Shadow Dragon

by wade coleman

  Kim puts down her cup. “What’s room service?”

  I raise my eyebrows, forgetting where she came from. “You’ll like it. It’s right up your alley. They bring food, anything you want.”

  I show her the menu in our room, a basic white laminated paper with a list of entrees. We agree on something simple. Burgers and fries with extra catsup for Kim. Twenty minutes later there’s a knock on the door and a man wheels in a cart. I roll the table onto the balcony so we can eat outside.

  The sun is fully set and dark. Red LED lights illuminate the parking garage across the street. Kim squirts a pile of catsup on her plate and uses two French fries to scoop up the sauce.

  “Try this.” I hand Kim a pad of butter.

  She puts it on her tongue, eyes closing, savoring the taste. “Oh God, this could be better than sex.”

  “Yeah, I know. Nothing like shifting through shadows to give you a fat craving.”

  She puts four pads of butter on her hamburger, bites down, and a third instantly disappears, grazing her fingers with her teeth. I’m glad the worst is over for her, but her words are still fresh in my brain.

  After we’re done, we clean up a bit, and both of us are tired from a long day. I jack up the air conditioner, and we get under the covers, laying on our backs.

  Kim tucks her foot under my knee. “Do you think Kukan is one of those beings in the cold world?”

  “To be honest, I don’t know. Your angel talks only to you, probably because you’re a telepath.”

  I reach around, find her hand and take it. Thinking about the connection between my cats and Kim’s angel, two red eyes come out of the fog as though searching for me, but a breeze comes through, and I drift away…

  * * *

  I’m dressed in a suit, standing in front of the restaurant. Above the door is a sign, Rick’s Café Americain. I check my tie, walk to the bar and order bourbon. Bogart pours.

  “Who’s your friend, Hermes?” Bogart asks.

  To my right is the djinn that granted me a wish, blue skin and horns shaped like a crescent moon. He’s dressed like a Nazi SS officer, two lightning bolts on his shirt collar.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask the djinn and slam back my first drink.

  Bogart refills my shot glass. “Kid, you’ll need all your wits about you, so drink up.”

  I toss back my second.

  “Before you is a choice and your second wish.”

  Bogart pouts me my third, and says, “The kind of wish he offers always comes with consequences.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, and I finish my third.

  “He means you may experience the wrath of a dragon,” the djinn answers.

  To my left sitting on a barstool is a Japanese woman, mid-forties, red and black traditional kimono. In her hand is an ivory cigarette holder.

  Bogart lights her cigarette and says, “Kid, this is Kukan, the dragon.”

  Suddenly, the third drink kicks in, and I realize that everything is in black and white except her red dress. “I love your dress. It sparkles like rubies.”

  The djinn puts his hand on my shoulder. “Now that we’re all acquainted, it’s time to discuss the business of your wish and your choices.

  “Rick, I’ll have another,” I say.

  Bogart pours my fourth, and I drink it down. He fills my glass, and I hold it in my hand.

  “Okay, I’m ready. What are my choices?”

  “You can sit this one out, and we’ll give you anything you want. The host of The Tonight Show is about to retire. You could replace him. You would have riches, women and a life of…excess.”

  “Or?” I ask.

  “Try to destroy the virus and face almost certain death,” the djinn says.

  “I don’t like those odds.”

  “If you take the easy way out,” the lady in red says. “I will curse you for your cowardice.”

  “And what do I get if I do go along with your plan?” I ask Kukan.

  “Then I won’t curse you,” she replies.

  I slam my bourbon and say, “That’s not fair.”

  The three of them burst into laughter.

  I bristle under their ridicule, like a five-year-old who was just denied dessert after finishing his vegetables.

  Bogart keeps filling my glass. Angry, I drink as fast as he can pour.

  “Fuck your choices,” I declare in my playground voice. “I want my wish,” I say while pounding my shot glass.

  The djinn puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Okay, Kid, what’s your wish?”

