Noir Fatale

by Larry Correia

  “I’m not sure,” she said, frowning. “I mean, I didn’t keep tabs on her, but she also had a workstation in her apartment.”

  He caught a gnat, then another. Just as things started to fall into place, Lydia’s eyes widened.

  The muffled cough behind him caught his attention, turning his gaze away from Lydia. Collier stood there, smoke drifting lazily from the suppressor screwed into his .22. Slade blinked slowly, realization of what had happened coming shortly after.

  He looked down—expecting to see a bloody rose growing across his chest. It took him a second to realize he wasn’t hit.

  “Slade…” Lydia said weakly. “I…”

  He spun, lunging for her as she toppled forward, catching her before she hit the desk. He lowered her slowly to the floor, carefully working his way around to her side. For now, her pulse and breathing were thready, shallow, and rapid, but there, as her system went into shock. She was alive, at least for now. He pulled off his shirt and pressed it to her wound, placing her hands on it.

  “Hold this here as tight as you can,” he said. “Just hang on for me, baby.”

  Slade looked up at Collier, eyes pleading for an explanation even as the pieces fell together in his mind. As he stood, he felt his features harden.

  Collier smirked at him, keeping the pistol leveled. The nine remaining rounds would last him until the end of Slade’s life.

  “Let me guess,” Slade said, taking a step toward his former partner. The gun came up just a little, aiming squarely at center mass. “Salome found something fishy with the retrofit project. She’s only working a hunch and doesn’t want to go to Rains until she’s sure. Wouldn’t want to give any appearance of mismanagement, especially with Lydia watching. Goes looking for someone on the outside, and up pops your name.”

  Collier kept smirking, giving him a slight shrug. Slade took another careful step forward, keeping his hands at his side but in view. The Ruger stayed steady, but Collier’s gloved finger tensed ever so slightly. Slade continued.

  “Long story short, she hires you to suss things out. Which you did, with your not-too-shabby investigative skills. Only when you discovered what was really going on, you threw in with the perp for a big payday.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin and cheeks with his right hand as if to aid his thought process. “You wanted to split up earlier, so you could take Samantha out of the picture for a clean getaway after you finished tying up the loose ends here. Am I close?”

  He squared his shoulders and placed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He inched a booted right foot closer to Lydia.

  “Not bad,” Collier said, nodding, “Not too shabby yourself. But you are wrong on some essential facts. Yeah, Salome hired me to track down the culprit. She had a lot of it figured out, so it wasn’t that difficult. What I didn’t expect was who it led me to.”

  He almost looked…was it happy? His eyes sparkled.

  “It led me to the smartest, most incredibly stunning woman I have ever met. The first time I saw her, she stopped me dead in my tracks. It led me to…”

  “Samantha Devereaux,” Slade said, finishing the sentence. He tried not to look shocked, although by Collier’s expression, something had flashed across his face.

  “I know, right?” Collier’s grin spread as he spoke. He gestured as he continued. “Your problem is you still consider her a child. Little Sunny in glasses and braces who used to cramp your style with Salome. Take it from me, pal, she’s definitely not a little girl anymore. She also knew you might be the wild card.”

  “What, she flash some skin, and you were all in?”

  “Don’t be crass, Slade. Do you know what cobalt is?”

  “Sure. It’s used for all sorts of things, like blue glass or high-strength durable magnetic alloys. Weapons, too.” Collier’s jaw dropped a bit. Slade couldn’t help but grin. “What? I know stuff!”

  “Okay, so you’re familiar with it,” Collier said. “Anyway, it’s very expensive and hard to come by, unless there’s a huge project with deep pockets.”

  “Like fixing up a historic space station, home to a major corporation.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And this has to do with Sunny…how?” Slade knew the answer, but he needed to keep Collier talking, giving him time to get his boot a bit closer.

  “Let’s just say the high strength durable magnetic alloys aren’t very durable currently. Samantha siphoned off about half of what was intended for the station.” He shook his head, as though overwhelmed with his fantasy. “Zac, you have no idea what that kind of money can buy! It’s close to half a billion Elons, enough to buy two spaces on the Martian Colonies. Good spaces. Orbital now, dome when it’s done, and a quarter billion left to play with.”

