’t need and won’t get many new clients. But have you taken on anyone new lately?”
“Just you and one other. He’s coming at 8:00.”
Ruth’s Regulator kicks in.
“Do you know what he looks like?”
“No. But I asked him to call me when he gets to the street corner, just like you, so I can get a look at him first before having him come up.”
Ruth takes out her phone. “I need to call the police.”
“No! You’ll get me arrested. Please!”
Ruth thinks about this. She’s only guessing that this man might be the killer. If she involves the police now and he turns out to be just a customer, Carrie’s life will be ruined.
“Then I’ll need to see hi
m myself, in case he’s the one.”
“Shouldn’t I just call it off?”
Ruth hears the fear in the girl’s voice, and it reminds her of Jess, too, when she used to ask her to stay in her bedroom after watching a scary movie. She can feel the Regulator kicking into action again. She cannot let her emotions get in the way. “That would probably be safer for you, but we’d lose the chance to catch him if he is the one. Please, I need you to go through with it so I can get a close look at him. This may be our best chance of stopping him from hurting others.”
Carrie bites her bottom lip. “All right. Where will you hide?”
Ruth wishes she had thought to bring her gun, but she hadn’t wanted to spook Carrie and she didn’t anticipate having to fight. She’ll need to be close enough to stop the man if he turns out to be the killer, and yet not so close as to make it easy for him to discover her.
“I can’t hide inside here at all. He’ll look around before going into the bedroom with you.” She walks into the living room, which faces the back of the building, away from the street, and lifts the window open. “I can hide out here, hanging from the ledge. If he turns out to be the killer, I have to wait till the last possible minute to come in to cut off his escape. If he’s not the killer, I’ll drop down and leave.”
Carrie is clearly uncomfortable with this plan, but she nods, trying to be brave.
“Act as normal as you can. Don’t make him think something is wrong.”
Carrie’s phone rings. She swallows and clicks the phone on. She walks over to the bedroom window. Ruth follows.
“This is Carrie.”
Ruth looks out the window. The man standing at the corner appears to be the right height, but that’s not enough to be sure. She has to catch him and interrogate him.
“I’m in the four-story building about a hundred feet behind you. Come up to apartment 303. I’m so glad you came, dear. We’ll have a great time, I promise.” She hangs up.
The man starts walking this way. Ruth thinks there’s a limp to his walk, but again, she can’t be sure.
“Is it him?” Carrie asks.
“I don’t know. We have to let him in and see.”
Ruth can feel the Regulator humming. She knows that the idea of using Carrie as bait frightens her, is repugnant even. But it’s the logical thing to do. She’ll never get a chance like this again. She has to trust that she can protect the girl.
“I’m going outside the window. You’re doing great. Just keep him talking and do what he wants. Get him relaxed and focused on you. I’ll come in before he can hurt you. I promise.”
Carrie smiles. “I’m good at acting.”
Ruth goes to the living room window and deftly climbs out. She lets her body down, hanging onto the window ledge with her fingers so that she’s invisible from inside the apartment. “Okay, close the window. Leave just a slit open so I can hear what happens inside.”
“How long can you hang like this?”
“Long enough.”
Carrie closes the window. Ruth is glad for the artificial tendons and tensors in her shoulders and arms and the reinforced fingers, holding her up. The idea had been to make her more effective in close combat, but they’re coming in handy now, too.
She counts off the seconds. The man should be at the building … he should now be coming up the stairs … he should now be at the door.
She hears the door to the apartment open.
“You’re even prettier than your pictures.” The voice is rich, deep, satisfied.
“Thank you.”
She hears more conversation, the exchange of money. Then the sound of more walking.
They’re heading towards the bedroom. She can hear the man stopping to look into the other rooms. She almost can feel his gaze pass over the top of her head, out the window.
Ruth pulls herself up slowly, quietly, and looks in. She sees the man disappear into the hallway. There’s a distinct limp.
She waits a few more seconds so that the man cannot rush back past her before she can reach the hallway to block it, and then she takes a deep breath and wills the Regulator to pump her blood full of adrenaline. The world seems to grow brighter and time slows down as she flexes her arms and pulls herself onto the window ledge.
She squats down and pulls the window up in one swift motion. She knows that the grinding noise will alert the man, and she has only a few seconds to get to him. She ducks, rolls through the open window onto the floor inside. Then she continues to roll until her feet are under her and activates the pistons in her legs to leap towards the hallway.
She lands and rolls again to not give him a clear target, and jumps again from her crouch into the bedroom.
The man shoots and the bullet strikes her left shoulder. She tackles him as her arms, held in front of her, slam into his midsection. He falls and the gun clatters away.
Now the pain from the bullet hits. She wills the Regulator to pump up the adrenaline and the endorphins to numb the pain. She pants and concentrates on the fight for her life.