  I turn and face the woman in red. “I wish for the Kukan’s blessing.”

  She opens her mouth to speak…

  * * *

  A flash of white light followed by a thunder boom wakes me up. Getting up, I open the sliding glass door to our room and step out under the canopy. The rain is coming down so hard that I can’t see the other side of the street, the air is filled with the sharp smell of ozone. I haven’t seen a downpour like this since I was a kid.

  Kim walks outside and puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s a good sign, the thunderstorm.” We stand there and watch the storm.

  “Come on, time for bed. You have a long day tomorrow.”

  Lying in bed, I close my eyes and try to remember the dream I was having…

  * * *

  I get up at 10 AM feeling unsettled. I know I had a vivid dream. I just don’t remember what it was about, and for a while, it plagues me until my efforts to remember it make it fade completely. I order room service, and again we eat. After I hang a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door, I change clothes; a brand new pair of blue jeans, a T-shirt with a designer label and Nikes.

  Kim pats me on the butt. “New clothes and that boyish face…you look like a Pureblood.”

  At 11 AM, I head for the door. “Honey, I’ll be back around six. Make sure dinner is ready when I get back.”

  “Fuck you,” Kim says, but I notice she’s smiling. After the night before, I realize we’re friends again.

  Kim points to the door. “Don’t give me that look.” Kim points to the door. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  I make my way to the elevator and get off at the lobby. The door opens automatically and I quickly get into the rhythm of foot traffic.

  The Hall of Records is a few blocks away. After going through the metal detector, I take a number and visit the County website. I put in my number and type, “Birth Certificate.”

  I sit on a plastic bench next to the window. The room is one long counter with bulletproof glass, where the employees of the city sit at their terminals.

  The waiting room has rows of benches where people sit, cameras over the entrance, two more black orbs mounted in the ceiling.

  Ninety minutes later, I get a text from the County telling me to go the fifth floor. Going back to the hallway, I get on the elevator, punch the button, and in a few minutes the door opens. I get in and notice the camera in the ceiling.

  Once on the fifth floor, I walk to a room with another long counter, behind several printers with people picking up the documents that come out of the trays. I sit down and look, no video here or in the hallway. Soon, a text says to go to the front counter.

  Standing up, I walk over to the counter and put my face in a retinal scanner. Red lights dance at the edge of my vision. An automated voice tells me to go to the front desk, and for the first time that morning, I am speaking to an actual person. She’s five feet tall with wide shoulders and dark hair – a Type 1D mutant. D stands for a dwarf.

  I smile. “I’d like a copy of my birth certificate.”

  With the retinal scan, she has access to all my personal information. The dwarf looks at a touchscreen embedded in the desk.

  “Is this where you go to get a pilot license, too?”

  “Yes, are you thinking of becoming a pilot?”

  “Mostly thinking. Too pricey.”

  “We all have to dream. I want to have a second baby, but they say I can only h
ave one.”

  “These times, they’re a’changing,” I quote Bob Dylan.

  She smiles and hands me my birth certificate.

  “Thanks,” I head back to the elevator.

  I spend the day shopping for clothes. Around five, I return to the Hall of Records. Natasha scans for faces, finding someone from the fifth floor that has her badge clipped to her shirt.

  Pickpocketing requires sure and quick movements. I bump into her, my shopping bag between us.

  She looks at me, startled. “Excuse me.”

  “I’m so sorry, my fault.” I give her my charming smile.

  While we exchange pleasantries, I manage to pull on her ID card clip to her shirt and drop it discreetly into my shopping bag.

  “It’s all right. It looks like you have your hands full.”

  I fumble with my shopping bags, “It’s my girlfriend birthday.”

  She gives me the obligatory, polite smile and walks away. I quickly blend into the crowd and head back to the hotel.

  Opening the door, Kim is sitting on the bed, playing a game on the TV. She puts the remote down when she sees me. “I’m bored and starving.”

  “You have protein bars.”

  She shrugs. “I’m not that hungry.”

