Crossroads

by Stephen Kenson

  “That’s right.” Boom said. The troll’s presence seemed to fill the small space as much as his bulk. I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t want to find myself having to negotiate with him in a confined space like this. “It’s about the Hiramatsu-gumi’s involvement with Manadyne.”

  “I’ve heard.” O’Rilley replied. “Hiramatsu has ties to Mitsuhama here in Boston, and MCT is working with Manadyne on a project.”

  “Yes, but it looks like there may be some kind of private deal going on between the yaks and Manadyne.” Boom said. “Whatever it is, you can be sure Hiramatsu is planning to use the leverage to expand yakuza operations in town. That is the New Way, after all.”

  O’Rilley’s face darkened. He clearly wasn’t pleased by the idea. Boston was a Mafia stronghold in northeastern UCAS, but the influence of the yakuza was growing just about everywhere, and plenty of Mafia bosses were feeling the pressure.

  The New Way was a yakuza movement that had begun along the East Coast, down in New Jersey, with the Honjowara-gumi. Honjowara—and their corporate interests, the Nagato Combine—had broken with yakuza tradition by allowing women and metahumans into their ranks. The Honjowara oyabun’s own honor guard was made up of a group of elven adepts specially trained to protect him. The New Way also included embracing magic, something the yakuza had traditionally shunned or treated as an afterthought.

  Since the Mafia was often superstitious, they too tended to shun magic and metahumans. Conor O’Rilley was the only metahuman don in the Cosa Nostra, and he knew firsthand the advantages of magic and metahumans in a mob operation. The fact that the Hiramatsu yakuza were catching on to the same idea had to be a concern for him.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  I took the opportunity to speak up. “I have a personal matter to settle. In return for some information, we will pass on whatever we learn about the yakuza and their operation. They, or their allies, have decided to target me for some reason, and I aim to find out why. If the yaks get in the way of the truth, then I'll have to deal with them.”

  “Are you asking me to go to war with the yakuza?” O’Rilley said in a tightly controlled voice.

  “No. I may be helping you to avoid a war with the yaks, at least for now. If Hiramatsu is in with Mitsuhama and they're working on a deal, it can only hurt your position. I want to put a stop to that. In return, I need what you know about the Hiramatsu-gumi and their allies.”

  O’ Rilley considered for a few seconds, his green elven eyes intent on me. “Well, then.” he said with a pleasant smile. “I’m always willing to help out someone who wants to hurt Hiramatsu. I’ll give you what I have on the yakuza operations in the plex, but if you tangle with the Hiramatsu-gumi and they hand you your head, then I never heard of you.”

  “Fair enough.” I said.

  A few moments later, the limo pulled over. The Don reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed me an optical chip. The door of the car opened and Boom climbed out, followed by me.

  “A pleasure doing business with you.” I said.

  “One more thing.” O’Rilley said with a hint of steel in his tone. “If I find out that my information has gone wandering, you and I will have another . . . talk.”

  The Mafia razorboy gave me a wolfish smile as he got into the limo alongside his boss, pulling the door shut. Then the Phaeton pulled away.

  * * *

  “So, how’d it go?” Trouble asked. I had the visual-feed on my headphone turned off so I could concentrate on driving while I talked. The East Coast quake of 2005 may have sparked a lot of urban renewal and renovation in Boston, but the streets were still as tangled and congested as ever, probably more so.

  “It went.” I said. “O’Rilley gave us what the Mafia has on the local yakuza, including the Hiramatsu-gumi. It’s not a whole lot, but it looks like Hiramatsu is the big fish in the small yakuza pond in Boston. They also have some definite ties to Mitsuhama.”

  Rumors about MCT’s ties to the powerful Japanese yakuza clans abounded in the shadows, but Mitsuhama kept a tight lid on such things. No one was able to prove that the major backers of the corp were actually mobsters, using Mitsuhama as a legitimate business front to launder some of their ill-gotten gains, a “front” that had grown far beyond any of its founders’ expectations.

