“I shouldn’t have blasted you,” he said, looking even more pained.
“What was your first clue?” I asked. “All the blood?” I looked at his crowd. All the anger that had been in them a few minutes before was just gone. They’d rushed me in the heat of...well, something.
Reason had now set in. Reason and fear.
Of me.
Teehee.
“I feel I should point out you’re trespassing,” he said, still holding his hands out.
“I had probable cause to enter the premises due to screaming and sounds like someone was being murdered,” I said, still poised to take down the pillar and the house.
“But now you can see that no one is being murdered...right?” He looked around.
I surveyed the crowd. It certainly looked like a lot of people were being murdered. So much blood. Sure, I was the one who’d made it so, but still...
“What’s the deal here?” I asked, staring him down. No one else was making a move. Everybody else seemed scared to even breathe. “Come on. Start breaking the first rule of fight club or I’m going to work my way back to my murder hypothesis.”
“Okay, yes, you have it figured out,” he said, sagging. “This is exactly what you think it is.” Over his shoulder I could see the guy he’d been pounding on when I’d come in. He was hobbling, still bloody as hell, and not entirely moving under his own power, but he was coming in through one of the windows with the aid of someone who was holding him up. “We’re a fight club. A metahuman fight club. Now...” And he held up his hands, and the others matched him, a mass surrender to me. It was written all over their faces—defeat, remorse, worry that I was going to kill them. “Can we please stop, uh...” He blushed a little at saying it. “Well...fighting?”
70.
Veronika
Kristina came slipping back down the long driveway of the villa, appearing out of the shadows at the waiting car. Veronika had watched her disappear, enjoying the creepy factor of her dissolving into darkness, then slipping back out again as easily as if coming out from behind a curtain.
“Sienna Nealon’s in there,” Kristina said, voice low and a little husky. Probably so it wouldn’t carry in the still night. “The house is wrecked, but now it looks like they’re all having a kumbaya circle out back.”
Berniece took this in with nothing more than a cocking of the head as she considered it. “How did she find this place?” Her cheeks reddened. “This was my retreat. From the pressures of work.” Her cheeks got darker and darker as she spoke, then she turned away, face into shadow.
“You want us to go in there and throw a little chaos, boss?” Tyler’s grin was unmistakable, even in the low light of the limo.
“No.” Berniece shook her head in a fierce jerk. “If you fight her—when you fight her—it’ll be because she got in the way while we’re dealing with that yellow bastard.” She kept shaking her head. “Not now. Not here. Not in front of...them.” She waved a hand. “Driver...get us out of here.”
Veronika felt a small sense of relief, like the cold sweat she’d been about to break out in had been defrayed. Yeah, she’d fight Nealon if she had to. Hell, they might be heading that way, especially if she kept running with that dickwad Friday and twat-blocking Veronika around Grendel.
But as fun as that fight would be, it was going to carry some consequences. Nealon was a federal agent. Crossing that bridge? Well, it was a Rubicon all on its own. No going back after that, maybe.
The limo pulled away, into the dark, but somehow Veronika could almost hear Berniece’s teeth grinding on the ride. She was even more pissed at Nealon now.
Yeah...that fight was coming. There’d be money, maybe some bonuses involved, but a clash with Nealon was coming. Veronika would have bet on it.
71.
Sienna
“Okay, start ’splainin,” I said, once we’d evacuated the villa. Getting everyone out had been a bit of a chore and required the slightly less wounded to carry the slightly more wounded, but we’d made it happen. Now I was standing a little ways off from the walking wounded, separated out from them with Victor and ready to start my interrogation. Finally, maybe, I’d get at least some answers.
“My name is Joshua M—” the guy I’d thought of as Victor started to say.
I waved a hand in front of his face. “Stop right there. I don’t need your last name.”
Joshua blinked. “Why not?”
“Because when I write my report to the FBI, I’m obliged to mention this. Do you live here?”
“No, it’s a rental,” he said. “We AirBnB it every week for this.”
I looked over at the house. As if it could sense me looking, it let out a wounded groan, the foundation and walls protesting carrying too much load with too little support. Ouch for the actual homeowner. “Well, someone’s going to have a hell of an insurance claim.”
“It’s okay,” Joshua said. “It’s rented by one of our members who has deep pockets. It was understood there might be damage, and...they...made provisions to fix whatever goes wrong here.”
“I’m sure Berniece will be so excited to pay for this place when it comes crashing down,” I said, and watched as Joshua’s eyes got wide. “Yeah, I know Berniece Adams is one of your esteemed members.” I tightened my jaw a little. “She fights? She’s not just a spectator?”
“Oh, she fights,” Joshua said, letting out a low whistle. “Lots of our members won’t even get in the ring with her anymore. She takes it very seriously.”
“What are the rules for this?” I asked. “Hell, why are you even doing it?”
“We’re in an incredibly competitive, long-hours industry,” Joshua said, really hitting his stride. I could tell he was passionate about it. “There’s a lot of pressure in tech. You’re always being chased by others, always trying to make the next innovation. A lot of us were looking for a way to blow off steam. Get in touch with something a little more primal, more grounded after sitting in front of screens or in meetings all day.”
