Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  It was 1:16 when she collapsed from exhaustion in the empty parking lot. Spanky's was closed up and everyone had gone home. She started to cry and beat her fist against the ground. So close. She would've made it if she hadn't given into her cramping sides and walked most of Lyric Street. Spanky had always been an unlikely chance but now she had no chance. She was going to die, having never figured out why someone would fake her daddy’s suicide, if only she'd been smarter. Izabel had gotten rid of her bounty hunter problem. Well, she'd gotten rid of Larkin and he'd gotten rid of Driskell.

  Driskell.

  She was pretty sure the three Chromeys had killed him. But had they taken him somewhere else to do it or did they do it right there in the alley behind Spanky’s? If they had killed Driskell in the alley and she was lucky he’d still there. If she was really lucky so would his wallet. She was on her feet and crossing the parking lot before she realized what she was doing.

  Staring into the dark alley felt like looking into a tomb. She forced herself forward, her boots shuffling on the concrete. About halfway down the alley she found the carnage. Red feathers littered the alley from one side to the other, as if someone had a pillow fight and the pillow lost. Driskell was slumped against the wall. The chromeys had completely disemboweled him. There was a huge smoldering crater where the bounty hunter’s stomach should have been. His legs jutted away from his body at odd angles suggesting a severe spinal injury. I guess Fenix Tails can only fix so much. She covered her mouth because the stench of charred flesh and hot excrement was overbearing. His eyes were open and gazing up at the stars. She squatted in front of Driskell, careful to avoid the burning bits of entrails lying on the concrete. The stench was ten times worse up close. She felt the bread and candy bar she’d eaten earlier trying to come back up. His trench coat was open and she could see the top of his wallet peeking out of the inside pocket. She glanced around the alley to make sure no one was watching her. She was alone. She risked a glance at Driskell's eyes, which were still and unblinking. Stealing wasn’t her proudest moment and she was pretty sure she'd go to Hell for stealing from a dead dude but he wasn't going to need it where he was going. Besides, if she didn't do it someone else would. She pinched the corner of the wallet between her thumb and index finger. She pulled!

  It didn't budge.

  Driskell's coat was warm to the touch and most of it was burned black. The heat caused by his injuries must’ve melted his wallet to his damn coat. She hooked her shirt collar on her nose so she could use two hands. She grabbed both corners of the wallet and— SCREAMED when Driskell's hand tightened around her wrist. She tried to step back and tripped over his feet, landing hard on something squishy and warm.

  "Wren..." Driskell croaked. He's still alive!

  "Jesus Christ,” she said, “I've seen dead dudes that looked more alive then you."

  “Wren…”

  "I'm not Wren, my name's Izabel. Remember?"

  His eyes focused on her but he didn't seem to be looking at her. "Izabel...my stray."

  "Not anymore,” she got to her feet and when she wiped her butt off, her hands were covered in black soot. She looked at the ground and saw that she'd fallen on a section of his charred intestines. Oh, God. She leaned one hand against the wall and hurled. Nothing came up so she settled for dry heaving.

  When she felt better she turned back to Driskell. He still looked deader than ever. She needed that damn wallet. What am I supposed to do wait until he does die? That could take hours? Hours she didn't have. She thought about trying to take the wallet again but he was stronger than he looked. Her wrist still hurt from where he’d grabbed her. Then an idea occurred to her. If Driskell wasn't dead yet then maybe he wasn't gonna die. She crossed the alley and stood in front of him. “I know you’re a Fenixborn but are you dying or healing? Cuz, I honestly, I can't tell."

  "Why...you care?"

  "I don't. But I need credits,” she said then she picked up broken slat from a wood pallet. “So, either I'm gonna finish you off and take your wallet and or I can help you, I guess.”

  For the first time his eyes actually seemed to be looking at her.

  "Why?"

  "Cuz, if I help you. You're gonna help me." The only thing better than credits in your back pocket was a bounty hunter.

  "Help you...what?"

  "It doesn't matter. Do we have a deal?"

  Driskell was silent long enough for the slat to grow heavy in her hands.

  “Deal,” he agreed.

  "Okay, so what do I do?" She tossed the slat aside.

