by Tripp Ellis
Max left the precinct. She trotted down the steps to the sidewalk and caught an automated car back to where she had left her sport bike. It didn't take long for her to notice the black sedan following her again.
15
Several parking tickets were affixed to the windshield of the hover bike. Max scoffed and crumpled them up. She tossed them in a nearby trashcan. With any luck, she'd be long gone before they caught up with her. She was lucky the bike hadn't gotten booted.
Max wanted to get Winston out of jail and get the hell off this rock. Every minute wasted here, Silas Rage was getting farther and farther away. She straddled the sport bike and cranked the engine up. It rumbled to life, and blue flames spit from the rear thruster like an angry dragon.
She scanned the area and found the black sedan parked a block away. She waved, letting whoever was driving it know she was well aware of their presence. Max twisted the throttle and darted into the flow of traffic. The bike had blistering speed, and within a fraction of a second, she was moving at the same pace as the other cars. Then she pulled the throttle more. The engine spun up to a high pitch as the bike launched forward. It took all of Max's strength to hang on to the handlebars. It was like being shot out of a cannon. She weaved through traffic with the skill and precision of a professional Hover-Cross Grand Prix racer.
The black sedan didn't stand a chance. And for the second time, she left it in her ion wake.
She raced across town to the address listed for Justin Fletcher. But when she arrived, it was nothing more than an empty lot filled with dirt and gravel and construction equipment. It looked like they were prepping the foundation for a new high-rise. Obviously, it was a bogus address.
Max called Detective Lockwood. His rugged face appeared on her display screen. She turned the phone to show him the construction lot. "I hate to tell you, but your information is incorrect.”
Lockwood pondered this for a moment.
“Track his voiceprint over the network,” Max said. “Then triangulate his location.”
“That’s beyond my capability. The FCIS and the UIA can do that. We don't have the resources.”
“I'll make some phone calls and see what I can do."
Lockwood looked impressed. "You have contacts?"
“Yes."
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”
“I’ll let you know what I find out.” Max disconnected the call and dialed Dylan.
“I see you're still on the loose,” he said with a playful grin.
Max shrugged. "For the time being. That could always change.”
Dylan chuckled. “What can I do for you?" he asked, knowing this wasn’t a social call.
"I don't only call when I want something,” Max said in a slightly defensive tone.
“Yes you do.”
“Okay. Maybe you're right,” Max conceded. “I need you to track a voiceprint over the network.”
“And why do you need me to do this? Never mind, I don't want to know.”
Max smiled. "Thank you."
“I’m not going to regret this, am I? Unauthorized surveillance is frowned upon around here,” he said in a sardonic tone, understating the obvious.
“I just need to have a friendly conversation with someone.”
Dylan knew better. "What's the perp’s name?”
“Justin Fletcher.”
“If he's in our database, I'll be able to search for him. If not, you’re shit-out-of-luck." Dylan scanned the system. A few minutes later he came up with a match. He sent an image of Justin Fletcher to Max's mobile. "Is this your guy?”
"That's him."
“Then you're in luck. He made a call less than an hour ago."
“Can you track it?”
“The signal bounced through relay number 22041. The computer has extrapolated the data to put his last known location at 3207 Pierce Street. Looks like a warehouse. The system is accurate to within 25 yards.”
“Can you give me satellite imagery of the area?"
“Don't have one available over the target. You're on your own, kid. Is there anything else I can do for you?" There was a subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“I'm sure I’ll think of something, but this will do for now."
“Stay out of trouble.”
“Always." Max ended the transmission.
She programed in the location of the warehouse into the sport-bike’s navigation system. She throttled up and headed to the east side of town. She let the bike’s autopilot drive, but she was ready to take over manual control if she needed to make a quick getaway.
The warehouse was in a crappy section of town. The air was filled with a horrid chemical smell that was somewhere between chili-cheese-dog-farts and rotten eggs. The nearby refineries were pumping toxins into the air and water 24 hours a day.
Most of the buildings in Sov Islaa had nano-paint that resisted stains, weathering, and graffiti. But half of the buildings in the warehouse district hadn't been well maintained, and their nano-coating had broken down. This particular warehouse was dirty and grimy and covered with animated graffiti. Instead of a single word or phrase, the paint morphed into a sentence, with the image changing every other second. Graffiti artists could write long passages on walls that would perpetually loop like some kind of low rent billboard. “Be nothing. It's easier that way,” flashed on the wall, one word at a time. The satirical slogan was fitting for the neighborhood. The piece was signed by Janko, a famous street artist. Some of his works were selling in galleries for upwards of a million credits. Collectors were scouring the cities for the urban gems. They would actually cut out walls and display them in galleries and museums. It was only a matter of time before someone found this one. The owner of the building would get a nice windfall, if they were willing to let someone carve up their structure.
Max pulled into the alley behind the warehouse. She stood on the seat and peered through a window. The glass was milky and stained, and the frame was orange with rust. She could barely see inside. Shafts of light streamed in from the skylights in the roof. There were pieces of equipment and supply crates. She scanned the cavernous space, but didn't see any movement. If Fletcher had been here before, he was most likely gone now.