  “Then don’t complain.” I put the shopping bags on the bed.

  I lay out our clothes: jeans, black turtlenecks, socks, gloves, and hats. The last item is a red dress with matching stilettos. All the clothing is bullet-resistant, made from a blend of spider-silk and hemp fibers.

  Kim changes in the bathroom. In a few minutes, she walks out in the red dress and looks at herself in the mirror. She’s six foot, and I’m two inches shorter. With her stilettos, she towers over me.

  I get a ring box out of the bag. Kim’s eyebrows furrow. I open it, slide the ring on her index finger—a titanium band with a skull and crossbones seal.

  She makes a fist, brings the ring up close and closes one eye. “I need to punch something.” Kim shadowboxes an imaginary opponent.

  “These clothes are resistant to small caliber weapons, even the dress.”

  * * *

  Kim and I eat dinner as the sun sets, the temperature dropping and the cold creeping around my skin.

  After we’re done eating, I go to the closet, find the immersion helmet and stuff it in my backpack.

  Kim walks up to me, kisses and then slaps my face, not hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, but just enough to let me know she’s there. “Giving me a ring doesn’t make me your girl.”

  I smile, opening the door. “See you soon.”

  I realize I don’t have a chance with Kim, that she is who she is, but she has also proved loyal and reliable, and that is something I’m not used to. It’s hard, but I can’t resist still trying to win her affection.

  Outside, the streets are almost empty. Most people are already home, the local pubs filled with patrons getting dinner and catching up with friends. Once I’m at the back entrance to the Hall of Records, I hold the badge under the reader. A beeping sound issues, followed by a green light. The door unlocks.

  With my ballcap low, I walk down the hall to the elevator and ride up to the fifth floor, the exit lights illuminating a sea of cubicles.

  Mary Summers, the department head, has her office down the hall. Going through her desk, I find a zip drive with a spot of nail polish on it. I put the badge under the reader, and the terminal comes on, returning to life, and asks for my password. Inserting the flash drive into the USB port, I complete the login.

  Corporations change passwords weekly. Employees get tired of memorizing so they put their new security codes on a flash drive. Human error is the weak point in any security system, and this one is no exception.

  I put on the immersion helmet.

  Natasha appears, wearing a business suit. “What can I do for you, darling?”

  “I want access to the international database. Look for a couple who died, had a male child who would be my age, affluent background, and a body like mine.”

  Several choices come up. The best is a young couple: mother Brazilian and the father British. All of them were lost at sea during a storm off the coast of South Africa. The bodies were never recovered. It’s almost too convenient, but with my luck, I expect these things to happen.

  I add a false story to the records. Their son, John Norwich, was not in the boat but staying with friends in Brazil. Since John had no family, the elderly couple raised him as their own. His adoptive parents died two years ago. Recently John discovered that, before their deaths, his birth parents had set up a trust fund for him.

  One last thing to make the illusion complete: “Natasha, find the most recent photo of John Norwich?”

  “For you, anything.” Natasha stands in front of her terminal and types. A picture appears from his fourth-grade yearbook.

  “Can you age that face?”

  A picture of him appears as if he’d lived to be twenty-five.

  “Use that photo for the pilot license.”

  “Don’t you mean your face?”

  “His face is better.”

  “Thinking of getting a face augment?”

  “I have eight million credits burning a hole in my pocket, besides, in my line of work, it’s a good investment.”

  Natasha turns on the machines. A few minutes later, the documents print out: school records, birth certificate, drivers, and pilot’s license.

  I turn on the laminator and wait for it to warm up, looking at the documents. “You have a knack for forgery.”

  “Darling, you flatter me.”

  “Natasha, make a new ID for Kim, too, will you? Then show that Kimberly Akagi died of the flu. Also, print out a few driver’s licenses of people who match me and Kim’s general description. You can never have too many fake IDs.”

  “Got it.”

  I laminate the documents. “Natasha, check Baron Enterprise, find out if they own any stock in lab-grown meat companies.”

