“They spent the day preparing for the attack.”
“Right. Last chance was Munk. I figured he skittered with the other two, but just wanted to make sure. I went to his favorite bar and stirred the pot. Guy named Cliff left a little later and I tailed him to Munk’s place.”
“How’d you know he was going there?”
Noose smiled and went to the fridge. “Easy. He was the first in the bar to respond when I mentioned Munk’s name. I kind of put it in his head that I was close to finding Munk, and so he went to warn him.”
“Why didn’t he just call Munk?”
“Probably tried.” Noose pulled out a carton of orange juice and shut the fridge door. “But sure as hell Munk knows he’s being hunted, so he’s gone dark. Or so I figured. Anyway, Cliff zipped over to his place to warn him face-to-face.”
“And he wasn’t there?”
“Nope. Left yesterday just before noon.”
“How do you know that?”
“I checked his phone records for the last outgoing call.”
“That’s about an hour after Smith was killed at the salvage yard. Did you get the number?”
“Century Used Recreational Vehicles. Don’t suppose you feel up to hacking a cakewalk?”
“Oh, in a few minutes.” She yawned. “Still a little sleepy.”
“All right, but we need to find out if Munk bought anything there. I have a feeling they bought some wheels to leave the plex.”
“Sounds probable.”
Noose drank some more juice. “By the way, someone tried a hit on Munk at his place after he left. But Munk rigged a booby trap before he left, and caught one of the big man’s hitters.”
“You sure?”
“Oh, yeah. The guy that bought it wasn’t alone, because he got dragged off. Someone also tried accessing Munk’s computer memory around the same time.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Have to assume they did.”
“Which means they’ve got all the information we do.”
“More.”
“I suppose you want me to hack into Munk’s home computer, too?”
Noose smiled.
“Demanding little dwarf, aren’t you?”
“Just wait until you find out how demanding.” He grinned.
“Anything else I should know?”
“About me? Lots. But I also found out that one of the big man’s thugs has a skull plate.”
“That doesn’t help much. Probably only ten thousand razors in Atlanta have them.”
“You’re right. But it’s something to watch out for.”
Cori pushed back her hair with both hands. “Okay, kaf’s kicking in. Hacking time. We need to catch up.”
37
It took Cori all of two minutes to locate and infiltrate the computer system at Century Used Recreational Vehicles. She brought up a list of three sales made on the day Munk called them.
“Were any of them paid for in certified cashcard?” Noose asked.
The list shortened to one entry. “A Rolls Royce Grand Safari? Bring up that one.”
The screen filled with the relevant sales data. A walk-in customer had purchased the deluxe vehicle in certified cashcards.
“I’ve got security vid of the customer.” The big screen displayed a small office. A Century salesman sat at the lone desk in the shot, talking with an aging goon. The goon placed a large number of cashcards on the table.
“That’s Grue,” Noose said. “Must be the payoff he’s got there.”
“Or at least part of it.”
“Munk and Earless probably aren’t very far away.”
“Where do you think they’re headed?”
“I have no idea,” the dwarf responded. “But the Grand Safari is a good off-road vehicle.”
“Then they’re going to head out into the preserve.”
“They must be heading west.”
“How’d you figure that?”
“Only Regional plexes east of here. The law would still be after them there. But west, there’s Arizona Free State. Autonomous, outside Global government control, and no threat of extradition.”
“Why didn’t they buy a skycar for the trip, then? They could’ve made it a lot quicker.”
“First, the expense. For a skycar the size of a Grand Safari, they would’ve dropped almost two million instead of only a couple hundred kay. Second, skycars aren’t as durable. They meet any troubles flying across the Preserve – like neobeasts or pirates with anti-aircraft weaponry – they could crash or get stranded. Third, Regional Police will be watching skycars very closely. No one will expect them to crawl out of here in a ground vehicle. That’s for vacationers, not terrorists on the run.”
Cori nodded. “How far could they be by now?”
“Hard to say. I haven’t been out on the old roads in years, and I never tried making it all the way across the continent on them.”
“Hasn’t the Reclamation Authority demolished most of the roads by now?”
“I haven’t watched the Discovery Channel in a while.” Noose shrugged. “I remember them talking about finishing up the wilderness reclamation north of DFW Regional a few years ago, but there’s the Temporary Urban Zone spread around Amarillo. I know that InterContinental-40 is still in good shape a good way west from there.”
“When could they get to IC-40?”
“No way to know unless we know when they left.”
“Could they have left with the gates being locked down since the attack?”
“I doubt Regional stopped all traffic. They have to let certain people come and go. Preserve Rangers, Global Marshals, military. Earless and the others might have skates good enough to scam their way through.”
“How do we find them?”
“I’ll bring Earless’ blood sample to a psyker I know.” Noose rubbed at his thickening three-day beard.
“I thought you didn’t like brain busters.”
“I may not like them, but I know when to use them.”
Cori sat still in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. “If you know when to use them, I’m sure the Reggies do, too. If they found the blood like you did, I’m sure they could identify it much faster. Yet they didn’t even find a female pleaser at the salvage yard…”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, Regional announced that all the Stiltzkin’s killers were accounted for, and that the case was closed. They must know they’re wrong.”
