Chimera

by Will Shetterly

  "Mmm."

  "That's not a question."

  "Your policy's not to work for critters."

  I wasn't expecting that one. I said, "That's not a question either."

  "Why?"

  "'Cause I don't like to."

  "You tried it?"

  "No. I'd be awfully conspicuous tailing a cheating critter from a critter bar to a critter hotel. Besides, not many critters can afford me."

  "Sounds like rationalizing."

  "Question."

  "Huh?"

  "Good enough. We're rationalizing beings. What do you expect me to do?"

  "If you felt guilty about Long Island, I'd think you'd take jobs from critters."

  "If I was a saint."

  "You live around critters."

  "It's the cheapest halfway-decent neighborhood in L.A."

  "Eddie says you said once you couldn't stand the idea of letting another critter down."

  "Eddie was drunker than me. Don't put money on what he remembers."

  "You're working for me."

  "Not because I owe the whole damn chimera species. Don't read too much into Long Island. I may not like what happened there, but sometimes the innocent just fucking die."

  "You don't have to get mad."

  "I don't have to get analyzed, either."

  "Okay."

  "Okay." I breathed deeply, realized I was doing that, and asked, "Are you hungry?"

  "No."

  "Too bad. You have to eat something, 'cause I am. Can you stay awake for three minutes?"

  She nodded.

  I wanted to apologize, but I wasn't sure why. Deciding that a little time by myself would be good for both of us, I clicked the HV on loud and found a comedy channel. She laughed at some poor bastard running out of a lake with his pants full of fish, which I took as a bad sign for her sense of humor but a good sign for her wakefulness.

  I went to the kitchen and made sandwiches, summer sausage for her and Eddie, avocado and barbecue sauce for me. Eddie was at his computer when I looked in his bedroom. He said, "How is she?"

  "Still awake." I handed him a sandwich.

  "Thanks, Captain. She seems all right, for a critter."

  "She's annoying," I said. "Mind if I check my e-mail?"

  He and I ate our sandwiches while I logged on. The ex had sent me a joke about men that she thought was funny. More importantly, the mysterious Mycroft had not answered my inquiry about Gold's death.

  When I returned to the guest room, Zoe's eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. I set her sandwich aside, checked her pulse, then shook her. "C'mon, Zoe. Fight it!" I slapped her cheeks, hard enough to bring a tinge of red to them. Still, her eyes didn't open.

  I sat beside her and smoothed her hair. "Just fight—" I let the sentence die. She couldn't hear me. She needed a doctor or a miracle. A hospital would record her as an admittee, which would be the same as handing her to the cops. Even if she lucked into a cop who wasn't under the influence of Gold's killers, any place that cops could put her, a copbot could get to.

  The doorbell rang. Eddie passed by, saying, "Must be the guys for the van." He looked at Zoe. "She doesn't look so good."

  "You know any doctors who don't ask questions?"

  "I could check around. They don't come cheap."

  "See what you can find."

  "Okay." The bell rang again. "Coming!" Eddie yelled, and headed for the front.

  I pulled a pack of cigarettes from my jacket, shook one out, put it to my lips, pulled out my pocket knife, snapped on the lighter, then looked at Zoe doing the Sleeping Beauty thing and said, "Hell." I put the cig back in the pack, crushed it, and threw it in the trash. My offering to Nicotina, Bitch Goddess of Tobacco. "Hang in there, cat."

  Eddie reappeared at the door with a grim expression.

  I said, "Who was it?"

  He stumbled forward, shoved by a dogman with a big Colt in his fist. It took me a moment to recognize Bruno outside of Wonderland. His big black-and-white orca partner, similarly armed, came in after him.

  Eddie said, "Sorry, Captain."

  Arthur followed his pet chimeras inside and grinned. "Hey, Max. If you had more friends, you'd be harder to find."

  "If it's friends that give you away, you could hide forever, Arthur."

  The orca hit me in the stomach. I doubled over, unable to breathe. It was worth it.

