The Moreau Quartet, Volume 2

by S. Andrew Swann

  From the look of it, she could get by as a patron without too many weird looks. From her reflection in the glass, she didn’t look much worse than the positively trashed fox, whom the rat was trying hard to keep vertical.

  She pushed through the door with her right shoulder and found herself in the middle of the highest concentration of moreaus in any one place that she’d ever seen on Manhattan. The place was dimly lit and caught in the middle of a New Year’s celebration. There was no shortage of the traditional noisemakers and funny hats. In one booth, a collection of humans and morey rabbits, all female, were being led by a white female tiger in a rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”

  The mirror behind the bar was also a holo screen that was currently displaying the typical scene of Times Square. She could barely hear the broadcast over the noise from the bar. She led with her right shoulder as she pushed through the crowd of leather and fur. No one seemed to pay any attention to her.

  Good, Evi very much wanted to disappear right now.

  She decided she needed a drink to blend in with the crowd around her. With that in mind, she slipped through to the bar. Wincing every time a patron brushed her wounded shoulder.

  She squeezed into a small gap between two occupied barstools. To her left was a rat sitting in front of a half-dozen glasses. He was wearing the conical paper hat on the end of his triangular muzzle. Someone was finding it funny. To her right sat a female lepus, drinking something red with an umbrella in it.

  The bartender, another female white tiger, walked up to Evi. “You’re in time for the last of the champagne—”

  Champagne was the last thing Evi wanted. “Something strong, please.”

  “There’s strong and there’s strong. I mean, we have Everclear—”

  “I’ll take it.”

  The tiger cocked a blue eye at her. “Anything to go with that?”

  “No.”

  The tiger shrugged. As she turned to fix the drink, Evi noticed a shaved patch under her right ear. On the skin underneath was a white floral tattoo, a very intricate, and somewhat erotic, design.

  Evi, not believing in coincidence, turned toward the booth of female revelers. The white tiger leading the singing had a similar patch under her ear.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” the bartender addressed her as she put down the drink.

  Evi fumbled in the pocket of her jacket to peel a twenty off the roll of cash she had. “What am I thinking?”

  “Is she a friend or a relative?”

  The thought had crossed her mind.

  The bartender leaned forward and said in a husky voice that reminded Evi of Nohar, “She’s a friend. My friend.”

  Right. She finally managed to liberate a twenty and placed it on the bar. “Keep the change.” She picked up her drink and moved to the rear, back in the shadows. Near the door to the bathrooms.

  There was nowhere to sit down, so she stood in a corner where she had a good view of the door, through the crowd. That’s when she allowed herself to start shaking.

  She felt like she was on the verge of a physical and emotional collapse.

  She looked down at the drink in her hand; the surface was rippling. Abdel told her that it wasn’t a good idea. She should be concentrating on getting out—

  Fuck it. Thinking what Abdel would tell her in this situation didn’t do a damn bit of good.

  She was a professional, she told herself, a soldier, and at one time she had been a trained assassin. People had always died around her, and for a good part of her professional career her life had been in danger. She had been in worse before, and she had come through without having a nervous breakdown.

  She had managed to escape from Palestine when any connection to the former Israeli government was an instant death sentence. She had nearly starved before she had gotten to Cyprus.

  She had gotten through that.

  But what she had just gone through, having a totally innocent person die because of her . . .

  Evi wanted to chuck it all right there.

  She put away half her drink in one fluid motion. It burned going down, but the pain in her shoulder began to fade.

  A female voice addressed her. “You look like you need to sit.”

  Evi had been keeping her gaze locked on the door to the bar. She hadn’t expected anyone to talk to her. She turned and looked at the owner of the voice.

  Sitting next to Evi, in a small two-person booth, was a pale redhead. Her hair spilled halfway down her back. She was wearing a metallic-red blouse and tight jeans that showed off a pair of well-sculpted legs. As if her figure weren’t arresting enough, she’d chosen to wear black lipstick that altered the appearance of her skin from pale to cadaverous. Her nails matched; they were painted gloss-black and sharpened to points.

  The woman was wearing sunglasses, too. Black one-piece things that hid not only her eyes but half her face as well. For a brief surreal moment, Evi thought she was being addressed by a fellow frank. That thought—Evi wasn’t sure if it had been hope or fear—was put to rest when she turned her full attention to the booth. The smell of the woman was definitely human.

  She considered ignoring her, or moving away. But she didn’t want to be conspicuously solitary. Also, she did need to sit down, and it looked like the seat this woman was offering was the only vacancy in the place. Evi moved into the booth opposite the redhead.

  Evi looked around at the standing-room-only crowd. “How come you rate a table to yourself?”

  The redhead chuckled. “Is that what this is? Thought it was a comm booth they never finished.”

  She sipped from her own glass. “Leo, the guy whose seat you’re taking, just had an urgent call of nature.”

  “What if he wants it back?”

  The redhead shrugged. “I’ve had enough of his moreau separatist bullshit.”

  “Well, thanks for the seat.”