The dwarf pondered Cori’s suggestions. “Well, either Regional is holding back, hoping to make Earless and the others relax, or else someone is suppressing the evidence.”
“Any bets on which it could be?”
“With Regional, there’s no way to tell.” He rose, crumpled the juice carton, and tossed it into the garbage disposal.
“So, hadn’t you better get a hold of the Prof and get that blood sample back?”
Noose checked the time again: it was almost three a.m. He’d been spending a lot of late nights recently. Luckily, he’d gotten some shuteye during the day. He looked back at Cori. “Problem with getting a hold of the Prof is that I don’t know his home address.”
“He wouldn’t take the sample home, would he?”
“Yeah, you're right. He’s probably got it stored down at his office at Emory.”
“Well,” Cori suggested, “when you’ve got me hacking the security at Emory, you shouldn’t have any problem getting into his office at three in the morning, should you?”
Noose winked at her. “Definitely not.”
It was closer to five in the morning when Noose took the bloodied shard of plastic from the book on the professor’s bookshelf. He replaced it with the handful of tweakchips he had just purchased from a dealer downtown. As he left Emory University, Cori called.
“How’d it go?” she asked when he answered.
“Fine. I’ve got the sample. Heading for the psyker now.”
“Sure she won’t mind you showing up at this h
our?”
“Nope. She’s a night person.”
“Well, just be careful. You never know when the big man’s going to try to hit you again.”
“Is that concern I hear coming from you, Ms. Kniginyzky?” Noose reached the parking lot and got into the Celerity.
“You’re damn right it is, Noose.”
“I haven’t noticed any tails since my car blew up. They might’ve thought I got nailed then, and haven’t been able to connect with me since. I haven’t been frequenting my normal hang-outs, you know.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve been staying at my place.”
Noose smiled. “I can think of worse things. I’ll call you after I meet with the psyker.”
38
The dilapidated Carter Presidential Center just off Highway 23 was only a couple miles away from Emory University. He parked on the sleepy street and walked toward the twentieth-century building, noting the lack of unbroken windows. The Center was one of Decatur’s few eyesores, but it was a memorable one. Somehow, the building had survived the fall of the United States, multiple fires, a terrorist bombing, a plane crash, and four Regional Police sieges. The CPC was renowned as the unluckiest building in the city, and the more superstitious folk kept their distance from it. The lone current inhabitant paid no heed to rumors about the building’s supernatural problems. In fact, she was probably responsible for most of the recent rumors.
Noose strode through the doorway and into the rubble-strewn lobby, dimly illuminated by faded neon graffiti. One wall featured a coruscating graffiti depiction a former United Globe Secretary General with farm animals. Noose shook his head and wondered if sheep could actually assume that position.
The dwarf continued deeper into the center, passing by rooms gutted by fire, violence, and destruction. Ducking under the wing of the crashed Boeing 877 that still remained inside the building, Noose found a stairway. He walked up to the third floor and pushed through a pair of large doors.
The room beyond was large and tall, the ceiling partially fallen, the first faint tendrils of a dim morning sky showing through. Candles glittered on rotting tables, chairs, and other furniture. Someone had pasted dozens of old newspapers and magazines to the walls.
Noose scanned the dim room and saw several bird nests, empty now while their occupants scoured the night for prey. Looking across to a large, ornate chair, the dwarf saw the object of his search.
“Seeking in the night, Ichabod Krakower?”
Noose maneuvered through the scattered furniture and debris until he stood only a few meters from the woman in the chair. She wore robes of faded, multicolored hues, with some scintillating vidcloth amongst the normal fabrics. The voluminous robes did not conceal her massive girth. Thick pudgy hands poked out from sleeves, the squat fingers resting motionless on the arms of the chair. Long white hair flowed from beneath the shawl around her head, and deep wrinkles scored her face. Her eyes, however, blinked big and round, full of keen insight and curiosity.
“Just call me Noose, Sweetpea.”
“I shall call you by your real name, Ichabod,” the psyker named Sweetpea replied, “for any other name you may choose to use does not provide a true window into your soul.”
“Ichabod Krakower is a name some corporate geneticist gave me when they pulled me from the vat. It ain’t mine. I didn’t choose it.”
“Our creators have a strong influence on our identities. But perhaps you are correct that scientists aren’t the sole architects of our destinies.”
“Why do you always have to start with this philosophical Grand Prophet Jinjugi crap whenever I come to see you?”
Sweetpea laughed, and her thick jowls quivered. “I only seek to enlighten you, young one.”
“That’s fine, but I’d prefer that you enlighten me on subjects of interest.”
“Yes, I know you are impatient, but you must remember that I do not traffic in instant gratification.”
“Well, unfortunately, this job I’ve got for you is something of a rush order. The quicker you can tell me what I want to know, the better.”
“Sweetpea knows many things,” she said, raising her thick arms and motioning to the space and sky around her, “for she roams the night silently, seeing all.”
