Nylon Angel (10 page)

I used her distraction to twist the knife out of her hand, spraining her wrist. It was the least I could do.

‘Right,’ I ordered, ‘everyone out, except Sto.’

Mei stumbled angrily from the bed, nursing her wrist, and over to Dark. He put an arm around her. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Parrish,’ he warned.

‘Get out,’ I spat.

He backed to the door, dragging Mei, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Ten minutes or I’ll come and get you myself.’

I waited till the door closed then I sat on the end of the bed. For whatever reason, I figured I’d get the truth from Sto.

I put the knife down. We both knew I wouldn’t use it. I’d protected him for the last few days and for the moment he was still safe.

‘Start at the beginning. And don’t leave anything out.’

He relaxed a little, leaning back on his pillow. ‘Never figured to see Mei again when I got co-opted. But she ran away. Waited for me here. More ’n a year ago, Dark got ’ganged there as well. He told me he knew her. Promised to get me out.’

‘What did he want in return?’

Sto shook his head, smiling slightly. ‘That’s the thing about Dark, Parrish. He don’t want nothing in return. He used to be a mover here; a turk. His family is old Tert. Look at this place.’

I’d never been into Tower Town before. You didn’t visit strange gang territories unless you had good reason. I had to admit, though, the med-tek was impressive. But I didn’t tell Sto that.

‘So what was he doing out at Dead Heart?’

‘Something happened.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Someone got him done over by a miners’ press gang. Next thing he’s in the co-op. Just more meat, like me.’

‘But he got out.’

‘His family bribed the gangers. Same ones as put him there busted him out. Me as well.’

You gotta love biz!
‘Then you came here?’

‘Not straight away. He’s got friends. Lots of ’em. We hid out in Viva until he could set things up to come back. He wanted to slide back in here real quiet . . .’

‘. . . but you went and hitched a ride with a hit man,’ I finished.

He managed a rueful grin and a shrug. ‘Dark’s got enemies here, still. Maybe it was one of them. Maybe it was just bad luck.’

I had my cred on the enemies. ‘So then I blundered in and took some heat off while he settled in.’

His head dropped. ‘Somethin’ like that.’

We sat in silence for a moment.

‘He’s got plans, y’know, Parrish.’

I knitted my brows. How much did Sto know of Dark’s real ambitions? Zip, I’d warrant.

‘He says his time in Dead Heart taught him to look after his own. Like his
old ones
used to. He’s taken care of Mei and me real well. Now he’s come home to take care of the rest.’

He stopped then, exhausted.

‘You don’t owe him everything, Sto,’ I said. ‘Just because he helped you get out.’

He shook his head, eyes watery again. ‘You should know, Parrish. People like Mei and me got no real chance in life. Well, maybe Mei, she’s smart and pretty. But Dark’s gonna care for us. No bad shit, regular food, medic when we need it.’

I sighed. People like Sto
did
need someone. Up until pretty recently so had I. But now I’d crossed sides and I was giving some serious consideration to the motivations of the ‘Darks’ in the world.

Jamon Mondo at least I understood.
Understood and wanted to kill
.

‘You’re carting some serious heat right now,’ I said.

His lip trembled in acknowledgement.

‘I hope he keeps his promises to you.’

He gave me a look of resignation. ‘It don’t matter if he don’t, Parrish. Least ways, now, we got someone to believe in.’

‘Yeah, well, we could all do with that,’ I said quietly.

He reached across and touched my hand; told me something I didn’t want to hear.

‘You’re like him, you know. People believe in you.’

 

Dark pointed north-east. He was standing in a foothold among the ridges of sleeper cocoons glued to the roof. Some of them were occupied, others pad-locked as though the owners didn’t care for the neighbourhood.

‘Follow your compass north, and you’ll wind up back at Torley’s.’

I’d already figured that, but I let him bring me up top anyway. The view was amazing. Sometimes you forgot about the sky when you were in The Tert. Sometimes the only time you saw it was on the net. But up here it hurt your eyes with its bigness.

It also scared me a little, the sea of roofs, patterned like an endless, chipped mosaic floor. If you looked closer it fractured into millions of cocoons, spindly mic dishes and dirty plascrete. Like putting a microscope on skin.

It was a pink and grey early-morning sky. I’d wasted a whole day here. But in some ways it had been worth it, just to see this.

‘Where’s Dis from here?’ I asked.

Dark turned to the south. You could glimpse the ocean on the horizon, the merest strip of tarnished silver.

‘In between,’ he said. ‘No one goes there now. Our
heartland
ails.’

Grand words, maybe, but they made me shudder.

Halfway up into the sky, in all directions, a haze drifted carrying the scent of The Tert. I had the urge to fly right out there and scoop the muck away. Like my dream where the Angel had swept the narcotics from my blood.

I’d barely given the dream any thought, but now the memory twisted in my stomach. What had Dark said about Oya and the Muenos? ‘Whoever the Feather Crown chooses will protect their futuretime.’

Well, that was a gig I could live without!

Whatever they believed, I hoped Pas was taking care of the feral kids. And I hoped Bras was alive.

I must have had a strange look on my face. Dark had turned back and was staring at me.

‘Be careful of Lang and Jamon Mondo, Parrish,’ he said.

‘And that’s all you’re going to say about it, I suppose. No explanations.’

He smiled. A force twenty, devastating grin. ‘Would you believe me anyway?’

‘Probably not,’ I agreed.
But if you keep smiling at me like that, I might line up in the devotional queue behind Sto and Mei
.

He handed me a comm spike.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, surprised.

‘In case you need me,’ he said casually. ‘Call.’