  “Isogi, the slag who was talking to Garnoff at the party, is Hiramatsu-sama’s right-hand man.” I said. “Whatever is going on, the yakuza are in deep on it. How’s it going on your end?”

  “Still doing some fishing in the corporate databases. Mitsuhama has seriously upgraded their ice in the past couple of years. Hell, everybody has since Renraku’s network was compromised. It’s made all of the corps ultraparanoid about Matrix security. So far, if MCT knows about any top-secret operations involving Manadyne, they’ve managed to hide the connections pretty well. I’ll keep looking, and hopefully I’ll have something by the time you guys get back.”

  “Wizard.” I said. “See you soon.”

  “So?” Boom asked when I disconnected the cellular link. “She’s still looking.”

  “She’s good. If there’s anything to find, she’ll find it. In the meantime, why don’t you drop me off at the club? I’ll do some more asking around and there’s some other business that’s kind of been piling up.” I realized that, as a fixer, Boom probably had a lot of irons in the fire, not just my problems to worry about.

  “Sorry about taking up all your time, chummer.” I said. “Talon, this is me you’re talking to, okay? We’ve put our lives on the line for each other before. There’s nothing else going on that I can’t handle. There aren’t enough people in the shadow-business these days who understand what loyalty means, term. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay.” I said.

  “So.” Boom said, changing the subject as he idly looked out the window of the car. “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you about Trouble?”

  I nearly swerved into the wrong lane.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Oh, c’mon, Talon! I’m a bloody troll, not an idiot. I’ve made a profitable career out of reading people, you know. I can tell there’s some tension where she's concerned. I can also tell that she likes you ... a lot. What is it about her that bothers you so much?”

  I thought about it some before answering.

  “Honestly? I just don’t know, chummer. I like her too. She’s a good runner and a good person. There aren’t nearly enough in this line of work. But there’s something else. Something I noticed.”

  “What?" Boom asked.

  “I’d rather not say until I’m sure.” I said. “It might be nothing. It’s always hard to tell with magic whether you’re seeing something that’s really there or it’s just your imagination getting away with you.”

  I glanced over at the concerned expression on my friend’s face. “Don’t worry. If I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “You should probably have a talk with her anyway.” Boom said.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s interested in you, term. Don’t you see it?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno what you’re talking about. She’s a lot more charmed by your smooth-talking.”

  Boom shook his head. “I don’t think so, Talon. Charming as I may be, I don’t think Trouble is the type who goes for trolls. She’s got her eye on you, mark my words. You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

  “No.” I said. “It never came up. It’s not important. This is a professional relationship.”

  “I think you might want to mention it.” Boom said. “Before things go any further.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll think about it.” I said. That seemed to satisfy him for the time being.

  I dropped Boom off and he promised to come by the safe house later. When I got back there, Trouble was sitting on the couch, jacked into her deck. I hoped she was making more progress that I had and went to the little tabletop fridge to get something to
drink. You don’t disturb a decker while she’s working any more than you mess around with a mage while he’s doing magic. It was best to leave the experts alone to do their thing.

  A gasp from Trouble almost made me drop my can of Tribal Tropics. I saw her muscles tense up for a second as her fingers flew faster across the deck’s keyboard. Frag. Was it ice? Was it dangerous? For a split second I thought of jacking her out, but decided that would probably do more harm than good. Trouble was a grown-up and she knew what she was doing.

  So fraggin' much of shadowrunning involved watching over a chummer’s meatbody while he was off doing something in cyberspace, astral space, or remote-land without you having a clue of what to do if something went wrong. I shifted to my astral senses, hoping they might tell me something if she was in danger from lethal ice or the like.

  Her aura looked strong and stable. There was a high level of tension and euphoria that I’ve learned to associate with deckers in the ’trix. I watched for a moment, studying her aura. I hadn’t really had much of a chance to up until now. A few seconds later there was a burst of smug satisfaction as she tapped several more keys and jacked out.

