by E. R. Torre
“Your son called in structural engineers to assess any damage to the support columns. The city’s code inspectors are on their way.”
“Just what I need, more bureaucrats,” Octi muttered.
Without saying another word, he stepped into the elevator.
The faint rays of the early morning sun penetrated the enormous windows surrounding the penthouse office. They fell upon a collection of precious rocks sealed in a heavy acrylic case. As the morning light drifted up, it revealed a collection of equally precious paintings hanging on the office wall opposite the window.
Otherwise, the room was sparsely furnished. The floor was covered in a dull gray carpet and, sitting before the windows, was a wide but functional desk. Before the desk stood Robert Octi Jr. He carried a small black laptop computer. Standing just behind him was Nagel.
Beside the doors leading to the private elevator were two bulky men in suits. They straightened up when the elevator doors opened, and snapped to attention when Robert Octi Sr. stepped in. The elderly man wasted little time getting down to business.
“What the hell's going on here?”
“You better take a seat,” his son replied.
Octi stepped around his desk and sat down. He closed his eyes.
“How bad is the damage?”
“Here?”
Octi’s eyebrows rose.
“You mean there’s other damage elsewhere?”
“I…I thought someone told you by now.”
“They told me you wanted to brief me personally. What say we finally get on with it?”
“Yes sir,” Robert said. “West Warehouse 74 is on fire.”
Octi leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“I’m assuming the swath of destruction between here and there is somehow related,” he said. “Tell me everything. From the start.”
“Donovan's Security Robot went berserk,” Robert said. “Five of our guards were killed before that thing finally ran out of ammunition.”
“God damn him!” Octi yelled. “Was he testing that fucking robot again?”
“Yes,” Robert said. “Worse, we found out he was once again using live subjects without getting the proper consent forms filled out.”
“That does it! He's fired. Get him on the—”
“He's dead.”
“Damn right he is,” Octi hissed. He reached for the phone and dialed a three digit number. “Dammit, why isn’t he answering?”
“Dad, his office was the one that got torched. With him in it. We think the last Independent Donovan hired survived his robot and got to him.”
Octi replaced the phone and straightened his tie.
“Makes sense,” he said. “Any employee that doesn’t answer my call within a ring had better have a damn good reason. The police?”
“They came around and checked his office. I had a few of our people inform them Mr. Donovan and his wife weren’t getting along. We told them they had threatened each other several times over the past couple of months and suspected their animosity grew to the point of physical contact. Wouldn’t you know it, the police marched right over to the Donovan home and took his old lady out in handcuffs. She’s their prime suspect in his murder.”
“Thank the gods!” Octi said with a loud sigh. “As long as they don't connect this to his work, we won't have to explain anything to the stockholders. What about the warehouse?”
“I’ve already notified the insurance company. I don’t see any problem with them covering our losses. Our only concern is the deductible, but I think we can get that reimbursed, too. We bought the property using the company’s credit card, and they cover deductibles.”
“Excellent.”
Robert pulled a piece of paper from within his suit.
“As for any PR issues, we’ve released the following statement: From Octi Corp. …etcetera... We are the victims of a break-in. The intruders gained control of an experimental Security Robot which, in turn, caused the deaths of five of our security staff. Octi Corp. prides itself in working with the Police, and will help in any way possible...etcetera...”
“And the security guards' families?”
“I calculate payment of no more than a million at a maximum for their grief, also covered by our insurance.”
“Good,” Octi said. “But don’t let the insurance company be so damn generous. They’ll use any excuse to raise our premiums. See if they can knock that figure down a couple of thousand.”
“Yes sir.”
“So everything's taken care of but the Independent Donovan hired. Have you figured out his identity?”
“Her identity,” Robert correct. “And, no. The bastard was real slick. She cracked Donovan’s computer and wiped out all his private records. We’d be completely in the dark about this Independent, but we got real lucky. Donovan kept a log of his personal internet activity on a separate hard drive. Either our Independent didn’t know that, or she didn’t have the time to crack it.”
“What did Donovan do on the net?”
“He visited plenty of porn sites.”
“God dammit,” Octi spat. “Institute a check on all web based searches and clamp down on that tomfoolery. I’ll not lose a second of productivity to any of these fucking sex addicts. My only mistresses are portfolios and oil.”
Robert and Nagel stared at each other. So much for free time fun. Robert then looked away and cleared his throat.
“Donovan contacted this Independent through the net.”
Robert opened his laptop computer and placed it before his father. He pressed a few keys. “Take a look.”
The laptop’s screen went black. After a few seconds a dark, partially obscured figure appeared on it.
“What is this?” Octi asked.
“Live web chat. We’re seeing what Donovan saw when he contacted this Independent. For all we know, it might well be their very first meeting. The Independent was smart enough to stay in the shadows, so there wasn’t any way to positively identify her. Listen.”
Robert pressed a button and the frozen figure came to life.