  "Fenix tails...by...your feet." Izabel looked around and sure enough not six inches from her feet was a pack of Fenix Tails. Duh! The dude needs smokes. She opened the package and took one over to him. Squatting down, she placed the cigarette between his lips. Without moving any other part of his body, he pulled a gold zippo lighter from his coat pocket. He tried to thumb it open and it slipped out of his hands and landed on his soot stained pants. He felt around for it blindly like someone groping for a light switch in the dark. He wasn't anywhere near it.

  "Just stop! I'll get it,” she ordered. When she picked up the lighter she expected to find a Slade Enterprises logo on it since they manufactured Fenix Tails. But the faded logo on Driskell’s lighter represented The Black Chain. If Izabel remembered her history correctly, The Black Chain was a drug cartel that had fallen during the Morphagen War.

  She lit the cigarette and then held it so he could take a long drag. She was caught off guard when the smoke began to billow out of his opened stomach. She'd never seen Fenix Tails in action before.

  The crater where Driskell’s stomach should’ve been started to glow with heat and gradually his intestines began to recoil back inside his torso. Smoke and fire embers swirled in the air around them. Once his innards were back in their proper alignment, he was strong enough to hold the cigarette himself. Fascinated, she leaned against the adjacent wall and watched. There was a loud popping sound that caused Driskell’s entire body to shutter. The angle of his legs looked instantly better. Izabel guessed that his spinal column was now realigned. The muscle grew back a layer at a time. So did his flesh, followed by his feathers, each one materializing out of a bud of shimmering flame. It was like watching something burn in reverse. Finally, after smoking half a pack, the bounty hunter was whole and standing under his own power amid a cloud of swirling smoke.

  “Neato,” she said, still mesmerized by his regenerative abilities.

  “Thanks,” he said extinguishing the cigarette against the wall. “Now what?”

  "First, you buy me my morphagens and then you're gonna help me figure out why someone faked my father's suicide."

  ROE

  ROE COULDN’T BELIEVE his luck. Somehow, he’d managed to make a deal with a stray. He’d collared nine hundred and ninety-nine strays and nearly every single one of them had tried to beg or bribe their way to freedom. But he hadn’t caved…until now. He’d caved on his last damn stray. Of course, if he hadn’t then he’d be dead and after he resurrected, he’d still owe Slade, which would ruin his chances of starting a new life. So, in the end caving had been the lesser of two evils.

  He was having a smoke against the wall on the seventeenth floor of Morphagen Tower. His dealmaking stray, Izabel Rogers or some such, was getting high in one of the pleasure rooms. Izabel had made two demands for saving his life, the first had been for him to purchase her morphagens. That was the easy one, expensive, but easy.

  All he had to do was take a hovercab from Spanky’s Bar to Morphagen Tower. $30 credits for fifteen miles and that was with his bounty hunter’s discount. Then to avoid waiting in line for three hours, he had strolled up to the front door and flashed his badge. The guards had let them right in. Izabel had given both guards the finger because apparently they had tossed her out on the street only hours before. Flashing his badge, got them past the elevator guards too. Apparently Izabel wasn’t done gloating because she shot them the finger too.

  They go
t off on the seventeenth floor and quickly found their way to the elf dealer’s desk. He was a sickly looking man named Jori. Again Roe flashed his badge but unlike the guards, Jori had examined it and even taken the time to verify the authentication code. Once the formalities were out of the way, Roe had purchased a week’s worth of morphagens for Izabel. One dose at the detox inflated price of $153 credits and six more at the standard price of $49 credits for a grand total of $447 credits. Who said life was cheap? Roe hadn’t balked at the price. He knew it was going to be outrageous because Izabel was on the detox list. Izabel had offered to help pay. She had $53 credits but Roe figured those were probably all she had to her name, so he told her to keep it. Plus, they had a deal. Jori sold them the drugs and Izabel didn’t give the dealer the finger but Roe could tell that she really wanted to.

  He had just lit his second Fenix Tail when Izabel emerged from the pleasure room.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Mucho,” Izabel said.

  “Good. Now what?” Roe asked, taking a long pull.

  “We eat.”