  A few seconds pass, “Yes, they own thirty percent of Farm Tech. They have manufacturing facilities throughout the west coast.”

  “The Baron stands to lose if algae replaces animal protein.”

  “Not if he owns both companies.”

  I trim the laminate. “Natasha, you understand things so much better when you’re connected to the immersion helmet.”

  Natasha whispers into my ear: “You are kind with your words.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and leans into me. “I checked on some aircraft, darling. We can buy a twin-engine Cessna Eagle for a million credits, which includes delivery to the Aviation Center.”

  I lean back into her, shoulders touching, and whisper back: “How can I say no to you?” I finish trimming the documents and then put them in my vest pocket. “I think John Norwich is the kind of guy who travels a lot. He should own a plane.”

  Natasha kisses me on the cheek. “I’m sorry to be so bold, darling, but you’re so good to me.”

  “You’re a great secretary. Oh…and one last thing. Have Mark’s jet fueled and on the taxiway tomorrow at 9 PM.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Don’t you remember…yesterday at the airport, the men with weapons?”

  I leave Mary’s keycard on her desk. “I’m counting on them to show up.”

  Natasha pouts. “So, we won’t be flying?”

  “Not yet, but we’re getting closer.”

  I take off my immersion helmet, put on my ballcap and head to the elevator. Walking down the hall, I open the side door and step out into the night. I put my hand in my vest pocket and feel for the documents.

  Walking back, I watch people having dinner through a restaurant window while I think about last week. By now the Mercy’s Hospital Chief Administrator is freaking out over his missing savings. Serves him right after taking that money to test a virus that kills mutants. They’re probably mass producing the virus right now. I need to walk in the world of Purebloods to find out more.

  I wait for the light to change and
cross the street to my hotel.

  I need a Pureblood ID, and John Norwich’s trust fund is a perfect way to launder millions of credits.

  Inside, I wait in front of the elevator.

  Now, all I have to do is find a way to get a face and skin augment. But that shouldn’t be too hard because Daniel is loyal to Colonel James. Dad will tell him I’ve got cash. The Colonel wants money to buy land, and I need an invite to a first-rate hospital facility.

  I’ll wait for them to come to me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning, after room service and a quiet breakfast, I turn on my disposable phone. “Are you ready? Once I make this transaction, there’s no turning back.”

  “I’m tired of running from assassins. Time to face the Inner-City Gang.”

  With my cell phone, I log onto one of the several aliases, Michael Wong, converting credits into twelve hundred silver, two hundred more than the price on Kim’s head. The bank will deliver the coins to the Inner-City headquarters, the Japanese restaurant Honshu. I attach a message to the delivery, “Kim Akagi’s price.”

  Kim and I play games on the TV. At 4 PM, I get a text. “8 PM at the Honshu.”

  At 5 PM, I shower, then dress in the room, while Kim takes over the bathroom. I stand in front of a sink with my shirt off. With a can of Asian skin color, I spray my head, neck, and hands, then my arms up to the elbows. Looking at myself in the mirror, I’m pleased with the skin tone. Next, I put on the contacts, then a mouth guard to alter my chin and checks. I add a black wig over my short hair to finish the disguise.

  At 6:30 Kim walks out in a yellow dress and heels, wig, blush, and eye-shadow. She looks like a femme-fatale in tiger stripes. She tosses me the Beretta. “Strap this to me.”

  I lift up her dress and tape it tight to the inside of her thigh, making sure it doesn’t leave a bulge. As long as she doesn’t get searched too thoroughly, it should be missed. I hum the tune to Avengers, and Kim slaps the top of my head.

  “You look good. A generic Asian face, easily forgotten.” Kim puts her leg back down and straightens her dress. “Listen up, when you meet those pinky-less bastards, you need to know the rules.” Kim takes off her heels and puts on her street shoes. “Do not shake his hand, bow low, but not too low. If he offers a drink, accept it. Drink when he drinks.”