  Arthur said, "Your loan's going to be paid back with interest, Max. We can be pals again." I managed to straighten up. He said, "Your pistol. Now."

  The orca held out his hand for the SIG. I hesitated.

  Arthur said, "Be good, and Eddie stays home with his skull intact."

  I jerked a thumb at Zoe. "What about her?"

  "She's the payment for your loan. You can carry her." When I didn't move, Arthur added, "Someone wants to talk with you two. Far as I know, you give the right answers, and everyone walks away happy."

  "That's not exactly reassuring."

  "Max, Max, Max. I'm a practical guy. If this someone wanted you dead, I wouldn't be debating with you. But I realize you've got your pride. If you'd rather have Rashid rough you up first, maybe break an arm or two—"

  The orca showed me his gleaming teeth.

  "That's thoughtful, Arthur." I held my arm out wide and opened the Pocket. The SIG hurtled into my hand. "But not necessary." I passed the SIG to Rashid. He tucked his own pistol into his shoulder holster and kept mine in his huge paw.

  I lifted Zoe in both arms and went to the door. Eddie watched like he was about to cry. I can't say I felt better. He said, "Captain—"

  "Wasn't your fault, Eddie. Forget we were ever here."

  Arthur grinned. "Well, Max. Hanging out with that cat has raised your I.Q."

  Chapter Nine

  The air smelled of wood smoke—usually a luxury in L.A., but this night was cool enough to justify it. In the driveway, under a fat silver moon, sat a fat silver Mercedes. The silhouettes of a few palm trees against the sky made it look like it was parked there for an ad, but the boxy little houses of Mission Hills would need to be digitally replaced with French chateaus or beach-front bungalows, and the director would insist on actors a lot prettier than Arthur and his beastie boys.

  Arthur clicked the remote; the Mercedes's doors sprang open. Rashid said, "In back." His voice may've been high-pitched, but it did not inspire debate.

  I slid Zoe onto the back seat, then got in beside her and let her head rest on my shoulder. I was getting used to her scent of shampoo and cat fur. Rashid closed the door. As he went to the front passenger's seat, Arthur took the driver's and Bruno sat in back, beside Zoe.

  I said, "Are we there yet?"

  Arthur said, "Don't push it, Max." He tapped in the destination, and the car pulled away. I found his use of the keypad a little reassuring. If he was sure we would be killed after his "someone" talked with us, he wouldn't have cared whether I overheard our destination.

  As we headed for the 405, Zoe drooled on my shoulder. I looked at Rashid, whose only response was to waggle my SIG at me. I said, "She needs a doctor."

  Arthur said, "They can get her one."

  "Who're we going to see?"

  "Someone who isn't paying me to answer your questions."

  No one spoke again until we were on the tollway heading west. When the car hit a particularly noticeable bump, I looked at Rashid. He grinned back at me. I said, "Man, with these potholes, I hope you left the safety on."

  As he glanced down at the SIG in his hand, I reached toward him and opened the Pocket, sucking the SIG from his grip into mine. The next things happened nearly simultaneously: Rashid grabbed for his Colt in its shoulder holster, Bruno turned in his seat and brought his pistol up toward me, and I jammed the SIG's barrel in the back of Arthur's fleshy neck. I said, "Pull over. Now."

  Arthur said, "Bruno, kill the cat."

  Bruno shifted his aim toward Zoe.

  I told him, "Go ahead. Then Arthur's head goes boom. Nobody's betting other
wise. But I'll take odds I can also put a shot in your face before you or Charley the Tuna can stop me. Doesn't that sound like easy money, Bowser?"

  Bruno looked at his boss for advice. Arthur said, "Don't."

  I poked him with the SIG just as the Mercedes turned east onto the Ventura Tollway. "Pull onto the shoulder. Hold it at five miles an hour."

  Arthur switched the car to manual and pulled over. I said, "Unlock the doors." The door locks clicked open. I said, "Tell Charley and Bowser to put their guns and phones on the floor. Any sudden moves will make things very noisy and messy in here."

