The road to hell, p.17
The Road to Hell, page 17
“How much have we got to spend?” asked Susan.
“Now hold on, cowgirl. Don’t you go crazy on me. We’re up here to prove the tags, not to go bankrupt.”
“Come on, Harry. Show a girl a good time.”
“Why is the show always at my expense?”
Bright lights lit up the storefront windows as lifelike mannequins modelled the latest fashions. Some things never change, thought Harrison, in the past no woman could live up to the anorexic extremes of the modelling industry and now, with the advent of animatrons, robotic mannequins became the visions of what a woman should be. And it was all the more extreme and ridiculous, even for a womaniser like Harry.
Modelling the latest sarong, a mannequin spotted them looking at the display and automatically began targeting its potential audience. With a thin waist, hour-glass hips and voluptuous breasts, the mannequin played to the two of them, enticing them to step inside the store.
“You don’t need it,” said Harrison.
“Who said anything about need,” replied Susan.
Harrison grabbed her by the arm and walked on down through the mall.
“Hey,” cried Susan. “That would look great on me.”
“I’m sure it would.”
Further on down the mall, several electronic stores displayed the latest holovision sets.
“Oh no you don’t,” said Susan, almost reading his mind.
“Hey, relax,” replied Harrison.
For his part, Harrison really wasn’t interested in the latest gadgets; he had his eyes fixed firmly on a police officer scanning the crowd from his hover-cycle. Most people were oblivious to the scan. They’d become so routine most of the mall customers simply ignored the officer hovering some forty feet above them. If you hadn’t done anything wrong there was nothing to fear, right? Harrison mused, yeah, right.
Without making it obvious, he walked into the area being screened. The officer glanced at him, tapped the keyboard on his hover-cycle and went on to look at someone else as he checked mugshots against traffic violations, court injunctions and outstanding civil claims. For the most part, Harrison thought, the modern policeman was more of a glorified debt collector than anything else.
Further on down the mall, Susan wandered up to a news stall and started rummaging through the latest electronic gossip magazines. Holographic images flashed before her in full colour as she held the thin sheet of disposable semi-translucent plastic in her hands.
“Turn it down, will yah,” said Harrison, picking up a news sheet.
Susan barely heard him, she was so intent on listening to the latest entertainment brief. Blocking out the sounds of the mall around her, she watched miniature images of the latest celebrities. As usual, the women were wearing what amounted to torn rags strategically draped across their slick bodies while the men were adorned in retro-twenties business suits with pinstripes and flowers.
“Hey, this ain’t a library,” cried the proprietor from behind the counter. Even though he was busy with another customer, the grumpy owner was sure to reinforce that these items were for sale, not for sightseeing.
Harrison looked intently at the latest news story, watching video footage of the assault on the Justice complex.
“Check this out,” he added, nudging Susan.
Susan was in two minds. As much as she wanted to look at the news sheet the flashy glamour magazine with its quickly changing camera angles and splashes of light dragged her back like a moth to the flame. It was as though her old world had been restored. The events of the past day, being shot at, dragged through a sleazy factory, chased by the police, the stench of the underworld and that crummy hotel, all seemed like a bad dream that had melted away with the dawn. In the pages of a magazine she’d awoken and found her old world exactly as she’d left it. But as much as she wanted to get back to her old life, deep down she knew it was over. Nothing would ever be the same.
“That's her. That's Olivia,” said Susan, snapping out of her dream world and back to reality, catching a glimpse of her sister in the images streaming in on the newsfeed.
“You're sure?” asked Harrison, staring intently at the drop-dead brunette in the fire-engine red dress.
“Absolutely. She's dyed her hair, but that's her.”
