I propped my feet on a large conference table and massaged my neck while ignoring the itch in my forearm, though the word itch didn't fully describe the sensation. No, to do that you'd have to imagine a legion of fire ants chewing through flesh and tendon while looking for an escape from the prison of my skin.
It was a psychological itch. One that no amount of scratching could soothe. Only the Quick.
Those thoughts were put on standby when a curtain shuddered and Lucky Lou swept into the room like a ballroom dancer.
"If it isn't the legendary Tom Mandel," he said, rounding the table quickly. He dragged a chair that hissed across the carpet. "It is an absolute pleasure to finally meet you. Been a big fan of yours since your Time Vice days."
Shit. He'd done his research. I'd scrubbed all mentions of my past from the Stream. Not even an Intuit could've dug something up. When you're a disgraced Watchman rubbing elbows with organized crime, it helps if they don't have your current mailing address or a list of family and loved ones. Lou must have gone through non-traditional means, which meant he had spoken to someone in Time Vice.
Humans are a loose end where virtual security is concerned.
"Who talked?" I asked.
Lou's smile tripled, consuming the lower quadrant of his face. "Everybody talks. The trick is knowing when to listen."
I think I rolled my eyes. It wasn't entirely intentional.
"You don't think highly of me," Lou continued.
I shrugged, knowing that in the absence of a convincing lie, silence was my ally.
"You think me a mere Slumlord, no doubt, but I wonder if you understand the nature of my power."
"You have a lot of guns?"
Lou threw his head back and gave a wheezing laugh. When he finished he wiped a tear from his eye and gestured to Bo. The delivery man squeezed his hulking frame behind the wet-bar and prepared two glasses of sludge.
"I have a lot of guns, that's true," Lou said. "But my power comes from information. Controlling the flow of it, you see. Knowledge is indeed power."
Bo placed two tumblers on the table. Lou twirled a finger around the rim of one glass before sliding it towards me. I stopped it from flying off the edge of the table at the last second. Brownish liquid sloshed over the sides, spilling onto my hand. It had an antiseptic tingle.
"Lovely." I saluted with the beverage and then threw the contents of the glass down my throat in a single gulp. It blazed a liquid fire down my esophagus, scorching the sensitive lining of my stomach, before finding a home in my gut. My eyes watered, but I didn't break my stare with Lou. "What's this have to do with me?"
"Hm..." Lou sipped his drink. "Well, I've come across a piece of troublesome information. I'm hoping to brainstorm some solutions. What do you say?"
"I'd say I'm still not sure what this has to do with me."
"Well, Tom, it has to do with you because you've been cheating. In your fights, that is."
"What makes you think that?"
"You never lose."
"Maybe I'm just that good."
"Nobody is that good. Eventually everybody loses."
"And how do you think it is I cheated?"
Lou smirked before springing his trap. "You're an Intuit."
Yep, I was fucked.
Lou produced a small knife from his jacket pocket. He flicked his wrist and the nanite-infused edge emitted a dull orange glow. He pulled a whetstone from another pocket. He ground the blade against the stone.
Snick-snick.
Sparks flew, hovering silently before cooling and vanishing mid-arc.
All part of the show. The buildup.
Snick-snick.
That's why people went to Lou's in the first place, whether it be to get their fix of the latest mind-bending nanite, watch two guys kill each other in virtual reality, or find a warm body to keep them company for the night; they just wanted to be entertained.
Lou couldn't resist a little showmanship now.
I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of No, I'm not, but Lou beat me to it.
"Please don't insult me by denying it," he said; the nanite-imbued blade in his hand shifted color, darkening to a magenta that spread down the length of the knife. The purple light twinkled in his eye.
"I wasn't going to," I lied.
"No, never," he said with a crow's smile.
"So now what?"
"That's a good question. There's two things we should discuss. First, there's the subject of the money you've stolen from me. An impressive sum, by the way."
"I live for your approval."
