Sam, still only a novice magician and uncomfortable with power, tumbled back into his body, retreating to the mundane senses that had served him so well. Across the restaurant, a suave, dark-haired man dined undisturbed with his lady friend.
Hadn’t there been enough Dragons in his life already?
He didn’t know what to do next, but one thing was certain. He was in far over his head.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
He had seen it before, but today the sight struck Dodger as odd. The feared and renowned street samurai Ghost Maker, known to closer associates as Ghost Who Walks Inside, was making soykaf in the pitiful strip that served as the squat’s kitchen. Maybe it was something about the slight awkwardness in the Indian’s movements or the way he continually cocked his head as though listening for an anticipated signal. Something was out of place. As Ghost left the counter with a mug in each hand, Dodger saw a third mug lying on its side by the pot. That was it. In the past, Ghost had only prepared the brew for Sally, leaving the Elf to take care of himself.
“Thanks,” Dodger said, taking the offered mug.
Ghost lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. For several minutes, they sat quietly, sipping the steaming soykaf. Then Ghost said, “Whatever else he is, he’s brave.” Ghost shook his head. “Wants to haul a Dragon to court for murder.”
“You sound like you’re not so sure anymore. You wanting to bail out?”
Ghost looked at him bleakly. “Wanting has nothing to do with it.”
That’s a lie, Dodger thought. There is a wanting that has an awful lot to do with it. Dodger wasn’t going to be the first to say it out loud. “Sam would understand. The situation is not what it seemed when you agreed to help him take down Drake.”
“And where would that leave me, Elf? I gave my word before witnesses. I don’t care that a lot of punks and cheap street hoods who call themselves samurai think the latest chrome and a bad attitude are all they need. There’s a lot more to it than that. The old Japanese understood the difference almost as well as my ancestors. A warrior must be a man of honor. He keeps his word and is stronger than others, especially in his heart.”
“Though you may only be a samurai of the streets, Ghost Who Walks Inside, you are a man of honor and a warrior.”
“Am I?”
“Even the old samurai were men first.”
The Indian quietly put down his cup. One of his hand razors slid from its ecto-myelin sheath. He scraped the sparkling needle of carbide steel against the tile of the floor, leaving tiny curls of plastic in its wake.
“What about you, Elf? Why haven’t you run for the trees?”
“Honor is not the exclusive property of samurai, street or otherwise,” Dodger said in what he hoped was a sufficiently injured tone.
“Hasn’t ever been your real worry, either.”
Ghost knew him too well. He could claim he was doing it for the thrill, as he had in the past. Ghost wouldn’t believe that, either. Dodger could hardly admit that he wasn’t really sure of all his reasons for doing it.
Ghost unfolded his legs and rose from the floor. “They’re coming,” he said. He moved to face the window, leaning against the wall with studied nonchalance.
After a moment, laughter drifted up from the alley. Ghost was right. Sally clambered through the window first. Though dressed in a glittery jumpsuit that was a far haul from her regular armor-lined running rig, she had her cross-belted holster and scabbard snugged across her hips. The magesword caught on the sill, but Sam reached quickly to free it. A moment later, he climbed through. When he reached for Sally, she side-stepped his arm, only letting his lips brush her cheek. Not till then did Sam realize Dodger and Ghost were in the room. He greeted them with a sheepish smile.
Dodger smiled back. Only politeness would keep things civil. Ghost ignored Sam and spoke to Sally.
“Have you come to help?”
“Help with what? Do you need help with the cooking?” Sally asked with a bright smile.
“He needs help,” Ghost snapped, indicating Sam with a jerk of his head.
“Oh, no.” She blew Sam a kiss, then sauntered across the room to throw herself down on the sleeping pad. She leaned on one elbow and stroked the magesword in its scabbard. “I think he’s doing just fine.”
Ghost’s nostrils distended. “Hasn’t he told you what he found out?”
She tossed her head to flip her braid down her back. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Dodger watched Sam look back and forth between the two of them, baffled by the subtext of their exchange. He looked ready to speak, but Ghost’s next outburst kept him from doing so.