Images flashed before Harrison, shots from security cameras showing Artemis arriving at the Justice complex with Olivia on a transit craft. Several shots showed Olivia capturing all the attention, before the screen shifted to the stark images of the aftermath on the four hundredth and thirty-fifth floor brought the gravity of the attack home. Computer reconstructions based on the devastation showed Artemis as some faceless, ghostly figure weaving his way across the floor, overturning tables and chairs, slashing at officers fighting desperately to save themselves and their comrades.
The commentary was the usual dribble, Harrison thought, the same old stuff about the glory of the council, the sacrifice of great men and their dedication and loyalty to the state.
Susan closed her magazine and watched intently as more footage of the daring escape unfolded before them.
“Hey,” the gruff proprietor barked. “I ain’t running a charitable institution here. You want a read about it you gotta pay for it.”
“Yeah, OK,” Harrison replied, shelling out three credits.
As they walked on down the mall, Harrison handed Susan the e-magazine and had a quick look around, checking to see if any of the aerial officers had hung around. He also scanned the crowd for anyone else that might be showing them some interest. Susan walked along, weaving through the crowd behind him, trying to read more about the attack without bumping into anyone.
“What was the name of that guy that tried to kill us at the factory?” she asked, coming up close behind him.
“Kane.”
“He may not have caught Artemis at the hotel, but it seems Artemis caught him,” she added.
Susan was surprised by Harrison. She thought he'd be more interested in this. Instead, he was looking in shop windows, picking up movie discs from the side stalls and chatting casually with the sellers.
“Is he-”
“Dead? No. He escaped,” she replied, flipping virtual pages and skim reading the articles and commentary.
“Figures,” replied Harrison, looking at souvenirs for sale from a street peddler. “He's like a cat with nine lives”
And he thinks I'm a shopaholic, she thought, as he looked at a faux-bronze Statue of Liberty. Harrison chatted briefly with the old man selling souvenirs of a bygone era before moving on.
They walked up a wide, open staircase to the food court, bustling with people and smells. The noise of hundreds of people chatting, eating, sitting in vid-booths and lining up for the theatre on this level was overwhelming.
“Coffee?”
“I'd love a skinny latte?” Susan replied.
No surprises there, thought Harrison, as he ordered himself a double-shot of espresso.
Susan went to sit inside the cafe, but Harrison steered her to one of the high-tables overlooking the food court and mall. Green leafy plants hung down from the rafters. The smell of freshly ground roasted coffee beans filled the air. The sound of steam whipping up a milk froth cut in and out over the ambient Italian music playing in the background.
“So what now?” asked Susan, intrigued by the direct attack on the police, wondering what the implications were for them.
“The stakes have been raised,”replied Harrison casually. “Our relevance in the eyes of the Police has just dropped considerably. Kane has bigger fish to fry.”
It was an odd expression, but Susan figured she got the gist of it.
“Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?” she asked, a little unsure about how to interpret his demeanour.
He sipped his espresso, the bitter coffee biting at his tongue. Keeping his head down, he went on.
“Don't look now, but I think were being followed.”
Susan's eyes opened up wide in surprise and her head bobbed up like a meerkat. Harrison knew he was going to regret saying something but he didn't think she would be quite this obvious. He kicked her leg under the table and she turned to face him.
“You're determined to get me killed, aren't you?” he said.
Susan just smiled. She went to say something but Harrison cut her off.
“They haven't made us, but they're definitely following us. Just keep looking at me. I can look right past you at one of them, down by the souvenir stand.”
“I don't understand,” replied Susan. “If they haven't spotted us, how can they be following us? Did the cops bust our ID tags?”
“I didn't say it was the police,” replied Harrison with a smile of his own.
“Oh,” said Susan, sipping on her coffee, trying to look relaxed but dying to turn around and look down the stairs, wondering who was following them and how Harrison could pick them out of the bustling crowd. Could it be Artemis? She wondered. In broad daylight? In a crowded mall?
The couple at the table next to them stood up and turned to walk out of the cafe. Harrison got up with his espresso cup sitting slightly off-balance on its saucer. He timed his motion carefully, turning rapidly at the last moment and clipping the young man as he tried to squeeze past them between the tables.