“Yeah, right.” Noose rolled his eyes. “I hope she can see a pleaser named Earless.”
“You seek the killers of your kind, the villains who destroyed the bar of Stiltzkin.”
“You know, it sure is getting annoying that everyone seems to know what I’m doing.”
“Knowledge is my prey. I can find things others cannot.”
“Why else would I be here? So, can you find her?”
“Give me the blood.”
Annoyed with her for reading his mind, he handed her the plastic shard with Earless’ blood.
Sweetpea examined the item closely. “This blood is old. The lifeline to the female pleaser is weak, fading.”
“You telling me you can’t do it?”
“I did not say that. The questing, however, will be difficult. It may take some time.”
“How long?”
“A few hours, at the most.” Sweetpea looked up through the holes in the ceiling. “Dawn approaches. I must begin now.”
She jumped up, robes rustling and swaying around her fat body. She stepped down off the short dais and waddled toward a doorway at the back of the room.
“What should I do?”
“Depart from your murderous ways, Ichabod Krakower, so that you may live at peace.” Sweetpea looked at him with a penetrating stare. “But if you mean what should you do while I find the pleaser, you can only wait. You can do nothing to help me. The blood questing is only for myself. Remain here. Do not disturb me.” She disappeared into the darkness of the doorway.
Noose stood alone in the candlelit room, hands in his pockets, staring into the blackness after the psyker. He walked over to a toppled chair and righted it, only to watch it collapse into fragments.
“Marvelous,” Noose groaned. He rubbed his bearded chin, and pulled out a cigar.
39
“We all share the grief for the victims of the Stiltzkin’s attack, but what about the damage done to those nearby? All the windows in the apartment building across the street were blown in by the force of the blast that demolished the dance club. Just look at this poor citizen. This man suffered severe eye trauma due to the shattered plastic from his window! Do you want this to happen to you? No! So don’t wait, call now before another terrorist decides to blow up the building across the street from you! We guarantee that you won’t be killed or injured by nearby terrorist attacks. Unless you are specifically targeted, there’s no way you’ll end up dead like those dwarves! What more could you ask from your windows? Call MaxiPlax Security Windows, and avoid lacerating waves of flying plastic shards!”
“That’s right,” said the newsbiff who appeared on the screen when the commercial ended. “Those MaxiPlax Windows saved me from a fan with a shotgun just last year. Now, those of you who partied too much last night and haven’t yet heard, you might like to know that Regional Police have officially declared the Stiltzkin’s killers dead. Everyone is hoping that Atlanta will soon return to normal. After all, we all want to enjoy the weekend without threat from lunatic maniacs and rioting neohumans. Again, the Stiltzkin’s terrorists were found dead yesterday at Robert’s Salvage Yard in the Blackzone. Police discovered the weapons used in the attack, and three bodies have been positively identified as those of the perpetrators of the terrorist attack that killed more than sixty people. Police attribute the deaths of the three terrorists to an unknown neohuman gang, possibly connected to the radical Neohuman Organized Rebellion.”
The newsbiff continued. “Operations Administrator Elise Chauveau has praised Regional Police for its exemplary job in quickly resolving the case. She has also demanded that Governor Jones-Utu-Rudeholmer-Xin withdraw the Global Peacekeepers from the metroplex, and end the state of martial law. The governor�
��s office has yet to respond, although Border Exits are being opened even as we speak, much to the delight of vacation lottery ticket holders. Hartsfield Pan-Global is resuming all flights. And now, back to Deep Space Survivor and the question that everyone wants answered: Did Jon push Gilliam out the airlock?”
40
Munk stared at the screen, his Suddenhot pancakes forgotten on the table in front of him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The rising sun rose in a rare gap between two skyscrapers, shining dimly through the tinted Safari windshield.
“Scan news for keyword Stiltzkin and display,” he ordered.
The screen coursed through the channels, blipping sports, cartoons, virtual travel, striptease competitions. It stopped on a newsbiff reporting the previous day’s news, confirming the opening of the gates.
“Grue, get your sorry ass up here!”
“Not so loud,” Grue grunted from the bed in the back.
“Too bad,” Munk smiled. “You drink the booze, you’re gonna pay the price.”
The goon scowled as he lumbered forward, stepping on Earless sprawled on the floor. She yelped, but didn’t open her eyes.
“What is it?” Grue asked Munk.
“Regional says they bagged the Stiltzkin’s hitters and they’re opening the gates!”
Grue looked at the human for a few seconds. “What?”
“Those Regional idiots think Smith and his shooters pulled the Stiltzkin’s job! They think they’re us and they think we’re dead!”
“You’re spudding me.”
Munk pointed at the screen. “Scan the vid for yourself.”
Grue watched for a few minutes and finally said, “This is unbelievable.”
“No kidding! It’s great. Let’s get moving.”
“How can Regional be so stupid?”
“What’s unbelievable?” Earless rose from where she had been sleeping on the floor, the blanket slipping off her bare form.
“We’re home free,” Munk said. “Lockdown’s being lifted and they’re not looking for us anymore.”
Dead Dwarves Don't Dance Page 14
