Now that the cameras were off, Vance approached Nancy and said, “I don’t want clever, bitch.” His face, inches from hers, sprayed spittle.
She cowered but stood still despite his ferocity.
“Are you picking up my vibe?”
“Y-yes,” she replied.
“What were you thinking?” Vance lit an e-cigarette and started pacing. “Vegas showgirls, really?” After a dramatic puff with no answer, he stopped to face her again. “Well? Explain yourself.”
Nancy looked at the ground as she said, “We thought the dancers and the theme of a Vegas show would be funny, that people would like it.”
Vance snorted. “You think this is funny?” He inhaled his e-cig again. “People are dying on the streets of this city. Our own military soldiers are killing people by the hundreds, and you want funny?”
She shivered through her nervous sweat.
“I want realness. I want a message that matters. Something to make people believe that I will save them from this horrendous violence.” Vance turned his attention to the center window.
They were four stories up, and the studio overlooked Six Corners—an intersection of three major avenues. People crossed the streets in patterns, while others gathered in small crowds, waiting for the light to change so they could cross. They are like ants, he thought.
The late winter day had warmed, and this brought more people outside for air. Vance surveyed the area between puffs.
Against the window, his silhouette was striking. Dressed impeccably in a tailored three-piece suit, his slicked-back blonde hair was shaved closely on the sides, revealing his finely detailed neck tattoo—a picture of the Statue of Liberty that wound around his neck and just below his ear.
As a young bachelor mayor, he had many female admirers. He knew he was magnetic when he felt like it.
Shaking, Nancy managed a few words. “Wha-what would you like to change, Mr. Drem?”
“Would you look at these people?” asked Vance as he continued to gaze outside at the streets below. “All the prosperity I have brought these people, and yet I continue to be challenged at every move.”
Near the door, Vance’s entourage stood—two men equally sharp-dressed in suits, and packing guns under their jackets. They remained silent, watching events unfold.
Nancy’s boss, Aaron Winston, knocked on the door and was let in by one of Vance’s men. He entered and approached Vance, hand outstretched in greeting. Aaron was all smiles. Vance had chosen his studio over the competition, and the station now had a lucrative city contract. “I trust everything is going well,” he said to the room in general. He looked first from Vance to Nancy, who was still glued to the same spot.
Vance placed his e-cigarette on a large mahogany conference table. “We appear to have a difference in vision.” He gestured dismissively in Nancy’s direction. “Vegas showgirls, a song and dance number. Mister Winston, this is not what I had in mind when I hired your station.” He moved back to the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, with his back to the room.
Winston moved toward the window next to Vance. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Drem. We can certainly make this up to you. What do you have in mind?”
“I want to show power. Spark City needs me now more than ever.” Vance was sure that his time was coming; he would achieve total power and save the city, and eventually the world.
“Of course, we need you as our mayor.”
“I want to show my real power.” Vance cocked his head to the right, looking at Winston.
“We will make it happen, Mr. Mayor. I can assure you.”
“Do you know what real power looks like, Winston?” Vance stepped away from the window, and started circling the station manager.
Winston tried to look back at Vance but was unable to hold his gaze. He rocked back and forth slightly on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. He swallowed and smiled nervously. All he could manage was a nervous chuckle.
“I didn’t hear you,” said Vance. His gaze darkened. He tensed his muscles, cracked his knuckles loudly.
Nearby, Nancy slowly backed away toward the door. Vance’s men blocked her path.
“Oh, dear Nancy, where are you going?” Vance didn’t even turn. He stared at Aaron Winston, who had grown pale.
“Am I making you nervous, guy?” Vance put his right arm around Winston’s shoulder.
Winston managed a strained smile and laughed slightly. Vance laughed along. He laughed even as he slammed Winston’s head into the glass window.
His maniacal cackle resonated throughout the room as he rammed Winston’s head again and again into the window.
The heavy industrial glass started cracking, and was smeared with blood. Winston had lost consciousness, and in the back of the room by the door, tears ran down Nancy’s face.
Between slams, Vance spoke between clenched teeth, “I could make a better commercial. And I will.” After several minutes of beating, he left the slumped body of Aaron Winston, WXSC station manager, heaped on the ground next to the window.
Vance turned slowly to face the room, directing his gaze at Nancy. “And you will help me.”
He relaxed his stance, then adjusted his suit collar. He ran his left hand through his hair to straighten it. His hand was a metal prosthetic—the same cybernetic silver chrome as his police drones.
One of his men handed him a syringe. As Vance grinned and stared at Nancy, he injected a blue liquid into his own neck.
Chapter 7
Ida had entered the bar at Dox recklessly, without surveying the area, as a good soldier should.
Now, after realizing the man she was after was a hybrid, she sidestepped her way slowly to the right, searching for the curtain that led out.
The creature sat patiently at one of the tables, facing her. His hat rested on the table, and he still wore his coat. “Sit down, let me pour you a drink. We should talk.”