“Watch out,” the stranger cried just a fraction too late. The dark black coffee splashed across the young man's fawn-coloured jacket. The coffee cup clattered across the floor. A waiterbot was quickly on the scene, cleaning up the spill.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Harrison, grabbing the young man to steady himself and slipping his vid-phone into the stranger's pocket.
“You-”
The young man was visibly enraged. His sense of decorum, or perhaps the pretty young girl he was with, prevented him from swearing.
“Oh, I've made a mess of your coat. I really am sorry. Can I give you something toward the dry-cleaning?”
“No, don't worry about it,” he replied, getting over the initial rush of anger and feeling a sense of embarrassment at becoming the centre of attention in the cafe. He grabbed his girlfriend by the hand and pushed on, walking briskly out of the cafe.
Harrison sat down and watched the man by the souvenir stand. He'd bought it. He glanced down at some kind of handheld scanner and then walked over toward the stairs, his eyes fixed intently on the young man as he brushed himself off.
It all happened a little too fast for Susan, she was still getting over the surprise of seeing Harrison be so clumsy. Watching the expression on his face, it clicked, and she realised the hunted had become the hunter.
“How did you-”
“The phone,” Harrison replied tersely, not meaning to be rude, just absorbed in the moment and not wanting to lose his concentration. “If they're smart, they'll have been tracking us since the hotel.”
“And now-”
“They're tracking him.”
He grabbed her by the hand and said, “Time to go.”
The young man was still upset about the coffee stain, talking in animated terms about it with his girlfriend as they wandered down the mall. Trailing some thirty feet behind them, Susan could see he was trying to clean his jacket with a damp napkin. Harrison wasn't concerned with him, he was looking at the throng of people moving through the crowded mall around them.
“There's three of them,” he whispered, pointing discretely to another man wearing a blue baseball cap.
“Where are you going,” he said softly to himself, referring to the young man with the stained jacket, wondering where the spooks would make their move, trying to anticipate them.
The young man headed for the turbo-shaft, probably to head home, wherever that was. Harrison and Susan followed along at a distance. The man with the baseball cap stepped into a side alley, a narrow service access way providing a shortcut to the block park. He was about to make a phone call.
Harrison grabbed Susan, putting his arm around her and pulling her in tight he ducked into the alleyway laughing out loud, making like they'd just come from the theatre. The man in the baseball cap avoided eye contact and moved up against the wall to let them past, and that was exactly where Harrison wanted him.
Harrison ripped the phone out of his hand and slammed him up against the wall. With his forearm to his throat he briskly patted him down, checking for weapons, feeling for a concealed blaster or a razor.
“What the-”
“Where is Artemis?”
“I don't know what-”
In that fraction of a second, before he'd even finished the sentence, Harrison knew he was telling the truth. He'd used 'what' instead of 'who' in his denial. Anyone that knew Artemis would denying knowing him personally, but this was impersonal. This guy had no idea who or what Artemis was, for all he knew Artemis was an object or a codename.
“What about the girl?” Harrison snapped, deliberately withholding information, trying not to prejudice his response by using a name. He pushed a one-inch piece of piping into the man's stomach, up under his ribs. For all this guy knew, it was the barrel of a blaster.
“Olivia?” He replied, his eyes wide with fear. If he was faking this, thought Harrison, he deserves an Oscar. But he got the name right.
Susan leaned in close. “Where's my sister?”
“Your sister?” the man exclaimed. He paused, digesting more information than Harrison had wanted to give him. As he looked at Susan, something seemed to click, he recognised some family resemblance. He choked a little, trying to suggest Harrison loosen his stance, but Harrison wasn't buying it.
“She had us follow you. She wants the data cube back. Why she wants it or what's on it, I dunno. I ain't paid to ask questions, but she wants it bad, put a good price on it, 50,000 credits. She said we'd probably have to take it by force.”
