KAT AND MOUSE: GUNS FOR HIRE

A Short Break

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 13:45:00 +0000

We now take a short break and will return on March 15th with "Little Boy Lost."

More details over at the News section.

If you need to catch up on previous installments so you can be up to speed, head over to the Episode Archives.

See you back here on March 15th!

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Eight

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Pivoted and drew Bonnie.

A woman wearing a black blouse and long skirt sat in a wheelchair in the corner of the room by the door. Her silver hair was pulled back in a bun and her eyes were closed.

"What the hell--?" I said. Then recognized the face.

Mother Olson.

"Is that--?" said Mouse.

"Yeah," said Val. "Olson's mother. Embalmed, I think." She shuddered.

"You've been in here all this time with her?" I said.

Val nodded.

"Delusional, psychotic, and now this?" Mouse shook her head. "Triple freak show."

"We're getting you out now," I said. I holstered Bonnie, unslung the shotgun, and walked over to the wall ring. Loaded the last four rounds. Fired two at the ring and blew it to pieces.

"We'll get the rest of it off at the Red Dog," I said. I reslung the shotgun and coiled up the cable.

We got Val to her feet and started toward the staircase when the upstairs hallway light came on and a woman's shadow appeared on the staircase wall.

"We have guests, Sammy," an older woman's voice said. "You should've told me."

"I didn't know, Mother," said Olson.

I glanced toward the figure of Mother Olson in the wheelchair, then looked at Mouse and Val.

Val went saucer-eyed.

Mouse mouthed: Fuck.

"I don't know who you are," Olson said, "but you can't stay."

"Yes, they can, Sammy," Mother Olson said. "They can watch your wedding to the whore."

"She's not a whore, Mother," said Olson.

"You saw her. Soiled by the world."

"I've cleaned her up, Mother. She's fine now."

I looked at Val, at her empty eye socket.

Val lowered her head and looked away.

"Don't contradict me, boy," said Mother Olson.

"Let me handle this, Mother," said Olson.

"Goddamn psychos," Mouse said under her breath.

Mother Olson's shadow moved away. Then Olson's shadow appeared on the wall, a shotgun in hand. He pumped a round into the chamber.

I drew the Twins and leveled them at the stairs.

Val stepped behind me. "I'm back here. You're armored."

"Good call," I said.

Olson went down a few steps then stopped so we only saw him from the knees down. The shotgun's muzzle poked through the railing supports toward us.

I slid left, taking Val with me.

Mouse did the same.

"Doesn't have to be this way, Olson," I said.

Silence. Then: "You're the cop from earlier."

"Put the shotgun down and let us leave. Or this could get ugly."

"I'll let you go," Olson said. "But Valkyrie stays."

"No deal. She comes with us."

"I'm trying to be nice."

"So am I."

"You're going to make me lose my patience."

"Same here," I said.

"Let them stay," said Mother Olson. "It'll be a whore party."

"Quiet, Mother."

"How dare you, boy!"

A loud slap.

Olson staggered partway down the staircase, caught the railing with one hand, and stopped himself, his back to us.

"Hey, Olson!" Mouse said from behind me.

Olson looked over his shoulder and howled.

I turned.

Mouse had wheeled Mother Olson out of the inner room and was holding one of her Bowies under the embalmed woman's neck.

Another howl.

I looked back at Olson.

He had spun around, his back to the wall, the shotgun leveled at us through the railing supports.

"Do something, boy!" said Mother Olson.

Correction: said the Mother Olson Voice.

It came from Olson.

"Let her go," said Olson, his voice shaking.

Then his face shifted slightly. Still Olson, but not quite Olson.

And the Mother Olson Voice said, "This whore is hurting me, Sammy. Are you going to let her do that?"

"Quiet, Mother."

"Dirty whore. I told you, Sammy, but you didn't listen."

"Shut up."

"Little boys who play with whores never listen to their mothers."

"Shut up, Mother."

"But I'll make you listen before she hurts me."

"Mother, I said be quiet!"

"Before she hurts you, Sammy. She's not taking you away from me. She can go to hell."

Olson's expression froze halfway between a scream and a snarl. His face twitched and shook.

Three seconds later, he snarled and said, "Mother! No!"

Then he screamed, a piercing wail.

Cue. Subvocal.

The world slid into slo-mo.

Olson raised the shotgun barrel.

I crab-crawled left, the Twins tracking. Caught a quick glimpse of Mouse tackling Val.

The shotgun boomed, the muzzle blast lighting up the basement.

Mother Olson's head blew apart in a shower of embalming fluid and gore and the blast pitched the chair and the body backwards.

The Twins roared and bucked four times each. Rounds splintered the railing, punched into Olson's chest, slammed him against the wall.

He crumpled onto the steps.

The shotgun slipped from his hands, fell over the side, and into a pile of black garbage bags.

I stood up, Twins still trained on Olson. "Mouse?"

"Five by five, Kat," she said.

Quick glance at her. She was helping Val to her feet.

"I'll take point," I said. "Val between us."

Mouse drew her other Bowie. "Check."

We headed up the staircase.

Olson sat slumped against a blood-smeared wall, legs splayed out on the steps, head down over his chest.

Val turned away when we passed him on the steps.

"Bastard," she said under her breath.

We made our way down the small hallway, through the kitchen, and into the garage.

Mouse stopped and gestured to the tarp covered car. "Her runabout."

"Drive it out," I said.

Val said, "Extra keys under back bumper."

Mouse nodded and retrieved them.

I pulled the tarp off the car.

My phone chirped.

It was Eddie.

"What happened?" he said.

"It's over," I said. "Any outcalls?"

"A few. Got them all."

"Good. We're heading out."

"Tried calling when the car was heading back toward the house. Kept losing the connection."

"Bad signal inside. How's it out there now? We clear?"

"Wait one." A short pause, then: "Clear."

I nodded to Mouse and Val. "Let's go."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later we were back at the Red Dog.

I had just finished talking to Doc on my cell phone when Revell came out of the bar's back office carrying goggles, leather gloves, and a plasma cutter. He stopped next to me in the back hallway.

"Cable is off," he said. "Mouse is getting her big cup of tea."

"Spaseba, Revell," I said. "Thank you."

He nodded and headed toward the stairwell.

I went into the office.

Val was sitting at the desk, staring at the far wall, hands folded on the blotter in front of her. A white gauze bandage covered her right eye.

I sat on the corner of the desk. "Absinthe's on her way."

Val nodded.

"Called Doc and told him. You've got surgery at 0900 tomorrow. Replace your optic. And Tinker'll re-key the roundabout."

Another nod.

The door opened and Mouse came in with a steaming mug. She went to the desk and set it down in front of Val.

Val gave her a weak smile and took the mug with both hands.

"Need anything else?" said Mouse.

Val shook her head.

Mouse nodded and dropped herself into the couch.

Val sat and sipped her tea.

The only sound in the room was the creak of the chair whenever Val moved.

Ten minutes later, Val let out a long exhale, and said, "Two and a half years. Always met with clients. Always the personal touch. No more. Not after that."

"Not necessarily," I said.

"Kat," said Val, "I just got--"

I held up a hand. "I know. What I meant was, you could still go. You'd just have muscle."

"Muscle?"

I nodded. "Mouse and I could stand in. Or if we're not there, I'm sure Jake and Mikey would be game."

Val thought for a moment. "That's true."

"And," I said, "something tells me that Absinthe would be more than happy to lend a couple of the boys from the White Rabbit."

She quirked at eyebrow at me.

The door opened and Absinthe strode in. She stopped just inside the room.

Val stood up from the desk. "Abs," she said and a hint of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

Then Absinthe went saucer-eyed and sucked in air through her teeth. "Your eye--"

"Taken care of," I said. "Doc. Tomorrow."

Absinthe let out a long exhale and nodded. "Okay. You ready, Val?"

Val said, "Ready. Let's go home."

They started out the office door. Then Absinthe stopped and turned to me and Mouse. "Thanks again."

"Anytime, Absinthe," I said. "It's what we do."

After the door closed behind them, Mouse turned to me and said, "Remind me never to accept presents from strangers."

"Will do, partner," I said.

God, I love my job.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Little Boy Lost"

"Peek-a-Boo"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Seven

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

It was an hour and a half later when we finally got on Highway 42 heading west.

I called Eddie and put the phone on speaker.

"What next?" he said.

"We're headed back to the Olson house," I said. "This could be cake."

"It's never cake," said Mouse.

"Or it could go south real quick. If it does, I need you to intercept all emergency calls coming from the area."

"Got just the thing."

"Good. I'll tell you when to start monitoring lines."

"Two things," said Eddie.

"Go."

"The car just left the house. About four minutes ago."

"Where to?"

"Don't know. But it's heading west on Donovan. Tracking with the spy-eye right now. And I've got a visual confirm with a traffic cam on Grayson and Collins, about four blocks west of the house. I'll keep you posted."

"What's the other thing?"

"A week ago, Olson made the following buys. Two pairs of handcuffs and a set of stainless steel ankle restraints. BDSM shop on Lower East Side. Then a twenty-five thousand cred bridal gown. Boutique on the Promenade."

"Shit," said Mouse.

"I don't like where this is going," I said.

* * *

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when we pulled to the curb halfway up the block from the Olson house.

Lights were already on in most of the other houses on the block.

Except Olson's.

I checked my optic clock.

19:22:45

"Wait for full dark," I said. "Then we go in."

Mouse nodded and leaned back in the seat.

I reached into the back seat where I had set the shotgun, grabbed it, and loaded four breaching rounds into the magazine.

* * *

At 19:45, all the streetlamps on the block flickered on.

I sat up in my seat and called Eddie, gave him the signal, and hung up.

"Let's go," I said to Mouse.

Five minutes later, we had gone through the side gate and into an unlocked back door that deposited us in the garage.

No one took notice of us.

Inside the garage, I could see the silhouette of a small car backlit by the light coming in through the garage door's windows.

I pulled a mini-flashlight from my gear belt, turned it on, and shone the beam at the garage floor.

A blue tarp covered the car. I knelt in front of it and pulled up a corner of the tarp.

Val's runabout.

I half-turned and gestured to Mouse.

She frowned and nodded.

I kept the light aimed at the floor and scanned the garage. Stacks of boxes lined one wall. A pegboard with tools and several shelves occupied the other wall. Next to the shelves stood a door leading into the house.

Mouse inclined her head toward the door.

I turned off the flashlight.

We went in and stood in a darkened kitchen. The shades had been drawn shut, outlined by a thin line of light from outside.

I popped my optics to low-light mode. Pan and scan.

Spotless. Clean counters. Empty sink.

Tidy.

Beyond the kitchen was a small dining area with a table, four chairs, and a vase with fresh flowers.

Listened.

Nothing.

Mouse tapped me on the arm and pointed to a doorway on our left, between the kitchen and the dining area.

I nodded, drew one of the Twins--Bonnie--from the right-side holster under my jacket.

Mouse drew one of her wakizashis.

We went through the doorway and emerged in a small corridor next to a staircase leading up to the second floor. I could see the living room to the left and the foyer and front door to the right.

I listened again, still heard nothing, and edged forward.

And stopped.

A dim sliver of light came from beneath a door on our left.

Mouse and I exchanged looks.

I tried the door.

Locked.

Looked the door over. It opened inward.

Holstered Bonnie and unslung the Remington, chambered a round, and aimed at the doorjamb near the lock.

Mouse pulled out a pair of throwing blades.

I mouthed a count to three then fired, the report from the shotgun echoing in the quiet. The round blew a hole through the lock and the door swung open.

Stairs--wall on the left, handrail on the right--led down to the basement.

The dim light came from below.

I spotted a wall switch, pointed it out to Mouse.

She nodded.

Popped out of low-light, and flipped the switch.

Lights flickered on below.

I slung the Remington cross-body again, drew Bonnie and Clyde, then started down the steps, my back against the wall, the Twins tracking.

Halfway down the steps, I got a better look at the basement and felt a chill zig-zag up my spine.

A section had been walled off and turned into an inner room, fitted with a metal security door and a large window. Inside the room was an ornately decorated bedroom with a four-poster bed fitted with floral sheets.

Valkyrie stood on the other side of the window.

Our eyes met and my gut dropped.

Her trademark skull and crossbones patch was gone, an empty, blood-caked eye socket in its place.

Then Mouse stepped down next to me. "Holy fuck," she said.

I holstered the Twins and bolted down the steps, taking them two at a time, and rushed to the door, tried the handle.

Locked.

Dammit.

I went to the window.

Valkyrie just stared at me.

I motioned for her to get back.

After the third time, she stepped aside.

Unslung the shotgun and loaded four more breaching rounds. Aimed at the doorjamb, between the handle and the lock, fired. Pumped a round. Fired again. Pumped. Fired.

Three more rounds and the lock gave under the barrage and the door popped open.

I pushed through and stepped inside.

Val collapsed to her knees, half-laughed, half-cried, and let out a shuddering exhale. "Am I glad to see you guys." She gave us a hysterical giggle. "Or halfway see you."

I slung the shotgun then knelt on one knee and put my hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

She put a hand to her right cheek. "Bastard tore out my optic," she said through gritted teeth. "Said it made me unclean."

I felt her shaking.

"You're out of here," I said.

"Can't," she said and gestured at her foot.

I looked.

Around her ankle was a steel ankle restraint attached to a length of thick steel cable. The cable snaked across the floor and was attached to a wall ring.

And just above the wall ring, a wedding dress hung on the wall.

"Shit," I said.

"I know," said Valkyrie.

Then I noticed a shape to my right.

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-Boo"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 8

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Six

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Thirty seconds into Eddie's infodump, I stopped him and said, "Does anything stand out?"

"Not a bloody thing," said Eddie. "It's all pretty normal, innit."

"I was wondering that, too" said Mouse.

"But then I ran the son," Eddie said. "Totally different story."

"Sam?" I said.

"That's him. Olson, Samuel Joseph. 38 years. Born '04." A tapping of a keyboard, then: "He's been quite naughty."

"Naughty?" said Mouse.

"Expelled from university for harassment. Stalking."

Mouse and I exchanged looks.

"Where?" I said.

"Seattle Metroplex. Old Washington University. In '22. Then three restraining orders filed with SFPD on three separate ocassions. '27, '28, and '30. Stalking again."

"Never caught?" said Mouse.

"Caught back in Seattle. Campus Security. But charges were dropped. Olson ended up at hospital for psychological eval and treatment. I show him on antipsychotics since then."

"Oh, wiz," said Mouse.

"One more headache," I said.

"Also, never caught in San Francisco," Eddie said. "Just the orders filed. Moved back to BC in '32. No more charges or restraining orders filed since the move. But"--more tapping keyboard--"I did find him on the 'net. Signed up on twenty-two VirComm sites between '32 and '39. 'Net handle of 'WhiteKnight'."

Mouse snorted a laugh. "Delusional and on meds. This gets better and better."

"Just wait. In '38, he started getting banned from those sites. Guess why?"

"Stalking," I said.

"Right you are. To date, he's been banned or blacklisted from all of them. After '39, no 'net activity. But last year he comes back to six sites as 'SirLancelot.' Good behavior this time."

"Until now," I said. "Thanks, Eddie."

"Kat," said Mouse. "Over there.'

I looked toward the Olson house.

A woman stepped off the front porch and walked toward the car in the driveway. Tall and slender, graying hair tied back in a bun, dressed in a dark button-up sweater and dark ankle-length skirt.

She went to the trunk of the car, opened it, took out four loaded plastic bags, set those on the ground, closed the trunk lid. She squatted, picked up the bags, straightened, and started back toward the house.

Then stopped.

Turned slowly around and began a slow scan of the area. As if memorizing everything she saw in front of her.

She stopped scanning in our direction.

"Don't move," I said to Mouse.

"Way ahead of you."

The woman continued to stare in our direction.

Held my breath. Made?

Seconds passed. Felt like hours.

Then she continued her slow scan. Full 360.

When she finished, she picked up the bags again, and went back into the house

I heard Mouse let out a sharp exhale. "That," she said, "was wicked weird."

"Olson said she was out," I said. "How'd she get back in without us seeing her?"

"Didn't see anyone drive up to the house and drop her off."

"This is getting really weird."

"Fucked up, more like it."

I stared at the house again.

There was a connection there. Somewhere. Had to be--

Then a thought struck.

"She's in the house," I said.

"Val?" said Mouse.

I nodded.

"Another hunch?"

"Think about it," I said. "Olson's had a history of stalking women. He finally gets one. What do you think he's gonna do?"

"I'll gut him first," said Mouse.

"He's gonna keep her close by," I said.

"You mean locked up in the house somewhere."

"Yeah."

"What about Mama Olson? Think she's involved?"

"Pretty sure. Helping out somehow. Don't have that part totally figured out yet."

"What if you're wrong about this?"

"I'll take the chance."

Another thought struck. I called Eddie and told him what I had in mind.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Keep us posted." I hung up.

Mouse grinned and rubbed her hands together. "I like it. What now?"

"Gear up. Go in."

"Slice and dice."

"Yeah," I said.

"Wiz."

* * *

Back at the Red Dog.

Back in our working clothes: dark t-shirt, black BDU trousers, and knee-high lace-up motorcycle boots. Black leather biker jacket for me. Black leather trenchcoat for Mouse.

We geared up.

Standard for me. Twins with combat loads. Eight reloads on my gear belt. Drop leg pouch on left leg with four flash-bangs.

Mouse was strapping on her wakizashi harness and I could see the handles of two Bowies in hip sheaths. A brace of throwers was slung across her chest.