He tries to flip her over with his superior mass, to pin her down, but she clamps her hands around his neck and squeezes hard. Men have always underestimated her at the beginning of a fight, and she has to take advantage of it. She knows that her grip feels like iron clamps around him, with all the implanted energy cells in her arms and hands activated and on full power. He winces, grabs her hands to try to pry them off. After a few seconds, realizing the futility of it, he ceases to struggle.
He’s trying to talk but can’t get any air into his lungs. Ruth lets up a little, and he chokes out, “You got me.”
Ruth increases the pressure again, choking off his supply of air. She turns to Carrie, who’s at the foot of the bed, frozen. “Call the police. Now.”
She complies. As she continues to hold the phone against her ear as the 911 dispatcher has instructed her to do, she tells Ruth, “They’re on their way.”
The man goes limp with his eyes closed. Ruth lets go of his neck. She doesn’t want to kill him, so she clamps her hands around his wrists while she sits on his legs, holding him still on the floor.
He revives and starts to moan. “You’re breaking my fucking arms!”
Ruth lets up the pressure a bit to conserve her power. The man’s nose is bleeding from the fall against the floor when she tackled him. He inhales loudly, swallows, and says, “I’m going to drown if you don’t let me sit up.”
Ruth considers this. She lets up the pressure further and pulls him into a sitting position.
She can feel the energy cells in her arms depleting. She won’t have the physical upper hand much longer if she has to keep on restraining him this way.
She calls out to Carrie. “Come over here and tie his hands together.”
Carrie puts down the phone done and comes over gingerly. “What do I use?”
“Don’t you have any rope? You know, for your clients?”
“I don’t do that kind of thing.”
Ruth thinks. “You can use stockings.”
As Carrie ties the man’s hands and feet together in front of him, he coughs. Some of the blood has gone down the wrong pipe. Ruth is unmoved and doesn’t ease up on the pressure, and he winces. “Goddamn it. You’re one psycho robo bitch.”
Ruth ignores him. The stockings are too stretchy and won’t hold him for long. But it should last long enough for her to get the gun and point it at him.
Carrie retreats to the other side of the room. Ruth lets the man go and backs away from him towards the gun on the floor a few yards away, keeping her eyes on him. If he makes any sudden movements, she’ll be back on him in a flash.
He stays limp and unmoving as she steps backwards. She begins to relax. The Regulator is trying to calm her down now, to filter the adrenalin out of her system.
When she’s about half way to the gun, the man suddenly reaches into his jacket with his hands, still tied together. Ruth hesitates for only a second before pushing out with her legs to jump
backwards to the gun.
As she lands, the man locates something inside his jacket, and suddenly Ruth feels her legs and arms go limp and she falls to the ground, stunned.
Carrie is screaming. “My eye! Oh God I can’t see out of my left eye!”
Ruth can’t seem to feel her legs at all, and her arms feel like rubber. Worst of all, she’s panicking. It seems she’s never been this scared or in this much pain. She tries to feel the presence of the Regulator and there’s nothing, just emptiness. She can smell the sweet, sickly smell of burnt electronics in the air. The clock on the nightstand is dark.
She’s the one who had underestimated him. Despair floods through her and there’s nothing to hold it back.
Ruth can hear the man stagger up off the floor. She wills herself to turn over, to move, to reach for the gun. She crawls. One foot, another foot. She seems to be moving through molasses because she’s so weak. She can feel every one of her forty-nine years. She feels every sharp stab of pain in her shoulder.
She reaches the gun, grabs it, and sits up against the wall, pointing it back into the center of the room.
The man has gotten out of Carrie’s ineffective knots. He’s now holding Carrie, blind in one eye, shielding his body with hers. He holds a scalpel against her throat. He’s already broken the skin and a thin stream of blood flows down her neck.
He backs towards the bedroom door, dragging Carrie with him. Ruth knows that if he gets to the bedroom door and disappears around the corner, she’ll never be able to catch him. Her legs are simply useless.
Carrie sees Ruth’s gun and screams. “I don’t want to die! Oh God. Oh God.”
“I’ll let her go once I’m safe,” he says, keeping his head hidden behind hers.
Ruth’s hands are shaking as she holds the gun. Through the waves of nausea and the pounding of her pulse in her ears, she struggles to think through what will happen next. The police are on their way and will probably be here in five minutes. Isn’t it likely that he’ll let her go as soon as possible to give himself some extra time to escape?
The man backs up another two steps; Carrie is no longer kicking or struggling, but trying to find purchase on the smooth floor in her stockinged feet, trying to cooperate with him. But she can’t stop crying.
The Year's Best Science Fiction, Thirty-Second Annual Collection Page 20