Max’s face tensed with disappointment. She was about to climb down when she caught sight of something disturbing on the warehouse floor. It looked like a dead rat, but somehow seemed way more dreadful.
16
Max's stomach twisted in knots. She wasn’t a big fan of rats, living or dead. But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a rat at all—it was a shoe. The shoe was attached to a leg, and the rest of the body was obscured behind a storage crate. Crimson blood oozed onto the concrete.
The transom window was slightly ajar. It squealed as Max pushed it open. She slid through the narrow space and dropped down to the warehouse floor. She reached for her pistol out of habit, but it was gone—stuck in the evidence locker at the station for all eternity.
She crept through the warehouse toward the body, scanning in all directions. Her enhanced vision allowed her to see deep into the shadows. She switched to thermal imaging on her tactical contact lenses. But the only hotspots were the beams of sunlight shining in through the windows, heating the concrete floor.
Max rounded the crate to get a full view of the corpse—there was barely any heat signature left. Max deactivated her thermal imaging. There were five more corpses lying on the ground, and she didn't need any enhanced vision to see them. Plasma wounds charred the bodies. These were the men who had jumped her in the alleyway. The big ogre, Justin Fletcher, was lying face down in a pool of his own slop. They had presumably been hired to do a job—take out Max. And they had failed miserably. Now they were dead.
Max knelt down beside one of the goons and searched his pockets, looking for anything that might provide some insight. She was careful not to step in any blood, or get any on her, as she rummaged through the corpses. She found an old-school pack of matches from the Pink Ki
tty Club. It was a sleazy topless bar on 34th Street. The kind of place where you could find whatever you wanted, if you had the credits to spare. It wasn't much to go on, but it was better than nothing.
She emptied the cash from their wallets. They weren’t going to need it anymore. If she didn't take the money it was just going to end up in some cop's pocket.
Given her track record, Max decided it wouldn't be wise to hang around for long. She left the way she came. She hopped onto the sport bike and tried to slip out of the alley without drawing too much attention to herself. She debated for a moment whether or not to call Lockwood. Someone was going to find the bodies eventually, and Max's name would surely come up as a suspect. She thought it best to try and head things off and called Lockwood's mobile. “Remember how you told me not to kill anyone?”
“Yeah," he said, bracing himself for what was coming next.
“Well, I swear I didn’t kill anyone. They were dead when I found them.”
Lockwood's eyes widened. "Who's dead? Fletcher?”
“And the rest of the guys from the alley.”
“How?”
“Unnatural causes.”
Lockwood sneered at her. "Be more specific."
“Looks like somebody caught them off guard. A professional hit. Double taps to the chest.”
Lockwood shook his head in frustration.
“Somebody didn’t want them talking."
“And you had nothing to do with this?" His voice was thick with skepticism.
“Scout’s honor.”
“And you expect me to take your word for it?"
“Send the coroner over. Determine the time of death. I put it at 45 minutes to an hour ago. It's easy to verify my whereabouts. I was with you. Then I talked to my contact at the FCIS. Then I was in route to the warehouse. Do the math.”
Lockwood's eyes narrowed at her as he processed.
“You’ll learn to trust me at some point.”
He grimaced. "I don't know. I've got trust issues.”
“Don’t we all.” Max zipped through the city on autopilot. The wind blew through her hair.
“Do I dare ask where you're headed next?”
"I'm following up on a hunch."
“I knew you were trouble from the minute I laid eyes on you.”
"That's the nicest thing anyone has said all day," Max said with a sly grin.
Max ended the call and stuffed the phone in her pocket. The Pink Kitty Club wasn't too far away. She pulled up to the sordid establishment in less than 15 minutes. But there was nowhere to park, and she didn't want to use the valet—she didn't want to wait for an attendant if she needed to make a quick exit. Instead, she programmed the hover bike to drive around the block continuously. She could press the home button on the key fob and the sport bike would return to her immediately.
The Pink Kitty Club had an animated holographic sign out front. Curvaceous, scantily clad women tantalized would-be passersby. The inside was every bit as decadent and depraved as the exterior suggested. Max strolled in past the bouncer and cashier. There was always no cover charge for the ladies.
A smoky haze filled the air. Fog machines on stage billowed out thick milky clouds. Beams of colored lights swept the stage, highlighting the exotic beauties. Stiletto heels, sumptuous curves, and undulating hips teased the audience, stoking their desire.
The music pumped so loud Max could feel it pounding in her chest. There were several main stages that showcased the entertainers, their G-strings stuffed with cash. Dancers lined the floor, drumming up business, trying to separate poor slobs from their hard earned credits. But the real money was in the VIP rooms with private dances.
Max scanned the den of iniquity and found exactly what she was looking for. A slight grin curled on her plush lips.
17
The blonde with pigtails that had lured Max into the alley behind Equinox was talking to a table of interested gentlemen, enticing them with her talents.
Max made a beeline for the little vixen. She grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her a away from her customers.