Ida looked from him to the bar, and around the sides of the room again. Nobody else was in the front room. There was a closed door to the right side of the bar that must have led to a back room. She wondered if anyone was in there, or whether they were being watched on camera.
“I’m Gatz,” he said. “I own this place.” He raised his hands in a gesture as if to reinforce his claim. “Please, sit. What’s your poison?” He rose from his seat and removed his long coat, placing it on a chair nearby, then moved behind the bar. Under his coat, he wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt with suspenders. Ida noticed his body was fit and muscular.
Thoughts ran through Ida’s head: Was this safe? Who was this guy? WHAT was he? She had never seen a hybrid like him. He appeared completely human except for his head and hands. She couldn’t see his arms, but everything else—body, speech, mannerisms—was all human.
“Well? We don’t have all day here. What can I get you?” Gatz waited. He appeared to smile, but Ida couldn’t be sure.
“Whiskey. Neat.” She thought about the switchblade in her backpack and wondered how fast she could get to it.
Gatz grabbed a bottle from a shelf and filled a small glass. He brought it back to the table and placed it before the seat opposite him. “Please sit. You’re my guest here,” said Gatz. “Look, I know it was wrong to follow you, but I’m on your side.”
Ida moved closer to the table and picked up her whiskey. “I’ll stand. I may need a quick exit,” she said as she looked him in the eyes for the first time.
“I suppose you haven’t seen many of my kind,” he said.
“No.”
“Hybrids are uncommon enough, but I’m one of the rarest. My animal ancestors were called pandas. They came from what was once China, and are extinct now.”
Ida stared, not sure whether to believe him or not.
“I was created in a lab. One of maybe twenty like me. There was an accident—earthquake and fire. A nurse grabbed me and a few others and fled.”
After this revelation, Ida downed her drink
in one gulp.
Gatz continued. “I noticed you in the square. Admittedly, you stand out in a crowd. When I saw you move over to confront the shooter, I realized you were brave.” He chuckled and took a sip from a bottle of beer. “Or maybe you were just stupid. I’m still trying to figure out which.”
Ida shifted from one foot to the other as she listened. She edged closer to the table and placed her whiskey glass down.
“Follow me.” Gatz got up and went behind the bar. He motioned toward a barstool. “Easier access to the good stuff.”
As he began preparing another whiskey, Ida moved slowly toward the bar. She took an opportunity to inspect the windows that faced the river. Glass windowpanes rose from floor to ceiling and appeared as if they could be opened like a garage door. The windows could disappear, and there was a concrete slab that could be used for outdoor seating in warmer weather. The outside view was a near-freezing river edged with bare trees long since stripped of leaves.
She had no idea where this encounter was going, but her muscles began to relax slightly, some of the tension in her body easing. Perhaps it was the whiskey. Ida wanted to hear what Gatz had to say. She’d stick around just long enough.
Another whiskey glass appeared in front of her. She took it with her smooth, gloved hands.
“Why do you wear the gloves when you’re inside?” Gatz asked.
She sipped the drink this time. “How long were you in the alley watching me?”
Gatz placed both hands squarely on the bar and faced her. “Long enough to know that you’re special.”
Ida took another sip of her whiskey, feeling the warmth flow down her esophagus. She continued to look Gatz in the eyes. She was surprised to see flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. His appearance was striking—eyes surrounded by a circle of black fur that abruptly changed to white fur, covering his face. A long white snout ended in a black square nose. Two black ears sat on each side of his head.
Ida remembered reading a story about a panda once when she was a child. There had been some illustrations. She had expected a round, fat creature. On the contrary, Gatz looked solid, muscular. His face could look fierce, and his teeth were sharp. He would hold his own in a fight.
“Where did you get your training? Are you former military?” continued Gatz.
“Just discharged last week.”
“Fresh from the fighting fields,” said Gatz. “Have you found work?”
Ida felt her face flush and looked down. “Not yet.”
“The bad news is you won’t. Not in Spark City. The people in this city have been brainwashed to think soldiers are evil. Are you familiar with our mayor?”
“Not really. Just arrived and still getting my bearings,” said Ida.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Do you have any family or friends here?”
Ida eyed him warily.
“I guess that’s my answer,” said Gatz. “I can give you work.”
“What kind of work?” Ida suspected Gatz’s bar was less than savory.
“First off, I have bodyguards, but none like you.” He smiled. “With you backing me up, I could take a bullet and come out fine.”
“It doesn’t always work like that.”
Gatz leaned in closer. “How does it work?”
Ida looked around and fidgeted. Taking her phone from her pocket, she said, “I need to be somewhere soon.”
“I get it. You don’t trust me yet. I hope you will soon.” Gatz walked out from behind the bar to his coat and fished for something inside a pocket. He pulled out a tiny blue device the size of a watch and presented it to her. “We don’t have a lot of time. Take this and watch it—somewhere private.”
Ida took it cautiously. “What is it?”
“Consider it an education on our current mayor. His latest commercial, or propaganda message, depending on how you look at it.”
Ida inspected the small device.