I went to the gun locker next to my bed, took out the Remington 870 shotgun, and slung it over one shoulder. Then grabbed a dozen breaching rounds and shoved them into my jacket pocket. Val would be locked up behind a door. These would get us in.

I checked my optic clock.

17:27:35

* * *

I stepped out the back door into the alley, heading toward the loaner.

Felt the hairs on my nape salute. Whirled, dove back through the door.

Mouse said "Hey--!" when I collided with her.

And the rest of her protests were drowned out by the chatter of automatic weapons fire from the alley mouth.

We went sprawling along the back hallway in a tangle of arms and legs.

I heard rounds slam into the back of the loaner and blow out a tire before the armored and reinforced back door slammed shut.

Thank you, Tinker.

Revell stepped into the back hallway, a SPAS-12 shotgun pulled to his shoulder, barrel sweeping.

"Cover the door," I said to him.

He nodded.

I got to my feet, went through the bar, and out the front door.

Caught a quick glance of a brown full-sized sedan rounding 48th Street, tires squealing, heading east.

Damn.

Mouse came up next to me, breathing hard. "Anything?"

"Brown sedan," I said. "Could be an Imperial or a Cascade. Same profile."

"That it?"

"Yeah."

"Crap. Doesn't help much."

"Nope."

I looked down at the sidewalk and saw the pile of spent shells. Bent down, picked one up. "9mm," I said.

"Kat," said Mouse.

I heard the tone in her voice. Turned my head.

A dead cat hung off a spike on the Red Dog's front door.

"Again?" I said.

"Can't be David," said Mouse.

A memory came back. "Wyld Boyz," I said.

"Your friend with the dreadlocks?" said Mouse.

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"I know. One more headache." I pulled my phone out and dialed Specs.

When he answered, I said, "We need another car."

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-Boo"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Part 5 | Part 7

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Five

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

The Harbor Cafe sat on the corner of 18th Street and Harbor Boulevard, near the southern edge of the Marina district, a narrow, streamlined, stainless steel rectangle edged in red neon. Inside, on black and white tiled floors, a long counter with floor-mounted stools dominated one wall while a row of booths sat against the front wall next to windows that faced Harbor.

A bald man in a red and gray flannel shirt sat at the counter working on a big plate of food. A corp sat in a nearby booth, sleeves rolled up, sandwich in hand, peering at the screen of a minicomp.

A petite blonde server came around the counter, a smile on her face. "Table for two?"

"We're looking for someone," I said. "She came in this morning."

The blonde frowned. "I wouldn't know. I just started my shift two hours ago." Then her face brightened. "But I can get the manager. Charlie. She's been here all day. She'll know."

"Thanks."

She went behind the counter and disappeared into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Charlie came out from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel and stopped behind the counter. A sturdily-built fiftyish woman with a thick mane of curly blonde hair who seemed more at home wrangling large pieces of machinery than working in a diner.

"I'm Charlie," she said in hearty, trumpet-like voice. "Who's askin'?"

"We're friends of Val," I said. "We heard she was here this morning."

Charlie gave us an appraising look. "Edgerunners, huh?"

"Yeah," I said.

She nodded. "Val was here. 'Round eight o'clock." She gestured toward a booth at the far end of the diner. "In her usual spot."

"She's a regular?" said Mouse.

"Ayuh, she's a reg'lar," said Charlie.

"She met with someone today," I said. "Here."

"She did. Young fellah. Good lookin'--if you like 'em homely."

"Can you be more specific?"

Charlie thought a moment. "Tall and skinny. Had dark hair. Big nose. Wore black."

"When did he get here?"

"About half after eight. They talked. Left about half an hour later."

"Together?"

She nodded.

"Which way?"

"Back onto Harbor," said Charlie. "In her car."

"Val's?" said Mouse.

"Auyh. Blue runabout."

"Did you happen to catch the name of the guy she met?"

Charlie shook her head. "Sorry." Her brow furrowed. "Is Val okay?"

"We hope so," I said.

* * *

On our way back to the loaner, Eddie called.

"Got a lead on your MBV buyer," he said. "Woman by the name of Ekaterina Olson."

I stopped. "A woman?"

"A woman," said Eddie.

"When did she buy it?" I said.

"Last week. Monday."

"Got an address?"

"Sure." He rattled off a street and number. "In Bayside."

"Can you do an info dump?"

"Yeah, but it'll have to wait a bit. Got something else to take care of."

"Call as soon as you have it."

"Done."

I hung up.

When we got to the car, Mouse said, "How do we want to do this?"

* * *

Ekaterina Olson lived in Bayside in a two-story tract house with a front porch and a well-manicured lawn.

The door cracked open a few centimeters and a pair of eye peered through.

"Yes?" said the eyes.

A male voice.

I flashed a badge. "BCPD," I said in a professional sounding voice. "Is Ekaterina Olson in?"

"What's this about?" the eyes said.

"Better if we speak inside," I said. "May we?"

"Oh. Sure."

The door opened wider and the eyes turned into a thirtyish man, tall and skinny, and pale. Slicked back dark hair formed a widow's peak. Angular face with a hawk-like nose. Dressed all in black.

Wagner's description of his Mystery Man.

Charlie's description of the Smith that met with Val.

"Thank you," I said. stepping into the foyer. "I'm Detective Gibson." Gestured to Mouse. "My partner, Detective Sterling."

"I'm Sam Olson. This way, please."

Olson led us into a living room with pastel yellow walls, a cream-colored carpet, and floral print curtains. A beige couch strewn with tasselled throw pillows dominated one wall, flanked by a pair of wooden end tables, and a fireplace occupied the opposite wall.

Mouse and I sat down on the couch.

Olson stayed standing. "I was just about to have some tea," he said. "Would you like a cup?"

"No, thank you," I said.

Mouse shook her head.

Olson excused himself and stepped out.

We heard the clink of silverware from the kitchen. A few moments later, Olson appeared with a steaming mug cupped in his hands. He settled into the armchair across from us.

He took a sip from his mug, then said, "How can I help you, Detective?"

"Is Ekaterina Olson your wife?"

Olson gave a small smile. "No, Detective. She's my mother."

"May we speak to her?"

An odd expression flashed across Olson's face. Too quick for me to catch.

"She's out at the moment," Olson said. "Spending the afternoon with friends. Maybe I can help?"

"We understand she recently bought an MBV convertible from Fairchild Motors," I said.

"That's right," Olson said. "A silver one. Is there a problem?"

"We hope not," I said. "Right now, we're just trying to gather information."

Concern crossed Olson's face. "I see. I hope there's nothing wrong. It was a birthday present to herself, you know."

"Nice present," said Mouse.

"Birthday?" I said.

Olson nodded. "Her 60th. 'Elegance deserves elegance,' she always says."

The hairs on the back of my neck saluted.

Bingo.

I said, "An MBV is definitely elegant."

Olson inclined his head at the fireplace mantle. "Those photographs. Mother. When she was younger."

"May I?" I said.

"Be my guest," said Olson.

I got up and went to the mantle.

There were four old-style photographs, printed, encased in ornate wood frames. All were of a willowy, dark-haired woman with porcelain skin and an alluring smile, dressed in shimmering evening gowns. In each photo, she had a different pose, but held a big bouquet of flowers and wore a sash with the words "Miss Bay City" emblazoned on it in cursive letters, then a number: 00, 01, 02, 03.

She looked familiar for some reason but I couldn't place it.

"Miss Bay City?" I said.

"Beauty pageant," said Olson. "Four years in a row. Elegant?"

"Very elegant," I said. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Olson. We'll be in touch if we need additional information."

"I hope I was able to help," said Olson. "It didn't seem like much."

Mouse got up from the couch. "It was a good start."

"Maybe if you could tell me what you're looking for specifically I could be of more help."

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," I said. "Not at this time. I'm sure you understand."

The expression flashed across his face again. Just like earlier. And then it was gone.

"I understand perfectly," he said.

"Thanks again," I said.

* * *

"It's him," I said.

We were back in the loaner, parked up the street, watching the Olson house.

"Olson?" said Mouse

I nodded. "I think he nabbed Val. Remember the note left on the MBV? It said 'Elegance deserves elegance'."

Her brow furrowed. "What about the car? Mommy bought it, but it was delivered to the White Rabbit for Val?"

"That's the part that's not making sense right now. But he does match the description Wagner gave us of his Mystery Guy. And he matches Charlie's description."

Then a thought struck. Goosebumps ran up my arms and a chill zig-zagged down my spine.

"Those old pictures. Over the fireplace Did you notice something?"

"No."

"Mother Olson looked a little like Val. Darker hair, but the same body type."

Mouse frowned. "You think he's got mom issues?"

"Not sure, but I don't like where this is going."

My phone chirped.

Eddie. I put the phone on speaker.

"Got it," he said. "You ready?"

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-Boo"

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Part 6

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Four

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Instead of the black leather he sported the previous week, Todd Wagner was wearing a t-shirt and baggy cargo pants when he came around the aisle near the store's checkout counter, an open-topped box in his arms.

Mouse and I stood in the middle of the main aisle.

I caught his eye and nodded at him.

He shrieked.

The box went airborne, showering the aisle with blister packs of electronic components, and Wagner's gangly form bolted for the back of the store.

Crap.

I tossed the loaner's keys to Mouse. "Car. Out the back."

Then sprinted after him.

Wagner tore through the stockroom and out a rear exit that led into an access corridor. He caromed off the walls, shoes squeaking, arms flapping wildly as he ran.

He skidded around a corner at the far end of the corridor, stumbled, caught himself at the last moment, and scrambled away.

I rounded the same corner five seconds later just in time to see him go through a set of double doors leading out of the Galleria.

Dammit.

The cat had been an easier chase.

I followed.

The doors emptied me in an alley between two of the mall's stores.

Wagner was near the alley mouth. He slowed and looked back over his shoulder at me, panic scrawled all over his face. Then he turned away, picked up speed, raced out of the alley.

And slammed right into the loaner's driver side door.

Bounced off. Fell back on his ass.

He started to get up.

Mouse slugged him with the door.

He dropped and lay still.

I jogged to the car and yanked the rear driver's side door open. Grabbed Wagner underneath his arms and hauled him into the back seat.

"Kat," said Mouse.

I looked up.

A hundred yards away I spotted a white pickup truck with lightbars heading in our direction.

Mall security.

"Time to go," I said.

Mouse scrambled into the passenger side. I slid into the driver's seat, put the car in gear, and peeled out of the parking lot.

"Where to?" said Mouse.

"Red Dog," I said, speeding up the freeway onramp and onto Highway 42. "How's he doing?"

Mouse craned her head toward the back seat. "Still out."

"Hope he stays that way until we get to the bar. Or it's gonna get a little complicated in here."

* * *

My optic clock read: 14:22:10.

Mouse slouched in the highback leather chair behind the desk, cleaning her fingernails with a throwing blade.

I sat on a folding metal chair in front of the desk.

We both watched Wagner.

He was sprawled on his back, one arm and one leg dangling from the edge of the seat cushion. He still wore the red vest with the CompuWorld nametag pinned to the left breast.

He'd been out for over half an hour.

The leather chair creaked.

I turned.

Mouse leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "How much longer do you think--"

A groan.

Wagner.

We both turned.

He was sitting up now, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "What the hell happened?"

I got up, folded my arms across my chest. "Hi, Todd."

He looked up and squinted at me.

"It's Todd, isn't it," I said.

His eyes slowly widened and color drained from his face.

Then he leaped to his feet, bolted for the door.

I grabbed the folding chair and hurled it at him. It crashed into the back of his legs and he went down in a heap.

"Wrong answer, Todd," said Mouse. "They always pick the wrong answer."

I strode over, grabbed Wagner by the back of his shirt collar, hoisted him to his feet, and threw him toward the couch.

He yelped, hit the cushion, bounced back to his feet, tried to bolt again.

The Twins, Bonnie and Clyde--my pair of Colt-Springfield M2001 .45-caliber high-capacity pistols--leaped into my hands from the double-holster shoulder rig under my jacket and leveled themselves at Wagner's face.

He squeaked and fell back on the couch.

"Less running," I said. "More talking."

Wagner held up a hand. "Okay okay okay okay." He let out a loud exhale. "Tell Duke I'll have the money for him tomorrow. I swear."

"This isn't about Duke," I said. "Or his money."

His jaw dropped. "What? Then you two aren't--"

I shook my head.

He relaxed.

"We want to know about the White Rabbit," I said.

Wagner's brow furrowed. "White Rabbit?"

"Club over on Mason," said Mouse. "You were there last Thursday."

Realization dawned on his face. His eyes widened and he shrank in on himself.

"Oh," he said.

"You remember," I said.

He nodded. "You two were in that office upstairs."

"Give the man a prize," said Mouse.

I indicated the Twins. "Do I still need these two?"

"No," said Wagner.

"Good." I holstered the pistols. "And just in case you get any ideas? Mouse?"

"Yeah."

"Show him."

I heard a snap of fabric and three throwing blades thunked into the wall next to Wagner's head in rapid succession.

He gasped.

"More where that came from," said Mouse.

Wagner looked at me, past me toward Mouse, then back at me. "What do you want?"

"Where's Valkyrie?"

"Who's Valkyrie?"

"Don't make me ask again."

"Make her ask again," said Mouse.

"I don't know a Valkyrie," Wagner said.

The Twins came back out.

Wagner curled into a ball, arms over his head. "Oh fuck I swear I don't know oh shit Jesus I swear I swear--"

"The club," I said. "You were calling for Valkyrie. Why?"

"I was just doing what I was told."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you gonna shoot me?"

"Not if you talk."

"I'll talk, I'll talk." Wagner put his arms down and uncoiled his legs. "This guy. Told me he'd pay for me to go to that club and say 'I love Valkyrie'."

"Who?" I said.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Some guy. Came into the store a few times a week. Never gave a name. He'd check out new merch. We talked shop a little. One day, he asks me if I wanted to make some money. I said sure. CompuWorld pays shit."

"When was this?"

"Two days before I went to the club."

"And you do your thing there," said Mouse.

"Yeah. So I do it. And get jumped by those two security guys."

"Did you get your money?" I said.

"No. Bastard gave me a bogus cred'chip."

"When was that?"

"The next day, at the store. Said I did good. Gave me the 'chip and left. I scanned it. Came out nil. Whatta rip."

"How much?"

"Was supposed to be fifteen hundred."

"What did he look like? The guy?"

Wagner thought a moment. "Almost as tall as you." He pointed at me. "Dark hair, slicked back. Kinda pale. Big nose. Like a beak."

"Name?"

Wagner shook his head.

"He ever buy anything?" I said.

"Yeah," said Wagner. "But he paid with a secured 'chip."

I nodded. As good as old-time cash.

And just as easy to follow.

Damn.

The office door opened.

I glanced back.

Revell, the bearded and bear-like owner of the Red Dog bar, stepped inside and closed the door. He wore a white collarless shirt opened at the neck, sleeves rolled over beefy forearms. He came over to us.

"It is finished?" he said in his Russian-tinged basso.

"Da," I said.

"You got enough information?"

"Enough. You have it?"

He held up the airhypo.

"The hell's that?" said Wagner, his voice cracking.

"Do it," I said.

Revell stepped toward Wagner.

Wagner threw up his hands defensively. "Hey now--!"

Revell grabbed him by the upper arm with one huge hand, pinned him to the couch, then jabbed him in the left buttock with the hypo.

Wagner shrieked and grabbed his ass. "What the hell was that?"

"That was a tiny needle," said Mouse. "My toys are bigger. And hurt more."

I looked at Revell.

"Sixty seconds," he said. "Or less. Did you and Mouse eat?"

"No."

"There are sandwiches on bartop."

"I haven't eaten either," said Wagner. "Do I get a sandwich?"

His speech sounded slurred.

"That was fast," I said. "Twenty seconds?"

Revell nodded.

Wagner frowned up at us. "The hell did you do?" He started to nod off and shook his head to fight it. "The hell kind of cops are you people?"

"Didn't say we were cops," I said.

Wagner tried to add something else but his eyelids fluttered and he fell back on the couch.

"Out for the count," said Mouse. "Again."

"Cab is coming for him," said Revell. "They will take him back to mall." He picked up Wagner, tossed him over his shoulder, and left the office.

"What do you think?" said Mouse. "Is Wagner a smokescreen?"

"Yeah," I said.

"So Val's still out there. Question is, where?"

I perched on the edge of the desk and, in my head, quickly went over what Wagner had said. "She disappeared some time between yesterday morning and today. We were at her place until...when?"

"About 0600 yesterday morning," Mouse said. "Then we got that message from her via Specs."

"She was still there when we went to eat. Gone by the time we got back to her place about an hour later."

"So gone where?" said Mouse.

"I have an idea," I said. I pulled out my phone and dialed Specs.

"Hey, Kat. What's doin'?"

"Val gets her runs from you, right?"

"Yep. Ever since Michelle stiffed her twice coupla' years ago."

"You broker anything for her recently?"

"Sure."

"How recent?"

"Yesterday morning."

"A Smith?"

"Yeah. Over at the Harbor Cafe. 18th and Harbor."

"What time?"

"Lemme see." A pause. Then: "0830 hours."

"Thanks."

"Everything okay?"

I told him.

"Fuckin' sonofabitch," he said.

"I know."

"You think there's a connection?"

"Maybe. Not sure yet."

"When you find that fucker, give 'em a swift kick in the balls for me."

"Will do." I hung up.

"Clue me in?" said Mouse.

I did.

When I finished, she said, "Let's go."

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-Boo"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

"Peek-a-Boo"- Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

We were back at the White Rabbit that evening by 21:00, this time seated in the Shelby a block up the street from the club.