  I let my astral sight drop away and went over to her. “Any luck?”

  “Maybe.” She slid the deck’s roll-out viewscreen into place and tapped a couple of keys. A long series of notes, symbols, and diagrams scrolled past.

  “What do you make of it?” she asked.

  I shook my head and reached out to pull the deck a bit closer where I could see the display. “I’m not sure. It looks like some notes on astral modeling, using a multidimensional structure. I’ll need some time to look it over. Where did you get it?”

  “From Garnoff’s files.”

  “In Manadyne? How did you access the isolated system from here?”

  She shook her head. “Not Manadyne, Mitsuhama. Garnoff has been filing regular reports with them. It looks like he actually works for them.”

  “Mitsuhama? Doesn’t he work for Manadyne?”

  “Might look that way on paper, but from what I pried out of the MCT system, Garnoff has worked for them for years. He’s just on loan to Manadyne for this joint project, although I don’t know if Manadyne knows that the arrangement is strictly temporary.”

  “You got this out of the MCT system? No wonder it looked like rough sailing for a while there.”

  “I told you, Talon. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know, I know, I was just. . .”

  “It’s sweet that you worry.” she said with a smile.

  “I just think you should be careful.”

  Trouble smiled and her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Sometimes taking risks is more fun. Don’t you think?”

  The kiss was totally unexpected. When her lips pressed against mine, I froze and tensed up a bit. Trouble broke the kiss and backed away, a hint of concern in her green eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

  I got up off the couch and moved over to stand behind a nearby chair, resting my hands on the back. “Nothing, that was just kind of. . .unexpected.”

  “Don’t you like surprises?” Trouble asked playfully, a note of concern coming into her voice.

  “It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess.” she said. “You never get involved with a teammate.”

  “Not exactly, I. . .”

  Just then the doorknob turned. I thanked the gods for the interruption, but as soon as I got a look at Boom’s stone-cold-sober features, I knew there was a problem. As I reached for the Ares Viper under my coat, two big orks pushed into the room behind Boom and leveled the big handguns they were carrying at us.

  Boom cleared his throat. “Um, Talon. There’s some guys here who want to talk to you ...”

  14

  The tunnels the orks guided us through were in a part of the T-system that was closed down a long time ago, maybe even before the Awakening. The only light came from the faintly glowing lichens and mosses that grew on the cracked, damp concrete, so Trouble and I stayed close together and moved carefully. Boom and the orks, with their natural thermographic vision, had no difficulty negotiating the tunnels.

  For a moment I almost regretted not getting cybereyes along with the rest of my ’ware. I’d thought about it, but the idea of having my natural eyes cut out and replaced with cameras was just too much for me. I knew a lot of people who had cybereyes and there was something disquieting about them, like they’d shuttered over the windows to their spirit.

  I still wasn’t sure where we were going or why, but I knew we were safe for the moment. The orks who guided us were members of a gang with the rather incongruous name of Mama’s Boys. It was a well known fact, even when I was last in Boston, that the Boys worked for a mysterious shadow-fixer known only as “Mama.” Almost nothing else was known about her, except the fact that she was top-class, a virtual legend in the shadows. Now it seemed this mysterious power-broker had taken an interest in us, or in me, at least.

  With a grunt that passed for intelligible speech, Jambone ordered us to stop. The ork leader had to be the ugliest thing on two legs I’d ever seen, and that was saying a hell of a lot. His greasy dark skin was covered with warts and lumpy nodules that looked like dermal bone deposits. His muscles were thick, ropy, and heavily veined. What hair he had stood up in stiff, bristled clumps like a brush and his flared ears sported several earrings each. A nosering and a matching silver cap on one tusk completed the whole ensemble. He was one scary-looking fragger, like a creature out of a fairy tale made into a ganger.