"Tell me, why haven't you spent it? You could easily afford another decade in the Middles and yet you choose to die down here."
"Not sure that's any of your business."
Lou held his palms out in mock surrender. "I take an interest in the people working for me. Their business is my business. The better I understand you, the better I can control you."
"I don't work for you."
"No?" Lou tilted his head to the side. "Oh, right, that's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about. I forgot. You work for me now, Tom. Welcome to the crew."
"Not looking for a job," I said.
"This is not up for debate."
"I disagree," I said, pushing out of my chair. My cheeks were barely off the seat when something big blocked the light behind me. I swiveled towards the source of the eclipse only to be met by a fist the size of a small child.
I had time to clench for impact, but not much else. The ball of knuckle relocated my jaw to somewhere in the vicinity of my shoulder.
Somebody picked up the world and shook it, sending me tumbling to the floor. Blood seeped from a newly formed hole in my head. It dripped from my temple in sticky droplets that blended with the carpet's long red fibers.
The buzzing sound reverberating through my cranium voided all thoughts. I looked up at the silhouetted owner of the fist that had nearly decapitated me—Bo. His sculpted muscles popped against the neon back light cast off the shimmering curtains.
Never heard the man coming. Big and stealthy; a bad combination.
With elbows on the table for support I crawled into my chair.
Lou's smile was one order of magnitude smaller than it had been before. Smaller, yes, but still a smile. Which didn't mean much; plenty of men are happy to kill with a smile. There's a lot to be said for enjoying your work, whether that be a Watchman or a Slumlord.
"I don't think you understand the severity of your situation." Lou leaned forward, the knife in his hand a silent promise. "You've been gaming my system for years, making me look pretty damn foolish. A man in my position can't afford to look foolish, you understand?"
"Have you considered a different choice in wardrobe?" I made a point of dragging my stare across the man's white suit jacket.
"You present me with a problem. On the one hand, I could take you outside, shoot you in the knee, rip your tongue out with a pair of pliers, and burn the Tracker off your arm until it's nothing but charred meat, just to make a statement. But that doesn't get me closer to my money. You see, killing you has no value for me."
"Take the money if it'll make you happy," I said, rubbing my swelling jaw.
"I intend to take every last penny, but now you owe interest," Lou said. "Men like me do most of their business on the interest. You only have a few hours left, so killing you seems merciful. I'd rather squeeze what I can out of you."
"Could let me go. I won't tell anyone." I smiled, hoping it would help.
It did not.
"If I let you slide it sets off a chain reaction of other deadbeats thinking they can slide, too. That's bad for business, Tom."
A man's gotta have options. Choices. Currently there were too few on the table and I lacked any leverage. Working for Lou, even for a day, was never gonna happen. Then again I didn't fancy the idea of spending my remaining twenty hours locked in the Stream with whatever sociopath Lou decided to set loose on me either.
"H
ow much you figure I owe you?"
"I'm feeling generous, let's call it an even 200,000."
It was unclear who his generosity was directed towards with such an amount.
"What did you have in mind?" I asked.
"One job." Lou held up a single bone-white finger, snapped it against his thumb, and with a snazzy bit of sleight of hand materialized a black data card. "I need you to hack into the Time Bank and relocate the remaining time in this account to somewhere...else."
I plucked the card from his fingers and studied the twenty-digit string of letters and numbers, all the while knowing there wasn't a chance in hell I'd take this job. Some lines weren't meant to be crossed. Some places you can't come back from.
Lou needed a guy like me to pull this off. Only an Intuit could manipulate the Stream's underlying code, bypass the system's constantly morphing firewalls, and penetrate the Time Bank's security. A virtual impossibility for regular users like Lou.
Easy as taking a shit for guys like me.
"Why don't you get Jack Dunn to do this?" I asked, wondering whose account number I held in my hands.
"'Cause I'm asking you."
"Yeah, well...this sounds more his speed."
