Hammers and Nails

by Andrew Vaillencourt

  Manny’s face blanched ghost-white pale, and he looked like he was going to run.

  “God damn it, Mindy!” Roland growled. “And they say I’m insensitive?” He turned to the terrified man, “It’s all right, kid. There ain’t no saints in this room. If you were a Red Hat, then you’re in good company. But I’m going to need to know what the story is.”

  Manuel responded, and he no longer sounded like a frightened young man, “I am not one of those animals!”

  “But you were, once.” Roland’s voice was even, calm. “You ran?”

  Manny nodded, “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand what we were really doing.” He looked Roland in the eye. It was the look of a peer, “they tricked me, made me do things, you know what I mean?”

  Mindy and Lucia knew to keep quiet. This was not something they would ever truly understand.

  But Roland understood, “You're damn right I do. They told you that you were a soldier. A hero. They turned you into a weapon and then they set you loose on folks who had nothing to do with your war.”

  “I am a murderer,” Manuel whispered, but without stammering. It was a thing he had accepted about himself long ago. He hated it, but it was truth, and lying would not bring back any of the dead. “Or at least an accessory to it, anyway. I was a scout. I found ways into places we did not belong, and I told them where the guns were, or the money, or where to put the bombs to do the most damage.” His face torqued into a sour grin, “I think they suspected I was soft, because they never let me set the bombs or go on the missions myself. If I had known all along what they were really doing, I’d have ran long before. But I was too good.” He laughed an ugly laugh, “I can get into anywhere. I am good with computers and locks. People like and trust me. No one could keep me out of a place if I wanted to get into it. So they kept telling me how great I was and I kept getting into secure places for them.”

  The trio were all listening with rapt attention now, and Manny kept talking as if no one was there at all, “Soon, I realized that the buildings they were blowing up were not empty, or not really filled with ‘fascist soldiers of the occupation.’”

  Manny stopped, and the next sentence had to be forced past a throat choked with self-hate, “The last one was a hospital. I had my suspicions, naturally, but these were the people who had raised me. They wouldn’t lie to me, right? They promised me the hospital was a front for the occupiers. They said it was a laboratory where they made biological weapons. I should have never believed them.”

  He stopped, and Roland helped him, “But you wanted to believe them. They were your family after all.”

  Manny nodded, “I got in pretty damn easily, which was the first sign that this was no secret lab. I am ashamed to admit that even after seeing the children’s wing I continued with my scouting. It would be just like the Occupiers to hide their evil behind children, right?”

  Roland grumbled his affirmative, “They always say shit like that.”

  “And people like me believe them,” Manny agreed. “I returned, gave my report, and then I told my superiors I did not believe there was any laboratory there. Stupid me, I told them I was conflicted over the potential harm to the children, too. I recommended that they abort. They told me I was a fool, and that I was soft.”

  Roland smiled a sad smile, “A true soldier for freedom would not have those reservations. A true brother would want to kill the children of the enemy, to sap their strength and will.”

  Manuel returned the smile, his tinged with anger, “You’ve heard it all before, huh?”

  “I was a soldier before you were born, kid. I’ve heard worse.”

  “They tried to kill me the next night. I think they knew I was lost to them.”

  “They were right,” Roland said, “You were tainted goods at that point. Once you start asking hard questions, you are no use to them anymore.”

  “So now I am here,” Manny finished with a shrug, “I need money and I have skills. If you can stomach working with a former Red Hat, I will complete the job. You can count on me.”

  “I won’t preach at you, kid. You’ve already figured out that I ain’t going to heaven when I die, and Mindy here has a luxury suite in hell booked for herself. If you really were tricked into scouting for the Hats, then I’ll take you at your word.” Roland held out a giant hand, “Welcome to the team, Manny.”

  Manuel reached out with tentative fingers to grasp as much of the giant hand as he could, and Roland engulfed the smaller man’s hand with his own. He gave just enough pressure to send the right message and added, “But if I find out you are lying? I’ll kill you in ways that would make demons weep.”