“Let’s get on with this,” Donovan said through the computer’s speaker.
The obscured figure did not reply.
“Ok,” Donovan continued. “I have need of your services. But I want to be sure of your credentials.”
“You want a resume?” the figure said.
“That would be helpful.”
“How about references? Would that help too?”
“Sure.”
“All right, give me a couple of minutes to get it together. I’ll send it by courier pigeon.”
Donovan let out a sigh.
“Will you at least answer some questions?”
“Ask and we’ll see.”
“How many years of experience in this…uh… field do you have?”
“Enough.”
“How illuminating. Can you be discrete?”
“Depends on the job. If you want me to entertain kids at a party…”
“Height?”
“Come on.”
“Weight?”
“Goodbye.”
“Hold on,” Donovan said. “This is important. The job may require stealth and physical effort. You may be forced to enter tight spots, quite literally.”
The dark figure leaned back in her chair.
“So, silly as these questions sound, they are important,” Donovan continued. “Now, are there any issues I should know about? Color blindness? Phobias? Any problems with the authorities?”
“The authorities absolutely love people like me.”
“What about liquor? Do you use it, or any drugs?”
“Seriously?”
“I must make sure—”
“My favorite movie is Mary Fucking Poppins.”
“The Disney Corp. movie?”
“No, Mary Fucking Poppins, the porno. Stars Dick Van—”
“Very funny,” Donovan said. He let out a far more melodramatic sigh. “I suppose thes
e questions are borderline ridiculous. That’s what you get for following standard business guidelines. Where can we meet?”
“I’ll get in touch.”
The image on the laptop went blank. Robert Octi Sr. faced his son.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Nothing incriminating, and nothing at all that could identify.”
“Not much at all, in fact,” Octi said.
“Agreed.” Robert once again reached into his suit pocket and retrieved another piece of paper. “It took some effort, but we discovered the woman in the shadows sent Donovan an e-mail. Like that interview, there wasn’t much on it, just a meeting time and place. But we were able to trace a name.”
“What?”
“Nox.”
“Nox? Is that a first or last name?”
“We don’t know and it’s all we’ve got. Anyway, she told Donovan to meet her at the Yoshiwara bar, not much more than six hours ago.”
Octi smiled.
“Now we’re talking,” he said. He read the time on his wristwatch. It was a little past seven in the morning.
Octi turned his attention to the two bulky men by the elevator.
“If this Yoshiwara is like the other bars in the city, it’ll likely be closed by now,” the elderly man said. “Regardless, I want you two to head over there. On the off chance the place is still open, ask around and see if you can locate this Independent. If the place is closed, initiate a surveillance routine. Maybe our Independent is a regular, so see who shows up when the place opens later tonight. If we’re really lucky, and you get her, I want her brought here.”
“Yes sir,” the two bulky men said.
“Oh, and boys, you don’t have to be polite. Understood?”
The two bulky men nodded and exited the office. When the doors closed behind them, Octi again focused on his son.
“That wasn't so bad,” he said. “Now, tell me about the Desertlands Project.”
Robert shifted in the seat. He scratched his neck and cleared his throat.
“We still haven't found anything.”
“Nothing at all? How much are we in the red?”
“We...We’re projecting a cost overrun of fifteen percent.”
Octi’s face turned red.
“Fifteen percent?!? For Jesu’s sake! Who else knows?”
“I’m keeping it out of the books,” Robert replied. “No one else knows.”
“Make damn sure that’s the case,” Octi hissed. “If any of the stockholders get wind of that kind of overrun, we’re fucked. How much more time do you need?”
“I can’t say. But finding the Demon’s base is important enough—”
“No, it’s not. Both time and money are running out, son. You find something soon or we’ll shut this operation down. Do you understand?”
Robert nodded.
“Yes sir,” he said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As Catherine promised the night before, the new day meant a new Yoshiwara. The change in format and the live band drew a big and very noisy crowd.
The sad lot of old regulars was nowhere to be seen. The fact that the group was no longer around proved bittersweet to the bar’s proprietor. They didn’t have to go, nonetheless they did. As expected.
“Out with the old, in with the new,” Catherine muttered. She had earplugs ready and slid them in just as the band started up at a little past nine that evening.
“Hello night crawlers, we’re Virgin Slayer,” the lead singer yelled into his mike. His body was way too skinny and carried a head that was way too big. He shot the crowd a crazy grin. “Hide the children!”
With that, the band leapt into action. A wall of sound pressed hard against Catherine’s chest as the singer wailed.
We moan into the mike…
We give you such a fright…
We’ll be at your home all night.
Catherine shook her head.
Was our music that shitty to adults back then, too? She thought. But as the band’s set progressed, she realized that, while the music sounded like it came from a hostile galaxy far, far away, the music’s themes weren’t all that different from what she heard while growing up.
Back in the stone age, she thought and smiled.