"Jack Dunn is a sociopath. I prefer not to work with crazy."
Lou had standards. Arbitrary, but standards nonetheless. Who knew?
"So what's it going to be, Tom?"
I cut a page from Lou's book. Made a show of turning the card over in my hands and studying both sides.
"I think I'll pass." I flicked the card onto the table.
Lou took a deep breath through his crooked nose; his smile never wavered. His eyes flickered to Bo.
Another punch came; this time I was ready. Ready to put some more choices on the table. Ready for my leverage.
I prodded my nanocomp and it dumped a bucket of adrenaline into my system. In the seven years since moving to the Lowers I'd rarely called upon the nanites living in my muscles. Now, in my time of need, I hoped they wouldn't ignore me as I'd ignored them.
I slammed a foot into the table. My chair slid back as Bo's fist sailed past my nose. The nanites were barely working. Only had one chance to snag Bo's enormous wrist.
Amazingly, I caught it, twisting up and to the side until I heard the satisfying snap of bone. Bo grunted and tried yanking his hand free, but I held on with all the nanite-infused strength I could muster. I had the tiger by the tail, and you don't live to tell people about grabbing tigers if you let go of their tails.
I pivoted behind Bo, leaped onto the table to gain more height, and yanked his arm behind his back. The huge man, having lost all mechanical advantage, dropped to a knee.
Lou folded his arms. "Don't be stupid."
"Stupid's kinda all I got left."
"You won't make it through the door, much less out of the building, so release him, sit your ass down and let's come to an amicable agreement."
"Forgive me if I have a difficult time negotiating with you in good faith."
"Why the hell not? Did I come into your house and steal from you?"
There was a logic there, but I wasn't convinced logic would help my situation.
"Being an Intuit isn't against the rules," I pointed out. "So I didn't steal from you."
"But you'll agree it goes against the spirit of the rules."
That may be true. In a virtual cage match, an Intuit hacking the system's code has more than an unfair advantage.
"We can go in circles all night," I said. "But I ain't taking that job, and you aren't keen on letting me take myself out of here, so let's compromise."
Lou leaned back in his chair; the circles sagging beneath his eyes deepened. "What do you have in mind?"
With my free hand I tugged on the chain wrapped around my neck, pulling the key out from beneath my shirt, a key I'd been tethered to like an albatross for nine years. A period of time during which my veins had been filled with more Quick Sliver than blood.
Diana had given it to me as she lay dying in my arms. It broke my heart to give it up now. But sentiment wouldn't get me out of Lucky Lou's with all my limbs still attached.
"Is that what I think it is?" Lou asked.
"If you think it's a key to the Vault, then yeah...it's what you think it is."
Lou followed the silver ring swinging on its chain with gluttonous eyes. "What's it unlock?"
The great tragedy of my Quick addiction was that the nanites had reorganized my brain chemistry, snipping the parts of my memory they found superfluous, which included my knowledge of the key I carried. You don't get to choose which part of your soul the devil takes.
In the meantime, I'd amassed a small fortune at the expense of killers and thieves. Saving up to afford the memory reconstruction treatment that would find those misplaced memories and bring them to the surface—if only for a few hours before the Tracker on my arm did its thing.
That plan went out the window seeing as how Lou would be emptying my bank account soon. Now I'd be lucky to make it the remaining twenty hours without any broken bones.
If I couldn't uncover the mystery of the key, then I might as well use it to barter my ass out of Lou's.
"Don't know," I said truthfully.
"I take it your reputation keeps you from going topside and finding out, huh?"
"Something like that. Whatever it is, I figure it must be good."
Lou nodded. "That it must..." His voice trailed off, eyes glazed with a milky veneer as he dipped into the Stream. A moment later he blinked, the fog lifted, and he stared at me with vulture eyes. "Mr. Tom Mandel, I think you have yourself a deal."
"Yeah?" I said, with more surprise than I'd intended.