  Manuel Richardson had stared the devil in the face more than once in his short life, and he did not flinch at Roland’s threat. He responded with a flat and emotionless: “I believe you, Mr. Tankowicz.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Widow’s appointment to the Chairman’s seat was a legendary affair. For all their trappings and enthusiastic affirmations they were businesspeople, ascending to leadership of The Combine was more of a coronation than a promotion. There was an enormous party thrown with wild abandon at the Belham Tower. The banquet hall was packed to the rafters with a staggering assortment of the New Boston criminal elite. Every person with even a toe dipped into the illicit trades of the galactic marketplace was there to witness the first appointment of a Chairman in over seventy years.

  The Widow spared no expense making the celebration the most impressive of its kind for as long as anyone could remember: the decorations were trimmed in exotic materials; the food came from every corner of known space; the drinks flowed freely; and every guest in attendance had brought out their Sunday finest to impress their partners and rivals alike.

  As a matter of protocol, New Boston’s most famous fixer had also been invited. Roland occupied a unique place within the New Boston criminal circle. He represented no side, and he wielded no actual power, but presenting him as a friend sent a clear message to all in attendance. Roland understood his place. He was not a powerful force, but he represented a key part of the overall balance. For close to thirty years he had refused to join a gang or serve any Boss. Anyone could secure his services, and his exploits were legendary. The Widow made sure Roland would be there because she wanted to demonstrate the neutrality of this event to all in attendance. Roland would have been thrilled to decline the invitation as high-society parties were as far from his comfort zone as one could get without leaving the confines of physical reality. But Lucia had insisted their brand needed this kind of exposure as it would lead to clients capable of paying for Roland’s more expensive services. Mindy had pointed out the potential intelligence gathering opportunities, but there was no way a famous assassin was going to get an invitation to this soiree. Thus, the little killer was stuck manning the comms to her eternal dismay.

  Roland understood the logic of this, but this did not make him any more comfortable standing among the rarefied company of obscenely wealthy kleptocrats. Lucia had secured proper evening attire in Roland’s size, but this did not make it better. If one asked him, he would have to admit it made him feel worse. His proportions made the black and white tuxedo look silly, but there was just no way to produce a fitted garment for him that did not cast his physical attributes in stark contrast to those around him. He felt ridiculous, but it was worth it to see Lucia in her cocktail dress. She had chosen a simple black sleeve dress with something called ‘ruching’ that cast all the captivating curves of her athletic frame into waves of shimmering material. The lines and channels of the dress played with the sparkling lights of the banquet hall in ways that made the organic parts of Roland tingle. He could have watched her all night if not for the omnipresent need for total situational awareness.

  Lucia, having been the vice president of customer engagement for a large beverage distributor most of her career, was completely at home in this environment. She schmoozed and charmed folks with effortless facility, and seemed at eas
e among the sea of drug lords, gangsters, mobsters, lawyers, and gun runners.

  It’s all just business, and business is her thing. Roland accepted that Lucia’s skills in this arena exceeded his own by orders of magnitude. But when they wore designer clothes and sipped exotic liquors, Lucia sometimes forgot what she was dealing with. She saw businesspeople with competing interests and financial portfolios. She saw what she understood.

  Roland did the same. But he saw killers, slavers, thieves, and corrupt politicians. He saw an endless ocean teeming with evil leviathans. The woman he cared for was moving among them like there was no danger at all, but the room was a powder keg of potential catastrophes. Dressing them up like respectable folks did not make the guests any less horrifying. Before he met Lucia, he would not have cared. He was The Fixer, and he could handle them. Watching Lucia in the mix made the old soldier distinctly uncomfortable despite knowing how capable she was. He respected her skills, but remained protective all the same.

  I get to be protective, he allowed. I’m made of armor.