I sipped coffee from a thermos, a strong blend of something that tasted like unsweetened syrup going down. Revell swore it would keep me up for days.

Great. Just what I needed.

Mouse was eating a bag of screamer chips. In between crunches, I could hear tiny cries of agony coming from her mouth.

I set the thermos between my legs. "Visual?"

"That's a negatory," she said. "I still think we should go inside."

"If Valkyrie's inside and sees us, she'll know we're still tailing her. And Absinthe's already written this off."

"But not you."

"No."

Mouse dug into the bag despite tiny panicked screams, grabbed a few chips, and popped them into her mouth. "I'm not sure anymore, Kat."

I looked toward the club, saw the line of people waiting to get inside stretch halfway down Mason Street. "You can bow out, you know," I said. "I won't stop you."

"We got nothing so far, Kat. The presents stopped coming, according to Absinthe. Val seems to be okay. Yeah, the guy looked a little out of his element, but maybe it's a personality quirk."

"True," I said. "True. And true." I turned to her. "Like I said, you can bow out. Want to go back to the Red Dog?"

Mouse chewed on a corner of her lower lip for a moment. Then she looked sideways at me and said, "You're staying?"

"Yeah."

"Then so am I. Hell, somebody's gotta keep your ass outta trouble. And I'm the only one qualified."

* * *

After two hours and no sign of Valkyrie going into or coming out of the club, Mouse and I decided to try her place again.

The building sat in darkness except for the glow of the streetlamps along the sidewalk. Three other cars were parked along the street but no sign of the runabout.

I drove around the block, just to make sure she didn't park elsewhere.

Nothing.

We pulled to the curb a block up the street and watched the building for the next hour.

After the same BCPD blue and white circled the block twice, we called it a night and went back to the Red Dog.

* * *

Absinthe called at the crack of noon the next day and said, "Valkyrie's gone."

I sat up in bed, fighting back sleep. "Say again?"

"She's gone. I need your help."

"What happened?'

"Better in person." She rattled off a street address. "Meet me there in half an hour."

Mouse was already pulling on her trenchcoat.

Thirty seconds later I was dressed and geared up.

The address Absinthe had given was Valkyrie's place.

* * *

Despite the shitty-looking exterior, the inside of Valkyrie's loft apartment was done in sleek chrome and black furniture. It looked like something from one of Mouse's space adventure vids. The one with the laser sword and the guy in the black helmet.

Absinthe paced the living room when we walked in.

"You were right," she said. "It was probably him."

"Probably," I said. "How do you know she's gone? She could be on a run."

"She'd call," Absinthe said. "Or leave a message. Even to check in."

"Short leash?" said Mouse.

"No. Nothing like that. Val's just good about keeping in touch."

I said, "We're not here to tell you and your lover how to--"

Absinthe held up a hand, then let out a long, hard exhale. "She's not my lover. Valkyrie's my kid sister."

"Whoa," said Mouse.

Made me blink.

Damn. Did not expect that.

Absinthe looked at us for a long moment. "I know you'll keep this quiet. It leaks? I grease you both myself."

Murphy always told us the less people know about your secrets, the better. Especially relationships. Made either party a prime target for your enemies.

Better to keep all that hushed.

"Noted," I said.

"So we go for the guy?" Mouse said.

"Yeah. We'll need Eddie." I pulled out my phone and called. He answered in two rings. "Tell me you have something."

"Not yet," Eddie said. "Late start. Got a good image, though. Running it through the CFS database. Might take a bit."

"Any chance of a rush? I know I didn't say so before but the situation changed."

"Working as fast as I can, luv."

"Val's gone missing," I said, "and the guy on the security cam feed is involved."

"Say no more. I'll--hello, hello. What's this?"

"Eddie?"

"Wait a tick." A long pause. Then: "Your bloke's a burbee."

* * *

I promised Absinthe I'd keep her posted on things and we left the building. On the way to the Shelby, I called Specs for a loaner.

"Standard rate," he said.

"Fine."

"No complainin'. You can afford this shit."

"Right now I can."

"So we'll live in the 'now'."

"Half an hour," I said and hung up.

Mouse said, "I hate this part."

"At least it's not doing the 180-to-corp-look from two months ago. Just dressing down a little."

"Corpgeeks look like idiots," she said. "So do burbees."

* * *

Todd Wagner, twenty-one, lived in an apartment in Bayside, the residential district west of the city proper. Occupation: stockroom clerk at a CompuWorld in the Grantville Galleria.

The Galleria sat amid a sea of tract homes and front lawns just off Highway 42, a three-level, cross-shaped concrete and glass structure flanked on all sides by a huge, tree-lined parking lot.

Two hundred yards to the west was Oakwood.

Bayside was burbee-lite. Oakwood was true burbee, where the tract home ocean was dotted with islands of minimansions.

I pointed the gray BMW loaner down the offramp, onto Grantville Boulevard, and into the Galleria's parking lot. CompuWorld was on the east side of the mall so we threaded our way past foot and vehicle traffic.

Mouse was watching the Nav-N-Speek unit on the loaner's dashboard and pointed to one of the two floating icons on the display. "Wagner's apartment's two block from here," she said. "Shouldn't we try there first?"

"Mall first," I said. "If we poke around the apartment, some suspicious neighbor might call the cops on us. At least here, we're just a couple of burbees out shopping.

Mouse barked a laugh.

* * *

The entry opened onto a vast promenade lined with trees and foilage-filled planter boxes. Kiosks and benches dotted the middle of the main walkway and overhead, skylights dominated, giving the place an open-air feel.

I was in jeans, t-shirt, and my black leather biker jacket. My boot soles clumped on the marble tile floor.

Mouse wore an oversized dark green sweatshirt that covered the Bowies on either hip. Her hightop sneakers squeaked as she walked.

Burbees passed us, young and old, all of them with that same dreamy but blank gaze. I'm in my own little world, it said.

"We sure he'll be there?" said Mouse.

"Want to call the store?" I said.

"Sure." She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number I gave her.

I heard a faint voice answer.

Then Mouse's face changed.

Suddenly, I stared into a pair of bubbly yet vacuous eyes and an expression frozen halfway between surprise and joy.

"Is Todd there?" she said. Then: "Oh, total wiz! You are so stellar. No no. Don't tell. We're surprising him. Lates!"

She hung up.

I stared at her for a moment, then said, "Where the hell did that come from?

"Angelica's younger sister, Tawny," she said. "Angel City."

"Should've known."

"And remembering Natalia."

"Be nice."

"Before she got some sense."

"Better."

I spotted the sign three stores down, on the right. Done in big block letters.

CompuWorld.

"Ready?" I said, inclining my head at the sign.

"Hell yes."

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-boo"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Tuesday night at 21:30 found us back at the White Rabbit, perched at the far end of the bar, away from the door.

The music thumped at us from all sides, keeping time with the strobing flashes of red and blue from the rigging overhead and the undulating bodies that packed the dance floor.

At 21:45 she walked in. Valkyrie. Petite and willowy, red hair falling across her face, looking as if she'd just stepped out of the shower, skull-and-crossbones eyepatch fixed to her right eye.

A thought tugged at me, then vanished.

Then Valkyrie was standing in front of us, a grin on her face, hands on her hips. "You ready to go to Valhalla, ladies?"

Mouse barked a laugh.

"Not yet," I said, "but when we are, you'll be the first to know."

"It's a deal," she said. "So what brings you here? I didn't think you two were the type for this scene."

"We like to keep people guessing," said Mouse.

"Bet you a hundred creds it's biz," said Valkyrie.

"I only gamble with my life," I said. "Never with my money."

Valkyrie's grin widened. "You sound like one of her old vids." She gestured to Mouse.

Mouse brushed back stray locks that fell across her forehead and grinned. "The one with the British girl and the creepy bald Egyptian guy."

"You really gotta try the sims," said Val. "The intense factor's through the roof."

"Get enough of that in the biz," Mouse said. "Vids're fine with me."

Val nodded. "Good point."

Absinthe walked out of the crowd, came up to the bar, and inclined her head at us.

"Gang's all here," I said. Next to the three of them, I was a giant--a meter-ninety of dark-haired Amazon in black biker leathers.

"Biz," said Valkyrie with a snap of her fingers. "I knew it."

"Can we talk?" I said to Absinthe.

"Upstairs," she said.

* * *

"Not him?" Absinthe leaned against the edge of her desk and quirked an eyebrow at me. "You're sure?"

"Not a hundred percent," I said. "Just a hunch."

"The gifts stopped coming."

My turn with the eyebrow. "Really."

"Nothing's come for her since last Thursday. I'd say he was the guy and there's nothing more to do."

"Humor me," I said.

"Okay."

"Copy of the security cam feed from that night."

"Done."

"Send it to Fast Eddie."

She nodded. "That's it?"

"That's it."

* * *

Mouse and I left the club and headed back to the Shelby.

My phone chirped when we reached the car.

Eddie.

"I got movies from Absinthe?" he said in his Cockney-laced tenor.

"Security cam feed."

"Always fun."

"The bouncers take down a guy at the deejay's console. See if you can ID him."

"Depends on the feed quality," Eddie said. "I'll do what I can, luv."

"Also, see who bought an MBV convertible recently and shipped it to the White Rabbit."

"MBV? Didn't think Absinthe was the type."

"She's not. It's something else."

"Got one of those on my queue at the moment. Get to this as soon as I can."

"Call me when." I hung up.

Mouse said, "You're still not buying what Absinthe said."

I shook my head. "Still smells."

"What now?"

"We wait."

"That's a first."

"No," I said. "Not that kind of waiting. My kind of waiting.

Mouse grinned. "Oh goody."

* * *

Valkyrie left the club a little after 01:00, walked half a block north on Mason Street, and got into a four-year-old ToyoHonda Atom, a two-seater runabout that resembled a cube with four wheels and rounded corners.

The car pulled away from the curb and zipped north.

The Shelby rumbled after her.

Twenty minutes later, we turned off Sheffield, six blocks south of the Wyndham Arena, near the elevated section of Highway 610.

The Atom went down a semi-deserted street and pulled in front of a darkened loft building. Graffiti covered one entire side and the entrance had several boarded up windows.

I parked half a block down from the building, killed the engine and the lights.

Valkyrie got out of the car, locked it, then walked toward us and stood outside Mouse's side of the car. She tapped a knuckle on the window.

Mouse opened the door.

"Can I sit?" Valkyrie said.

"Sure," I said.

Mouse got out, went into the back, and Valkyrie took her place in the passenger seat.

"So what's the idea, ladies?" Valkyrie said to us.

Mouse leaned in between the front seats. "Friendly visit," she said.

"At this hour?" She shook her head. "Absinthe's involved. This is about those emails and the flowers, right?"

"Need to know basis only," I said.

"Absinthe had you two keep an eye on me, didn't she," said Valkyrie and laughed. "I'm fine, you guys. Honest. This guy is harmless. Okay, so the presents were a little much, but he'll be like the others. Get bored soon and go away."

"You sure?"

"Positive. Happened the last six times. Besides, I've got building security courtesy of Tinker and Jake."

My stomach did a flip-flop. "Jake?"

"Yeah," said Valkyrie. "Hired me for a couple of runs. Gave me a 12-gauge for protection." She looked at me. "He likes you, you know."

Mouse slapped me on the shoulder. "Told you."

I ignored the slap and said, "Jake's an idiot."

"An idiot with the hots for you," said Valkyrie, grinning.

"He told you."

"No, but I can tell."

Mouse said, "I keep telling her to jump his bones already. All this sexual tension gives me gas."

Valkyrie snorted a laugh.

"We're not talking about this any more," I said.

"You're blushing," said Mouse.

"Bite me," I told her.

"Look," said Valkyrie. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. There's nothing to worry about, okay?"

I looked at her for a long moment. "Okay."

"Promise me you two'll back off and let this go."

"Promise," I said.

"Okay." She gave us a nod, then got out of the car and headed back up the street toward the building.

Mouse slid back into the passenger seat.

"You lied to her," she said.

"Of course."

* * *

We kept watch on Valkyrie's place for another two hours. I took the first shift.

Except for a few cars and a stray dog passing by, nothing else happened.

Mouse took over shortly after 04:00 and I leaned back in the seat and drifted off.

* * *

I woke to Mouse shaking my shoulder and a too-happy chirping coming from inside my jacket.

My phone.

Sat up in the driver's seat and answered it.

Specs.

"Rise an' shine," he said.

"This better be good," I said.

"I got a message from Valkyrie. She said for you two to go the fuck home. I'm paraphrasin', of course."

"Of course."

"She left out the 'fuck' part."

"I figured."

"An' just fer the record, I ain't no damn messaging service."

"Doing this out of the goodness of your heart?'

"Ya damn right. Not to mention the grand and a half she offered."

"You're a saint, Specs."

"Don't you forget it."

"Wiseass." I hung up and told Mouse about Valkyrie's message.

"Guess we're outta here?" she said. "She might use that 12-gauge on us."

I checked my optic clock.

06:09:22.

"Let's grab some eats," I said, "then see if Eddie's got anything for us."

* * *

Eddie didn't pick up when I called so I left a message.

We got a bite to eat at a diner a few blocks down, then came back to Valkyrie's place. Her car wasn't there anymore.

"So much for that," said Mouse. "What next?"

The sky was just getting light. Through the Shelby's windshield, I could see a hazy orange glow creeping up behind the buildings, past the elevated section of highway. I checked my optic clock.

07:12:33.

"Home," I said. "Sleep. We'll pick this up again tonight."

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-boo"
Part 1 | Part 3

"Peek-a-Boo" - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Absinthe stepped into the room, a petite, willowy woman with jet-black hair and blood-red highlights, wearing a corset, red blouse with bell sleeves, and knee-length black skirt above tall lace-up boots. She closed the door behind her, took one look at us and said, "I think Valkyrie's in trouble and I need your help."

Mouse and I exchanged looks.

Just another typical day in the life of a ronin. Street mercenary. Gun for hire.

Me. Name's Kat.

Mouse and I were sitting in an upstairs office at The White Rabbit, a nightclub on Mason Street. Being two blocks from the BCU campus and student housing made it extremely popular with the city's college crowd. Always a full house.

Tonight was no exception.

Even though the office muffled the sound from the dancefloor below, I could stil feel the thumping beat through the floorboards, up my legs, and in the middle of my chest.

"How do you know Valkyrie?" I said to Absinthe. "Besides the obvious." Valkyrie was another datarat and console jockey, just like Fast Eddie and Kid Tachyon.

Absinthe went to the desk and sat down in the high-back leather chair. "She comes in here a lot." She spoke in a measured, precise voice. Friendly but commanding.

If Murphy had been a woman, he'd been Absinthe.

"What's a lot?" I said.

"Two to four times a week. For the past two years. We talk."

"What do you talk about?"

"Anything. Everything."

"What makes you think she's in trouble?"

"I get the feeling something's wrong," Absinthe said.

She had hesitated a second before answering my question. Missed it if you weren't paying attention.

I was paying attention.

"So you've got a feeling," I said.

Absinthe nodded.

"That it?"

Nod.

"You sure?

She blinked at us. "What do you mean?"

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "You're not telling us something."

"I can pay, if that's what you're worried about."

"I know you can pay."

Absinthe's jaw clenched. She stared at us for a long time. Then she sat back in the chair. It creaked beneath her. She said, "It started about three weeks ago."

"You're not going to tell us," I said.

The corner of her mouth turned up. "Three weeks ago, Val started getting gifts here."

"You two an item?" said Mouse. " 'Cuz that's wiz cute."

Absinthe looked at Mouse for a moment. Then turned back to me. "Cards, first," she said. "Then flowers. Came a few days apart."

"Sounds like a 'no' on the item question," I said to Mouse.

"Or hiding something," Mouse said.

Absinthe laced her fingers together in front of her chest and narrowed her eyes at us. "Should I call someone else for this? Maybe Jade?"

Mouse snarled.

I straightened in my chair. Put a hand up. "Hang on a sec."

"Jade probably wouldn't ask so many questions."

"Fine," I said. "Biz. No other questions."

Absinthe inclined her head. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

I glanced at Mouse. She'd settled back in her seat. She saw me and gave a nod. I turned back to Absinthe. "Presents," I said. "Three weeks ago. Delivered here. Cards. Flowers. Few days apart."

Absinthe nodded.

"How's that trouble?" I said.

"After the flowers, she started getting roses. First a single. Then half a dozen. Then a dozen. Then two dozen. Then three."

"Few days apart?" said Mouse.

"Yes," Absinthe said. "Then came the jewelry. Ring. Necklace."

"Expensive?" I said.

"Both clocked in between ten and fifteen thousand."

Mouse whistled. "Stalker," she said.

"Yeah," Absinthe said.

"Who?" I said.

"The gifts were all signed 'Your Special Admirer'," said Absinthe.

"Narrows things down," said Mouse.

Absinthe said, "Then there was three days ago."

"Which was..."

"A silver convertible showed up outside the club. A silver Olympus convertible."

"Hooooly shit," said Mouse.

"Exactly what I said," said Absinthe.

The Olympus was made by MBV. The sort of car that vid stars and the glitterati drove. Worth more than all my biomods put together. Times two.

"For Val?" I said.

Absinthe nodded. "Card attached to the steering wheel by a red ribbon was addressed to her. It said 'Elegance deserves elegance.'"

Mouse made a retching sound. "Now that's just creepy."

I said, "What did Val think of the gifts?"

"She says they're harmless," said Absinthe. "Another secret admirer from the 'net. Says she gets them all the time. Usually some infatuated teener. They don't tend to send presents, just a lot of email and 'net messages saying how much they love her and want to marry her and all that. She kept the flowers. Sold the jewelry."

