by Scott Sigler
As it happened, when Fred walked in, a red-faced Bert had one finger on the tank, tracing a line of text and shouting in the face of a half-in-the-bag Human customer.
“I told you, idiot,” Bert said. “It was 2285 and it was at The Gates of Absalom!”
The patron, a big-nosed, white-skinned Tower native Fred knew to play a mean trumpet, only nodded and asked for another drink.
Fred walked up to the bar. “Did I miss the entire lesson, professor?”
Bert looked up. His thick tangle of face-fur split into a wide smile. “Garrison!” He finished pouring the man’s drink and then strode around the bar to embrace Fred.
“Welcome home, mi’jo,” Bert said, clapping Fred’s back several times, loudly, causing considerable pain that Fred didn’t let the older man see.
“How are things, Tio?” Fred asked when they stepped apart.
Bert waved a hand dismissively. “The same. I don’t change. Neither does my place.”
Fred nodded. “I count on it.”
“You look like you need a drink.”
“I need a shower more,” Fred said. “I’ll take a rain check, though. Listen, I wanted to tell you I’ve got company in my apartment.”
Bert smiled a smile that was more of a dirty sneer. “Really,” he said quietly. “What’s her name?”
Fred was happy his hetero posturing could fool at least someone. “Angelique,” he said. “And her husband is looking for her. I’ll have to leave her up there from time to time. You’ll keep an eye out? Let me know if anyone comes sniffing around?”
Bert winked. “You know it, my friend. Your piece of tail is safe as long as she’s under my roof.”
“Thanks,” Fred said. He shook the man’s hand and headed upstairs. Piece of tail. If Fred wanted one of those, it wouldn’t look like Jeanine Carbonaro.
He climbed the stairs, taking a moment to look out on the circular streets of Ionath City. His trained eye sought out anyone watching him, following him — but he saw nothing.
He had done it. Now, all he had to do was keep this woman safe until she decided to meet her brother.
Fred walked upstairs and into his apartment, locking the door’s multiple locks behind him.
Chapter 24: Garrison’s Apartment
Fred entered his apartment.
Jeanine was looking around, a frown on her face.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be crazy about interior decoration,” she said.
“Stereotype much?”
He dropped his bags just inside the threshold of the living room. Like all of Fred’s apartments, Garrison’s place looked spartan. Fred didn’t believe in clutter. He wasn’t decorative by nature. He also wasn’t a fan of too many mementos or personal knickknacks. There were a few pieces of comfortable modular furniture, a small gym set up in the corner and a medium-sized holotank.
He kept an office in the spare room, through a tall, open arch at the end of the apartment’s single hallway. Fred went there first, moving past the few pictures he’d bothered to hang. The pictures all showed a man with a mustache, more jawbone and different color eyes — anyone breaking in here would be hard-pressed to see Fred through the images of Garrison.
Inside the office, Fred shook loose the shoulder rig that held his blades and hung it on a hook next to the archway. The desk was relatively clean as well. There were a few messageboards stacked haphazardly to one side. A large display loomed over the desktop.
Jeanine followed him in. “This your main office?”
“I have a place downtown,” Fred said. “I spend most of my time there.”
“How come?”
“It’s safer,” Fred said. “Armored walls, a hidden door, that kind of thing.”
Her eyebrows raised. “I see you make a lot of friends in this line of work.”
“I’m a people person,” Fred said.
“You should show me. I’d love to see the office of a dangerous private detective.”
“Tell you what,” Fred said. “I’ll show you my office if you meet your brother.”
She glared at him. “I’ll let you know when I want to meet him. And you’ll show me your office soon enough.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I’m convincing,” she said. “You learn how to be patient in prison. If I ask enough, you’ll take me.”
She was so confident in herself, so assured. “My office is off-limits,” he said. “You can stay here until you figure out what you want to do.”
She laughed, waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll see. Speaking of Quentin, isn’t there a fooseball season coming up or something?”
He stared. “Fooseball? Are you screwing with me?”
She blinked, then smiled and snapped her fingers. “Sorry, football.”
“Your brother is one of the most famous athletes in the galaxy, and you don’t even know what sport he plays?”
She shrugged. “My brother’s name is Quentin Carbonaro. Until you came to get me, I’d never heard of Quentin Barnes. I’ve been in prison for three years, Frederico. Prison and... and in other places.”
Her confident aura faded. Fred felt the need to talk, to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“You really don’t know anything about football?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid they didn’t beam in holocasts to my cell. Maybe you can teach me?”
Fred shrugged. “It’s fun to watch, but I don’t know all that much about it.”
“Well, we can learn together,” Jeanine said. “It will be a little bonding experience. Is there a game this week?”
“The pre-season doesn’t even start for a couple of months. I know that the opening game is here in Ionath, though, against the Isis Ice Storm.”
She clapped, a very girly gesture from a woman so hardened by life.
“Can we go to it? We can study up on the sport together before then. We’ll be experts.”
He thought of Ionath Stadium, of over a hundred thousand sentients packed in tight. He thought of the cameras, the guards, the cops. Most of all, he thought of how most of the security personnel wored for Gredok the Splithead.