“You can beam it to your phone.”
“And then what?” asked Ida as she placed the device in her jacket pocket.
“Come back here tomorrow night—2300 hours. We’ll go on our first job together.”
“I’ll think about it. I don’t want to do anything that’s dangerous, or that will get me thrown into prison.”
“Relax. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Good.” Ida turned to leave.
“See you tomorrow night,” said Gatz to her back as she parted the curtains and left the bar.
As she left, she remembered the card in her pocket that said Dox River Bar. The hybrid career counselor had given it to her and told her she could find non-traditional work here. She supposed being a bodyguard was not your average resume builder, but she didn’t have many options in this city.
Chapter 8
Ida was just about to ring the intercom buzzer at the street-side entrance of the WXSC TV building when her instincts told her to pull back. Just then, a young man slammed his body against the door in a rush to get out. He was at the foot of an ambulance stretcher. Ida shrank back against a brick wall to let the medics pass by.
She got a look at the man in need of medical care. His body was covered with a blanket up to his shoulders, and they had secured his head with a cushioning device to keep it from moving. Ida had seen enough head wounds in her military days to know this one looked serious—lots of blood loss, and he was unconscious.
The medics made their way quickly to a waiting ambulance. They were followed by a few others from inside the office. One man, in his mid-twenties, slim, with a small beard and long brown hair peeking out of a baseball cap, tried to get into the ambulance, but was turned away. The ambulance doors shut and the driver sped away.
The man stood on the street, scratching his head beneath his cap, watching the red and blue lights of the shrieking ambulance fade away.
Ida couldn’t believe her bad luck. She had picked the absolute worst time to come ask for a job. She sat on the street curb.
There were a few others from the station standing outside talking. One woman was crying and being comforted by another colleague.
It was late afternoon, and a light rain had started falling. The shocked people didn’t seem to notice. Ida realized it would be a wet ride home on her bike.
She took out her phone and started to look for alternate, drier routes home, when the young man in the baseball cap came over.
“Hello. Do you work here at the station?” He looked down at Ida, who was still seated on the curb.
She looked up. “No, I was stopping by to see about programming jobs.” Ida paused, looking over at the other employees still milling about, and said, “Looks like you guys have plenty more important things going on.”
The man removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be in a daze. “Yeah. This day was, well…unbelievable.”
“Who was the man on the stretcher?” asked Ida. “What the hell happened to him?”
“You mean who the hell happened,” he said, and sat on the curb next to her. “I’m not even sure I can talk about it.” He suddenly turned his head to look at her, panic-stricken. “Who are you? Are you police or something?”
“I’m no police. Just someone looking for work. New to the city.”
He relaxed his shoulders and composed himself. “Well, that was the station boss on the stretcher. Our producer is also gone. I have no idea where, and I’m next in charge, I guess.”
“Did your station get robbed today?”
“It was an unhappy client. A very unhappy client.”
Ida wasn’t sure where this was heading. So far, her first 48 hours in Spark City were proving troublesome. At least it wasn’t dull.
After a time, he looked at her. “You’re not police, right?”
“Not a chance.”
“What are you then? There’s something about you,” he said. He smiled and continued, “You seem kind of badass.”
“Former military,” she said.
“Then come
with me. I want to show you something.”
He led her into the station offices, up four floors by elevator. The office was in chaos. People milled around desks, grabbing their belongings and throwing them into boxes. The room smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. Paper, various electronic devices, and office supplies littered the floor. Ida and baseball cap guy, who told her his name was Milt, had to step cautiously.
They walked over to the far corner of the large room of open cubicles. Another young guy, this one seventy pounds overweight, sat typing on a computer keyboard, intent on watching a video. Ida and Milt came from behind.
“Howard.” Milt tapped him gently on the left shoulder, but the man nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Jesus, Milt.” He slowly sat back down and swiveled his chair to face Milt and Ida. “You practically gave me a heart attack.” He looked Ida up and down and asked, “Who is she?”
Milt said, “This is Ida. She’s here for a job, but I’m giving her a new job. In fact, I just created it. She’s going to help us with what you’ve got here.”
Ida wasn’t sure what mess she had gotten herself into. She knew she could leave, but something in her gut told her to stay and see this through. What the hell had happened here?
Milt looked at Howard. “Show her the video.”
Howard did nothing. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Milt, this could get us in a lot of trouble.”
“I know. But what are our options? Winston is gone. Nancy’s been abducted by that monster. What else can we do?”
Howard considered. “Who is she? What’s her story?”
Milt said, “She’s a soldier just back and looking for work. She hasn’t been in Spark City long. Good thing, so nobody knows her.”
“What can a former soldier do other than go ballistic and shoot everyone?” Howard asked.
“Hey. That’s bullshit.” Ida moved toward Howard as if to teach him a lesson. Milt put an arm in front of her to stop.
“Easy,” he said. “Look, Howard. We can’t go to the police with this. They all work for him, and will surely kill us or throw us into prison.”
Brink (Spark City Book 1) Page 4