  “How do you plan on getting away with shooting Lydia and your partner in cold blood? It’s not like I have a working implant to fry my brain with.”

  “Here’s the thing, pal; I don’t want to shoot you. If I did, I would’ve already. So, I’m giving you a choice.” It was Collier’s turn to look pleading, his features softening slightly. “Leave her, we all jump ship, and live fat, rich and happy. All the R and I we can stand.”

  “And the other option? How do you plan on explaining that?”

  “That’s the easy part. You suspected Lydia and came here all in a huff, dead set to punish the murderer of your college sweetheart. Only she was armed and shot you before you wrestled away the gun and shot her.” He put on a look of sorrowful resignation. “Unfortunately, you both bled out before I could get here. How did you get here so quickly anyway?”

  “Trade secret. Do you really think that story’ll fly?”

  “Believe me, the good Inspector Rains will be only too happy to take the path of least resistance. Especially with a reasonable fee to cover any paperwork. He’s looked the other way for years. I’ll make it fly.”

  “Neat little gift-wrapped bundle for the news feeds.” Slade let out a humorless chuckle, covering the sound of his boot against the floor. “Thought of everything, did you?”

  “I can’t take all the credit,” Collier said. “It was Samantha’s plan. I’m just doing what I was told, like a good Marine.”

  Slade nudged Lydia hard in the side. Her scream filled his soul with guilt, but he quashed the feeling, hard. There’d be time to feel bad later. Maybe.

  Collier, surprised by the sound, looked away for only a second. Just enough time for Slade to push off hard, lunging to his left, away from Lydia’s prone body. As he dove, he pulled the knife from his back pocket, pressing the button as it came forward. In the same fluid motion, he snapped it toward his former partner. There was another coughing sound, and fire lanced across Slade’s shoulder. He ignored it, rolling to his feet and throwing himself at the other man as the gun went off again.

  He hit him at the knees, his mass causing Collier to topple even in the fractional gravity. Slade used his size to his advantage, pinning the other man as he locked a hand around the pistol. Another shot hit the wall as Slade drove his free hand into Collier’s nose.

  His former squad mate was only fazed for a second, lashing out with his own free hand in a haymaker that caught Slade on the temple. Fireworks exploded in front of his eyes, blinding him briefly. He rolled to his right, pinning Collier’s arm before he could land another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his knife, just within reach.

  Collier met Slade’s eyes at that moment, determination written on his face. He’d seen it too.

  Slade forced the gun hand backward and down, keeping the muzzle of the pistol pointed at Collier’s body. His fingers, inches away from the knife’s hilt, scrabbled against the floor, straining to make contact. Collier fought back, trying to get enough leverage to bring the gun around.

  Slade snapped his neck forward, slamming his forehead into the other man’s bloody nose with as much force as he could muster, then again for good measure. Collier went limp briefly, giving Slade the moment he needed to grab the knife, rolling as he did so
. He put the blade against Collier’s ribs and finished the roll, letting his weight come down on the hilt.

  Collier’s gasp turned into a gurgle as his body went limp. Slade moved off of his friend, kneeling next to him.

  Collier looked at the knife sticking out of his chest, crimson petals blossoming around it. He chuckled weakly, blood flowing from between his lips. “You and that stupid feeling of yours. Couldn’t let it go this time. You just had to scratch that itch, didn’t you?” His laugh faded into a wet cough, scarlet foam spraying the air. “A switchblade! A fucking switchblade!”

  “I assumed y’all’d appreciate the gesture,” Slade said. “An old-fashioned solution for an old-fashioned guy. Like I said, the past is cool.”

  The gun fell to the floor, followed by Youcef Collier’s head, his dead eyes staring at nothing in particular.

  Slade stood, taking a moment to check his shoulder. It stung like all get-out, but was only a flesh wound, the blood flow only a trickle. A soft groan brought his attention back to Lydia. He crossed the office, knelt down beside her, and brushed a stray curl from her face.