Harrison didn't like the sound of that. This two-bit crook was a front for a gang. Street scruples never extended too far beyond a few credits. People had been killed for less than ten thousand. Fifty thousand was more attention than Harrison cared for. Olivia was throwing around some serious money, probably as a way of keeping both herself and Artemis at arm's length. But she'd used her real name, she was sending a message.
The man held his hands up, in a gesture of surrender. If this guy was unarmed, it was probably for the same reason Harrison was, to slip by police scanners without an issue, but that meant he was a scout, a herdsman, a hound in street slang, one who lead the main hunting party to their quarry.
Harrison knew he was being played. This chump would be happy to talk with them for as long as possible, happy to tell them everything, anything, happy to keep them in one spot long enough for the rest of the gang to realise what had happened and converge. They had to get out of here and fast.
Harrison put the length of piping back in his pocket, but kept his forearm against the man's windpipe, applying just enough pressure to hurt, enough to discourage any heroics.
He pulled out the data cube and pushed it into his hand, saying, “Well, all you had to do was ask nicely, politely.”
He was tacking, vying for position, thinking on his feet, giving these street thugs what they wanted. So long as Olivia gets the cube, they'll get paid and that will get them off his back.
“Tell Olivia we want to meet. Tell her we know all about Daniel. Tell her to come to the Cafe De Luna in the park, 10am tomorrow. Tell her no tricks. Tell her that Susan wants to talk to her. You got that.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“And tell her sorry.”
“For what?” the man asked.
“For this,” replied Harrison, and he slammed the man's head violently into the wall, knocking him senseless. There was no way Harrison was going to risk being sprung by a street gang. They had a reputation for delivering only what was asked of them and didn't mind taking liberties beyond that.
Susan seemed nervous. She looked up and down the alley, clearly worried about what had happened and how vulnerable they were in the alley, how easily they could be trapped. Harrison let the man slump to the ground. Susan grabbed his hand and pulled him further down the alley, clearly wanting to get out into the warmth of the sunlight in the park at the other end. Harrison jogged on after her, past trash compactors and bags of garbage, following her as she ran down the alley and out the other side.
Stepping back onto a bustling sidewalk, out of the shadows, Susan was animated, excited. Harrison looked down the alley. The spotter was slowly getting to his feet, steadying himself against the wall, probably looking for the phone somewhere in the gutter.
They slipped into the crowd and out into the park, feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces.
“Do you think she'll come,” Susan asked excitedly.
“Oh, she'll come,” Harrison replied. “I only hope he doesn't.”
Chapter 17: Murder
“Be careful,” said Rosie, steering the cruiser on manual as she flew outside of the auto-air-lanes.
“You're the one flying too close to the pylons,” replied Harrison as they banked to one side, following a smooth but tight parabola down toward the old city below, the g-forces building gently.
“You know what I mean,” said Rosie, her southern twang catching on the vowels.
“You make it sound like I'm deliberately reckless, like I brought all this heat down on myself.”
He glanced at Susan sitting quietly in the back.
“Just,” Rosie was struggling for the right words, “think before you do anything rash. Don't get too wrapped up in the moment. Don't be too idealistic. I don't want no dead hero.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Rosie smiled.
“You can’t afford to live in Hollywood,” said Brains, adding his thoughts into the mix. “Life's not a vid-opera where you can rewind the scene and replay the action with a different set of inputs to see how the characters will play out. You only get one shot at life.”
“What's brought on the lecture?” asked Harrison, somewhat offended by the insinuation that he was somehow naive.
“The mind wants resolution,” explained Brains. “It wants to resolve issues into black and white, cause and effect, good and bad, right and wrong, but outside of books and movies that rarely ever happens. Life isn't clean-cut. Life is meaningless and chaotic. Beware of the leaven of Herod and the Pharisees!”