Fred shook his head. “Not a good idea. Disguises are good in moderation, but Ionath Stadium has more biometric recognition hardware than any other place in the city. The stuff they use to scan for terrorists could turn up a hit on me, or on you.” He pointed to the holotank. “If you’re still around by opening week, we can watch it here.”
“It’s a date,” Jeanine said. “But I’m exhausted. Where’s the bed?”
Fred pointed to the couch. “That sleeps just fine. It’s a one-bedroom apartment, so—”
Jeanine walked to the living room’s one closed door. “Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate you taking the couch, Frederico.”
“Hey, wait a minute, you—”
She opened the door, looked in and saw the bedroom, then entered, shutting the door behind her.
Fred sighed. There were many reasons he lived alone. This was one of them. He was also exhausted. He lay down on the couch and was asleep in minutes.
VII: 2684 SEASON, WEEK SIX
Chapter 25: The OS1 Orbiting Death
She wore a Krakens ball cap. He'd bought it for her back in Week One of the regular season. She'd grabbed it and thrown it to the ground so many times in the past six weeks that the fabric had already started to fray. Maybe she picked up the habit from watching Hokor the Hookchest's constant sideline tantrums.
“Come on, Krakens!” she screamed at the holotank. “OS1 sucks! Get a touchdown!”
He'd spent nearly six months with this woman. Their shared history of loss provided a common ground, an unspoken bond. She'd consistently avoided meeting Quentin. At first, her self-invitation to move in had driven Fred crazy. After only a few weeks, however, he'd gladly accepted the fact that she was the best roommate he'd ever had.
“Is your brother playing well?”
Jeanine nodded. She’d become a student of the game
, learning more in one half of a season than Fred had in several years. He still had little interest in the sport outside of its web of criminal connections and the high-income players that wanted to hire him.
“He’s having a great season,” she said. “The way he leads the team, I’ve just never seen anything like it. Not that I’ve ever watched much football, mind you.” She looked at Fred, and she smiled. “From a distance, he seems okay. I think it might be time.”
Fred forced a smile. “That’s great. When you’re ready, I’ll set it up.”
He felt a pang of regret. If he’d booted her to the curb when they reached Ionath, like he should have, it probably would have been different. But having her here, under his roof, spending all this time with her day after day? He hadn’t spent that much time with anyone, not since Rafael had been murdered. Having someone around, someone who cared... it had been nice. But now she was ready to meet Quentin. She would leave, but that was fine — he’d spent most of his life alone, and he knew he’d slide back into old routines almost immediately.
Old, lonely routines.
Jeanine jumped up from the couch, clapping. “Come on, Wrecka! Go-go-go!”
In the tank, the camera followed an orange-jerseyed Rebecca Montagne as she crossed the goal line.
Jeanine jumped and clapped. “That’s my baby brother!”
The tank showed players gathering in the end zone, then the image cut back to Quentin. He was facing a Quyth Warrior player dressed in the flat-black uniforms of the OS1 team. Quentin looked rumpled, like he’d just stood up from a tackle. Blood poured down from a large gash on his chin. Fred saw the look in Quentin’s eyes.
Oh, no, not now, Q, not now...
The Warrior turned and walked away. Quentin took off his helmet, stepped forward, then whipped the helmet down on the back of the Warrior’s head. The Warrior dropped face-first onto the black turf.
“High One,” Jeanine said quietly. She dropped back, heavily sitting in the couch.
In the tank, a snarling, wide-eyed, blood-smeared Quentin raised the helmet high to bring it down on the prone Warrior. A Harrah flew in, and Quentin’s helmet instead hit the black- and white-striped ref. Whistles blew. More Harrah refs swarmed in.
“Turn it off,” Jeanine said. “Now.”
Fred did so. The room fell quiet. They sat there together, saying nothing, but the look on her face spoke volumes. She looked crushed.
He reached out and took her hand, not knowing what he was doing before he did it.
“He’s not like that all the time,” Fred said.
“He’s like that some of the time,” she said. “And some of the time is too much.” She turned to face Fred. “I’m not ready yet. He’s too violent. I’m really sorry, Frederico, but do you mind if I wait a little longer?”
Fred nodded and was happy he managed to hide his smile. “Whatever you need,” he said. “I’m in no hurry. Billable hours, right?”
She sniffed. Then she reached out and threw her arms around him, held him tight. Her body shook a little. Fred felt tears on his neck.
Jeanine had allowed herself to hope, and now that hope was gone. If she didn’t meet Quentin, she was just as alone as he was.
Fred held her, patted her back. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m here.”
He was there for her. It was his job to protect her, sure, but that wasn’t the only thing. He was able to be there to support another sentient, to help someone through a hard time. He hadn’t done that for so long.
And it felt good.
Chapter 26: Someone to Talk to
Fred woke up screaming. He jumped off the couch and landed in a fighting stance, his sweat dripping down to the floor below. He looked to the corners, searching the shadows, looking for the men who burned Rafael, waiting for the axe handle to hit again and again and again.
He found his blades in his hands, remembered he’d set his shoulder rig on the back of the couch in case someone broke in. He turned, looking for a target, an outlet for the rage that would not let him go.