“What you do is your own fragging business. It doesn’t affect me. But if you do nothing, it will affect him. It’ll probably kill him. This run ain’t against no two-bit Mr. Johnson anymore.”
“What makes you think I can make any difference?” she shouted back.
“You’ve got the magic he can’t control yet. Drek, woman! There’re Dragons in this now.”
“There were Dragons in it before.”
“We can’t face Dragons without magic.”
“Missile’s as good as a fireball.”
“Kham’s taking your lead. You could bring him in, and then we’d have a chance.”
“Kham’s acting like an adult, unlike some people. He’s a big boy and can make his own choices.”
Ghost bit down on a reply and stalked toward the window. Dodger thought the Indian intended to keep on going, but then Ghost pulled up and turned. When he spoke, his tone was quieter, his voice taking on a note of appeal.
“You know the three of us don’t have enough jazz to take on Haesslich. Whether or not his plant in Renraku is a rogue operation, the Dragon is still head of United Oil security in Seattle. That’ll give him a fragging lot of resources.”
“But that would expose him to his superiors,” Sam objected, ready to talk now that the subject was unequivocally business.
“Not necessarily,” Sally said. “He’s a canny old worm. He could come up with some way to make it look like you were after UniOil assets and then justify use of the company’s forces.”
“Even without UniOil security teams, there’s the other Dragon and Hart,” Ghost pointed out.
“If they’re still working for him,” Sam said.
“Any reason to believe they’re not?” Sally asked.
“Greerson,” he said. “If Haesslich still had Hart and Tessien, why would he send Greerson after me?”
“Nobody said he sent Greerson,” Sally said.
“Lady Tsung, do you know something? Is there another player in the game?”
Sally shrugged. “Possible. It’s also possible that Greerson was working for Haesslich all along and you just haven’t run into him till now. Even if I help, even if I coax Kham and his gang to play along, you boys are facing a real mess. It’s going to take a lot of muscle to put Haesslich out of business.”
“Then you will help.” Ghost made his question a statement.
Without a word, Sally rolled to her feet and strode to the kitchen counter to pour herself a cup of soykaf. Then she turned, leaned back against the counter, and drank off half the cup. Cradling the mug in both hands, she stood thinking for a moment or two.
“What about Lofwyr?” she said to Sam. “He sent you down to do his dirty work. Maybe he’d lend a hand, or at least finance some of this show.”
“I can ask,” Sam said.
To Dodger, it sounded as though Sam wasn’t really sure he could. He would try because Sally had asked him to. The Elf wondered just what Sally expected to get out of this.
“Welcome to the team, Lady Tsung.”
“Not so fast, Dodger. Let’s wait and see if that Quebecker wizworm is going to put his money where his maw is. I’ll play if he will.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Jacqueline noted the line through which the call was coming. It was the one set aside for Verner. He must have finally disco
vered the nature of his opponent. While initiating the trace, she checked the calendar. Two days ahead of prediction.
She launched the simulator that would present her Karen Montejac persona on a half-second delay, just enough time for the simulator program to match the image’s facial movements to her words.
“Yes, Mr. Verner,” she said, opening the line.
She had to give the boy credit. He was quick to hide his surprise at being named as she came online. “I want to speak with Lofwyr,” he said.
“I’m sorry, but he is unavailable at the moment. May I give him a message?”
“I want to speak to him personally,” Sam insisted. “Tell him it’s about our deal.”
“Do you wish to cancel?”
“No.” His confusion and distress were evident to her practiced eye. “Look, I just need to talk to him. Things are different than he said they’d be, and I want to talk to him about Drake.”
“I see,” she responded with cool secretarial efficiency. “One of our arbitrators will be in touch. Six this evening at your current location?”
“Ah, yeah. Six is fine.”
“Very good, then. You will see Mr. Enterich.”
“But you don’t know where I am.”