  Izabel turned and headed towards the elevators. Roe watched her go, wandering how much time and money this little elf was going to cost him. After seeing him shell out nearly $500 credits without batting an eye, Roe expected Izabel would want to “eat” at the most expensive restaurant on San Andreas. She didn’t. Instead she chose “Zingers” a barbecue taco shop around the corner from Morphagen Tower. First, you picked your meal. Three tacos or a giant burrito, the latter was as big as Roe’s forearm. Then you chose from one of three meat choices, brisket, shredded pork, or chicken. Roe ordered three brisket tacos and Izabel ordered a shredded pork burrito and three chicken tacos. She said she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. They both got large drinks. Izabel ordered a root beer and Roe got what he always got…hydro. A habit he’d picked up from Wren. Izabel chose a booth by the window. Roe wasn’t surprised to see that it was raining again. There was a vidscreen in the corner behind Izabel’s right shoulder, it was airing a commercial for the next Crucible. Nose bleed seats were already $100 credits.

  “Alright, say I believe that Phaelan Lennox is your dad. Which I’m not sure I do,” Roe said, when she returned from refilling her drink. “What makes you think his suicide was fake?”

  “The guitar,” she said, sucking the extra foam off the top of her cup.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “The one in the suicide video is a Leo.”

  “So?”Roe said.

  “My dad only plays Orvilles,” she answered through a mouth full of burrito.

  “The guy’s a rockstar. He probably owns a million guitars.”

  “He does..or did…or does. But none of them are Leos . He hates Leos and the one in the video was an acoustic guitar.”

  “I’m not following?” he said.

  Izabel took a moment to woof down the rest of her burrito. Damn, she really was hungry.

  “My daddy is severely allergic to the type of wood Leo uses. So it’s physically impossible for him to use the guitar that was in the video.”

  Roe had heard about the vid, it was hard not to when it was all over the Newsfeed, but he’d never actually taken the time to watch it. There was no time better than the present. He swiped his bounty hunter badge in the kiosk attached to their table. He found the suicide vid after only a few key strokes.

  Not aware of what he was doing, Izabel started to get up to refill her cup for a third time but stopped when the image of a news anchor appeared on the vidscreen in the corner. "I must warn the viewing audience,” said the flying faery “The following images are very disturbing."

  Having caught her off-guard, Roe watched carefully as Izabel slowly slid back down into her seat. He shifted his attention back to the vidscreen. The faery's grave face was replaced with a grainy image of an expensive tour barge. A naked elf woman was sprawled on the lush carpet in the foreground. Maybe she had been attractive once but her features were completely ravaged now. It was obvious that she’d overdosed. Badly. Roe glanced at Izabel. She hadn’t moved. She just sat there with her back to the vidscreen.

  A rail thin figure in black leather pants sat down behind Phaedra's body. Roe hadn’t been a fan but he knew he who he was. RECORDED EARLIER flashed repeatedly on the screen. Phaelan Lennox was shirtless but holding a guitar, a Leo. Roe didn’t know guitars but he could read the brand name. At least that much of Izabel’s story was true but that didn’t prove anything. The rockstar brushed a strand of hair behind his pointed ear and looked at the camera. The elf’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.

  "Hello universe,” he croaked. "As you can see my beloved Phaedra is gone." Phaelan stroked the elf’s face with a trembling hand. "I'll be joining her soon."

  Izabel still hadn’t moved. She was trying not to cry but her eyes were filling up and soon they would spill over and run down her fair cheeks.

  "But before I go," the rockstar continued, "I thought I might play you a song." His hands fell into position on his guitar and he began to play. Roe thought maybe he’d heard the song before but he wasn’t sure. Izabel had lost her battle and the tears were flowing freely now.

  RECORDED EARLIER flashed across the screen again. Phaelan finished playing and then reached for something off camera. It was a revolver. He pressed the barrel under his chin and looked dead into the camera. He was crying too and that’s when Roe saw it. The anguish on Phaelan’s face matched exactly with Izabel’s. Either, she was a highly gifted con artist or the rockstar really was her old man.

  “Goodbye,” Phaelan said as he blew the back of his brains out.

  Izabel jumped at the sound of the gunshot and then buried her face in her hands. It only muffled her sobs instead of drowning them out. Roe grabbed her empty cup and slid out of the booth. He took his time at the soda dispenser so she could collect herself. By the time he returned her eyes were still wet and red but she had gotten her sobs under control.

  “I got you some more root beer.”