"And the car?"

Absinthe looked at us for a long moment, then said in a lowered voice, "She doesn't know about the car."

"You keeping it?" I said.

Absinthe shook her head. "Specs took it off my hands. Gave me a nice deal, of course."

Good ol' Specs. Everyone's favorite info broker.

"All the gifts make you think Val's in trouble?" I said. "Even though she says this is harmless."

"Nothing harmless about a car worth almost half a million creds."

She had a point.

"No matter what Val says," said Absinthe, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

I nodded. "Okay. We'll check it out. When does Val usually show up here?"

"Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays," Absinthe said. "Between 21:30 and 22:00."

"Lucky us," I said. "It's Thursday and it's 21:50."

The thumping beat of the music downstairs cut out and the speakers let out a loud pop, a buzz, then wailed.

Absinthe frowned, tapped something at the edge of the desk, and nodded to the wall behind us.

We turned.

The lights in the office went out and a panel slid away from the wall to reveal a one-way mirror that looked down over the club.

Absinthe got up.

Then a voice from the speakers said: "Valkyrie! I love you!"

We all ran to the mirror.

The dance crowd had stopped and were staring at the deejay's platform where two men wrestled for control of a handheld microphone.

Then a pair of bouncers rushed the platform and yanked the duo apart. The mic dropped to the ground and the speakers let out a thundering boom.

I heard the short crackle of a two-way radio behind me and Absinthe said, "Bring him up."

I turned.

She stood watching the door, arms folded across her chest, radio in one hand, her face emotionless.

Imperious.

But I could see the muscle in her jaw twitch as she clenched her teeth.

Moments later, the door swung open and the two bouncers from downstairs stepped inside. One was big and beefy with a close-cropped mustache and beard, and long hair tied back in a ponytail. The other was slimly built with a tall rust-orange mohawk. Both wore mandarin-collared black leather dusters buckled down the front.

Between them, held by the arms, stood a tall, skinny twentysomething man with a narrow face and a thick shock of brown hair. He wore a dark collarless shirt, black leather pants and coat, and pointed ankle boots. Typical dress for the club.

But not for him.

The bouncers let go of his arms and he stumbled forward.

His eyes, wide as saucers, flickered between me, Mouse, and Absinthe.

Absinthe stepped up to him, hands folded behind her.

He shrank back.

"I don't know what your game is," Absinthe said, "but it's not welcome here. You're not welcome here. If you come back, my boys have orders to take you down. Isn't that right, Marco?"

The big bouncer with the ponytail gave the man a feral grin. "Right, boss."

"Do we understand?" said Absinthe.

The man nodded.

"I hope so. And if I catch you trying to contact Valkyrie or even hear about you trying to contact Valkyrie in any way, shape, or form, I will personally decapitate you and hang your head over the bar."

He swallowed visibly.

Absinthe said, "Now. Get. Out."

Mohawk stepped aside and Marco opened the door.

The man bolted out the door and down the stairs.

Absinthe gestured to Marco and Mohawk. "Make sure he's gone."

"Done," said Marco and he and Mohawk went down after the man.

Absinthe put the radio on the desk and turned back to us. "I guess that takes care of that. Sorry to have bothered you two."

"No bother," I said. "Always up for an assist."

"I can at least cover your time. Consult fee. It's biz."

"Fine by us."

"Five thousand okay?"

"More than enough."

"I'll have a runner bring the cred'chip by your place tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good." I checked my optic clock. "After 2200. No Val?"

Absinthe frowned and picked up the radio from the desk top. "Carl?"

Static. Then: "Boss?"

"Val come in?"

"Nope."

"Let me know when."

"Will do."

She clicked off the radio, pulled out her cellphone, dialed, put it to her ear. After a moment she said, "It's me. Checking to see if you were dropping in. If not, catch you next time." She hung up.

"Not there?" said Mouse.

"Voicemail," said Absinthe. "Probably on a run."

"Probably," I said. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow."

* * *

A block away, inside my refitted dark gray 2008 Shelby GT 500, Mouse said, "Something's off."

I saw the frown on her face. "You noticed."

She nodded. "Can't place it, though."

"The guy," I said.

Mouse wrinkled her forehead at me.

"The guy who came in yelling for Val," I said. "The clothes didn't fit."

"Looked like they did."

"Not like that," I said. "He didn't wear them right. Like they were out of place on him."

Mouse's eyes lit up. "It's not him."

"I don't think so."

"So let's tell Absinthe."

"Not yet. We need to confirm."

"Confirm. How?"

"Got an idea," I said.

(to be continued...)

"Peek-a-boo"
Part 2

"A Gathering Storm"

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

02 August 2042 - One day later

The fifteen-year-old brown sedan raced across the darkened Nevada Free State highway.

Jack McGee did the math in his head. At this rate, they'd reached the border crossing in under three hours. He glanced at the rearview.

Empty highway. Just stars and the dim red glow from the sedan's tailight.

He silently prayed there'd been enough time to leave.

Must've been. There must've been enough or they wouldn't have gotten this far.

A week ago they'd been in their house on Laurel Lane, enjoying a beautiful August day in Virgina.

Had it just been a week?

And then Katie. Oh, god. Katie. What they did to you--

Focus, Jack. Focus. For Danny's sake.

He clenched his teeth.

They just needed to get to CFS.

To get to Bay city.

"Daddy?" said a muffled voice from the passenger seat.

Jack glanced over. "Hey kiddo," he said. "I thought you were sleeping?"

"I couldn't sleep." Danny McGee, ten years old, poked his head out from beneath a gray wool blanket. "I kept thinking about those men."

"It's gonna be okay, Danny," Jack said.

"I'm scared."

"Me, too."

Silence, save for the rumble of the road beneath the sedan's tires.

After a while, Danny said, "We'll be at Aunt Mo's soon?"

"Soon."

"That's good."

More silence.

Then: "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I kill those men?"

Jack felt his mouth go dry. He coughed and licked his lips, willing moisture into his throat. He said, "You did what you had to do, Danny."

Silence again.

Then: "I don't wanna anymore."

"You won't have to, Danny," said Jack.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay."

And the sedan continued along the highway.

* * *

03 August 2042 - Two days later

Sakura answered her phone. "News?"

The voice on the other end said, "Someone's after your girls."

It was Simon.

"Oh really?" she said.

"One's some ganger. Lowlife. Making noise about dishonor and retribution and that sort of bullshit."

"Will he or she be a problem?"

"He. And I doubt it. He's a grunt."

"Keep an eye on him anyway. I don't want any distractions. What about the other one?"

"This one might be trouble," said Simon. "Mob daughter."

"Can't be Righetti," Sakura said.

"No. Vittorio. Blow up from the Renaldi thing."

"Ah, yes."

"Yeah. Word is she's scouting for big guns."

"Any takers?"

"Not yet. Invitation only. And the bounty's pretty nice. Twenty million. Each."

"What does Don Vittorio think?"

"He's telling her to forget about it. Doesn't sound like she's listening to daddy, though."

"She might make the same mistake as last time. This could be a problem." She thought for a moment, then said, "Think she'll listen to reason?"

"Highly doubt it."

"Maybe she'll hear my side."

* * *

04 August 2042 - Three days later

The man stood in front of the fourteenth floor office window at 1100 Peachtree, looked down at the passing Atlanta morning traffic, and listened to the buzz of a phone on his headset.

A click, then: "Hello?"

Low pitched and hurried.

The man adjusted the headset's boom mic, gave a small, thin-lipped smile. "Good morning, Mr. Jeffries. Do you know who this is?"

A pause.

"Yes," said the voice on the other end of the line. "I do."

"Good. Then you know why I'm calling."

"Yes," said Jeffries. "I'm sorry it's late. I can explain."

"I hope you can," said the man. "I'd really hate for things to happen."

"Nothing needs to happen. Just a little glitch on my end. No worries, really."

"I'm not in a position to worry. That would be you."

Jeffries sighed. "Yes. You're right."

"Of course I'm right," said the man. "When should I expect it?"

"Tomorrow morning," Jeffries said. "Eight a.m."

"You love your family, don't you, Mr. Jeffries?"

"Eight a.m. I swear to Christ--!"

"Don't blaspheme, Mr. Jeffries."

"I'm--I'm sorry. Eight a.m. You have my word."

"And you have mine," the man said and cut the connection.

A door creaked open behind him. Footsteps entered. Then a woman's voice said, "Brother Malachi, they are ready for you."

Brother Malachi half turned and inclined his head at the brunette standing in the doorway. "Thank you, Sister Rebecca. Go forth to love and serve the Lord."

* * *

Revell picked up his pace as he neared the corner of 39th Street and Steiner Avenue, on the eastern edge of campus.

They'll be here in just a few moments--

He crossed the street, turned north on Steiner, and saw them ahead, walking toward him.

He slowed.

Three twentysomething coeds chatted animatedly as they walked down the sidewalk. Two were dark-haired. The one in the middle was blond and statuesque and wore a gray BCU sweatshirt.

Revell focused on the blond and felt a stirring of emotion in his gut.

Ten seconds later, they walked past him.

Revell fought the urge to turn around and continued walking north on Steiner.

But he smiled.

Little Raya has grown up, Tamara. She has her mother's eyes.

Your eyes.

You've done well, sestrionka.

You've done well, Little Sister.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Peek-a-Boo"

"Here, Kitty Kitty" - Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Three Wyld Boyz.

One at the alley mouth, big, black and dreadlocked, wearing a mesh shirt, a MAC-10 machine pistol leveled down the alley.

Two more further in, near each wall. One on the left, bald with tattoos up both arms. The other, leanly built with a red-orange mohawk, wearing a sleveless denim jacket. Both hefted a half-meter length of pipe.

At the far end, the alley ended against the back of a four story building. Mouse waited in a fighting stance, her back to the wall, a wakizashi--Japanese short sword--at the ready.

Two meters to her left, in the corner of the alley near a pile of flattened boxes and garbage bags, next to a big blue dumpster, the cat stood, fuzzed out. Ears flattened. Tail whiplashing.

Had to finish this quick.

These three had to be lowman or firsties because they didn't hear me walk up to them.

Doom on you, as Murphy would say.

I stepped up to the Wyld Boy at the alley mouth, set down the cat carrier, and shoved Bonnie--the other Twin--into the back of his neck.

"Hi," I said.

He stiffened. The other two Wyld Boyz whirled then froze in their tracks.

"Nobody move," I said. "Unless you really want to."

Lead Wyld Boy didn't.

Bald Tattoo on my left did.

Bad move.

Clyde leaped out of my shoulder rig, roared, and spat four slugs into his chest. He staggered back one step, surprise on his face, and crumpled, dropping the pipe.

Mohawk Guy started toward me, pipe raised.

Then yelped and pitched foward to his knees, dropped the pipe, and clutched the back of his leg.

Correction: his ass.

Mouse had put three throwing blades into one buttock.

Nice shot.

I put Clyde into the back of Lead Wyld Boy's neck, pointed Bonnie at Mohawk Guy, and took off the top of the mohawk with one round.

He screamed and held up a hand. "Okay okay! I give!"

I prodded Lead Wyld Boy's neck with Clyde's muzzle. "Drop the gun."

He opened his fingers and the machinepistol clattered to the ground. I reached out with one foot and slid the weapon toward me.

"Good," I said. "Now take your girlfriend and fade."

He turned a pockmarked face toward me, eyes slitted, mouth working as if to say something. Then he saw something past my shoulder and his mouth became a thin line. He looked at me, then at the Twins. "Not over, girlie," he said in a sandpaper voice.

"Never is," I said.

Then he picked his whimpering companion up by the back of his denim jacket and they took off west on 47th.

Mouse walked up to me and grinned. "New friend?" she said.

"That's me," I said. "Miss Friendly-Pants. You okay?"

"Five by five," she said, bent down, and grabbed the cat carrier. She gestured past me. "You got an audience," she said, then turned and walked back to the end of the alley and the cat.

I turned.

Across the street, three Razors sat astride their bikes, watching.

From the end of the alley behind me, I heard a protesting yowl followed by a pair of loud metallic clicks.

I holstered the Twins in the double-holster shoulder rig under my jacket and went across the street.

The Razor in front of the other two was a woman with close-cropped dark hair.

The woman from earlier.

Something clicked.

The same woman from two months ago.

"Casey, right?" I said.

She nodded. "You remember."

"I'm good like that."

Casey grinned.

"You scare them off?" I said.

"Nah," she said. "We wouldn't do that. We know better. We just watchin' the show."

"Yeah," said one of the other Razors. "Mick would skin us if he heard we poked in."

I smiled. Good ol' Mick.

"'sides," Casey said, "Johnny and Mick got a treaty.

"Johnny?"

"Wyld Boyz honcho. Johnny Thunder. Razors get a free pass through Parkside if we need it. If those yobbos mixed it up with us, they'd have to deal with Johnny." Casey grinned again. "After they dealt with us."

The other two barked a laugh.

"Show's over now, Casey. We gotta run."

"Wiz." She pulled on her helmet and started the bike.

"Tell Mick we said hi," I said over the rumble of the rockets.

Casey nodded, dropped the helmet's visor over her face, and tore off down the street.

The others followed, the whine of their engines echoing off the surrounding buildings, then fading into the distance.

Mouse stepped up next to me, the cat carrier in hand.

I looked at her. "So what did you do?"

"The Boyz?"

"Yeah."

"One of them got in my way just as I was about to catch up to the cat," Mouse said. "Used him as a springboard. He didn't like that."

"No shit. Which one?"

"Mohawk guy."

I shook my head. "And I'm the one making friends?"

"They just chased me. You got threatened."

I thought back to Lead Wyld Boy, with his pockmarked face and mass of dreadlocks, heard his sandpaper voice in my head.

Not over, girlie.

Great. One more reason to watch my back.

I sighed. Deal with him when the time comes.

Just like I dealt with the Lightning rider.

"How we doing?" Mouse said. "For the cat."

Checked my optic clock. "Half an hour," I said.

Then gestured toward the cat carrier at Mouse's side.

"Good?" I said.

"Good," said Mouse.

"Mrowr," said the cat.

Never a dull moment.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "A Gathering Storm"

"Here, Kitty Kitty"
Part 1 | Part 2

"Here, Kitty Kitty" - Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

Ten minutes later, I turned the Shelby onto 48th Street and headed west.

"Mouse," I said into the transmitter.

"Yeah," came the reply between puffs of breath.

"Sitrep."

"Little shit's fast."

"Where are you?"

"47th. Hancock. You?"

"48th and Cameron. Block down, two over from you."

A pause. Then: "Visual."

"Where?" I said.

"North. Baker"

"Don't move. I'll be right there."

"We'll lose it."

"Mouse--"

"Hang on."

"Mouse!"

No reply.

Shit.

The cat was now on Baker Street.

In Wyld Boyz territory.

Wyld Boyz (and their female halves, the Wyld Grrlz) funneled Aguila rec drugs to BCU students and were rumored to drink the blood of their enemies. They tended to dress in tattered clothing like streeters--if streeters sported tattoos and piercings, ran in packs, and hunted tresspassers on their turf.

Could be bad.

Still, it was daylight and chances were pretty good that they wouldn't be roaming.

But they did have eyes out.

And they liked taking random shots.

I reached my foot toward the accelerator--

Then took another look.

Brake lights in front of me.

I slowed to a stop.

Red light ahead. Four cars back from the intersection at Wisher.

Crap.

Needed to find another route--

An idea.

I craned my head over the hood. Just enough space to flip a U-turn. Checked the other lane. No incoming. Glanced over my shoulder.

And saw them.

Three pairs of crotch rockets pursuing each other through traffic. Coming up my six. Fast.

One set decked out in blood-red. The other in neon-green and black.

Scarlet Razors and Grease Lightnings.

The Razors were in pursuit.

The first two pairs slalomed past the Shelby and roared through the intersection. Traffic halted with a squeal of brakes.

The last pair came up directly behind me, darted onto the sidewalk to my left, scattering peds and 'booths, then zipped between the stopped cars at the intersection.

Wyld Boyz and a joyboy turfwar.

Never a dull moment.

I flipped a U-turn and headed back the way I'd come.

* * *

I crossed 47th and Baker heading north, pulled to an empty spot at the curb, and looked around.

Quiet on both sides. Parked cars. Storefronts. A scattering of peds.

No sign of the cat.

No sign of Mouse.

I keyed the bud. "Mouse?"

No answer.

"Mouse, what's your twenty?"

Nothing.

Not good.

I checked my optic clock.

One hour until the call.

Tried again. "Mouse. I'm on Baker."

Still nothing.

I put the car into gear and began a slow cruise up the street.

Pan and scan.

A couple of shopkeepers tossed wary glances in my direction. One glared at me from behind a window.

The peds ignored me and kept walking.

Got to the corner of Baker and 46th.

The cat darted in front of the Shelby, headed west.

I slammed on the brakes, jolted to a stop.

A second later, Mouse vaulted onto the hood, trenchcoat tails flaring out behind her, leaped off, and tore after the cat.

I started to pop the driver side door open when two pairs of booted feet bounded across the hood and raced after her.

Wyld Boyz.

Sonofabitch.

"Mouse!" I said into the bud. "Two on your tail."

"I know," she said. "Where are you?"

"You just cleared my hood."

"Shit!"

"Coming to you," I said.

"Make it fast."

I floored the accelerator and yanked the wheel hard to the left.

The Shelby fishtailed into the intersection.

Something slammed into the right rear corner and the car lurched.

Jammed the brakes and the Shelby skidded to a stop. Heard thumps across the roof. Saw a figure in full-body neon-green and black leathers tumble down the windshield, bounce off the Shelby's hood, and smack the pavement a meter in front of the car.