A flick of my fingers would have sent it over the edge, into oblivion. I wanted to do that more than anything in the whole goddamn world. Instead my left hand tucked the clip safely into a pin slot in the tank top of my suit.

‘Thanks.’

Note to myself: cut off left hand, it’s a tart.

T
he landlord had left an overdue rental jingle embedded in the door of my room. When I opened it, the damn thing sang Abba at ninety decibels. Personally, I’d rather six goons with semi-autos waiting for me. But
Abba
?

They were touring Vivacity at the moment. Or should I say their clones were. The real Abba were long dead. This lot were about the sixth set of DNA replicas.

They weren’t the only repros running around, either. The Rolling Stones had been and gone, the Beatles, Nirvana, and of course, the big ‘E’. Something wasn’t quite right with the teknology yet. Most of them committed suicide or died young.

Come to think of it, maybe they had got it right.

There was a constant stink about the ethics of it, but while it was selling music the performers’ ‘estates’ seemed to be in two minds.

Inside my room I stripped and cross-legged it in the san unit, letting the water blast over me till my skin wrinkled.

Then I got out and sat naked on the edge of my bed. I rifled through my dirty nylons for the disk Lang had given me. It had caught in the seam.

I cracked the casing and tried to recall his exact words.

Here’s an address. Bring me the contents of their computer files. If anyone sees you, kill them
. . .

The address printed on the outside of the disk was unfamiliar, the location - freaking impossible! Eighteen Circe Crescent, M’Grey Island, Viva.

Shite! How was I going to get there?
I chewed on the problem till Merry 3# mouthed a drum roll and wiggled her latest dance routine.

I waited impatiently. The see-through girl was getting to be a serious show off.

‘You got mail, Parrish.’

‘Get on with it!’

I half expected it to be the landlord who was one of Jamon’s ageing ’goboys. But the first was Jamon. His pale snake’s face was livid and twisted.

‘I don’t like unexplained absences, Parrish. Be with me for the weekend or I’ll set the dogs loose.’

The second had no traceable sender and was a synth. ‘The goods are still required by Monday.’

A heavy weight found my shoulders. It was Friday. Jamon wanted me in his rooms tonight. Lang wanted me on a B and E in Viva.

Jeez, I always get the best choice of dates!

In this case, though, there
was
no choice. To be rid of Jamon, I had to steal for Lang.

I rummaged in my cupboard and found some dried food. Then I set about kitting up. I planned to be outta here before Jamon decided he’d waited long enough. No doubt ’goboys were already watching my door.

Into my pack went my 7.62 mm sniper rifle and the Glock-copy. Two fresh pins slotted into my tank top. Then my pride and joy, my charm bracelet - payment from my most lucrative ever minder’s job, an Equatorial trader with serious munitions connections who wanted protection while he surfed Torley’s for suitable rough trade. The charms doubled as small stun explosives, apart from one, a cute mushroom, which sprayed a short blast of hallucinogenic gas. Worked well in small spaces.

My working kit consisted of a
Sog
that made the multi-task knives around look like nail files and a hacker’s ‘dream’ pack - worm, gateway and password mole, now upgraded courtesy of Raul Minoj. It wasn’t elaborate by most professional standards, but B and E wasn’t exactly my line. At my height you were an easy target if you stuffed up.

Besides I had a few moral problems with the whole concept. I didn’t like to steal. It showed - in my opinion - a distinct lack of class.

I tried to rationalise Lang’s job in my mind. In this case I was poaching information not goods. And to be honest, if it meant Mondo’s backside locked away I would have stolen the King of Viva’s gonads.

Only two suits hung in my ’drobe, khaki pants and working singlet, and my matt black velvet skin-tight. I chose the velvet. Call me vain, but a girl’s gotta go to the city dressed up. I slipped grey overalls over the top. Flame proof, acid proof. My most expensive glad rag!

As I ran over my kit again, an image intruded, making it impossible to focus.

I sat up with a jolt.

Why was I thinking like that? Maybe this voodoo talk was getting to me.

When I’d gotten Jamon off my back I’d go check up on Pas, see if he was feeding the ferals. Then I’d find out some more about the feathers and the blood, what they really meant; and about Oya.

Mei probably knew something, but I didn’t trust her any more. Did I ever? Maybe I was being hard on her, but she broke the rule. Never double-cross your female friends; even for your man.

Not in my world.

On impulse I keyed Minoj’s line on my comm. His mouth appeared on screen first, then the rest of his face built around it. Glossy hair and white teeth. Weird!

‘What could the most popular girl on the block want with me?’

I ignored the bait. ‘Anchor?’

The image froze while he considered my request for a secure line. Weighing my value.

‘Wait,’ said the lips.

The screen blacked for a few seconds, then he reappeared, older and dirtier with decayed teeth. The real Minoj.

‘What do you want, Parrish? This is a risk for me. You’re hot property.’

‘When am I not?’ I grinned.

He didn’t laugh, so I plunged on. ‘I need some information about a guy. Used to live around here a few years ago. A would-be with a bit of a following, who suddenly disappeared.’

Minoj gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Do you know how many of those there have been?’

‘This one’s different. They say he’s old family. Big guy, with charisma. Calls himself Dark.’

Minoj scraped his finger along his front teeth. It was probably the closest they got to hygiene. ‘Sounds like love, Parrish.’

I scowled at him.

He continued, ‘There was one. Tall, very thin. A user. Amphetamines and lark, mainly. Ms Feast was his dealer back then. He vanished. He must have trampled on someone’s toes.’

Doll?
‘Whose toes, Minoj?’

‘My memory doesn’t work so good without the sweet oil of moolah, my little Oya.’

My blood chilled. ‘Where did you hear that name?’