  Arthur nodded. "You heard him."

  The two chimeras put down pistols and cell phones quite nicely. I said, "Open their doors."

  Arthur touched the controls. The side doors sprang open.

  I said, "It's been fun, boys. Write if you find work." When they didn't take the hint, I poked Arthur with the SIG for emphasis. "What do you think Arthur would prefer, having you jump or a closed casket funeral?"

  Rashid said, "We jump?"

  "That's where my money is. Am I right, Arthur?"

  "Jump," he agreed.

  The chimeras leaped out and rolled onto grassy shoulder. I said, "Close the doors."

  Arthur tapped the door button.

  I said, "Who's offering money for us?" When he didn't answer, I added, "Arthur, I have the gun. For the sake of your pride, should I put a shot through your shoulder?"

  "Kay. Django Kay."

  "Who is?"

  "He runs most of the east Valley."

  "Gambling?"

  "Primarily. He's a businessman, like me."

  "And he's got a business offer for us?"

  "I didn't ask."

  "Where were you taking us?"

  "The Parrot, in Burbank."

  "Where's Kay live?"

  "He's got a penthouse there."

  "At the Parrot."

  "Yeah."

  "Okay. Pass me your pistol and phone." When he obeyed, I said, "Now put the car back in auto and jump."

  Arthur glanced back at me. "It'll speed up the second I—"

  "Then you better jump fast."

  Arthur opened the passenger door, then hit the autopilot. He leaped out the passenger side as the car moved from the shoulder to merge with the traffic. Watching him land through the rear window, I uttered a sympathetic, "Ouch." As he stood, I hoped his suit was in at least as bad a shape as mine.

  Zoe's ragged breathing told me what to do next. I climbed into the front seat, put the car in manual, exited at Van Nuys Blvd., and parked at the first space I saw. I hated taking time to crawl under the Mercedes and remove its locators, but I saw no choice. If Arthur was lucky, someone had stopped for him and he was calling in a carjacking. For all I knew, the Mercedes may've already begun broadcasting its location. If I was stupid enough to put it back into automatic, it might take us straight to the nearest police station; we definitely would not pass go or collect two hundred dollars.

  The locators were harder to find than on the police van, since all I had to hunt them with was the light on my pocket knife, but I found them and cut them away. Then I drove as fast as I dared to the nearest hospital. Sometimes you have to prioritize. Keeping the client alive goes ahead of keeping the client safe.

  I doubt it took three minutes to get to Sherman Oaks General. I squealed into the nearest parking space and jumped out of the driver's side. Zoe's breathing was worse. I grabbed her up from the back seat and ran into the emergency room. I don't remember how busy it was—I remember brushing by a few people on my way to the admitting desk, where a young male Hispanic nurse and an older female Asian doctor spoke together.

  The nurse glanced at me, then saw Zoe. "What happened?"

  "She's overdosed on tranquilizers."

  The nurse asked, "How long has she been unconscious?" as they both came around the counter.

  Before I could answer, the doctor halted, looking from Zoe's forehead tat to me. "We don't treat critters."

  "The biology's not that different—"

  "We only treat humans here."

  "She's dying!"

  The nurse said, "There's a chimera clinic on the north side of Crittertown that's open twenty-four hours."

  "She may not live long enough to get there."

  The doctor said, "Then you'd better hurry," and turned away.

  The nurse, looking helpless, gave me a card. "Here's the address."

  I stared at the departing doctor for a second or two, then realized that those might not have been seconds that Zoe could spare. I rushed her out of the ER.

  On my way to the Mercedes, I spotted someone in doctor's whites smoking a cigarette by a door labeled "Employees Only." I put Zoe down in the car and ran to the doctor. "Sorry to interrupt your smoke, Doc—"

  He looked up and pointed at the main door. "Admitting's over there." He appeared to be young, earnest, and tired, and even if he was being terse, he wasn't being unpleasant.

