by Paul Neilan
The swirling filaments fused into a face that looked enough like me to be unsettling. When it spoke, the voice was my own.
“So tell me,” the mask said. “Who do you consider yourself to be?”
I didn’t. I knew better than that. It was the same risk with Assessment. You shouldn’t consider yourself at all. Look what happened to Lou Gehrig. He was the luckiest man on the face of the earth, until he wasn’t. You can’t be lucky and die of Lou Gehrig’s disease. Not at the same time anyway. You’re only who you think you are until you aren’t anymore. And it isn’t up to you. It’s up to time. Life is timing. The test of time. We all have to take it, and none of us pass. No matter how hard you study. Perfect attendance. All that homework. Extracurricular activities. You’re still getting an F, just like everyone else. Finite. Failed. Fucked. Time’s a pretty weird teacher, runs a pretty strange class. And you raise your hand saying What are we actually learning here? When am I going to use any of this? Who’s the principal? Why did they get rid of recess? Can I go to the bathroom? Please? But you never get called on. All the other kids just sit there, pissing their pants. Then you graduate and everyone’s dead. And they wonder why everybody hates school.
“Harrigan?” Anton said, touching my shoulder.
“Anton,” the mask said, out of patience and spiraling again before flattening into the original theater visage. “We were in the middle of it there. What have I told you about interrupting? Do you not understand?”
“Sorry,” Anton said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“And the light shineth in darkness,” the mask said. “And the darkness comprehended it not.”
Anton hung his head beside me.
“It was a pleasure, Harrigan. I do hope we can speak again some time. Whatever that means,” the mask said. “Just remember, if you’re ever in a spot and you need help, all you have to do is ask. Who’s the fairest of them all?”
The screen spooled like thread winding back to a single filament. The waves undulated before the screen went dark again.
“You’re the first person to sit in the chair besides Stan,” Anton said. “He liked to babysit while I went out for coffee. The stuff they have here is too bitter.”
“Can it be copied?” I said.
“It can be,” Anton said, grinning at me. “Mirror Mirror’s code fits onto a key drive, even when it goes expansive. But we put a fail-safe in to keep it here, only on this screen. Stan set up the encryption. Nobody else has ever had access. Not even Zodiac.”
Anton started blinking again.
“I wonder where Stan went?” Anton said. “I hope he’s OK.”
I waited for it to dawn on him. He just kept blinking. I left him in the dark with his screen.
* * *
I stopped at a bar on the corner, thought about Lou Gehrig for a while. It wasn’t like the usual immersive tech, Mirror Mirror. In Grid simulations you knew you were in virtual, no matter how real they made it seem. How addictive they scaled it. Zodiac’s inquisitor AIs could probe you, but they didn’t know. Not really. This was different. I heard my own voice when it spoke, felt the subliminal sway inside. Different was valuable.
That’s why Stan Volga stole it, stuck a copy on a key drive while Anton went out for his coffee. And then Anna lifted it from him, skipped out on Charlie Horse instead of handing it over. It was the right play. I would’ve made it myself, in my day. I didn’t know who the surveillance lens belonged to, but now they knew me. I didn’t like it. I had another drink.
If Anna was looking to off-load the key drive, she’d need a broker. If anybody knew one it would be Lorentz. Last I heard he was working at The Rack on La Brea. It was only a few blocks away. I finished my drink, took a walk in the rain.
The Rack was a raw steel warehouse two stories tall, charred and blackened and scarred, spikes jutting above the entrance like a jagged collar. I pushed through the darkened front door, let it swing behind me. Stood for the body scan before I went into the main room. It was red lit by a series of bare hanging bulbs, a dying neon haze filtering down from the ceiling. There were exposed platforms and catwalks above, hanging swings and dancers’ cages. A ruined geisha spun on a pole up front, her face streaked white, loose hair flying at two guys sitting at the base of the stage, listlessly throwing bills.
I went to the long bar, curving like a scythe along the wall.