And then, the room lights came on. The shadows vanished.
In the bedroom door stood Jeanine Carbonaro, sleepy eyed, her pajamas rumpled.
“Frederico,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
He stared at her, his brain trying to extricate itself from the dream where everyone he saw wanted to hurt him, where everyone he saw was an enemy.
The Loa crawled up from behind her back, perched on her shoulder.
This is different, is it not, cher? The Loa said. Are you going to put a knife in her belly for her troubles?
Fred blinked, unsure if he was awake or still asleep. The Loa was there, on Jeanine’s shoulder, but Jeanine wasn’t part of his dreams.
She took a hesitant step forward. He saw fear in her eyes.
“No one is here,” she said. “It’s just you and me. The door is locked. No one is here, Frederico.”
She took another small step toward him.
The Loa on her shoulder pointed at the blades. You going to cut her, Rico? Are you going to make her pay for a murder she didn’t commit, a murder that’s so old you can’t always remember exactly how it went down?
Jeanine’s wide eyes locked on Fred’s. She took two more steps toward him, closing the distance. Her trembling hands reached out, palms up.
“Give me the knives, Frederico,” she said. “Sit down, talk to me.”
In his head, Fred heard Rafael’s screams. But Raf was gone.
He turned the knives handle-first and set them in her hands. Moving carefully, she returned them to their sheaths. Then her trembling hands reached out and held his.
“Sit,” she said.
They both sat on the couch.
“A nightmare,” she said. “I can tell it’s one of the real ones. You want to talk about it?”
Fred closed his eyes. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve never talked about it, to anyone.”
Jeanine reached up and smoothed his sweaty hair. The gesture was so tender, so comforting.
“I’m not just anyone,” she said. “I’m your friend, Frederico. If you’ve never talked about it, then maybe it’s time to do that.”
Fred looked at her face, at her caring eyes. She wanted to help. No one wanted to help him, ever. Everyone just wanted him to do things for them. They wanted his disguises, his skills, and — sometimes — they wanted Rico to come out and play.
But not Jeanine. She didn’t want any of that.
“Talk to me,” she said. “I’m here.”
Fred sniffed. He wanted to chase her out, so he didn’t have to deal with any of this, but there was something about her, something that made him trust her.
“His name was... Rafael,” he said.
On her shoulder, the Loa smiled. It tipped its top hat, bowed, and then it vanished.
Fred cleared his throat. “I called him Raf. I... I loved him so much.”
And that was as far as Fred got before the tears came. They came, and they stayed. Years of pain and anguish, of loss and rage and frustration, they all came pouring out. Beautiful, talented Rafael, burned at the stake like an animal for nothing more than being in love.
Fred didn’t know how long he cried, didn’t know how long Jeanine held him in her arms. When he finished crying, he started talking, and he couldn’t stop.
All if it came out, finally, and for the rest of the night and into the morning, Jeanine sat there and listened.
Chapter 27: Cillian
“Nice door,” Jeanine said. “You get that off a bank vault?”
“Like I told you,” Fred said, “I’m a people person.”
She laughed and walked into his office. He shut the door behind them. For the last two weeks, she’d gone on and on about seeing his office. He thought he could keep things private from her, but he’d been wrong — she’d worn him down. And after the night he’d cried in her arms, he didn’t feel like denying her anything anyway.
To finally talk abou
t Raf, to share that with another sentient being, it was an amazing feeling. Fred would never get over the horror of Raf’s murder, but to finally talk about all that horrible history... Fred had to admit he felt better than he had in years.
Jeanine walked to his desk. “Nice,” she said. “All color coordinated and everything.”
She reached down and started opening drawers.
Fred walked quickly toward the desk. “Don’t,” he said, but it was too late — she held up a suit coat made out of a shiny, pink material. She looked at it, then looked at him and raised her eyebrows.
“Really, Fred? Isn’t this a bit... much?”
He actually felt embarrassed. “I had it made to prove a point.”
“What point? That you can be a ridiculous stereotype?”
Now he felt more embarrassed. How ironic — he’d worn that very coat to make Quentin Barnes feel uncomfortable, and now he felt uncomfortable when Quentin’s sister was making a big deal of it.
“Just put it back,” he said. “It’s none of your business.”
She rolled her eyes. “No-no, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s just lovely.” She slid the coat on. It fit her — maybe she was dainty by the standards of the Barnes/Carbonaro family, but she was big for a woman, almost as tall as Fred was.
She pranced out from behind the desk, spinning and playing the fashion model.
“I look marvelous,” she said. “Oh, Fred, you are such the stylist. Just who were you proving a point to with this?”
He started to talk, then laughed. It took him a moment to recover. “It was for the first time I met your brother.”
She stopped prancing. Her eyes widened, and a smile pulled up the corners of her mouth. “My brother? My big, macho, Purist Nation brother?” She started giggling. She put her hand to her mouth, a ridiculously feminine gesture for someone as tough as her.
“Oh, my High One,” she said. “What did you do? Pretend to be all super-gay or something?”
Fred shrugged.
She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, every atom of his Nationalite soul must have been trying to run for the door. Wait, did he run for the door?”