“So you chose to imbibe a drug that gave you superpowers,” I said dryly, “then use said superpowers to pound the snot out of one another.”
Joshua’s cheeks flushed in the dark. “When you say it like that, it sounds—”
“Like fun to me,” I said. “But probably nuts to anyone who doesn’t brawl regularly for a living.”
He broke into an embarrassed grin. “You kind of inspired us. Doing the things you do. I mean, we watched—hell, the world watched—what you did in Revelen. You weren’t quite smiling the whole time, but there was a soul-deep sense of satisfaction as you went to work there.”
“Everyone needs a purpose, and it’s the only thing I’m good at,” I said, trying to neatly elide around the fact he’d just accused me of deriving satisfaction from beating the shit out of and/or killing people. “Where’d you get the drug?”
Here he hesitated, his conscience getting the better of him. “Look...it’s out there, let’s put it that way. I’m not outing my dealer, and I hope no one else here will, either.”
I sighed. “Great. You’re saying people are making it out in the world now? Like I could go to a corner dealer and they’d have it?”
“Probably not at that level yet,” he said, tension still high, his body like he was walking a wire. Or wearing one, in the presence of some very bad people. “This is Silicon Valley. Even the drugs here are designer, because the audience has money and specific wants. So, yeah, you can get the metahuman ‘cocktail’ here. Doubt you could in...I dunno, Cody, Wyoming, or wherever at the moment, but...it’s here. And I don’t mean to tell you your business, but give it five years and it’ll probably be there, too.”
“I don’t work for the DEA,” I said. “I’m only concerned about this in the sense that it’s making more trouble for me.”
“Good luck stopping it,” he said with a shrug.
“Yeah, I’m well aware of the efficacy, or lack thereof, in the drug war,” I said, letting loose another sig
h. Looked like there’d be plenty of future business for me in the lucrative world of beating metahuman ass. Nothing like job security. “So let me ask you this—how long has this been going on?”
Joshua gave me a half smile. “A while now.”
“So where’s Berniece tonight?” I asked, looking at the wreck I’d made of the crowd. I didn’t see her in there anywhere.
“No idea,” Joshua said. “She was supposed to be here. She usually never misses.”
That left me wondering if I’d shown up too early. I might have interrupted her. For sure you could hear me fighting my way through the whole fight club (good times) and smashing down support pillars in the house for some distance, especially if you had meta hearing. “Okay, one last question,” I said. His smile tightened; he already knew what I was going to ask.
I asked anyway. “Do you know who Grendel is?”
Joshua’s whole body sagged. His eyes closed and his head sank forward. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.”
“Because you know and don’t want to tell me?”
He nodded. “Yeah...I know who the thing you’re chasing is, IRL, as we say in the biz.” He paused, mingled regret painted across his face, a tension in his hands upon his lap. “I know exactly who it is. He got his start right here, with us.”
72.
Him
Is it ready yet? he typed.
Almost, the answer came back, so quickly he wondered if she had her keyboard embedded in her brain. It’s going to take some time. This is not a toaster.
I want to be able to go as soon as possible, he wrote back.
You’ll have your revenge before you know it.
He smiled. Good. I can’t wait to see these bastards forced to subsist on their own smugness for a while.
Are you looking for a serious estimate on that? Because the relative amount of body fat a normal Silicon Valley worker has is hardly adequate to surviving in starvation. At least for very long.
He chuckled to himself. That was a warming thought. They really would be forced to eat their own smugness. How...hilarious.
I need the stuff you collected for me.
His smile vanished, his enjoyable contemplation vanishing as he typed a reply. And I need what you promised me.
I thought we were friends. She sounded almost wounded.
We are. But this deal is premised on fair exchange. I have what you want, you have what I want. He typed furiously. Let’s make the trade ASAP.
He hesitated. Sure, they’d been planning for this moment for a while, but...he’d been betrayed before. Stingingly. The idea that he might be walking into another...
He shook that idea out of his head. He had real power now. Before, he’d been powerless. Anyone who tried to betray him now...
Well, they’d get the claws in the gut. And he could attest to how much that hurt, to his surprise.
Ok, the answer came back.
When and where, he typed.
How about 6 hours? Parking lot by the Golden Gate. That’ll put you close to downtown just after rush hour. High ground. Optimal spot to trigger.
That’ll work, he typed back, breaking into a smile. She was thinking ahead. That’d work perfectly.
I know. Plan on it, then.
See you then, he typed, and logged off.
Hours away. That’s how far he was from revenge.
73.
Sienna
“His name is Michael Bermudez,” Joshua said, blank in the eyes, like he was trying not to feel anything about the betrayal he was committing. His whole body screamed discomfort, his shoulders all jacked up and tight, raised halfway up his neck he was so tense. “He’s a programmer, used to work for Socialite, Inquest—hell, you name it, he’s probably worked there for a while. He’s moved around the Valley quite a bit.”