The bartender was a hybrid—half hologram, half skin printing—a patchwork of graphic illusion and glistening spare parts. A cyborg’s dream, The Rack’s specialty. Some of their crowd got off on putting the girls together. Most on tearing them apart. She slid me a drink, batted her flickering eyes.
“Anything else I can get you?” she said.
“Is Lorentz around?” I said.
“He’s usually at a table in the back,” she said.
I made my way past luring hybrids, passing through their illusory outstretched arms, found Lorentz sitting in a booth. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a magnifying lens hooked over his right eye.
“Harrigan?” he said, looking up, his eye huge and distorted under the convex glass. “That really you?”
“Been a while, Lorentz,” I said. “What are you working on?”
He lifted the holo deck, its thin discs like quarters, fitted into slots.
“These new Ecco-class downloads,” he said. “Top of the line. They’re not just the physical specs anymore. They capture memories too. Personalities. You’re dealing with a real girl, whoever she was when she downloaded. Same hopes. Sames fears. All locked in here.”
He took one of the circular wafers between his thumb and forefinger, held it up to the filtering red light.
“Transubstantiation,” he said. “Spooky shit.”
“No different from a Grid simulation,” I said.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “We’ve got the parts to go with them. Also to spec. Not the generics they simulate on Grid. This is the real deal, for everyone involved. For better or worse.”
He slipped the disc back into the deck, rubbed his fingers with his thumb.
“Some of them don’t take to the skin printing. It’s hard for them to adjust to the new reality. To this,” he said, looking up at the geisha, twirling onstage. “I do what I can, but the holography tracking is trippy, even from the outside. Some of them lose it in scaling. Can’t hack the shift. Management doesn’t like that.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “They’re stuck in the The Rack? Sounds like a prison sentence.”
“It is,” Lorentz said. “Same as any other. We’re all doing time, aren’t we, Harrigan?”
I watched the geisha spin.
“You should’ve told me you were coming in,” he said. “I could’ve snuck you past the body scan, kept you strapped. I know you don’t like walking around unarmed.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I don’t carry anymore.”
“No?” he said, surprised. “That’s too bad. I used to like watching you work, Harrigan. Thing of beauty, you and Evelyn Faraday tearing apart a room after Clyde made us promise not to. I mean it this time, no guns!”
Lorentz took the magnifying glass off his head, smeared his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“You remember that night at Kaiserman’s?” he said. “Those boys shit their schnitzels when you and Evelyn started shooting. Took out half his crew. The good half too. Clyde was so pissed. Couldn’t yell at you two—like family, the both of you—so he took it out on me and Eddie Lompoc. God, I miss the old days.”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
He had me on that one. I took a drink.
“How is she, anyway, Evelyn?” Lorentz said. “Still pushing your buttons? Or was it pulling your strings? I could never tell.”
“You hear about Clyde?” I said, ignoring him.
“Hospice,” he said, shaking his head. “The mighty Clyde Farad
ay. That’s no way for the man to go.”
“I saw him yesterday,” I said.
“How’s he holding up?” he said.
“It’s all pouring out of him,” I said. “All the shit he ever did.”
“He’s talking jobs we pulled?” Lorentz said, worried.
“No,” I said. “Nothing like that. Shit that went on when he was a kid.”
“That’s what happens, so they say,” he said. “When you get close to the end.”
I took a drink.
“What about you, Harrigan?” he said. “When did you get back in?”
“I didn’t,” I said.
“Then what are you doing here?” he said. “Not like you to make social calls.”
“I’m looking for a broker,” I said.
“Got something to off-load that isn’t exactly yours?” Lorentz said, leaning back from the table. He waved his hands at me. “No. No way. I’m out, Harrigan. Don’t bring any of that black market tech in here. I’m up against it enough as it is with management.”
“I don’t have it,” I said. “I’m tracking somebody who does. Trying to get ahead of them, if I can.”