Joyboy. Grease Lightning.

I glanced behind me.

A Razor rider skidded to a stop at the back of the Shelby and pointed past me.

Turned back.

The Lightning rider surged to its feet, whipped out a set of implant blades from the back of each fist, and turned a helmeted head to me.

Fuck.

I slid out of the car. Clyde, one of the Twins--my pair of Colt-Springfield M2001 .45-caliber high-capacity pistols--was already in my left hand, tracking.

The joyboy bolted toward me.

Clyde roared five times. The joyboy stumbled, four rounds taking him high in the chest. The last round punched through the helmet's visor. His head snapped back, haloed in a red mist. He hit the ground, bounced once, then lay still.

I let out a long breath.

The Razor, a woman from the cut of her leathers, came around the Shelby's right side and pulled up next to the Lightning rider. Prodded the body with a boot toe.

Then looked at me, saluted, and took off west.

Static crackled in the bud, then: "Kat?"

Mouse.

"Yeah," I said.

"Little help here."

"Where?"

"Alley next to Chan's Express. Make it quick."

Then a burst of automatic weapons fire.

Shit shit shit shit.

(to be continued...)

"Here, Kitty Kitty"
Part 1 | Part 3

"Here, Kitty Kitty" - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 09:00:00 +0000

"You're kidding, right?" said Mouse.

I slid into the driver seat of my re-fitted gray 2008 Shelby GT500 and pulled the door shut. "Nope," I said.

"What in hell do we know about that?" She jerked a thumb toward the Shelby's backseat.

From inside the dark blue pet carrier came an energetic mrowr-mrowr-mrowr-mrowr.

Another day in the life of a ronin.

Street mercenary. Gun for hire.

Me. Name's Kat.

I started the engine, put the car into gear, drove past the Halliday Pavillion's wide geodesic dome, headed out of Civic Park, and turned south on Center Street.

"All we have to do," I said, "is sit on the little guy for two hours. Then we get a phone call. We follow instructions. We get paid."

Mouse jabbed a finger at me. "Don't you dare say it."

"Say what?"

"That it's gonna be cake."

"Why not?"

"Because it's never cake."

"Point taken," I said.

Mouse said: "So how much?"

"Hundred fifty K."

"Each?"

"Total," I said.

"Damn."

"At least we won't be eating kibble."

"This month."

"Cynic," I said.

"Realist," said Mouse.

"Mrowr," said the cat.

We drove past a throng of BCU students heading down Center Street, across from the park, and turned east on 47th heading back to the Red Dog Bar. The mid-morning sun managed one dazzling blast of light over the building tops before it ducked behind a wall of graying clouds.

"Look on the bright side," I said, maneuvering through traffic. "It can't be that hard to take care of one little cat."

* * *

Revell, the burly and bearded owner of the Red Dog, nodded. "Wait here," he said in his Russian-tinged basso and went out the back.

I took a seat on a barstool.

Specs, everyone's favorite infobroker, perched two stools over, turned round-framed mirrorshades toward me and arched his eyebrows. "A cat?"

"A cat," I said.

"I send the two of you to pick up a fucking cat? The hell kinda' job is that?"

"Job's a job. "

"Yeah yeah," said Specs. "I just thought it was bigger'n a freakin' cat."

"Bigger usually involves things blowing up," I said. "And small armies of mooks. Really not in the mood for that right now."

"I just wanna make sure you two ain't wastin' yer time."

I smirked. "You're worried about your take."

He put a hand on his chest and gave me a look like he'd been shot. "I'm hurt."

"No, you're not."

"Okay, I'm not. And yes, I am checking my cut."

"Don't worry. It's decent."

"Define 'decent'."

"Hundred fifty K."

Specs whistled. "Pretty good for a cat."

"Yeah, it is," I said.

He tapped the bartop. "By the way--watch yer asses out there. Word is Razors and Lightnings are havin' issues."

The Scarlet Razors and the Grease Lightnings were two of the seven joyboy crews in Bay City. Joyboys were punker gangs who liked fast bikes and sported blunt impact weapons--both hand-held and implanted. Every few months, one crew always tried to grab more turf. Never on any kind of schedule but you knew when it happened. The trail of damage was usually hard to miss.

"That time again?" I said.

"Yeah. So you two watch it."

I nodded but wasn't too worried.

The first time the Scarlet Razors met me and Mouse, we greased six of them. The second time, they tried to grease me.

The third time was moments after the second and we came to an immediate--though loose--understanding that began with a hand-held howitzer.

Alliances, even loose ones, are always a good thing, as Murphy often said.

As for the Lightnings, I'd deal with them when the time came.

Revell came out from the back carrying two ceramic bowls. "Water and dry food," he said. "For the little one."

"Where'd you get those?" I said.

"Next door. From Wang."

Specs blanched. "They have a cat?"

"Two," said Revell.

"I better not hear they had more," Specs said, "'cuz I ain't eating over there again."

I took the bowls. "Thanks, Rev."

* * *

I stepped through the door of our shared second-story flat with the two bowls just in time to see Mouse dive for our striped orange four-legged client and miss.

She ate floor.

The cat bounded out the half-opened window and down the fire escape.

"Shit!" Mouse pounded a fist on the floor.

I put the bowls down and pointed at the window. "Go!"

Mouse nodded and scrambled after the cat.

I spun and bolted out of the flat and down the stairs, through the bar, and burst out the front door, scaring a couple of peds. One of them yelped.

Typical reaction. Not everyday that a meter-ninety of dark-haired Amazon in black leather bursts through doors and onto sidewalks.

Quick scan.

Peds and portabooths packed the sidewalk. Some puzzled and curious stares thrown my way. Most on ignore.

Then: "Kat!"

I whirled.

Spotted Mouse round the corner of the alley next to the Red Dog and barrel toward me.

"Cat!" said Mouse and jabbed a finger at me.

"What!" I said.

Then a lithe shape brushed past my feet.

Crap. That cat.

I spun. Saw the cat dart toward the underside of a parked sedan.

Lunged and reached out, missed, crashed into the side of the car. Pain shot up my shoulder.

Mouse tore past me, up Garner Avenue, gaining on the cat.

I went after them.

The cat zipped past ped feet and bounded into the intersection of Garner and 47th.

Tires squealed. A westbound ivory Metro Cab swerved, plowed into the side of an eastbound white utility truck, and shoved it into the signal post opposite us.

The cat raced west on 47th and disappeared from view.

Dammit.

"Shit!" said Mouse.

"Carrier," I said. "We'll need the carrier."

"Get it. And the car. I'll go for the cat." She turned and sprinted across Garner toward 47th.

"Ear bud!" I called out.

I saw Mouse reach into her coat pocket, pull out something, and wave it in the air

Good enough.

I took mine out of my jacket pocket.

A tiny plug. Subvocal transmitter.

Fitted it into my right ear canal.

Then ran back toward the Red Dog.

(to be continued...)

"Here, Kitty Kitty"
Part 2

ON BREAK

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

KAT AND MOUSE is on a short break.

Episodes will resume on November 9th.

Catch up on previous episodes here.

"Rest Stop" - Part Two"

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Dutch's AK went flying and the pair crashed into the nearest table in a tangle of arms and legs, knocking silverware to the floor.

Mouse and I rose from the booth.

Rat Face stepped between us and the wrestling pair, his AK at his hip and leveled at us. "Don't fucking move."

I looked past him.

Dutch pinned the trucker to the floor and slugged him twice, three times, four times, the punches landing with wet thumps, blood flying from the man's face. Two more hits and the trucker went limp.

"Sweet Christ, you killed him," the cook said.

Dutch rose from the floor, panting. "Fucker shouldn't have done that." He glared at the unconscious trucker. Then started to kick him in the ribs.

Rat Face grabbed Dutch's arm and yanked him back. "Fucking shit, Dutch," said Rat Face. "What're you doing?"

Dutch whirled on Rat Face. "I told you no names!"

"Fuck that. They already heard."

"That does it," I said.

"Wiz," said Mouse. "Slice and dice--"

"No. We do it my way."

She pouted. "Dammit..."

I took a step toward the duo.

Rat Face went saucer-eyed. He jumped back, swung the AK up, the barrel pointed at my head.

I stopped.

Dutch turned toward me and jabbed a finger in my direction. "Sit the fuck down, bitch."

"Wrong line," I said, and the Twins, Bonnie and Clyde--my pair of Colt-Springfield M2001 .45-caliber high-capacity pistols--leaped into my hands from the double holster shoulder-rig inside my black leather biker jacket.

A second later, Dutch drew a pistol from the back of his pants and leveled it at me.

"What the fuck!" said Rat Face, the AK shaking in his grip.

"Hard or easy," I said.

"What?" said Dutch.

"We doing this the hard way or the easy way?"

"Pick the hard way," said Mouse.

"Shut up!" said Rat Face.

I looked at each of them, felt the Twins itching to play. "Make a choice," I said. "Walk out of here. Or end up with a toe tag. Five seconds to choose. Four. Three--"

Dutch jumped back, grabbed the waitress, yanked her in front of him, and jammed the muzzle of his pistol under her chin.

She let out a panicked wail.

"Come on, bitch," Dutch said, hiding his face behind the waitress. "Try it now."

The waitress's face was pasty and her body shook. Tears were spilling down her cheeks.

Never liked human shield situations. They always ended badly.

I sighed. "Bad choice, Dutch," I said.

And shot Rat Face twice in the chest.

He staggered back a step, stunned expression on his face. Then he crumpled. The AK clattered to the floor next to him.

"NO!"

The waitress screamed.

Then thunder boomed and a sledgehammer plowed into the center of my chest, shoved me backwards into a booth.

Fabric rustled. Something whistled through the air followed by a clatter on the tile floor.

I caught my breath and pulled myself out of the booth. Thank god for dermal armor. I had enough implanted under my torso to stop an assault rifle round, but I still felt the impact from the shot.

I stood, the Twins at my sides.

Mouse threw me a grin.

"Bullseye," she said.

I looked past her.

Dutch leaned against one of the counter stools, clutching a bloody forearm where two slim throwing knives jutted out. The pistol lay on the floor beneath the stools.

He looked at me, a feral glint in his eyes. "You killed him," he said, spittle dripping from the corner of his mouth. "You killed my brother, you dirty bitch."

"You made the choice," I said.

"You're gonna pay for that," he said.

"I don't think so."

"I do." He yanked the two throwers from his arm, leveled them at me, and charged.

The Twins rose and roared four times apiece, spitting fire and .45-caliber slugs. The first volley stopped Dutch in mid-charge, rocked him back a step. The next three convulsed his torso.

Then he folded.

A few seconds later, I heard the whine of ducted fans.

"Kat," said Mouse.

"I hear them," I said, then looked at others. "Listen to me very carefully."

The cook and the waitress nodded.

* * *

SWAT burst through the diner doors, decked out in full tac-gear, H&K MP5s sweeping. Precise. Professional.

They herded us out into the parking lot and past the barricade of cruisers toward a couple of waiting ambulances.

We let the others go past us. The trucker wasn't dead but Dutch had brought him close. He staggered toward the ambulance, helped along by the cook and the waitress.

The medtechs converged on him.

Mouse and I made our way past the crowd until we got to the edge of the gathering, then ducked around the side of the diner.

My refitted dark gray 2008 Shelby GT500 sat near the back entrance.

We scrambled into the car. I jammed the key into the ignition.

Mouse grabbed my arm.

"What?"

"They'll hear," she said.

Damn. The Shelby wasn't quiet.

Then I heard it. A steady whup-whup-whup.

A swirl of dust kicked up around us and a cone of light swept past.

Bingo.

I cranked the engine, threw the Shelby in gear, and roared off toward the main road.

A quick glance in the rearview.

The one-man gyro--a news station logo emblazoned on the engine compartment--hovered over the gathered cruisers, its belly light/camera sweeping. Several officers were trying to wave it off.

I grinned.

* * *

Ten minutes later we were rumbling north along Highway 5 with no signs of pursuit.

I finally started to relax.

Mouse gave a low whistle. "That was close."

"Too close for my taste," I said.

Silence.

Then: "Kat?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm still hungry."

I frowned and heard my stomach gurgle. "Me, too."

"Stop again?"

I stared out into the night, into the distance, as the highway ahead zipped under the Shelby's headlamp beams.

"Okay," I said. "But this time, let's find a drive-thru."

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Here, Kitty Kitty"

"Rest Stop"
Part 1

"Rest Stop" - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

I had just started on my plate of eggs and ham when they burst through the diner's doors, assault rifles at shoulders, sweeping. Two of them. One bald and beefy. The other, short and rat-faced. The rifles were AK-47s with drum magazines.

"Anybody runs, they die," Bald Guy said.

Shit.

Just another day in the life of a ronin.

Street mercenary. Gun for hire.

Me. Name's Kat.

The run in Vegas had ended with two gun battles, an exploding delivery van filled with sex toys, and seven hundred fifty-thousand credits.

Not to mention a happy client.

We'd just spent two hours avoiding border patrols crossing into California from Nevada.

Now this.

I let out a long breath.

Rat-Face spun toward the dark-haired waitress behind the counter and motioned with the rifle. "You--close the shutters."

As she ran toward the windows, I heard the wail of approaching cruisers. One, maybe two.

Mouse, my partner and fellow ronin, gave me a pained look from across the booth and set down her cup of coffee. "Fuck," she mouthed.

I glanced out the window next to us. Just before the shutters slid down, I spotted two pairs of headlights pulling off Highway 119 and heading toward the diner, red and blue lightbars strobing in the darkness.

Bakersfield cops.

Not good.

There were two others in the diner besides me, Mouse, and the waitress. The cook, stoop-shouldered and paunchy, stood behind the counter. He'd been talking to the heavyset trucker wearing a black watch cap and pea coat seated on the other side.

Their eyes were on the duo, faces pale.

Bald Guy swept the rifle from side to side, trying to cover us and the pair at the counter. Rat-Face kept his weapon trained on the waitress who was now locking the diner's front door.

"That's right," Bald Guy said, toothy grin pasted on his face. "You're ours now. Do what we say and nobody gets hurt."

Rat-Face shoved the waitress toward the counter. She stumbled against the stool and yelped.

"Take it easy, buddy!" the trucker said, rising from his stool.

Bald Guy swung the AK at him. "Sit the fuck down and shut up."

The trucker held up his hands. "Just saying--"

"Don't say a fucking thing," Bald Guy said. "You'll live longer."

The trucker frowned but said nothing.

"We don't got a lotta cash," said the cook, "but you can take--"

"Shut up!" said Bald Guy, spit flying from his mouth. "We don't want your goddamn money."

The cook flinched.

Bald Guy gave him a dagger-filled look.

Then Rat Face clapped a hand on Bald Guy's shoulder and whispered something to him.

Bald Guy turned to Rat Face.

Rat Face gestured and the two of them stepped to one side, heads close together, Rat Face whispering.

I took another look at Bald Guy, just to make sure what I was seeing.

I checked my optic clock.

17:36.

Six minutes had passed since they walked through the doors.

Mouse exhaled.

I turned to her.

"Take 'em?" she said, pitching her voice low. She reached into her left trenchcoat sleeve. "I got a clear shot."

Her throwing knife sheath was on her left forearm. A flick of the wrist would send one, two or all three into either Rat Face or Bald Guy.

Mouse loves her pointy toys.

I gave a small shake of my head. "Civvies. Don't wanna chance it. You saw Baldy?"

"Yeah. What do you think? Black Crystal?"

I nodded.

Black Crystal was the latest form of methamphetamine to hit the streets. Made its baby brother feel like a stroll on the beach.

"This could get ugly," I said.

"Your call," said Mouse.

"HEY!"

We turned.

Bald Guy was staring at us, the AK-47 leveled in our direction. "The hell do you think you're doing?"

"Talking," I said. "And wondering."

"Wondering about what?" Rat Face said.

"How you two are gonna handle the cops outside."

"Fuck 'em," Bald Guy said. "We're carryin' the big guns." He gestured with the AK. "'Sides, there's only one car--"

"Three," I said.

"Who gives a fuck how many there are?" Bald Guy said. "You're all human shields and shit."

"Yeah," I said. "But those are Bakersfield cruisers out there."

"So?" said Bald Guy. "So what?

Mouse shook her head. "Aw, shit..."

Rat Face swung the rifle at us. "What?"

"You guys really don't know?" I said.

"Just fucking spill the goods, sister," said Rat Face.

"Bakersfield is a corptown," I said. "Owned by Demeter Global. Which means corp-owned cops. Which means most of them are ex-military. Not quite Excalibur or Valhalla. But close enough. Corps always hire experience. They'll eat you alive and shit out your bones."

"Fucking sonofabitch!" said Rat Face.

"You went from pursuit to hostage situation," I said. "Changed the rules big time."

"She's bluffing," said Bald Guy.

"It's been about ten minutes since you waltzed in here," I said. "I say you've got another fifteen, maybe twenty, before SWAT shows up."

"Fuck," said Rat Face. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck--"

"She's bluffing, goddamit!" Bald Guy said. He jabbed the AK's barrel toward me. "How the fuck would you know? Who the fuck are you?"

"Someone you don't want to mess with."

"Big talk, bitch. So what--you a cop?"

Rat Face put a hand on Bald Guy's shoulder. "Let's just bail, Dutch--" said Rat Face and Bald Guy cracked him across the face with the AK's stock.

Rat Face hit the floor on his ass and spit blood.

Bald Guy--Dutch--stalked toward him. "I told you! No names! You're gonna get us killed."

"If you hadn't shot that cop," said Rat Face, "we wouldn't be in this shit storm."