  “Sorry I had to kick you, baby girl, but hard times call for hard methods.” He reached across her, pulling her arm closer. The bracelet on her left wrist looked like just another piece of high quality jewelry, but she’d told him what it really was. He tapped the synthetic sapphire in the middle, alerting security to her position.

  “Help will be here soon, honey. Just hang on a little longer.” He pulled the scarf from around her neck, tying it across his blood-soaked shirt on her chest.

  The large video panel behind him came to life, the beach scene replaced with a face he barely recognized. He pushed himself to his feet, and after a moment of stunned inaction, walked over to the monitor. Smooth coffee and double cream skin occupied most of the screen.

  “Hello, Zac.”

  “Sunny? Is that you?” My god what a transformation.

  “I told you before, it’s Samantha, and even that is only temporary.” She gave him a brilliant smile that made the siren’s call even more alluring. “Not the little girl in horn rims and braces any longer, am I?”

  “I’d say not.” He forced his mind back to the matter at hand. “Why? What happened with Salome that drove you to hatch this plan?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve been planning a move on sister dear for my entire life.” Her lovely face took on a sinister cast. He had to admit, it was terrifying and arousing at the same time. “I hated that bitch! Forever in her shadow, never living up to her status. Working for her was the final insult.”

  Damn, Slade thought, as she arched an eyebrow, the gesture coming across as an invitation. He could almost smell the pheromones through the screen. She’s getting to me too. Glad we’re not in the same room.

  “Salome got everything she wanted—always,” Samantha said. “I got nothing, no matter how hard I worked. I was constantly compared to her, and never measured up. Do you know what that feels like, Zac? Don’t answer—I know you don’t. You met some criteria of hers.”

  “I feel we’re missing the sad violin music,” Slade said. “It’s over, Sunny. I’m coming for you. Even Rains can’t deny your guilt or Youcef’s culpability.”

  “I wish you luck with that endeavor, you’re going to need it.” The camera zoomed out, revealing her surroundings as it pulled back. No wonder Collier fell for her so hard. “Drink it in, Zac, this is the last you’ll see of little Sunny. There’s no extradition from the Martian Colonies to Earth space, not that it matters. They won’t know who I am once I get there.”

  “Where are you?” Slade said, focusing on the background. It didn’t look like anywhere on the station.

  “Dear Zac, I’m on the cruise ship Asimov, on an intercept course with the Martian orbital. Did I forget to mention that when last we talked?”

  “You weren’t in your quarters then, I take it.”

  She shook her head. “Things were getting a bit dicey, what with all the systems issues. I thought it a good idea to get a head start on my new life.” She hit him with that smile again. “I’m in your debt though. You saved me the trouble of having to tidy up around there. Poor Youcef. He didn’t understand that he wasn’t invited, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.”

  She pulled a long braid over one shoulder in a move so sensual it made Slade shudder.

  “Of course, had things gone as planned,” she continued, “Mr. Collier would have experienced another unfortunate access node failure.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around lately.” He snorted. “You had his nose so open he didn’t have a chance. You played him like a stacked deck, but you weren’t planning on me getting involved.”

  “Yes, you were the only wild card, one I underestimated. You’ve just got big, black and stupid written all over you. Living in the past like some historical vid drama, with your bizarre colloquialisms. You play the part well—it’s something of a pleasant surprise to see the truth.”

  “Spare me, Sunny. You just can’t murder three people, steal a half billion Elons and get off scot free. I’ll find a way to get to you.”

  “Dear, dear Zac, that is exactly what I am doing. Soon we will go dark and only the AI will be awake to ignore your pleas,” she said, dazzling smile growing more radiant with her gloating. “This section of the ship is considered Martian soil, already through customs, sanitation and clearances.”

  “This isn’t over,” he said, not quite able to convince himself of their sincerity. “System Central will come knocking, and I’ll be right there with them.”