  The big ork made his way around a pile of brick and concrete from a collapsed part of the tunnel wall. A moment later, he reappeared and gestured for us to follow. Set in the tunnel wall was a heavy steel door with a hand-turned wheel in the middle of it, like an old fashioned airlock. Jambone barked a command in guttertalk, and the other two ork gangers grabbed the wheel and turned it with a squeak that echoed in the tunnel. With a dull “clunk” the door opened.

  Jambone made an exaggerated bow and waved his hand toward the entrance. “Mama Iaga is waiting for you.”

  The creature on the other side of the door blew away Jambone’s position as the ugliest thing on two legs I’d ever seen in a heartbeat. He—I’m fairly sure it was male—was probably a troll, nearly three meters tall, with bulging muscles. Where Boom’s appearance, and that of most trolls, was something I’d gotten used to, this thing was something else altogether. His skin was fish-belly white, covered with thick, dermal bone deposits like the shell of some subterranean insect, making him look almost like he was carved out of rough, white limestone. Three curling horns sprouted from his domed head, and tiny pink eyes glared out from under beetled brows. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth of ragged black fabric. Silently sizing us up, he took a single step back from the door to allow us to enter. A brick-lined tunnel went off to the right-hand side. We walked down it, with the pale troll following behind.

  The tunnel was lit by lamps glowing with a pale yellow light. It ended in a thick velvet curtain. I reached out and moved it aside.

  “Bloody hell. . .” Boom whispered as we entered.

  The chamber beyond the curtain was like stepping into another time. The large room was filled with graceful, Victorian-style furniture, all dark wood and plush burgundy upholstery. Heavy velvet drapes covered the walls, with gold brocade edging and cords. A fire burning in a gray marble hearth chased away the chill of the dark tunnels and cast a warm glow on the various small objects of brass and crystal scattered about on shelves and tables.

  The steel door closed behind us with a clang that made me jump. With the door shut, the only sound in the room came from an antique phonograph that played soft classical music filled with haunting flutes and violins. It was easy to imagine that we were in the private estate of some wealthy eccentric on Beacon Hill rather than deep below the streets of the metroplex. The place had an odd feeling to it, like a museum rather than a place where someone li
ved.

  The pale man-mountain followed us into the room and stood by the entrance like a silent statue, watching us.

  The draperies rustled off to the left and a figure entered, as silent as a shadow. She wore a black velvet gown whose folds covered her from neck to ankles. Around her slender waist was a belt of knotted cord holding a number of small pouches and trinkets, dark feathers, and carved bones that dangled and clicked quietly as she moved. A jewel-toned shawl was draped over her bony shoulders and head like a kerchief.

  The hands that clutched the ends of the shawl were skeletal thin, like the rest of her figure, the bony claws covered with scabrous gray skin. Faint traceries of lines formed the shapes of strange runes across them.

  Her face was like that of all the classic fairy-tale witches molded into one. Thin and gaunt, with a hooked nose and dark, deep-set eyes that glittered like black stones, a pointed chin, and thin lips that pulled back in a smile to reveal sharp, yellow teeth. Wisps of brittle white hair escaped the confining kerchief in places. When she spoke it was a high, thin voice that sounded like it might break into a maniacal cackle any moment. She had a strange accent I couldn’t place. It sounded vaguely European or Slavic, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “I am Mama. Welcome to my parlor, dear children. Please, please, make yourselves comfortable.” she said. I threw a glance at Boom and Trouble, then chose a straight-backed chair near the hearth. Trouble sat in its mate on the other side of the small table between them while Boom gently lowered himself onto the wide sofa. Our hostess ensconced herself in a wing-backed leather chair on the opposite side of the fireplace whose flickering flames cast her features in strange dancing shadows.

  “Would you care for any . . . refreshment?” she asked.

  Boom cleared his throat, but I shook my head. “No thanks.” All I could think of was stories of people eating or drinking in the Otherworld and never being able to leave. In the Sixth World, myths had a disturbing way of coming true, so it was best to err on the side of caution.