"How the fuck was I supposed to know he was a badge?" Dutch said.

Mouse looked at me. "Now?"

And the trucker tackled Dutch.

(to be continued...)

"Rest Stop"
Part 2

"Ghosts Of The Past"

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +0000

20 July 2042 - Three days later

"Our intel was correct," Harada said to the man on the monitor in front of him. "She's the one."

Takeshi Hosaka, oyabun of Hosaka-gumi, frowned, creasing an otherwise unlined face. "How did we miss it?"

"We never saw this coming, Hosaka-san."

"Does she know?"

"I don't think so."

"We must be sure."

"My men will continue to watch her."

"And the boy? Takahashi?"

"Single minded. He only wanted revenge. I don't forsee any problems."

Hosaka looked at him with slitted eyes. "But..."

"But he will continue to be watched."

"I thought as much." Hosaka leaned back. "To other matters. Has there been any word?"

Harada frowned. "None for the past two weeks."

"Your men?"

"Three dead. No sign of the other two."

"Five."

"Hai."

"Where?"

"Seattle. Nothing after that."

Hosaka gave a slow nod. "Do what you can, but ensure this is a priority. She must be found."

"You have my word, Hosaka-san."

* * *

Inside her father's study, Daniela Vittorio threw up her hands and slumped back in the armchair, the leather creaking beneath her slender figure. "Perchè, Papa?" she said. "Why?"

Giovanni Vittorio, a balding, heavy-set man wearing a gray polo shirt, leaned forward, elbows on his desk blotter, thick fingers laced in front of him. "You don't need to rush this, tesoro."

"It's been almost a month. Should've been taken care of by now. I can take care of it."

Vittorio arched an eyebrow. "Like you took care of Renaldi?"

Daniela frowned and looked away. You won't let that alone, will you. "I had that under control."

"You rushed it. It was only a matter of time before he gave in. Now he's found a new lease on life. And you gave it to him." Vittorio let out a long exhale. "Patience, Daniela. When will you learn patience?"

"To hell with patience. The time was right to strike, Papa. I knew it. You knew it. And it was my call."

"And you got shot for it," said Vittorio. "Six times."

Daniela gritted her teeth, felt acid rise in her throat. Damn you, you old fool. "You'd deny me payback?"

"I deny you a second death," Vittorio said. "Have you even taken a look at those two? They're connected. Heavy hitters."

"We can handle ronin--"

"They're connected to Righetti."

Daniela blinked. Merda.

Vittorio smirked. "Didn't see that one, did you? We go after them, Righetti's going to see it as an attack on him and his people. There would be blood."

"And you're afraid of a little blood?"

"Ragazza stupida! Of course I'm afraid. So should you. It would be war." He jabbed a finger at her. "You don't know what you're dealing with here. Let me handle it."

"Papa, don't you see--"

Vittorio made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Enough. I don't want to hear anymore about revenge on this Kat and Mouse. Are we clear?"

Daniela looked away.

Vittorio slammed a meaty hand onto the desk top. "I said, are we clear?"

She nodded, still looking away. "Si, Papa."

I'll find another way.

* * *

Jade stood in front of the bathroom mirror under the hazy light of the bare bulb above the sink and glared at her reflection.

"You look like shit," she told herself.

Her reflection stared back, an angular faced woman with short, blond hair.

Short. When it used to be long. Braided in a single plait, down to the small of her back.

Then that little bitch sliced it off and left in the middle of a Southside flophouse.

Now she looked like shit.

And the little bitch would pay.

Soon. Very soon.

In the other room, her cell phone chirped.

Again.

She yanked the pullcord on the bulb and turned off the light, then went to pick up her phone from the low table cluttered with stained shop rags, half-loaded pistol magazines, and tools.

"Jade!" said the singsong voice.

Her info broker.

"Michelle," said Jade.

"That's Mee-chelle," the other woman said, emphasizing the first syllable. "Been two years, girl. When you gon' get it right?"

Jade gave a small grin. "Mee-chelle."

"Now that's better. I been trying to call for the last half hour. You not avoiding me, are you?"

"Was taking care of some things."

"Well, sound like it's all taken care of now so listen here--I got one for you."

"Is it good?"

"Ain't they all good, honey?"

"Yeah, they are. And what's this good one?"

"Corpgeek."

Jade sighed and sat down on the edge of a battered off-white floral print couch, avoiding the exposed springs on one cushion.

"Another one?"

"No, no," said Michelle. "Not like that last one. Look, I know babysittin's not your style but they were paying damn good."

"Good thing they were."

"Now this one," said Michelle, "is the geek's family. Client wants you to delete his wife and daughter."

"Haven't had one of those in a while."

"So you game?"

"Of course I'm game. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well...the last few weeks--"

"Personal time."

"Why didn't you tell me? Got me all worried you got yourself greased or something like that."

"Not in a million years."

"I gotta watch out for my people, you know."

"I know," said Jade.

"So I can tell the client we good?"

"How much is the good?"

"Thirty large."

Jade smiled. "Yeah. We're good."

"Fill you in later."

She hung up.

Then caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

He hand flashed to her left side then whipped out toward the wall.

The tanto struck the gray mouse scurrying along the floor and pinned it to the baseboard with a wet thunk. It squealed, twitched three times, and died.

Jade put the phone down on the table and looked at the pinned rodent. "That was practice," she said.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Rest Stop"

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Seven

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +0000

We were in the back office of the Red Dog when I made the secure line call to Takeda's office and left the message. Then I hung up, turned to David, and said, "Besides bone lace and the optics, you're not chromed. But you move like you are. I'm guessing bioware, right? Top line stuff?"

"Yeah," he said. "They gave us the works."

" 'They' meaning 'Spartan'."

He nodded.

Mouse said, "Thought you already knew that?"

I shrugged. "Never hurt to make sure." I turned back to David. "And you're here. Not with Spartan. AWOL?"

"Yeah," he said. "Three months ago."

Mouse chuckled. "Christ, I bet they're pissed."

The secure phone rang. I picked up. "Agreed?" I said.

"Agreed," said the voice on the other line.

I hung up.

"We good?" said Mouse.

"Yup," I said.

Then I geared up. Eight spare mags in four double-mag holders at my belt. The Twins, Bonnie and Clyde, combat loaded--a full twelve in the magazine, one in the chamber.

Pulled on my black leather biker jacket.

I heard the swish of leather as Mouse pulled her coat on.

"Showtime," I said.

* * *

Beneath a bloated blood-red moon, six figures crossed King Meadow and headed toward the circular marble fountain at the center of Civic Park.

If things went south tonight, the moon wouldn't be the only thing blood-red.

I checked my optic clock.

21:00:00

Right on time.

They stepped onto the concrete walkway that formed a square around the fountain. Takeda, medium height and surly faced, led the group. On either side, a pair of black suited, broad-shouldered corp muscle. Two more just behind them. One of the back pair held Staci by her upper arm.

Takeda stopped on the far side of the fountain, directly across from us. The muscle fanned out on either side, partially backlit by the walkway lampposts.

"Where is he?" Takeda said.

I gestured.

David stepped forward.

"The girl," I said.

One of the muscle, furthest to my left, stepped forward with Staci.

She gasped and went wide-eyed when she saw us.

"Good," I said. "We take the girl. Then he--"I nodded at David--"settles with you."

Takeda grinned without humor. "Other way around."

The muscle went for their guns.

A subvocalized command flooded my body with adrenaline stimulators and the world slid into slo-mo.

The Twins leaped into my hands and swung toward the muscle holding Staci. His gun had just cleared its holster when the Twins thundered twice. Four slugs hammered into his chest. He staggered back, let go of Staci, recovered.

Torso armor.

I moved forward, fired twice more, both guns.

He folded.

Staci dropped to her knees and tucked herself into a ball when I reached her.

Concrete exploded just behind me.

I planted myself between Staci and the shooter.

Pivoted, the Twins tracking.

Caught a glimpse of Mouse gutting one of the muscle, her wakizashis flashing.

Saw David slam another muscle into the edge of the fountain and blood sprayed a misty crimson halo when the man's head cracked against the marble.

Spotted my shooter. Moving backwards and firing, badly aimed shots blasting the ground around me.

Behind him, Takeda bolted toward the grassy field beyond the fountain.

No clear shot at Takeda so I went for the muscleboy.

The Twins bucked and roared, caught the muscle six times in the chest. His momentum pitched him backwards into a crumpled heap.

A figure closed on my right.

I spun.

Then checked fire.

David ran up to Staci, slid to his knees.

I went after Takeda.

Correction.

I tried to go after Takeda.

The flash of headlights and the roar of a car engine told me otherwise.

I skidded to a stop on the wet grass just beyond the fountain walkway, dropped to one knee.

A black sedan barreled across King Meadow.

Toward me.

I raised the Twins, squinted against the headlights, and stroked the triggers. Both guns spat fire and lead in a booming staccato. Metal spanged and glass crunched. One headlight winked out.

Then the Twins went dry to the clack of slide lock.

Fuck!

The car closed.

I dove right, hit the grass in a shoulder roll.

The sedan blew past, tires kicking up dirt and grass.

Came up in a crouch, saw the car head straight for David and Staci.

A scream cut through the air.

Then a sickening crunch of metal. The sedan's back end popped into the air, hung there for a moment, then crashed back to earth.

I got to my feet, reloading the Twins as I did.

David came around the front end of the sedan, slit-eyed, his lips pulled back in a soundless snarl. He strode to the driver's side door, grabbed the handle, yanked it off its hinges, and tossed it aside. He reached in, pulled Takeda out by his shirt front, and dropped him on the grass.

Takeda got up on all fours, started to crawl away.

David stepped forward, put a boot onto Takeda's back, and shoved him down.

Takeda gave a pained yelp and collapsed to the grass.

"David!" Staci cried.

"No, Stace," said David, fingers clenching and unclenching. "He killed them. Set them up and killed them. Now it's payback time."

Something whistled past.

An X-shaped net materialized in mid-air, wrapped itself around David's torso, and threw him backwards against the sedan. The net flashed. Sparks arced across his body in a miniature lightning storm.

David threw his head back, face contorted, and roared. His body jerked and spasmed.

I spotted the connecting line.

At the same time, a blade flipped past and sliced through it.

I spun, the Twins tracking.

A figure stood facing David, a futuristic-looking rifle tucked at his shoulder. Five meters away.

I shot the rifle. The barrel exploded in a fiery flash.

The figure dropped the rifle as if it were alive, jerked his head toward me.

Then reached for his pistol.

Wrong move.

The Twins boomed twice. Caught him high and right. He half-spun and staggered back a step.

Damn body armor.

I drew a bead on him again.

"Enough!"

The voice echoed across the meadow.

I kept Bonnie trained on the figure, half-turned, and leveled Clyde at the man approaching us from behind.

Kunio Harada, lean and silver-haired in a fitted double-breasted suit, stopped at the far edge of the concrete walkway, hands behind his back.

White Lotus's second in command. Looking just like the picture on Eddie's computer.

Harada said something in Japanese.

The figure I had shot nodded and went to stand between David and Takeda's prone shape.

I spotted two more figures past Harada, just beyond the reach of the walkway's lampposts.

"Harada-san," I said.

He looked at Mouse, then at me, and inclined his head. "I know you and your companion by reputation."

"We're flattered."

Harada turned toward Takeda.

The other man rolled onto his back, chest heaving.

"It appears we misjudged this one," Harada said.

"I'm surprised," I said.

"So were we. When we learned of the situation at Nomura six years ago, the Takahashis were offered compensation for their...discretion. They accepted."

"But they never got the money," I said. "Takeda killed them, doctored the personnel records, and probably took the money."

"Exactly."

"How much?"

"Three million credits," said Harada.

I heard Staci gasp. I looked at David but his face remained blank.

"Genius plan," Mouse said to Takeda. " 'Cept you got caught."

Takeda had propped himself up on his elbows.

Harada shook his head. "The children, Takeda," he said. "You forgot to silence the children."

Mouse grinned. "Bit you right in the ass, didn't it."

Harada said, "Nomura started receiving threats about three weeks ago. We looked into it. Found out what had happened six years ago."

"But you let things runs their course," I said.

Harada nodded. "Naturally. The wheel of fortune ever turns."

"No intervention."

"Only when necessary," Harada said. "Such as now."

Takeda got to his feet, still unsteady. His clothes were rumpled and a cut above his left eyes bled down the side of his face. "Please, Harada-san," he said. "I can make amends."

Harada looked at him. "Amends, Takeda?"

"Hai. Let me regain my honor."

"Of course you can make amends," Harada said. "By dying."

David surged forward, struck cobra fast with both hands, and snapped Takeda's neck.

Takeda twitched.

Then crumpled to the grass.

Harada looked at the body. "You are forgiven."

David went limp and collapsed to his knees. Staci ran up to him, knelt down, and embraced him.

Harada looked at them. "We are finished here?"

David raised his head. "I have no fight with White Lotus."

Harada turned to me. "And you?"

I shook my head.

Harada nodded. "Good."

Then he turned and disappeared into the night.

I holstered the Twins, let out a long exhale, and turned to Mouse. "You okay?"

"Five by five," she said, resheathing her blades. "You?"

"Second wind."

Mouse grinned and shook her head. "Showoff."

"Hey, Kat?"

I looked at Staci. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Thank you. You and Mouse. For everything." She looked at David. "I got my brother back."

"Like we told you, Stace," I said. "You're family. And this is what we do for family."

"Damn straight," said Mouse.

God, I love my job.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Ghosts Of The Past"

"Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Six

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 08:00:00 +0000

A curvy brunette in bright pink exercise tights and an oversized gray t-shirt stood at Staci's front door, listening. Then she knocked. "Stace? It's Donna."

"Hi," I said. "Everything okay?"

Donna turned to us and shrugged. "Guess so. She told me to come over at 18:00 and here I am."

"And no Staci?"

She shook her head. "Who're you two?"

"Friends of hers," Mouse said.

"From the Red Dog," I said.

Donna nodded and smiled. "You're bartenders there, too?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Wiz," said Donna. She held out her hand and introduced herself. "I live on the first floor.

I shook her hand.

"She said I could borrow one of her outfits but..." She hooked a thumb at the door.

"We were supposed to give her a lift to work," I said.

Donna exhaled and knocked again. "Stace! Come on, girl--"

The door popped open inward.

We looked at the figure in the doorway.

"Hey there, tall, dark, and handsome," said Donna.

I grinned. "Hello, David."

Donna looked back at me and arched her eyebrows. "You know him?"

"Staci's brother."

"I didn't know Stace had a brother."

"They've been out of touch," said Mouse.

Donna turned to David. "Where's Stace?"

"She had to go," David said, his tone flat.

"So much for her ride," Mouse said.

Donna pushed past David and strode into the apartment. "Stace said it was wiz to borrow her little black number and her makeup case. Tell her I'll bring it back tomorrow." She disappeared into the bedroom.

David started after her.

Mouse and I stepped inside and closed the door.

David stopped, turned to face us.

"I wouldn't try anything," I said.

"She's expendable," he said.

"Then I won't tell you where Staci is."

His eyes narrowed. "You know?"

"When she's gone, I'll talk."

Donna came around the corner, a red and gray makeup bag in one hand, a black cocktail dress on a hanger draped over her shoulder. She stopped in front of David, put the makeup kit on the floor, and put a finger on David's chest.

"And you, hotness, I want to see again." Her voice dripped sex.

David blinked.

"Tell your sis to keep you around." She picked up the makeup kit, pivoted on her heel, and headed for the door.

I heard Mouse help her out of the apartment.

The door closed behind me.

And David moved.

Too fast for me to register until he had picked me up by my jacket front and slammed me against the nearest wall.

The back of my head bounced. Light exploded behind my eyes and air flew out of my lungs.

I blinked to focus and saw Mouse lunge at David and drive something long and pointy into his upper back.

David drove his elbow back without looking.

Crunch of contact.

Mouse flew backwards into the armchair.

"That supposed to hurt?" David asked.

"No," said Mouse, rolling to her feet.

"Thought not."

"But the block of C4 attached to the spike'll hurt like a sonofabitch."

David turned to her.

I looked past David's shoulder.

Mouse held a pen-sized cylinder in her left hand, her thumb poised over the top.

Remote detonator.

"You'll take us all out," he said.

Mouse nodded. "Most of the building, too."

I said: "She does that, you won't be able to finish what you're here to do."

He turned toward me, eyes slitted.

I smiled. "We know about Nomura. And your folks. Put me down and we can talk."

"And the C4?" he said.

"Stays," I said. "Think of it as insurance. For us."

"Fine."

He let go of my jacket. I dropped the half-meter to the floor, put a hand to the wall behind me to steady myself, then straightened and adjusted my jacket.

"Thank you," I said, then looked to Mouse. "You okay?"

She flashed me a "thumbs-up". "Five by five."

David folded his arms across his chest. "Talk. First, where's my sister?"

"Don't know," I said.

"You said--"

I held up a hand. "I don't know, but I have a hunch. And it's connected with Nomura. Specifically, with the White Lotus Syndicate."

"White Lotus?" He gave a start.

"Betcha didn't see that one, didja Mr. Spec Ops Man," said Mouse.

"What are you--"

"We know about Alpha Team, David," I said. "And Spartan. That you're listed as K.I.A. And Staci never knew because you didn't identify any next of kin."

"She wasn't supposed to get involved."

"She's involved now."

"What makes you think White Lotus has anything to do with this?"

I told him. About Takeda. About the man at the restaurant. About their connection to White Lotus's second in command.

David's brow creased and he suddenly looked ill. He turned away.

"Not supposed to happen like this, was it," I said.

He didn't answer.