  The party began to pick up speed as the evening wore on. Dinner had been served and the requisite speeches were endured with practiced stoicism. Bad music was being played, and the bartenders were working their fingers raw keeping up with drink orders. Roland had firm instructions to be pleasant and not brood or scowl at anyone, and he was doing his level best to adhere to those strictures. He stayed by Lucia’s side and responded to attempts at small talk with one and two-word answers. Lucia deflected most of the conversations for him, so as not to overwork his limited reservoirs of social tolerance. A few times, they got separated and some up-and-comer would attempt to corner Roland into conversation. This was a Combine party, and everybody knew Roland was the guy who killed Marko. It was no secret Roland was a key player, and more than one ambitious mobster was willing to risk his ire by trying to rub shoulders with The Fixer. Roland rebuffed these advances as politely as he knew how to, but after the third or fourth one, he knew he needed to make an example of someone soon. The power vacuums created by the Brokerage’s attempts to unseat the Combine had brought a lot of new blood into the game, and most did not know the rules. Yet.

  What he really wanted to do, was figure out who was trying to distract him with the bounties. This party represented a huge opportunity for intelligence gathering, and he cursed his lack of skill in this matter. He was fantastic at extracting information on the street because he could cause harm and sow fear like nobody’s business. But this environment had its own rules and style to it. He had to admit, in this room surrounded by all the potential answers to his questions, he was completely lost.

  So, it was a dour cyborg indeed that returned from the bar with a Cabernet for Lucia and a pitcher of ale for himself. His mood went from grouchy to terrified when he saw something that made his heart lurch. Hiding was impossible at his size, but he seriously considered just leaving the room and secreting himself in the bathroom or something equally cowardly when he rounded a clump of chatting men and glimpsed Lucia in deep conversation with Sid.

  Sid was wearing a purple gown that clung to her body like wet silk. Her neckline swooped to her navel and some sort of invisible support device was thrusting her ample bosom high and forward in a manner defying both classical physics and basic anatomy. Her long black hair was arranged in an artful up-do, and she wore sparkling heels that stretched her long legs to an obscene degree. It was an ensemble worn to devastate the male gaze, and Sid was working it as hard as any woman ever had. Roland had a strange thought in that moment, and it made him pause. Mindy often employed the same tactics for disarming her opponents, and it had never really effected Roland. She was more annoying than anything else with her blatant and aggressive sexuality, and Roland suddenly realized why.

  Mindy is a child playing at being sexy. It’s an act spun from whole cloth. She escaped from a religious colony and lived with mercenaries, for crying out loud. She doesn’t even like men, so I suppose it makes sense that her approach to seduction would be less refined.

  He looked at Sid and saw the difference right away.

  Sid is a professional predator. This is no act. It’s a tool and a weapon for her, and she loves it. It’s part of her and she owns it. It’s part of her power.

  Then his gaze fell on Lucia and he understood why the charms of both Sid and Mindy would forever be wasted on him. Lucia was liquid grace and animal athleticism personified. Her body had been forged in the gym and in the ring, and hers was not the merely confidence of a pretty girl. Lucia had the bearing of a powerful woman because she was a powerful woman. Lucia had not manipulated Roland into doing the things she wanted him to. She had convinced him to by being right and by being smart and observant.

  She has real power. She is the only woman who doesn’t fear me because she knows fear better than anyone. That makes her stronger than either Mindy or Sid. Also, she is very pretty and I am a sucker for that, I guess.

  It was a strange time and place to have this interlude, and Roland regretted the momentary slip of his focus. He returned to more objective observations and tried to establish the nature of the situation before dropping himself into it. Sid and Lucia seemed in deep conversation, and Roland studied both for signs of what he assumed would be the savage and ignominious beat-down of poor, unsuspecting Sid.

  He saw no such indications, and thus decided it was best to interdict their conversation, if only to provide a physical deterrent to violent action. He need not have worried.