The feisty strumpet scowled at Max. “What are you doing? Those were paying customers.” A wave of recognition washed over her face as she realized who Max was. Her eyes filled with fear. “Look, I'm really sorry. I got paid to get you into the alley.”
Max ignored her and pulled her into a VIP room. “What’s your name?”
“Jasmine.”
“What’s your real name?”
She huffed and looked exasperated. “Vicki.”
“Who paid you?”
Vicki shrugged. “The big guy.”
Max pulled out her mobile and showed Vicki a picture of Justin Fletcher.
“Yeah, that's the guy.”
Max grimaced. She was afraid the lead was going to dry up with Vicki.
“Look, can I go now? The boss gets pretty upset if we’re not working.”
“I’d get off the planet if I were you.”
"Why?" Vicki's lip curled up like a snotty teenager told to do her homework.
“Because the guy who hired you, and all of his friends, are dead."
Vicki's eyes widened. "Oh, my God! Did you kill them?”
Max rolled her eyes. "No, I didn't kill them.”
A bouncer poked his head into the room. He was 6’4” and his blue skin was stretched tight over his rippling muscles. He was probably Silvatran or Theosopian, Max thought.
“Is everything all right in here?" He had a deep, booming voice. His dark eyes stared Max down.
"No. This woman is harassing me," Vicki said, lifting her nose in the air.
“Is that so?” the bouncer grubbed.
Max smiled. "Just asking some questions.”
“Well, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
“She threatened to kill me, Dakvel” Vicki added. She had a devious glint in her eyes.
Dakvel's face tensed and his eyes narrowed at Max. He was protective of the girls, and they loved him for it. He could be a big soft teddy bear, or turn into a raging grizzly if provoked.
“I did not threaten her," Max protested. "I merely told her she was in jeopardy.”
“You’re the one who is in jeopardy now.”
“Fuck her up, Dakvel.” Vicki smirked, waiting for the show to begin.
Dakvel lumbered towards Max. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, planning to drag her out of the club.
Max raised her arms and twisted to the side, breaking his grasp. Then she slammed her hands against his chest, shoving him back several feet.
He instinctively responded by throwing a punch. His meaty fist screamed toward Max's face. She dodged the blow, grabbed his arm, pulling him forward and kicked him in the balls.
Dakvel doubled over in pain, groaning a shrill screech.
Max kneed him in the face, shattering his nose. It erupted in a pink mist, splattering blood across the walls. The big guy staggered back and tried to regain his composure.
Vicki screamed and ran out of the room.
Dakvel shook it off and wiped the blood on his sleeve. He hadn’t been hit that hard in a long time. He snarled at Max and charged her like a bull. The veins in his face bulged with rage. He was like a wrecking ball barreling straight toward her.
Max tried to sidestep, but there wasn't anywhere to go. He slammed her into the wall, smashing sheet rock. Dust filled the air, and bits of gypsum fell to the floor.
Dakvel pounded his sledgehammer fist into Max's belly. She buckled, and Dakvel followed with an uppercut. It connected square on Max's jaw, rattling her teeth, snapping her head back against what remained of the wall.
The guy packed a helluva punch.
Max was practically seeing stars. Blood trickled from her lips and nose.
Now she was pissed.
Dakvel reared his fist back, ready to strike again. He swung a right cross with all his might. This time Max blocked with her left, kneed his groin again, then landed an uppercut.
The blow forced Dakvel to stagger back a few steps. He spit out part of a chipped tooth and wiped more blood from his face.
The two fighters squared off against each other—this time Dakvel taking a more thoughtful approach. Max wasn't going to be as easy to take down as he thought. There was something special about her, that was for sure.
Max held her hands up and crouched in a defensive stance. The two circled each other in the small room. It couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 feet wide.
Another bouncer, equally as large, poked his head into the room. He quickly surveyed the situation. A slight grin curled up on his face. “What's going on? She too much for you to handle?”
18
“No worries. I got this," Dakvel said, surveying Max like a predator ready to strike.
The other bouncer hovered in the doorway, ready to be entertained.
Dakvel jabbed twice, then threw a right hook.
Max sidestepped to the left and grabbed his wrist as it flew past her face. She jammed her palm into his elbow, then did an arm-bar take down. She body slammed him, pulling his arm back until his shoulder popped and crackled, dislocating under the force.
Dakvel screamed in agony.
Max sprang to her feet and planted another full force kick to his family jewels. Dakvel groaned and whimpered. He was done for the evening.
The other bouncer had a complete look of shock on his face. Dakvel was a big guy, and this svelte little woman had just turned him into pudding.
“What's your name?" Max asked as the bouncer squared off against her.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering why the hell she was even asking. “Conroy.”
“Do you have health insurance?"
“No.”
"That's too bad. Cause you’re gonna need it if you don't step aside and get out of my way.”
His eyes flicked from her to Dakvel writhing on the ground, then back again. A look of fear washed over Conroy's face.
“Let me tell you how this is going to go down. I’m gonna break both your knees, snap your medial collateral and anterior cruciate ligaments. You’ll probably never walk right again. And without insurance, it's going to be expensive.”