“Mr. Enterich already has the information, sir, and I am sure he can provide a satisfactory response to any complaint you may have. Anything else, sir?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Then have a good day, Mr. Verner.” She broke the connection before she burst out laughing. She did enjoy it when the marks had no idea what was going on. Controlling her mirth, she opened a line to Lofwyr. The golden-scaled head appeared on the screen, and the Dragon fixed her with a stare. “Verner has reported, Lord. He will meet Mr. Enterich on the Drake matter at six, Seattle time.”
The Dragon stayed on only long enough to pronounce the result, “Satisfactory.”
Crenshaw nodded and Ridley kicked the door. The frame splintered and a section tore away, taking the lock plate, still fiercely resisting, with it. The door swung open to reveal a room screened from the afternoon sun by heavy drapes. Illumination came from a pair of red bulbs sitting baldly in cheap floor lamps supposed to look like candle sconces.
Startled, a naked fat man scrambled up from the bed. His companion, a petite Asian woman, stayed where she was, wide-eyed in surprise and just as unclothed. She had no choice; she was tied spread-eagled to the bedposts.
Crenshaw let Ridley and Markowitz precede her into the room. The detective stopped just clear of the door, but the razorguy stalked in, catching the naked man as he lunged for his clothes.
“Now, now, John,” Ridley said, grabbing the man by his hair and hauling his head back. The razorguy smiled as the man sagged in his grip, yelling in pain. “You shouldn’t leave before we get acquainted.”
Ridley pulled the john upright again and pumped two quick punches into his abdomen. The man doubled over, choking and starting to vomit. Ridley twisted the man’s hair, forcing the john to spew away from him. When the man had retched himself dry, Ridley shoved him at the door. The man stumbled toward it, arms folded over his middle.
“Want these?” Ridley taunted, holding up the man’s abandoned clothes. His laughter echoed in the hall as the man fled. “Oh, yeah. A real man.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Markowitz said.
“Oh, no?” Ridley gave him an innocent look. “You did the dossier, Marky. You know how tough he gets. With women, anyway. Maybe he’d have tried to take us all on. I mean, he could have hurt A.C. I was just taking a little precautionary measure.”
“You’re sick, Ridley,” Markowitz said.
“Leastways I don’t have to tie them down to get a girl. What about you, Marky? Ever manage it without a few straps?”
“Dump it, you two. We’re here on business.” Crenshaw turned to the woman on the bed. “We came to talk to you, Candy.”
Candy stretched her neck, trying to reach the strap release with her teeth, but Crenshaw slapped her cheek and pulled the release out of reach.
“Not just yet, dear.”
“I got nothing to say to you.” Candy’s eyes burned with hate, but she held still. “You guys just cost me 500 nuyen, and if you don’t buzz now, Alfie’s gonna set his stompers on your tails.”
“Let him try, babe.” Ridley held up his forearms and cocked his wrists inward. Nine centimeters of chromium steel blade snapped out from imbedded sheaths, glistening in the red light. “I eat stompers for breakfast, then go out for a real meal.”
Crenshaw sat on the edge of the bed. “You see, Candy. In his crude way, my associate has expressed a truth. We have no need to fear your friend Alfie’s bullies, as we are quite capable of protecting ourselves. You, on the other hand, have no one to protect you from us. You won’t need it, though, if you’ll just tell us what we want to know.”
Candy set her jaw and turned her head away.
“We know that you’ve been seeing a corporate manager by the name of Konrad Hutten.”
No reaction.
“We also know you work for Congenial Companions, who arranged your liaisons with Hutten. Who’s your boss, Candy?”
“Go check the Hall of Records.”
Crenshaw nodded to Ridley. He moved to the side of the bed where Candy could see him. Crouching, he brushed a blade down her cheek. Blood welled up in the shallow furrow it made.
“Reconsider, babe, or you’re going to lose something near and dear to you.”
“Sit on your spur.”
“Bad answer, Babe.” Ridley’s arm flashed down, slicing his spur through the girl’s wrist. Her hand fell to the floor and was spattered with the blood pumping from her wrist. She started to scream.