  “You look like you need a friend.”

  Evi gave her host a sad, silent chuckle. “Suppose I do.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Sometimes it helps.”

  Evi felt an urge to tell her to go to hell. Instead, she realized that there was genuine concern in the redhead’s voice.

  “I’ve lost my job, my home, and I’ve been through some thoroughly rotten experiences today.” What was she doing, talking to a stranger like this? It went against all her training . . .

  To hell with her training.

  “Christ—” Her host said as Evi’s appearance seemed to sink in. The redhead removed her own sunglasses, revealing a pair of green, very human eyes. “Are you hurt?”

  She realized that the redhead had just noticed her shoulder and probably some marks on her face. “Someone tried to kill me.”

  Shut up, Evi. She looked in her glass and realized her drink was gone. She had to keep a tighter rein on what she was saying. Why the hell was she spouting off like this? She didn’t want to believe that it was because this woman seemed to be the only person who seemed to give a shit.

  Damn, was she about to get another innocent person involved?

  “Have you called the cops?” The redhead started to get up.

  “No cops.”

  “You can’t let someone get away with—” The redhead was standing up now and sounded angry. Evi grabbed her wrist with her good arm and pulled her back down. The redhead hit the seat with a thud and a surprised squeak.

  Evi looked into those green eyes, which were growing wider, and addressed her in a harsh whisper. “No cops. I said tried. They didn’t get away with anything. They didn’t get away, period.”

  She realized that she was squeezing much too hard. She let go and saw her hand was shaking. “Sorry—”

  “Name’s Diana.” The redhead began rubbing the wrist Evi had grabbed.
“Don’t apologize. Your business, but I get sick whenever someone gets assaulted, mugged, raped, and doesn’t even try to put the bastards away. You should call—”

  “Diana, the police would probably shoot me.”

  Diana just stared at her. She seemed to be taking her in for the first time.

  The bartender, who had noticed the commotion, pushed through to the booth. “Is there a problem?”

  The tiger was addressing Diana.

  Diana shook her head without taking her eyes off of Evi.

  “Are you sure?” The tiger gave Evi a nasty look.

  “Yeah, Kijna.” Diana’s voice sounded far away. Then she cleared her throat, looked at the tiger, and her voice regained its confidence. “We’re fine, thanks.”

  The bartender left, but kept looking back, through the crowd, at Evi.

  Diana sounded apologetic. “Too nosy. Sorry.”

  “Maybe I should go.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I should.”

  Diana shrugged. “If you don’t mind, stay.”

  Evi remembered Kijna and her “friend.” “Are you trying to pick me up?”

  “Would you mind terribly if I was?”

  “I just ducked in here to get off the street.”

  Diana responded with a funny little half-smile. “Doesn’t answer my question.”

  Evi felt the sad little chuckle return. “You never answered mine.”

  “Touché.”

  Diana found a touch-sensitive spot on the table, and a keypad and screen lit up under the fake wood surface. “You want anything more to drink— What is your name?”

  “Ev—Eve.” Damn. Evi cursed herself, she was slipping over her alias.

  “Eve?”

  “Eve.” Evi nodded. Diana was still waiting to hear if she had an order.

  She shouldn’t, but her shoulder had stopped hurting, the shakes had gone away, and she no longer felt on the verge of a panic attack.

  “Order me whatever you’re having.”

  Diana typed in an order. “You have a nice accent.”

  “Thanks.” Evi listened to herself and realized that her accent was returning with the liquor.

  “I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember—”

  “It’s Israeli.”

  “Palestinian?”

  “No.” Evi felt an irrational wave of irritation. “Israeli.” The drinks came, and she used the opportunity to change the subject. “What on earth prompted you to invite over someone in my condition?”

  Diana took one mug of thick beer and sipped. “My friends say I have an attraction to strays.”

  Evi laughed at that, a real laugh this time, though inaudible. “I’m about as stray as you get.”

  All the shit that had happened today seemed far away for once. Though she knew Abdel would throw a fit at her right now for drinking and leading on the local lesbians.

  Diana must have noticed a change in her expression. “What’s the matter?”

  “A little voice telling me to have second thoughts.”

  “About what?”

  “The way I’m reacting to the disaster my life has become.” Evi drained her mug. She didn’t bother tasting the beer. “Also says I’m leading you on.” This time Evi typed on the control panel. She ordered something at random.

  Diana grinned. “How so?”

  “I drive on the right side of the road and have no inclination to jump the median.” Though the odd thought did have some appeal. Especially when she thought of how most men reacted to her genetic heritage.

  Diana took a second to catch Evi’s slightly inebriated metaphor. “You should try it some time. Dodging oncoming traffic can be quite a rush.”

  They both broke into laughter at that one. Evi couldn’t help thinking of the last half-hour of her life, and she was laughing and crying at the same time.

  Maybe she’d brought all this on herself, deserved it even. For a long time she’d been nothing more than a glorified assassin. She had a dirty job.

  Evi was thankful that her sobs were as silent as her laughter.