“It’s still dangerous,” he said. “There’s no trade anymore. Zodiac closed all the shops when they shut down the rackets. They keep it all on Grid now. Why do you think I’m working here? There’s nothing out there for a gearhead, unless you want to go corporate, wear an Aquarius ring. Dipping into the black market, if they sniff you out, you’re never heard from again. You want to get remanded?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said.
“Not for me it isn’t,” Lorentz said. “They’d eat me alive on the inside. Chewing me up pretty good on the outside as it is. My Score’s in the shitter. I’ve got to get back to work.”
He strapped his magnifying lens on, leaned over the holo deck.
“Just give me a name,” I said. “I’ll do the rest.”
“Fuck, Harrigan,” he said, looking at me with his distorted fish eye. “You never changed.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“It’s not a compliment,” he said.
He sighed, scratched the back of his neck with both hands, then laid them out flat in front of him.
“The bazaar across the street from the old Chinese theater,” Lorentz said. “Booth Twenty-one. Ask for Sloan. And keep my name out of it.”
He stood from the table.
“I’ve got to pop this deck in,” he said. “I’d say it was good to see you, but it’s never good seeing anyone anymore. The past catches up, Harrigan. That’s what Clyde’s finding out. That’s why we keep running, while we can.”
I watched the geisha spiral on the pole until I got bored. It wasn’t long.
* * *
The walk up La Brea took a while. I thought about my beat-up car, stuck in impound downtown. I ran up enough unpaid tickets to get it pulled out from under me during a traffic stop in the Hills. I was better off without it. It was easier for Zodiac to track you if you drove. They could follow you at every intersection, trace your routes, know your routine. Even the back ways had cams nowadays. You could stay lower on foot, see what was around you as you went, get a feel for the neighborhood. The rain kept just about everyone else off the sidewalks. I liked having them to myself.
I thought about that night at Kaiserman’s, when the boys shit their schnitzels. It started like most nights did back then. With Eddie Lompoc running his mouth.
We were in The Ausgang Haus, Kaiserman’s place, an old beer hall with low hanging lights and mirrors on the walls so you could see into every corner. There was a tapestry of a three-headed dog strung up in the back masking a false panel that led out into the alley, where they pulled the trucks whenever they ripped off a shipment and needed to make it disappear. It was me, Evie, Eddie Lompoc, and Lorentz. Clyde wanted us to relay a message, keep the guns out of it for once. Kaiserman was at a table with a knife and fork in his hand, a white napkin tucked into his collar. We’d interrupted his dinner. He wasn’t happy about it.
“You’ve been straying outside your territory,” I said. “Going outside the lines. Clyde Faraday can’t have that.”
“You speak for Clyde Faraday?” Kaiserman said, cutting into the schnitzel on his plate. His guys were scattered around the room. I counted nine. Three along the bar, drinking steins, the others lounging at tables with flowers in vases and bowls of mixed nuts.
“I do,” I said.
“He’s too uppity to come down here himself?” Kaiserman said. “He sends his little girl and his lackeys?”
Evie curtsied. Eddie Lompoc dipped into a bowl of mixed nuts on the table in front of him, came back with a handful.
“We’re all on the same side here,” Lorentz said, clearing his throat. “There’s plenty to go around.”
Kaiserman huffed, stuffed another forkful in his mouth.
“Stick to Little Armenia,” I said. “Spreading outside your circle’s not good for anybody. We keep tight books. That’s how we get by. Under the radar.”
“Little Armenia,” Kaiserman said. “I’m bigger than this turf. Bigger than Clyde Faraday.” He tore at the meat in his mouth. “Does Kaiserman sound like an Armenian name to you?”
“I never really thought about it,” I said.
“Every year with their genocide parade, marching around with the banners. It’s depressing,” Kaiserman said. “Now I got you coming into my joint, telling me how it is.” He pointed at me with his fork. “I had two Cancers in here the other day, flashing their rings, threatening to push me out of my own place. District redevelopment. Saying I can’t fight it.”