Rebellion, anger, love, frustration, and sex. Lots and lots of talk about sex. Every generation, she realized, worked through similar feelings but expressed themselves in their own way. The mix of hormones and the need to distinguish themselves, either by producing original works or putting down the older generation, fueled their lifestyle. The irony was that in a few years, when the next generation of kids asserted themselves, this group would likely say the same thing Catherine was thinking:
They don’t make music like they used to.
Catherine couldn’t help but giggle. You’re getting old.
The door to the bar opened and the tall, muscular stranger with the vertical blue tattoos on her forehead entered. She moved between and through the young crowd, eventually finding a table for herself in the rear corner. Catherine walked to her side.
“My favorite new client,” she yelled over the music. “Another Prestigio?”
“Make it two,” Nox replied.
“Good times?”
“The best.”
Catherine returned shortly with the drinks.
“What do you think of the band?” she asked.
Nox shrugged.
“Loud, quiet, it’s all the same to me.”
“For me, it’ll take some getting used to,” Catherine admitted. “But I need the traffic to pay the bills.”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“Who you trying to kid?” Catherine said and winked. “Holler –holler real loud– if you need anything else.”
Nox took down the first bottle quickly. She lingered on the second.
Virgin Slayer played for one hour straight before their first break. By that time the bar was uncomfortably full of young people. Catherine worked hard filling their orders and only looked Nox’s way once or twice, which was fine by her.
For Nox’s attention was on the door leading into the bar.
Two bulky, well dressed men entered the Yoshiwara. They separated and filtered the floor, looking carefully at each person they encountered. One of them stopped Catherine as she was in the process of serving drinks. They asked her several questions. She shook her head and blew the man off.
“Good girl,” Nox said. She took down her second beer.
An hour and a half hour later Virgin Slayer was well into the second song of their second set. The noise proved too much for the two well dressed men. After questioning most of the people within the bar and finding little information of any worth, they exited the place and were visibly relieved to hear the considerably lower level blares of heavy traffic. Compared to Virgin Slayer, the sounds of the Big City’s congestion was like something you’d hear in a deserted monastery.
“Can you believe anyone would listen to that shit?” one of the men said.
“As if we needed any more proof the world’s going to hell,” the other replied.
They walked to their car, got in, and drove off. They didn’t notice the beat up chopper following them from a discrete distance.
Larry, one of the two well dressed men, lit up a cigarette and leaned back in the passenger chair. Monty, his partner, rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. After a few blocks of travel, their car stopped before a red light.
“Octi expects us to find a goddamned ghost,” Larry said between puffs of smoke. “He gives us no full name, no family, no friends. Just that this Independent met Donovan at the Yoshiwara. Yesterday. Big fucking help.”
“It’s weak man,” his partner agreed.
“We spend the whole fucking day watching this place and when they finally opened up, no one inside knows this lady from Adam.”
“How the hell do you think Donovan first got a hold of her? You know, before that online chat?”
“Someone might have
recommended her.”
“If it was an Octi Corp. employee, we’d have heard about that.”
“Then he got the information from the outside. Maybe from some other crappy bar.”
“That’s why we need to broaden our search,” Larry said. “Start hitting all the bars on this end of town.”
Monty shivered.
“We’ll be deaf before the night is through.”
“What other choice we got?”
“We can blow it off. Say we hit all the bars and take it easy.”
“You’re forgetting the trackers in the car. Old man Octi will check on us for sure.”
Monty swore. All Octi Corp. company cars within the Big City were equipped with trackers. It was the only way to ensure the employees were using them for company, and not individual, business.
“I'll bet this Nox is hiding out. Yeah, she’s probably scared shitless that the police or one of us will find her.”
“What, you think we’ll never see or hear from her again?”
“Exactly.”
“But still, we’ve got to look around.”
“Ok, we look around. Only, we pick and choose which bars we visit from here on out. Come tomorrow, we tell the old man we couldn't find her and that’s that.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Larry said and chuckled. “Then, if he still wants to, the old bastard can find Nox himself.”
“Excellent,” Monty said. “Now, which bar you want to hit next?”
“Any of them,” Larry said and winked. “So long as they’ve got lap dancers.”
The first rays of the sun filtered through a haze of smog that enveloped the city. The two well dressed men’s car turned into the Octi Plaza parking lot. The car came to a stop before one of the many empty parking spaces. The occupants of the vehicle, fresh from a very full night’s worth of hard liquor and flashy dancers, staggered out of their car and stumbled toward the building’s entrance. The fire trucks and ambulances were long gone, and the Plaza once again had the look of a deserted fortress.
Nox’s chopper stopped across the street from the Plaza. She dismounted the bike and watched her pursuers enter the building. Though Nox prided herself on an awareness of her surroundings, she was so intent on the well dressed men’s movements that she didn’t notice another car parked on the street a couple of blocks away.