“How would you describe him?” I asked, phone in hand, ready to take down whatever I heard here.
“Quiet, intense, and pissed off,” Joshua said, unfolding a little. “See, he got passed over for promotion at Socialite, so he moved to Inquest. And something happened there that—well, I don’t know, exactly—”
“What’s the rumor?” I asked. I couldn’t build a case with it, but I didn’t need to. I just needed something to start with, motive-wise.
Joshua took a deep breath. “I heard he asked Berniece Adams some uncomfortable questions about their algorithm and how it worked.”
I took that in, matched it up with what Bruce had told me, and spit out a follow-up. “Did you know that Inquest is only number one by virtue of using traffic assignment from other sites they own and contract with?”
Joshua smiled lightly. “Yeah. It’s kind of an open secret in the Valley. I mean, no one can prove it, but it’s whispered about at happy hours and in some of the places people in the industry congregate. It sort of came out right after their last round of venture capital, probably a little late to help the poor saps that invested, but...yeah.”
“Do you think Michael Bermudez figured this out?” I asked. “Because he seems a little salty with Silicon Valley.”
“Could be,” Joshua said. “He’s been struggling for a while. He sometimes says things...totally inappropriate. He said or did something at Socialite that got him basically blacklisted.”
“What was it?” I asked.
He shifted in his chair. “Dunno exactly. Whatever it was, it went against the orthodoxy and got his co-workers to turn on him. After that, he got frozen out until he left on his own. I can’t be sure, but some of the stink he picked up there might have followed him to Inquest. Discovering the company secret might have been enough to finish the job. Whatever the case, he’s...” His mouth turned into a straight line.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Persona non grata,” Joshua said. “Basically no one will touch him now.”
“Because of whatever he said at Socialite?”
He nodded. “I think so, yeah.”
“Hmmm.” I gave that a moment’s thought. “What about his relation to this fight club franchise you’ve got going?”
He shifted in his seat again, once more looking painfully uncomfortable. “We, uh...kicked him out.”
I just sat and waited. There had to be an explanation for this.
There was. “His power,” Joshua said, “it was just...he was so brutal, especially toward the end. Angry.” His face changed, frown creasing it. “Look, we come here to work out our issues and stress, and we pound on each other pretty damned hard. Michael, though, he just...couldn’t control himself with his power.”
“Did someone die?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “But someone ended up in the hospital. That was the end of it for him. I kicked him out.”
“How’d that go over?” I raised an eyebrow.
He took a long breath. “He took it all right, I guess. Shame-faced. Said he was sorry. Never asked to come back, though. I feel like at that point, he’d been kicked out of enough places for enough reasons—”
I nodded. “He was feeling powerless.”
“Probably,” Joshua said. “Guess he’s not feeling that way anymore.”
“I guess not,” I said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about him? Anything I ought to know? Like where he lives?”
“Somewhere in San Fran, last I heard.” He pursed his lips. “There is one other thing. I don’t think he has anyone else. This club...I think it was kind of his only social outlet. At least, I never heard him talk about anyone else in his life.”
“Is that normal?” I asked. “In your field?”
He nodded. “It happens. Especially among the guys who really get into the programming. We have a tendency to enter a kind of trance-like state while coding, those of us who are on the spectrum anyway. It’s easy to get lost out there in the digital space, in whatever you’re building, you know?”
“No clue, no,” I said, turning my back on him.
“Hey,” Joshua called after me. “Are you going
to tell anyone about this? About...us?”
I walked a few more steps before I turned around to answer him. “No. I’m going to leave you to your business. But...you are going to have to explain that—” I waved my hand toward the house “—yourselves.”
“Oh, you mean the—” he started to say.
He didn’t get a chance to finish.
The sound of the roof collapsing echoed through the night, the walls falling down. I just hid my grimace, turned my back and disappeared into the dry, dusty night, only cringing once my back was turned.
That was a biiiiiiiiiig mess that somebody was going to have to pay to clean up. Glad it wasn’t me.
74.
“Get me everything you have on a Michael Bermudez of the San Francisco Bay Area. On every Michael Bermudez in the Bay Area, if there are multiples. Need last known addresses, employers—whatever you turn up. Highest possible urgency.” I hung up with the local FBI office. They’d peruse the databases and get back to me, hopefully at a reasonable hour.
I threw myself into the limo and hit the intercom. “Take me back to the hotel, driver.”
A sleepy voice came a moment later. “Okay. Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, and thanks,” I said, and switched off the intercom so I could fall back into my own thoughts.
What the hell had happened, exactly, with Michael Bermudez? A black mark on his record at Socialite. A losing streak that extended when he found out about Inquest’s trade secret.
Then he went and got himself kicked out of his only social club for excessive brutality.
Ouch. In all possible ways.
Finally, I had an actual vision of my suspect, and he was everything I’d have guessed coming to Silicon Valley. Some disaffected tech bro with more interest in programming than dealing with human beings whose anger at the perceived slights the industry and the world had leveled against him had turned him into...
Blood Ties Page 29