"What are your terms?"
"You let me leave, all debts forgiven, and I'll go die in peace."
Lou smiled. "Done."
CHAPTER THREE
Dying To Live
Man wasn't made to fly, a fact I was reminded of precisely three seconds after Bo threw me from the top step of Lucky Lou's like a bucket of dirty dishwater.
I hit the street below, rolling across the metal floor, smashing every delicate bone and joint I possessed before grinding to a stop. A flood of messages vied for my attention, the most pressing being the need to replace the air driven from my chest. My spasming lungs, however, weren't getting the hint.
Splayed out on all fours, I sucked at the repurposed air pumped through the corridors and reminded myself that technically this was my fault. As it turned out, Lou and I had different interpretations of the terms of our agreement. I should've been more specific about how I intended to leave the bar. If I had, maybe Bo wouldn't have played patty-cake with my face before carrying me out of Lou's fine establishment slung over his shoulder.
Bo descended the stairs. Each step boomed. A massive boot buried itself in my ribs. Something cracked. Fire leached into my blood, spreading north through my marrow like a knife whittling bone. It reached my mouth and erupted via strained vocal cords, filling the empty street with a scream more animal than human.
"You deserved that one," Bo said, gesturing with his shattered wrist.
He probably had a point, but the parts of my brain responsible for processing logic and reason were smothered beneath a blanket of pain.
"It was just business," I said, spitting a glob of red onto his boot.
At least, that's what I meant to do. It didn't make it much past my own lips. A thin trail of pinkish drool trailed from my mouth to the dirty street.
Bo shook his head and turned back to the club. "Take care of yourself, Tom."
It would have been a sweet sentiment if the man hadn't just broken my everything.
My hand instinctively went to my throat, searching for the chain I knew wasn't there. Lying on my back, I stared up at the flat light thrown off Lucky Lou's neon sign and traced the indent of my throat where the key had rested against the most vulnerable part of my body for so long. Diana had lain there once.
They were gone, now.
Those were thoughts fueled by the Quick Sliver; a sharp tug on a short leash to remind me of her presence. I wanted to slide a needle of reality-warping nanites into a vein and pretend this was all a bad dream.
But it wasn't a bad dream, it was a bad life. And that is so much worse.
I gathered what strength remained and trudged in the general direction of home. A spider web of corridors branched off in all directions.
I stopped at the loading dock for the low-speed elevator. We stared at each other with equal parts amusement and disdain. The elevator would take you to the top, or anywhere between, for a price.
Freedom costs a small fortune. Nobody could afford that around here.
The elevator served as a reminder, a mechanism of control—those who lived upstairs had the power. Somebody had hacked the elevator's smart-metal door to project a Rise Up propaganda piece. I didn't care to look. Doubted anybody else did, either.
I brushed past, opting instead for the stairs. Those were free. They only cost time.
On my home level the overhead lights flickered in a seizure-inducing staccato. Seeing as how there was no sun to coordinate circadian rhythms in the down deep, the powers that be went ahead and dimmed the lights every night from midnight until six. A completely arbitrary point in a world lacking both day and night—I guess it's the thought that counts.
Overly filtrated air hissed into the corridors from vents overhead. The hiss, typically lost beneath the clamor of human traffic, filled the halls. It echoed off yellowing walls, stained by time like a smoker's teeth. Years of neglect and abuse had taken their toll on the street's infrastructure.
It was all cosmetic, though. Like Atlas, with the world on his shoulders, the walls would hold. Hoping the city would implode on itself would remain an unanswered prayer for another couple hundred years. In the meantime there were better things to waste prayers on.
I rounded a corner three floors from home and startled a barefoot man with skin charred black. He straddled a body lying in the hall. At this time of night only the stupid and desperate roamed the halls. People clinging to the barest threads of their humanity, wandering the Lowers looking for whatever could get them through another night.
Time Heist Page 2