"You were so concerned with avenging your folks that you forgot one of the cardinal rules. 'Know your enemy.' "

"I've killed her, haven't I," he said. "I've killed my sister."

"Depends on what you do next," I said. "Play it straight, Staci lives. Fuck up, and her blood's on your hands."

"How do you know she's still alive?"

I told him about Revell's call to me, how Staci thought I was dead. Then Staci's scream, and the voice on the phone telling Revell to bring David. "They're using her to get to you," I said. "Not worth much if she's dead."

He turned around and said, "Okay. What do we do?"

"First," I said, "we clean you up." I nodded to Mouse.

She went over to David, yanked the throwing spike out of his upper back. David grunted.

"Didn't hurt?" Mouse said.

David shook his head.

"Bled some, though," said Mouse.

David shrugged, then watched as Mouse slipped the spike back into the sheath at her belt. "No C4."

Mouse grinned at him. "Nope. Just foolin'."

He shook his head at us. "Ballsy move."

I smiled. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

(to be continued...)

"Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Part 5 | Part 7

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Five

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 09:00:00 +0000

"How bad?" said Mouse.

Eddie typed a series of commands on one of the keyboards. Two pictures appeared on the center monitor.

Mouse pointed to the picture on the right. "Corpgeek from last night."

"That is Tetsuo Nakagami. Works for Nomura Financial. Investment company. Company's controller."

I gestured toward the surly-looking type on the left. "The other one?"

"Richard Takeda. Nakagami's boss. Chief Financial Officer. Takeda's related to this bloke--"

Another picture appeared.

"Shit," I said.

"Ah, fuck," said Mouse.

Eddie craned his head back at us. "What?"

I pointed to the new picture and told him about Kyoto House.

"Bloody fuck," said Eddie. "If he's dead, then you're really not going to like this."

"Just spill it, Eddie," I said.

Eddie tapped Big Man's picture on the monitor. "The dead big guy is Joseph Watada. Nomura's assistant Vice-President of Finance. Takeda's brother-in-law. And this is their cousin..."

He tapped out another command.

A new display popped up.

I looked at it. "Son of a bitch."

Mouse saw it, too. "Ah, double fuck!"

The screen showed a file from BCPD's Vice Squad. Subject: Kunio Harada. The wakagashira--second-in-command--of the Hosaka-gumi yakuza family.

Also known as the White Lotus Syndicate.

Very bad.

"The little bastard's in over his head," I said.

"Sounds familiar," said Eddie.

I ignored him.

"Think he knows how deep he's in?" Mouse said.

"Doubt it."

Then another thought struck.

"Kyoto House," I said.

Mouse shot me a questioning look.

"He's dragged us in with him," I said. "Watada's in a billion pieces. And we were there. It's a good bet those three yahoos weren't the only muscle who came down with him."

"Someone called home," said Eddie.

"Which means Lotus just entered the equation," I said.

Mouse threw up her hands, got off her stool, and started to pace the repair bay, every third step punctuated with a colorful metaphor.

"Still doesn't scan," I said. "He can't be that stupid."

"He's taking on White Lotus," said Eddie. "That's 'stupid' in my book."

"Yeah, but why?"

Mouse stopped pacing. "He's got a death wish. I don't know. And I don't really care. Let's just bug out."

"We promised Staci," I said.

"Promising's gonna get us dead."

"She's family. I don't abandon family. We don't abandon family."

Mouse fixed me with a dagger-filled glare, then spun on her heel and stalked out of the repair bay into the adjoining waiting area and mini-mart.

I sighed.

"She going to be okay?" said Eddie.

"Yeah," I said. "She just needs to let off some steam."

"Never seen her that mad."

"Bad memories."

He raised an eyebrow. "Lotus?"

I nodded.

"Bugger..."

On the center monitor, Harada's picture stared at me.

Something wasn't making sense.

I said to Eddie: "What if it's not Lotus?"

"How do you mean?"

"Suppose David has no idea Lotus is connected. Suppose he's strictly after Nomura Financial."

Eddie's brow furrowed. "What makes you think that?"

"When we first ran into David the other night, he was chasing Nakagami. Told Nakagami he was coming for Takeda. Not a word about Harada or White Lotus. How is David connected with Nomura?"

Eddie turned to his keyboard and typed. A moment later, he turned back to me. "He never worked for them."

A thought struck and I suddenly got a queasy feeling in the pit of my gut. "What about his parents?"

"I'll see." He plugged a gold-tipped cable into the datajack just behind his right ear and slumped in his chair.

"Car accident."

I turned.

Mouse stood by the door to the waiting area and mini-mart, arms folded across her chest. I raised an eyebrow. She nodded, gave me a half-smile.

"You were saying," I said.

"Staci said their 'rents were killed in a car accident."

I remembered. And didn't like it. "It wasn't an accident."

Mouse nodded. "Bumped off."

Eddie jerked awake, sat up, and shuddered. He turned to me and grinned. "Bang on, luv. Parents were Nomura employees. Died in--"

"--in a car accident. Staci told us."

"Right. But three days before, there's a notation in their files about a meeting with their personnel department."

"What kind of meeting?"

"That's the dodgy bit. The notation was erased a few hours after entry."

Mouse walked up to the workstation. "You could tell?"

Eddie waggled his eyebrows at her. "We console jocks work in mysterious ways, luv."

She turned to me. "Can I hit him?"

"Their parents," I said to Eddie. "What did they do at Nomura?"

He glanced at the monitor. "Accounting department."

Mouse snapped her fingers. "They found something they shouldn't have."

"Cover up," I said.

"But how does Lotus fit in?" said Mouse.

"Nomura's an investment company," I said. "The higher-ups are two men related to White Lotus's second-in-command. Staci's and David's parents worked in accounting. They had a meeting with personnel but the notation was erased. Three days later, so were they."

"Money laundering," said Eddie.

"Their folks found out," Mouse said. "They tell personnel and get killed for it. And David's going after the person he thinks killed them. Takeda."

"And guess who deleted the personnel file entry?" said Eddie.

"Takeda, again," said Mouse.

"Bang on," I said.

My phone chirped. I answered.

Revell said, "You answer quickly for a dead woman."

Shit. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Staci."

(to be continued...)

"Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 4 | Part 6

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Four

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 31 Aug 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Following a recon of the restaurant and the surrounding area which turned up nothing, Mouse and I went in fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

The Kyoto House Restaurant occupied the ground floor of a small, two-story standalone at the corner of 36th Avenue and Archer near the southern end of Little Tokyo.

We were led at a table in the back. I told the server we were expecting a few more people. He nodded, bowed, and left the table. We sat, back to the wall, facing the main entrance. Aside from us, there were three others: a smiling young couple and a harried-looking corpgeek. The couple shared a plate of sushi rolls and an energetic story punctuated by giggles and snorted laughter. The corpgeek ate from a bento box and hunched over a laptop.

"Look familiar?" I said to Mouse as we sat down.

"Last night," she said. "We were a block down."

"I don't like this."

"Me either."

"Stay frosty."

"Five by five."

At exactly 15:30, a pair of corp muscle walked in. Broad shouldered. Dark suits. Blank expressions.

One took position at the door.

The other looked at us. Then he spoke briefly to the couple and the corpgeek. They got up and left the restaurant. He turned back to us, pulled a phone from his suit jacket pocket, and spoke into it.

A moment later, a bull-necked, barrel-chested Japanese man in a badly fitting suit waddled in. A shorter compact man with a closely shaved head wearing a dark suit and red tie came in just behind Big Man. They took a seat at a table in the middle of the restaurant. Big Man laced thick fingers on the table in front of him. Red Tie leaned back in his chair but he looked like a coiled spring.

The second muscle sat in a nearby booth, attention on us.

I got up, went to the table, and sat down across from Big Man and Red Tie.

Big Man looked me up and down with dark eyes. "You the one?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Good. Where is it?"

I frowned. "Where's what?"

"Come come. I'm not here to play games."

"No games. What are you talking about."

"Don't waste my time," said Big Man. "Hand it over."

My neck hairs saluted.

Dammit--

I looked at Big Man with narrowed eyes. "What's the job?"

Big Man gave a start. "Job? What job? You're supposed to give me a package--"

I yelled: "Em! Bounce!"

Then sprinted for the door.

Red Tie lunged for me. I clotheslined him and he crumpled into a nearby table.

From behind me came a pair of meaty thunks followed by strangled yelps.

Mouse loves her pointy toys.

I burst out the front door and was halfway across the street when light flashed at my back. The world roared. The concussion wave shoved me forward. I went sprawling over the hood of a parked sedan, landed on the opposite sidewalk amid a hail of burning debris and bits of glass.

I rolled to a crouch and peered over the car.

The sign hanging in front of the restaurant groaned, sprayed sparks, then fell off with a crash.

I turned and spotted Mouse nearby. We exchanged looks.

This was starting to get a little complicated.

* * *

Back at the car, I called Eddie.

"Good timing," he said. "Was just about to ring you."

"Need an info dump," I said.

"You always do. Who's the mark?"

"David Takahashi."

"Give me ten. I'll call."

"We kinda need to lay low," I said. "We'll come over."

"Fine by me. I'll keep an eye peeled."

* * *

Fast Eddie's shop occupied an abandoned autobody shop off Edge Road on the northeastern tip of the Southside District, past Highway 401.

After we went in, Eddie dropped his wiry, lab coat-clad frame into a high-back leather chair and swiveled toward his workstation, a U-shaped configuration of tables that sat against the far wall of the converted repair bay. Assorted electronic equipment trailing wires and cables occupied the two side tables. Three flat-screens, two keyboards, and a cyberdeck dominated the middle table.

"I genned up on our young David," he said and typed commands on one of the keyboards. "Seems he's quite the little soldier."

"Soldier?" I said. "I thought he was working construction?"

"In his previous life, yeah. But look." Eddie pointed to the center flat-screen. A dossier. David's picture stared out at us, his hair shaved close to his head, military fashion.

"Joined the CFS Armed Forces seven years ago," said Eddie. "Served a three year tour, then joined Special Ops."

"Alpha Team," I said. Best of the best. And then some.

Eddie nodded. "Alpha Team."

Mouse gave a low whistle.

"But have a gander here." He pointed to an entry toward the bottom of the screen.

I read it.

Then read it again.

"Is that right?" I said.

"Far as the public's concerned."

Mouse looked up from reading and snorted. "He looks pretty good for a two-and-a-half-year old dead guy."

"But it's all public record, innit," said Eddie.

I nodded and smiled. "What's the private record?"

"That's where things got interesting."

"How interesting?"

"Classified interesting."

I raised an eyebrow.

Eddie nodded. "Bloody right. But I got it. Well, part of it anyway."

"And?"

Eddie typed again. Another window appeared on-screen. He tapped the display with his finger. "According to this, six months after joining Alpha Team, David became part of some hush program called 'Spartan.' Far as I can tell, it involved extensive mods. All top line. And bioware."

Mouse looked at me. "You called it."

I nodded. Bioware. Biologically tailored implants. No chrome. No chips. All vat-grown. Undetectable, unlike typical cyberware. Perfect for someone who doesn't want to look like a mass of flesh and machine.

I could think of one reason why the military would be doing this.

"Super soldier," I said.

"Wiz," Mouse said. "Alpha Team and super soldier."

"And two years dead." I turned to Eddie. "Army would notify next of kin at the time of death, right?"

"Right."

"So why didn't Staci know?"

"Staci?" Eddie said.

"From the Red Dog."

"With the cat-eyes? David's her brother?"

I nodded. "She told us she hadn't heard from him in seven years."

"The notice never got to her," Mouse said.

"Go back to his file," I said to Eddie.

He keyed a command. The dossier appeared on the center screen.

I scanned it.

"Bingo," I said, and pointed to one of the entries.

"Bloody hell," said Eddie.

Mouse looked over his shoulder. "No next of kin."

I frowned. "Still doesn't explain what he's doing here..."

A thought struck.

"Another dump," I said.

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie finished his datarun and Mouse and I were back at his workstation.

Eddie upended a full can of Tsunami cola and lobbed it into the cardboard box full of empty cans then turned a frown toward us. "You're not going to like this."

"Why not?" I said.

"It's bad," said Eddie.

(to be continued...)

"The Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 5

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 08:00:00 +0000

At the crack of noon the next day, while Mouse sat on the floor of our apartment above the Red Dog Bar and oiled her other blades, I called Fast Eddie, our favorite 'netjockey.

"Mornin', luv," he answered in his bright Cockney-laced tenor.

"Need info," I said.

"In the middle of something right now. Can it wait?"

"When?"

The crunch of snacks--no doubt greasy potato chips--greeted my ears. Then: "Two hours."

"What!"

"Not local. I'm on min gear."

"Fine," I said. "Buzz when you're back." I hung up.

"I was thinking," Mouse said, examining another of her wakizashis. "Maybe David's like that Aussie in the vid we saw last week. With the bone lace and the claws."

"I'm leaning more toward top line bioware," I said. "Expensive as hell, though."

"How'd he get it?"

"Don't know, but we'll find out."

A knock at the door.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Are ya nekkid?" a reedy voice called out.

Specs. Everybody's favorite info broker.

Mouse snorted. "Yeah, we are!" she called back. "Nekkid and oiled up."

The door popped open and a pair of round-framed mirrorshades topped by a bald head peered in. "Liar," Specs said. "Kill my dream, why don't you."

"Pervert," said Mouse.

"Damn right."

I sat down on the battered rust-orange couch and put my feet up on the low coffee table. "What do you want, Specs?"

He walked in, clad in a Hawaiian shirt the color of a paint factory explosion, and perched on the arm of the couch. "Do I have to want something? Can't I just make a social call?"

"You don't make social calls."

"You're right."

"So what's the deal?"

"Possible run," he said. "Some suits are lookin' for experts. Sounds like a retrieval."

"You don't know?"

"They didn't mention details."

"They mention anything?"

"Fifty thousand per."

I whistled. "Nice take."

"You two in?"

I looked at Mouse.

Her brow furrowed. She mouthed: "Staci."

I mouthed back: "Later."

She shrugged and nodded.

I turned to Specs. "In."

"Fab. I'll tell 'em and get you details." He got up and started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to us. "Oh yeah. One more thing. Somebody's been nosin' around about you."

"Who?" I said.

"No idea. But one of my guys passed the word to me."

"When was this?"

"Earlier today."

"Can we talk to your guy."

"Sure. I'll tell him you're comin'."

* * *

We found Specs's guy, a fiftyish, balding, skinny bartender named Eli, in the alley behind Muldoon's Pub on 47th Avenue in the Lower East Side.

Eli lobbed two filled garbage bags into the dumpster, wiped his hands on the back of his rumpled pants, then turned toward us. "You from Specs," he said with a drawl.

"Yeah," I said.

"Heard 'bout you two." He sniffed, his walrus-like mustache twitching. He squinted at me. "Y'ain't so tall."

I grinned. "Tall enough."

"Way some folks tell it, you're four meters tall and shoot fire out yer eyes."

Mouse snickered. "Been known to happen."

I shot her a dirty look then turned back to Eli. "Specs said somebody's been asking about us."

"Yep," said Eli.

"Who?"

"Young feller. Dressed like a suit. Smelt like trouble."

"What'd he look like?" Mouse said.

"Japanese."

Mouse and I exchanged looks.

"He give a name?" I said.

Eli grinned. "That'd be too easy."

I shrugged.

"No name," Eli said. "But he described you two."

"What'd he want?'

"Never said. Just asked if I knew 'bout you. Said I didn't. Then he left."

"When?"

"Just after we opened. 'Bout two hours ago."

"Thanks."

Eli nodded. "No problem." He turned and went back inside Muldoon's.

* * *

"What'd you think?" said Mouse as we walked the two blocks back to the Mustang.

"I think it's David."

"Could be somebody else."

"He described us."

"So could anyone else."

"Staci lives in this neighborhood."

"Okay. Narrows it down a bit. But it still doesn't say 'David' to me."

"Just a hunch, Em," I said.

When we got to the car, I put my hand on the driver's side door handle.

And stopped.

The hairs on the back of my neck saluted.

I frowned.

Something off.

"Kat--" said Mouse. I heard the tone in her voice.

"You, too?" I said.

"Yeah."

Pan and scan.

The sidewalks teemed with peds ambling past storefronts, eyes taking in shop or restaurant windows, or focused on some downstreet destination. Hawkers, manning portabooths loaded with trinkets or eats, fought for attention, their calls and voices mingling with the sound of traffic.

Nothing.

Scanned the rooflines.

Save for a few pigeons, empty against a dead channel-gray sky.

Nothing again.

"The hell...?" Mouse said.

"I know. I don't like it."

My phone chirped. I got into the car, answered it.

Specs.

"I talked to those suits," he said. "They wanna' meet."

"They give you more details?"

"It's a retrieval. Like I said. But they'll talk details in person."

"Where?"

"Little Tokyo. Place called Kyoto House. Two hours."

"We'll be there."

I told Mouse. Then said: "Enough time to go back to the Red Dog, gear up, and scope out the site."

"Let's do it," she said.

As I started the Mustang, I took a final look around.

Still nothing.

Something smelled.

And it smelled like trouble.

* * *

The dead cat hung off the women's bathroom door, pinned in place with Mouse's broken wakizashi blade from the previous night.

In a bygone era, it would be called "a bad omen." I call it "a threat." Plain and simple.

I don't appreciate threats.

"David," I said, inclining my head at the dead animal.

"Bastard," Mouse said. "That was a good blade, too. I'll take it out on his balls."