  Someone came and placed a shot glass in front of Evi.

  After a few minutes of silence, Diana said, “To answer your old question. Initially, I called you over because you looked like you needed help, not to pick you up.”

  Evi watched Diana drink a liberal portion of her beer and asked, “Initially?”

  “Well . . .” Diana waited until Evi had started drinking. “You would make a very attractive dyke.”

  The comment almost had the, apparently intentional, effect of putting the drink through Evi’s nose. The back of her sinuses burned and her eyes watered. Apparently she’d ordered a shot of tequila. She coughed a few times and managed to choke out, “I’m flattered.” It felt strange hearing that from another woman.

  “If you don’t have a place tonight, you can crash at mine.”

  Evi stopped in the middle of wiping her nose with a napkin.

  “It’s not that. But I do have this thing for taking in strays.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” Evi thought of Kris, “but you shouldn’t get involved.”

  Diana looked down and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have. I know what it looks—”

  Evi put her hand on Diana’s arm. “Shhh.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh, Diana. Don’t apologize. You don’t understand.” Evi leaned forward. “People will be looking for . . .”

  Evi trailed off because there was a commotion behind her in the bar. She turned, briefly, to see what it was.

  Two NYPD uniforms had just walked into the bar.

  Evi turned away to hide her face. “Shit,” she whispered.

  “Eve, maybe I do understand—”

  “Shhh,” Evi silenced her.

  Evi listened to Kijna confront the cops. Kijna seemed very proactive of her clientele. The cops said they were looking for a hit-and-run suspect.

  “Diana, is there a window in the bathroom?”

  “Yes, but, Eve—” Diana started to move, but Evi kept an iron grip on her arm.

  “No, don’t. They haven’t noticed me yet and I’m only going to have a moment while Kijna distracts them. What’s behind the bar?”

  “Trash, an alley, fire escapes, but—”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but, Diana, you never saw me.”

  Diana nodded.

  Evi tried to hug the shadows as she slipped into the alcove that led to the bathrooms. The two cops didn’t appear to see her before she had backed into the john.

  The woman’s room this time.

  There was a small rectangular window snug up against an upper corner of the far wall. It looked as if Evi could wiggle through it, but just the idea of doing it reawakened sympathetic pain in her shoulder. The window was above one of the two stalls. Fortunately, it wasn’t above the one that was in use at the moment.

  Evi locked herself into the unoccupied stall and stood on the seat of the toilet so she could reach the window. It was double-paned fogged polymer, clean but painted shut. She took a few seconds to figure out exactly how the thing was originally intended to open.

  The curly-haired brunette sitting in the neighboring stall was resting her head against the tile wall and staring up at Evi. For no particular reason, Evi smiled and nodded al the brunette. The brunette responded with a confused wave.

  Too much to drink. Her judgment was screwed.

  She found the partially hidden handle sunk flush in the top frame of the window. She slipped her right hand into it and pulled.

  The paint cracked and the window tilted outward in a shower of flakes. She kept pulling a little too long. The strut that held the open window in place was old and had been unused for a long time. It folded out, then, after a protest
ing creak, sheared the bolt that held it to the wall. The whole window tumbled out. It was all she could do to keep a grip on the unwieldy thing and ease it to the ground without a massive crash.

  There wasn’t going to be a question over where she went.

  A cold wind blew a shower of flakes into the bathroom. Evi chinned herself up to the sill with her good arm. The brunette gave her another weak wave goodbye.

  Evi tumbled through the opening and her feet landed too far apart on a trash bin below the window. She stumbled once, slipped, and fell on her ass in the snow-covered alley.

  Definitely too much to drink.

  Abdel, where are you?

  “Face it. He’s just an excuse to talk to yourself.”

  She stood up and looked around. She was in a long straight alley, with a T-intersection at each end. She needed to avoid the street that the bar was on; the NYPD and less savory characters would be watching it. She also needed to get away from here as soon as possible. Once the two cops reached the bathroom, they’d see the window and put two and two together.

  She made for the left end of the alley, running. She nearly slipped and fell on her ass again, twice, but the cold air and the adrenaline seemed to be washing out the alcohol.

  As soon as she reached the intersection, she was spotlighted by a pair of headlights turning into the alley from the street. As if to drive the point home, as soon as the vehicle completed its turn, the engine revved and started rocketing toward her.

  Evi ran back into the alley behind the bar. What the hell was she going to do? She couldn’t outrun the damn thing. With her limping gait right now, there were few humans she could outrun.

  She began to fumble in her pack for the Mishkov, spilling the medkit.

  The car was getting louder as Evi passed a trash bin and took cover behind it. Her breath was steaming and beginning to fog her sunglasses.

  Evi braced the Mishkov on top of the trash bin one-handed and fired as soon as the car screeched to a stop at the intersection. The Mishkov clicked on an empty chamber. She had forgotten to reload it.

  From the cherry-red Ford Estival, Evi heard a familiar voice yell, “Hey, Eve!”

  Evi looked at her gun, and where it was aimed, and shuddered.