  “Roland!” Sid called over to him as he approached, “Where have you been keeping this one!”

  “Huh?” Roland grunted eloquently.

  “Sid was just telling me about how much you’ve helped her over the years,” Lucia’s eyes were sparkling with mirth. “It’s nice to know you have such good friends all over town. I always figured you just kicked everybody’s asses all the time.”

  Roland was confused, “I uh... well. She used to hire me to make sure her clients remembered to make their payments, mostly.”

  Sid patted him on the arm, “Don’t be so modest! When I switched careers, I think a lot of men thought my past as a working girl meant I could be taken advantage of. Roland here,” she smiled up at him, “was instrumental in correcting those pesky misconceptions.”

  “I bet,” Lucia said with a chuckle. Then she turned to Roland, “Sid was just telling me that she had some interesting news regarding your visit the other night.”

  Roland swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry.

  “Yes,” Sid purred, “I seem to have misplaced Terry. I’d have told you sooner but, I did not have a reliable way to transmit the news.”

  Roland’s discomfort with how well Sid and Lucia were getting along was quickly replaced by apprehension. He whispered through clenched teeth, “You have a leak.”

  “I do,” she agreed, the smile never leaving her face, “and I suspect I know where. But perhaps we can discuss my plumbing issues somewhere more private?”

  “Nothing would please me more than to be out of here,” Roland said just a touch too quickly, betraying his desire to be out of this party and away from these people.

  “Not just yet, Roland,” Lucia responded. “I think we need to stick around just a little while longer.”

  Sid nodded, her smile affixed and her eyes sparkling as if they were making mere small talk, “More than the absence of my courier, I have deep concerns about tonight’s event.”

  Roland could be legendarily obtuse, and when he saw the two women glaring at him, awaiting his response, he felt like he had missed something important.

  “Roland,” Lucia implored, her voice sweet, “I think Sid means that something has her worried this party may end up going poorly.” Realization hit Roland like a fist to the guts.

  “Shit,” he replied with no inflection whatsoever.

  “Shit, indeed,” Sid agreed.

  This place is about to get hit, he thought to himself. He had no guns, no helmet, and no back up. It was
clear that anyone with a clue as to what they were doing would hit this party in force. Every major criminal player was here. There would be armies of bodyguards and enforcers only seconds away. It was going to be total war: a bloodbath.

  “Get Sid out of here, Lucia,” he hissed. Lucia looked like she was going to protest, but stopped herself. In business, she was the boss. In combat, Roland was. It was a sound order, too. Lucia was unarmed and wearing a cocktail dress. She had the speed and skills to get Sid to safety, but without her weapons she would be useless in a firefight.

  “Get Mindy en route to back me up. Full battle rattle. Have her bring Durendal.” He paused. “Lucia, something tells me Sid is the key to all this, you need to suit up and get her underground. Call McGinty and use one of his safe houses. I’ll be along shortly.” He looked to the other woman, “Do you trust me?”

  “Yeah,” she still wore the fake party smile.

  "Good," he pointed to Lucia, "Stay close to Lucia. Do what she says. Do not call anyone or contact anyone in your crew until I talk to you. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Lucia? I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Go kick some ass, baby,” Lucia smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “Stay safe.”

  The women turned and moved toward the coat room and Roland swept the room in a methodical pattern, looking for weapons and potential hostiles.

  Everyone there had a minimum of one bodyguard, which was appropriate. Roland counted muscle to see if the proportion of security to guests felt out of balance. Sure enough, it was. The cyborg was chagrined to note that depending on exact configurations, there were between eighteen and thirty extra security contractors present. Those were just the ones he could see. There could have been twice as many he could not see, or that were in hiding just waiting for a signal. His eyes, long-practiced and experienced, checked faces against his memory to see if there was anyone present who could match him in a fight. While he was doing this, he noticed something that locked a huge piece of the overall puzzle into place.