“Ridley!” Markowitz leaped forward, only to be stopped short by a bloody blade whose point was less than a centimeter from his right eye.
“It’s biz, chummer. You want your own taste?” Ridley said through clenched teeth.
Crenshaw ignored them and spoke to the girl. “You’re going to bleed to death unless you tell me what I want to know. Now, who do you work for?”
“You won’t let me die?” Candy’s voice quavered. She was already going into shock.
“Of course not, dear. Who do you work for?”
“Help me first,” she pleaded.
“No, dear. You have to talk first.”
Candy began to cry, her breathing irregular and ragged. “The Elf bitch,” she moaned. “Calls herself Hart.”
“Now that’s a name I have heard before. You should have spoken up sooner, Candy. There was no need for you to get hurt.” Crenshaw stood up. “Markowitz, tie off her arm, then call a DocWagon.”
Markowitz gave Ridley one last glare and stepped around the razorguy to reach the bed. With swift motions, he freed the vacant restraining strap and applied it to Candy’s arm as a tourniquet. By the time he was done, she had fainted.
“You didn’t have to maim her,” he said.
“Null the static, Marky.” Ridley tapped the flat of one spur against his chrome arm. “Her kind’s always got credit socked away. She can buy the tech. They can make her faster, stronger, better!”
Ridley’s wild laughter made Crenshaw’s stomach go sour. The man was over the edge and would have to be watched. If it came to it, she could send him against Hart. He probably couldn’t take the Elf, but it would get him out of Crenshaw’s hair for good.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The street corner was like a hundred others in the metroplex this time of day. Hurrying by were corporate daywagers, salarimen, and office ladies, all trying to make it home before the city’s nightlife took over the streets. Or else heading that way to ready themselves to join it. Already the first wave of night breed was out. Chippers, chemguzzlers, and jackheads were panhandling for their next fixes while rockerfans, glitzqueens, and underage wannabees hustled off to the next scene-or-be-scene. The only thing that made this corner unique was the ebony Mitsubishi Nightsky rolling slowly to a
stop by the curb.
The doors on the curbside of the limousine opened. A burly Ork rolled out of one to stand stern and vigilant sentry. The gray livery she wore was tailored to enhance her already considerable presence. Through the open door, Sam could see that the driver wore a similar uniform; he was also an Ork.
The back door gaped on a cool, dark interior. A woman who he recognized as Lofwyr’s secretary sat in a bucket jumpseat that backed against the partition separating the sybaritic rear compartment from the control center of the front. Across from her sat a man whose face was unfamiliar. The man, so relaxed he could only be the rightful owner of the vehicle, was slim and well-dressed. Fiftyish and distinguished, he wore his gray hair trimmed in a slightly old-fashioned cut. When he smiled, a glint of gold showed among his teeth.
“Please get in, Mr. Verner,” the man said. “The sidewalk is no place to transact business.”
Sam ran his fingers through his hair, a signal to Ghost that the contact had arrived. He heard the sound of the Indian’s motorcycle starting, but the noise of traffic quickly swallowed the sound. Ghost was ready to follow him, for they’d anticipated the possibility. “I guess that will be all right.”
Sam ducked his head and slid into the Nightsky, then sank into the luxurious leather seat. Without a touch, the door closed silently, and the view outside the window began to move. Sam had not felt the Ork return to her seat or the car begin to roll. He turned to his host. “You are Mr.…”
“Enterich.” He held out a hand.
Sam started to extend his own, then froze, staring at the silver ring the man wore. It was sculpted in the form of a Dragon. Haesslich had worn a silver Dragon ring when appearing as Mr. Drake.
“You are admiring my ring. An exquisite piece of work, is it not? It is a family heirloom that dates, I believe, from the fourteenth century. The image is something of a pun. You see, I had rather ambitious forebears. They thought the image of a firedrake was a better insignia for an up and coming family than a feathered pond paddler.”
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