  “Earth and Mars aren’t getting along these days. I suspect the rich and infamous are tired of paying Earth to be rich and infamous.” She smiled that deadly, alluring smile. “You can try, Slade, but I suspect you’ll die broke and bitter before it happens.”

  The camera filled with her face again as she moved closer.

  “Goodbye, Isaac Slade. If you’re lucky, I’ll see you in Hell.”

  The screen went as blank as his mind felt.

  Coming out of his daze, he made a promise.

  “I will find you, Sunshine, if it’s the last thing I do,” he said, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the dark monitor. “Mama didn’t raise no quitters.”

  Recruiting Exercise

  David Weber

  Confidential

  Official Internal Security and Mental Hygiene Police Use Only

  Access Authorization Level Gamma Seven

  RE: Homicide Investigation MT3-137-56-A732

  Excerpt, Surveillance System MT3-42-1693-04; 7/14/73

  Positive ID Hilaire Becquerel, NP-342-8879-1736

  Positive ID Samuel Rochefort, NP-491-3275-4291

  Excerpt begins:

  ROCHEFORT: Cheez, Boss! I thought they’d never cut you loose! Are you all right?

  BECQUEREL: Do I look all right? Pour me another one, damn it.

  ROCHEFORT: How hard they gonna hammer us on this one?

  BECQUEREL: How the hell am I supposed to know? Wasn’t my idea for the idiots to come here. And not my fault, either! You know that.

  ROCHEFORT: But who was she? I mean, the big bastard was bad enough, but her—!

  BECQUEREL: How do I know? Paschal checked her license at the door, right?

  ROCHEFORT: ’Course he did! Never would’ve let her into the place if her docs hadn’t showed green. You know that.

  BECQUEREL: Yeah, I do. I do. Hit me again.

  ROCHEFORT: Boss, I think you’d better cut back on the booze. You need to go home, get some rest. Cops’ll be back tomorrow, and you’re gonna need a clear head.

  BECQUEREL: I know. I know! Damn it, Sam—of all the stim joints in all the towers of all Nouveau Paris, why’d she have to walk into mine?

  Excerpt ends.

  ✧ ✧ ✧

  None of it worked out the way I’d expected.

  Not after the moment I got through the door, anyway. Up to that point, yeah. It was just as depres
sing as I’d known it would be, but what do you do when you don’t have family anymore; the databases list you as “recidivist,” which means you’re untouchable for any legal employer; the government’s keeping two thirds of your BLS; you’ve sold everything you own; and the only person in the entire world you still have to love needs a doc bad and the local clinic won’t jump him to the head of the queue without a bribe? I’ll tell you what you do. You sell the last thing you have—yourself.

  Which is why I went through that door. Didn’t tell the doorman why I was there, of course, because I wasn’t licensed. You can’t get one of those in Morocco Tower without knowing the right people or black-market cash in hand. And, unfortunately, the “right people” knew all about me. No way in hell they would’ve licensed me even if I’d had the cash. That’s what happens when both your parents get picked up by the Mental Hygiene Police and never seen again. I was seventeen when that happened. Tomorrow would be my twenty-second birthday.

  Hell of a birthday present.

  The guy at the door let me in. From the look he gave me, I was pretty sure he knew the real reason I was there, all gussied up. I’d spent almost all my dwindling pile of credits on that outfit, and I’m not proud to admit it, but I’d stolen the cosmetics. Then again, old Bonneville was a suck-up to Marteau, the Hundred-Ten Floor manager, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. Marteau was the one who’d stood and watched Mom and Dad being disappeared for “deviant behavior” and then made sure his goons were first into the apartment to steal the best stuff—not that it was all that good—before anyone else got to it. Besides, if Bonneville didn’t want people stealing stuff, he should get better cyber security. That server of his leaks like a sieve if you know where to look. And the greedy old bastard had stiffed me on the off-the-books IT work I’d done for him. There’d been no way to make him pay me for work I was legally barred from doing in the first place, and he knew it. Just like I knew he wanted into my pants. He’d made that clear enough when he didn’t hand over the credits, so in a way, I’d just collected what he owed me through different channels.