“They’re right,” Eddie Lompoc said, crunching his peanuts. “It’s a mistake to fight cancer. You might lose your hair or get the shit beat out of you with all that chemo. You’re better off making friends with your tumors, really getting to know each other. Meet them halfway. Everybody get along.”
“My mother died of cancer,” a guy at the nearest table said, his Adam’s apple jammed in his throat.
“Maybe cancer died of your mother, ever think of it like that?” Eddie Lompoc said.
“The fuck you just say about my mom?” the guy said, standing from his chair.
“Zodiac Cancers, you fucking idiots,” Kaiserman said. “The crab rings, in here walking sideways. The same as Clyde Faraday’s doing.”
“Clyde’s coming at you straight,” I said. “You know the boundaries. You overstepped.”
“Nobody tells me how it is in my own place,” Kaiserman said, laying down his knife and fork. “Nobody.”
Evie’s hand drifted. My own was tensed. Lorentz shifted on his feet. Eddie Lompoc dug into the bowl of mixed nuts on the table and shoved them in his mouth, crunching. The whole room watched him. When he was finished, and it took him a while, he sucked each finger clean before reaching into the bowl again.
“What the fuck did I just see,” Kaiserman said.
“You licked every nut in the bowl,” the guy said, his Adam’s apple jiggling, staring incredulously at Lompoc.
“Yeah,” a laconic guy leaning against the bar said, not grinning. “That’s your girl’s job.”
“Maybe,” the one beside him said and snickered. “Maybe we should all line up.”
Evie cocked her head, smiled.
“You had to give her an excuse,” I said.
“Come on, Harrigan,” Evie said. “You know I don’t need one.”
Lompoc kissed his fingers again, really went at them. The wet sucking sound was too much for the guy and his Adam’s apple.
“Fuck this,” he said, reaching for his gun.
Me and Evie drew, spun him in place before turning to the boys by the bar. Evie caught the laconic guy between the eyes. He fell, still not grinning. Beer steins broke in a hail of bullets. The mirror shattered. A tray of sauerkraut flung against the wall. Everyone was firing.
I flipped the table behind us as Evie turned the one in front. I picked a guy off in the corner before I duc
ked, the wood splintering. Lorentz was on the floor with his hands over his head, a maniacal smile on his face. He was useless in a firefight but he loved being there, like a kid who’s just happy to be on the team.
Evie was beside me. I nodded at her and we came up blazing, dropped two each where they stood. Eddie Lompoc rolled on the floor, a guy on top of him with his hands around his neck. I thought about it for a second before I put one in his ribs and he flopped. Evie cut the last one down as he made for the door.
Kaiserman was still sitting at his table, blood on his napkin, a trickle down the side of his mouth. He coughed as I came towards him, gritted his teeth.
“Clyde Faraday’s a pimp,” he said. “That makes you his—”
I was never one for last words. I put two in his chest.
“You look like a slaughterhouse,” Clyde said when we came back. “I told you no guns!”
“Couldn’t be helped,” I said. “This fucking animal doesn’t know how to eat peanuts.”
“Me?” Eddie Lompoc said. “What did I do?”
“I almost shot you myself,” Evie said.
“You,” Clyde said, turning to her. “You weren’t supposed to be there. What did I tell you?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Evie said in a Southern drawl. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“And you. I send you to keep the peace. Talk sense to these savages,” Clyde said to Lorentz. “What happened?”
“There was a lot of bullets,” Lorentz said, shrugging.
“Lompoc! For fuck’s sake, don’t sit down!” Clyde said. “You’re bleeding all over the chair!”
“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood,” Eddie Lompoc said.
“I don’t care whose blood it is, I don’t want it on the furniture!” Clyde said. “I just had that reupholstered. Use your fucking head!” He turned to me. “Kaiserman?”
“He didn’t make it,” I said.
“Shame,” Clyde said, biting off a smile. “How did he go out?”
“Like the rest of them,” I said. “Yapping about something, until he wasn’t anymore.”