Revell, the Red Dog's burly and bearded owner, came out of the kitchen, wearing a pair of rubber gloves and carrying a dish towel. "Lock on back door was bypassed," he said in his Russian-tinged basso. "No forced entry." He wrapped the towel around the blade, took a grip, and yanked. The corpse flopped to the floor.

Mouse made a face. "Nasty."

Revell picked up the dead animal and went out the back door.

"David's trying to change our minds," I said.

"That'll be the day," said Mouse.

(to be continued...)

"Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

"The Price of Vengeance" - Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 08:00:00 +0000

Two hours later, Staci, Mouse, and I were sitting in the Red Dog's back office once more.

"The last time I saw David," Staci was saying, "was seven years ago. It was nine months after our folks died in a car accident. We went out for dinner. When I tried to call him a few days later, he was gone."

"Just like that?" I said.

She nodded. "Just like that. No email. No telcom message. Nothing."

"Gone to where?"

"Don't know," she said. "Never heard from him after that."

"Did you try friends?" Mouse said. "Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Somebody he might've talked to?"

Staci smiled. "David wasn't the social type, if you scan."

"Loner," I said.

She nodded. "Standard moody little brother. Even moodier after Mom and Dad died."

I leaned back in the chair. "So if you haven't heard from him in seven years, why do you say he's in trouble?"

Staci's eyes narrowed. "Two days ago, I saw him standing across the street from my apartment."

Mouse and I exchanged looks.

Staci went on: "I had just come out of my building and...there he was. He looked at me. Right at me. Then..." She frowned.

"Then...?" I said.

"A bus went by. When it passed, he was gone." Staci looked at me. "He's in trouble isn't he."

"Maybe he just stopped by to see you?" Mouse said. "In town for a few days, wanted to see big sis?"

"With no warning?"

Mouse shrugged. "Maybe it was a surprise?"

I said: "What was your last night like? When you two had dinner together?"

"Casual," she said. "We talked about things."

"Like?"

"Like how we were doing. That sort of thing. We didn't exactly travel in the same circles. I was here in BC. He'd moved out the year before and was living in Northwood."

"How was he doing?"

"Okay, I guess. He said he was working for a construction company out that way. Everything seemed fine."

"Remember the name of the company?" said Mouse.

She thought for a moment. "Mc-Something and Brothers." She made a face. "Sorry."

"Don't worry," I said. "It was seven years ago. But a good place to start looking. Do you have a picture of him?"

"Got a couple back at my place."

"You mind if we borrow one?"

"No."

I got up. "We'll give you a ride."

* * *

Staci lived in a four-story walk-up on 30th Street in the Lower East Side. I pulled the Shelby up in front of the building and we followed Staci up to the top floor apartment. She unlocked her door, stepped inside, then recoiled and bumped into me.

"David!" Staci gasped and dropped her apartment keys.

Over Staci's shoulder, I saw a figure sitting at the kitchen table opposite the front door.

Her brother. Tall and dark-haired, wearing jeans and a gray sweater.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

I frowned.

Something was off.

David stood up. "Hi, sis. Miss me?"

I scooped up Staci's keys, slipped past her, and stood to the right of the door.

I heard Mouse move off to Staci's left.

David's eyes narrowed. "Who are they?"

"I'm Kat," I said, then inclined my head at Mouse. "That's my partner, Mouse."

David frowned and I saw him tense.

"They're friends, David," Staci said. "I asked them for help."

He turned to Staci, the frown deepening. "You're in trouble?"

Staci chewed on her lower lip. "No. But I think you are."

David gave her a lopsided grin. "Me? I'm not in trouble--"

"David, stop it."

"Stace, I swear--"

"I said stop it!" Her voice rang through the apartment. David blinked, as if she'd slapped him. "You disappear for seven years without saying a word? You show up across the street two days ago and vanish again? Now you're sitting in my apartment in the dark? In the middle of the night? What the hell do you call that?"

I put a hand on Staci's shoulder, felt her body shaking.

"Stace," David began, "listen to me..."

I turned to him. "David, we can help--"

He swung his head toward me and his eyes pulsed red. "This isn't your concern," he said.

Bingo.

I heard Mouse's blades sing out from the scabbards inside her coat. At the same time, the Twins leaped into my hands and centered themselves on David. I stepped in front of Staci.

"Stay back, Staci-chan," Mouse said.

"What's going on?" said Staci. I heard panic in her voice.

"Was going to ask your brother the same thing," I said, still looking at David. "Chase any suits lately, David? Say, f'r instance, someone named Nakagami?"

"David?" Staci said.

David's eyes glowed red once more. "I warned you," he said to me. "Don't meddle in things--"

"--things I don't understand," I finished. "Blah blah blah. You still haven't answered the question."

David smiled. Then looked at Mouse.

Mouse leveled one of her wakizashis at him.

The Twins tracked David.

Suddenly, he surged forward, raised his hand, and impaled it halfway down the wakizashi blade. Then he twisted his wrist and the blade snapped off with a loud spang.

Staci gasped.

"Holy shit--!" Mouse said.

David looked at the length of steel jammed through his palm, then yanked it out. Blood dripped off his hand onto the carpet. He leveled the blade fragment at me. "Stay away from this. And stay away from my sister."

Then white light exploded around me and thunder boomed through my skull.

* * *

Flash-bangs--concentrated thunderclap combined with supernova flash in a fist-sized canister--are great for disorienting your opponents while you rush in and beat the crap out of them.

Not so fun when they're used on you.

David had dropped one of them on us and vanished from the apartment.

I sat at Staci's kitchen table trying to stop the ringing in my ears and the sporadic double-vision when Mouse crawled in--unsteadily--through the window from the fire escape outside.

She dropped into the chair across from me, rubbed at her temples, and inclined her head. "Still?"

"Hell yes," I said. "You weren't on top of them when they went off."

"Should've ducked."

"Bite me." I grinned then gestured at the window. "Anything?"

Mouse shook her head slowly, trying not to wince. "Must've cleared a couple of rooftops by the time I got out there. Not even a trail from that cut."

I frowned. "Damn."

"That's not David."

We turned toward Staci.

She sat straight-backed on the edge of her couch staring at her feet, hands folded on her lap. "That's not my brother."

"Staci--" I said.

"No." She shook her head and looked at us. "I'm sorry for dragging you two into this. You don't have to finish the job." She looked at the window. "Something tells me he's beyond help."

"Sorry, Stace," I said, "but we can't back out now."

She blinked. "You can't?"

"We can't?" Mouse echoed.

I shook my head. "No, we can't. We finish every job we take."

"Not if we get greased," Mouse said.

I shot her a glare then turned back to Staci. "Besides," I said. "You're family. We don't back out on family."

(to be continued...)

"The Price of Vengeance"
Part 1 | Part 3

"The Price Of Vengeance" - Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 08:00:00 +0000

The figure shot out from around the corner of 37th and Archer right into the path of my refitted 2008 Shelby GT500.

"Watch it, Kat!" Mouse said.

I jammed my foot on the brakes, jerked the wheel.

The Shelby fishtailed to a squealing stop.

The figure kept going. Bounced off the hood. Hit the pavement, hard.

Just another day in the life of a ronin. Street mercenary. Gun for hire.

Me. Name's Kat.

I got out of the car as the figure--a fortyish Japanese corpgeek with a rumpled gray suit and an acne-scarred face--scrambled to his feet.

"You okay?" I said.

He spun toward me and recoiled, fear etched on his face.

Typical reaction. It's not everyday that a meter-ninety of dark-haired Amazon hits you with an antiquated car, then gets out and comes over for a closer look.

I stopped and held up both hands, palms out. "Easy. I don't bite."

Mouse, my partner and fellow ronin, came up beside me, her short brown hair pulled back into a stumpy ponytail, a few stray locks always spilling across her forehead. Her black leather trenchcoat billowed cape-like around her. "Yo, choom," she said to the corpgeek. "No worries. We come in peace."

My optic clock read: 22:45:33.

"Little late to be out jogging, isn't it?" I said.

"He's letting off steam," said Mouse. She inclined her head to the corpgeek. " Whatsa matter? Bad karaoke?"

The man looked past us, let out a strangled yelp, and stumbled back, hitting the curb and falling on his ass.

I pivoted.

As I did, the Twins, Bonnie and Clyde--my pair of Colt-Springfield M2001 .45-caliber high-capacity pistols--leaped into my hands from the double-holster shoulder rig underneath my black leather biker jacket.

At the same time, I heard metal sing out as Mouse's wakizashis whipped from the scabbards beneath her coat.

Japanese short swords.

Mouse loves her pointy toys.

A figure strode out of a nearby alley, jungle cat slow, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Tall male. Leanly muscled beneath black fatigues. Face covered by a black balacalava.

And glowing red eyes--

What the hell?

I popped my optics to thermograph.

What I didn't see made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

Aside from optics and what looked like bone lacing, nothing.

Nothing.

Yet he gave off an air of tightly restrained violence.

I've run into my share of both highly trained fighters and outright psychos. But this guy was something else entirely.

Bad news.

Just my luck.

"Kat..." Mouse began.

I heard the tone in her voice. "I know," I said.

"Just checking."

I kept my gaze--and the Twins--on the figure. "No problem here, is there?" I asked.

Balaclava turned glowing eyes toward me. Then he turned to the suit and took a step forward. "Tetsuo Nakagami," he said. "Time's up."

Nakagami gurgled a pathetic reply.

I took a step forward, still keeping the Twins leveled at Balaclava, trying to ignore the little voice in my head telling me to run. "You didn't answer my question," I said.

"I'd answer," Mouse said. "She's got an itchy trigger finger."

Balaclava looked at us. "This isn't your concern," he said.

"Too late," I said. "It is now. So talk. Or should I let these two"--I gestured with the Twins--"do the talking?"

He started toward Nakagami.

"Hold it," I said.

He got to the middle of the street, kept walking.

"I said, hold it."

Nakagami yelped.

Mouse sprinted to the corpgeek, planted herself between him and Balaclava, and dropped to a fighting stance, blades at the ready. "Kat..." she said.

"Fuck it," I said and squeezed both triggers. The Twins boomed twice and four slugs plowed into Balaclava. He doubled over, staggered back a step.

And stood up.

What the fuck?

Then he moved, too fast for me to follow until he was standing in front of Mouse.

Mouse slashed at him.

Balaclava blocked the swing and Mouse's blades bit deep into his forearm. He grabbed her trenchcoat collar with his free hand and threw her aside.

Mouse landed in a heap several meters away and her blades went skittering across the blacktop.

I ran to her. "You okay?"

"That fucking hurt!"

"Don't meddle in things you don't understand," Balaclava said.

We turned toward him.

He fixed us with a look. "This is your only warning," he said, then turned to Nakagami.

The other man stared at Balaclava, wide-eyed, mouth open.

Balaclava loomed over the corpgeek. "Tell Takeda I'm coming for him."

Then he turned and sprinted back across the street into the darkness of the alley.

I popped to thermograph only to catch a blurred form vault four stories to the roof of the nearby building and vanish from sight.

Dammit.

I turned to check on the corpgeek.

He was gone, too.

* * *

Staci Takahashi was waiting for us in the Red Dog Bar's back office.

"I need your help," she said as Mouse and I walked in.

"Love the do, Staci-chan," Mouse said, inclining her head at Staci's close-cropped red-orange hair.

Staci gave a small smile.

"What's up?" I said.

Staci's almond-shaped cat-irised eyes narrowed. "I think my brother's in trouble."

"Trouble's our business," Mouse said, dropping into the couch.

I shot Mouse a look.

She shrugged. "Old vid."

I perched on the edge of the desk and turned back to Staci. "What kind of trouble?"

Staci frowned and fidgeted with the green apron Revell made the bartenders wear. "I don't know. Not exactly."

"Not helping much, Stace," I said.

"Call it a sisterly hunch," she replied.

Mouse's brow wrinkled. "Can you vague it up any more?"

Staci's face fell. "Sorry."

"Mouse is right," I said. "That doesn't give us much to work with. Got any details we could use?"

"I might," she said, "but it'll take a while and I need to get back on shift. How about I meet you after?"

"Sure," I said.

"So you guys'll help?"

I glanced at Mouse.

She was looking at me expectantly.

I turned back to Staci.

Staci noticed my hesitation. "Revell said--" she began.

I held up a hand.

Out of all the bartenders Revell had hired over the years I'd known him, Staci had lasted the longest. She'd been there when Murphy took me under his wing five years ago. She'd been there when Mouse came on board two years later.

And she was there when Murphy died three months ago.

Like Revell, she was family to us.

"We'll help," I said.

"You will?"

I nodded. "Been kinda boring lately," I said. "And her whining"--I jerked a thumb at Mouse--"is driving me wonky."

Mouse stuck her tongue out at me. "Bite me."

Staci beamed. "You guys are wiz." Then she chewed on her lower lip. "One more thing..."

* * *

Mouse stared.

I stared back. "What!"

"No charge?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Keep it down," I said, glancing at the office door as it shut behind Staci.

"Are you crazy?" Mouse said. "We're running a business, remember?"

"She's family," I said. "You gonna charge family?"

Mouse frowned. "Well..."

"Stop worrying," I said. "We still have half the creds left from the Lazlar payout. We'll be fine."

"Yeah," Mouse said. "If we want to live off kibble for the next month."

"Cynic."

(to be continued...)

"Price of Vengeance"
Part 2

"Life Goes On"

noreply@blogger.com (Ace) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 08:00:00 +0000

01 July 2042 - One Day Later

The door to the flat above the Red Dog Bar creaked open and Specs stuck his head inside. "You expect me to carry this in there?" he said. "I already carried 'em up the goddamn stairs."

I looked up from the coffee table where I'd been threading a bore brush through Clyde's field-stripped barrel. "You're all heart, Specs," I said.

"And you're an ungrateful shit," he said, shoving the door open with his shoulder and coming in with a pair of large hardcases.

I set down Clyde's barrel and the bore brush, wiped my hands on the towel at my waist, and stood up. "That it?" I guestured at the cases.

Specs nodded and set them down by the coffee table. "The four Sigs. And the other MP5."

"Mags and rounds?"

"Box of mags for both downstairs. And a handtruck for the rounds."

I nodded. 10,000 rounds of .45-caliber and 9mm ammunition were heavy.

"I'll give you a hand," I said and headed for the flat's door.

"Damn well better," said Specs, following. "I got me a bad back."

"You do not."

"Was a fuckin' war wound."

"What war was that?"

"None of your business."

"You whine too much," I said.

"The hell I do."

"You're already getting extra for this, you know."

"By the way," he said. "You know Jade's back?"

That didn't surprise me. "I figured, " I said.

"I thought you said she got shot during the Lazlar thing?"

"In the chest. Wouldn't have killed her. I bet she's pissed, right?"

"For the chest shot?"

"That was Burns who shot her," I said. "I mean about the hair."

"What hair?"

I told him.

Specs nearly fell down the stairs laughing.

* * *

The rounds were in twenty labeled ammo cans stacked on a handtruck and secured with ratchet straps.

Specs grabbed the box of magazines sitting on top of the stack.

I grabbed the handtruck handle and headed back up the stairs, pulling the load after me.

"I gotta ask," Specs said.

"Sure."

"Why are you two still here?"

"Say again?"

"That was one hell of a payout from the Lazlar thing," he said. "You two had it made. Whyn't you retire? Know what you could buy for that much money?"

"I do," I said. "Mod checks for one. Repair the Shelby for another."

"Okay okay," he said. "I get the picture."

"And Doc was pretty specific about the mod checks. Especially since we were about two months late with ours."

"I thought you both had top line mods?"

"Yeah, but at the rate we were using ours? Was a good thing we went in when we did. Both of us had to go for a full torso mesh replacement."

Specs whistled. "That's a nice bundle right there."

"Not to mention checks and repairs on everything else we were packing. Add it up and it's a pretty nice chunk of change. Mods. The replacement. The Shelby. Other stuff." I did some quick calculations in my head. "I think we're at about half now. Split between us."

"You could still live easy on that."

I snorted a laugh. "Can you honestly see me and Mouse in some Highgate mansion?"

He shrugged. "Yer neighbors'd leave you alone. That's fer sure."

I shook my head and went into the flat. "Not our style."

"And runnin' around B.C. getting shot at by secmen and mooks is?" Specs said, following.

I set the handtruck by the coffee table next to the hardcases and undid the straps.

I said: "Do you really think Mouse and I could play by gliteratti rules? Or even burbee rules?"

"You got a point."

"Besides, there was three weeks between Lazlar and the Renaldi run. We started to get bored. Half that time we were recovering from the surgery. But still. Bored."

"You're fuckin' nuts."

"What about you?" I said. "You got a nice percentage from the Lazlar run. And a bonus. Why aren't you living it up?"

"Well, I did go to..." He cleared his throat. "No comment. Let's just say that pai gow and I still don't get along."

I grinned.

"So I take it retirement's not on your mind?" he said.

"Not yet," I said. "Maybe one day. In the meantime, the biz goes on. Life goes on."

INTERLUDE THREE

03 July 2042
Plaza Suites Hotel
Seattle Metroplex

The woman who called herself Sakura got out of the shower, dried off, and put on clothes. Casual. Pants. Blouse. Mirrorshades.

Combed her hair back from her face.

Grabbed the suitcase off the bed, making sure not to step on the splotches of blood on the floor or touch the bloodstained bedcovers.

She took one last look at the two men sprawled out at the foot of the bed. Dark suits. Well-built. In their twenties.

Japanese.

One had his head bent in an unnatural position. The other was face up with a butter knife jammed up under his chin.

Their sidearms were still holstered.

She shook her head, grabbed the last piece of toast off the breakfast cart, and left the room.

--END--

NEXT TIME: "Price of Vengeance"