  “Thanks,” she took the cup with trembling hands. Again, Roe had to wonder how much was real and how much was an act.

  “I keep reminding myself that it’s not him. But it’s hard, you know.”

  “If that wasn’t Phaelan Lennox, then who was it?”

  “A Kameleon,” she said.

  A Kameleon? Roe honestly hadn’t though of that. Most morphagens transformed the user into a predetermined form, but the kameleon drug was unique, it allowed the user to transform into, or imitate, whoever they came in contact with. Izabel was right. Only a kameleon could imitate a well known celebrity like Phaelan Lennox so accurately. It was rumored that celebrities used kameleons to do the things they didn’t want to do like press junkets, signing autographs, or even charity appearances. But those were just harmless deceptions. This was much more.

  “Let’s say that was a kameleon addict,” ventured Roe.“Why would they want to fake your father’s suicide?”

  “Beats me.” Izabel said, setting her empty cup down on the table. “That’s why I need you.”

  KARIAH

  PLANNING HER HUSBAND’S demise, consumed Kariah Slade night and day. While her hands were busy pruning her garden, her mind was busy pruning Magnus. Her nightmares had been replaced by wet dreams of matrimonial violence. Her first thought had been to just kill him during one of his nightly visits. He was almost always drunk and he’d never expect it, especially if she provided some encouragement. Kariah had discovered long ago that even though men have two heads, they can only use one at a time. Magnus was no exception. Killing him wasn’t the problem. Getting rid of the evidence was. Kariah had decided that not only did she want to murder the Drug lord of Slade Enterprises, she wanted to get away with it. Which meant that she couldn’t kill him in her guest bedroom without arousing suspicion. She thought about luring him to the bathing ponds but that would be just as risky. What she needed to do was kill him while he was alone. But the great Magnus Slade was hardly ever alone. He had two bodyg
uards that accompanied him everywhere he went. The only time he was alone was when he used the bathroom or when he slept. Killing him in the bathroom would be tricky but not as tricky as killing him in his sleep. So that’s what she planned to do.

  Tonight.

  She lay awake on her straw bed staring up at the mural painted on the vaulted ceiling. The scene depicted a group of Centaurs running through a lush green meadow. There was a stream in the foreground and tall trees in the distance. She had no doubt that it had been designed to fill the observer with peace and joy. But it had the exact opposite effect on Kariah. She was filled with anger and hate. Because running through a meadow on four strong legs was something her son was never going to experience. Just like he’d never experience the love of a mare or learn to fly a cruiser. Tears of resentment leaked from her eyes and she tightened her grip on the knife sheathed between her bosom. The blade was twelve inches of solid steel and the handle was Merfolk bone. The sheath was coral reeds intricately woven together. She’d taken it from Vi’s collection. The vampyr had been fond of blades for as long as she’d known her. It was one of her oldest and most prized possessions and Kariah was going to drive it deep into Magnus’s black and shriveled heart.

  She glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes past one in the morning. Magnus should be good and asleep by now. She got to her hooves and crossed to the door. She was about to turn the knob when she remembered the guard stationed in the hallway. He wouldn’t dare inquire as to where she was going, estranged or not, she was still married to the great Magnus Slade. But later when Magnus’ body was discovered, he would remember that she had left her room. She backed away from the door and looked around. The only other possible exit was the balcony. Climbing down was out of the question. Centaurs didn’t climb. The railing was only four feet high and she was positive she could clear it. But her home not so far away from home was on the second floor, at least ten feet above the ground. If she attempted to jump off the balcony she’d probably break all four of her legs when she hit the ground. No, the only way out of the room was through the door and past the guard. But how do I get past the damn guard? Maybe I could distract him! No, that wouldn’t work. It was too suspicious. If this was going to be done right then it couldn’t lead back to her in any way. She was standing in front of a large mirror that was above the dresser. There were dark bags under her eyes. She was exhausted. How long had it been since she’d slept through the night? Maybe she should forego her big murder plans and just go back to bed. She could think on it more tomorrow. Maybe after a good night’s sleep she could come up with a better plan. A foolproof plan. No! Magnus had to die and the bastard had to die tonight. So, what if the guard saw her leave? That didn’t prove anything. She was turning away from the mirror when her eye caught something.