  I almost felt guilty as the SIG leaped into my hand. "Not tonight."

  His cig dropped as his jaw did. I ground the cig under my toe for him and said, "Nasty habit. You don't mind quitting so much if you keep your mind on other things. Give me a hand."

  He still stared at me. He was just a kid, probably less than a year out of medical school. I said, "I've got a patient who needs care without being entered in the system. I don't want anyone to suffer, but if I have to, I'll hurt anyone who'd rather let her die than bend a few rules."

  He stood. "I'll help."

  "Good." I headed for the Mercedes and made the SIG disappear.

  That impressed him. "Infinite Pocket?"

  I nodded.

  "I've read about them used that way. You're military?"

  "Don't worry about me." I opened the door of the Mercedes. "Worry about her."

  He blinked twice at Zoe, then at me. "She's a critter."

  "Where'd you go to med school?"

  "USCLA."

  "For the sake of their rep, I hope your diagnostic skills are a little more thorough than that."

  "You don't understand. If it got out that I treated a critter—"

  "Your insurance would go up?" I lifted my wrist. "Don't feel bad. You're doing this under duress."

  "Well." He leaned into the car, raised one of Zoe's eyelids, then told me, "Bring her."

  I carried her to the employees' door. A gurney was waiting inside. I put her on it. The doc wrapped a bandage over her ears and forehead tat, then told the gurney, "Exam Six," and it rolled briskly ahead of us. He glanced at me. "What caused this?"

  "Four police sleep darts."

  "Oh." He swallowed, then said, "Um, would you care to say what happened?"

  "No. We were framed, but in your place, I'd figure that for a lie, so that's all right. Assume we're dangerous as hell, and the best thing you can do is fix her up and get her out of here before someone does something stupid, like sound an alarm. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  We passed a few patients, then a nurse and an orderly. The doc never made a sign of wanting to give us away. I didn't care whether he'd decided to help Zoe because he was afraid I might go berserk or because he'd decided his Hippocratic oath meant something more than the chance to retire young and rich.

  We followed the gurney into a small exam room. I lifted Zoe onto a hospital bed. Hanging from the ceiling over it was a steel sphere about the size of a basketball, lavishly decorated with electronic displays and rather unpleasant-looking medical instruments. On its side was a plate that read "AI-T4312." I had heard about medical AIs, but I'd never seen one before.

  The doc said, "Scan her."

  The AI said, "This patient is not registered with the hospital admissions program."

  The doc said, "It's under my authorization."

  A bright light shone from the AI and passed over Zoe. As a metal probe descended toward her shoulder, I grabbed it and turned to the doc. "What's it doing?"

  He told the AI, "Answer him." />
  AI-T4312 said, "I wish to draw blood for a diagnostic examination. May I proceed?"

  I hesitated, then released the probe. The AI took its sample and said, "What produced her coma?"

  I said, "Four police sleep darts."

  The doc told the AI, "Better restrain her."

  I said, "No."

  "What if she wakes up and werewolfs!"

  "Then I'll shoot her." Something about his sideways glance made me add, "If she doesn't wake up, maybe I'll shoot you."

  AI-T4312 said, "Overdose of police tranquilizer confirmed. May I give the antitoxin?"

  The doc said impatiently, "Yes, yes."

  The AI lowered an injector to Zoe's arm. I heard a click. Then the injector retracted.

  The doc said, "She'll need bed rest, observation. We can't do that here—"

  "We can't do that anywhere. Someone wants her dead. I need her up and moving."

  AI-T4312 said, "Sir, I can give her an amphetamine. There's some risk, but I consider it minimal."

  The doc said, "I won't approve that."

  I looked back and forth between the doc and the AI. "Do it."

  AI-T4312 said, "Yes, sir." The injector descended toward Zoe.

  The doc said, "Not without my—"

  The injector clicked. Zoe jerked violently, coughing and choking.

  The doc stepped back, convinced the cat was going to go for our throats. I grabbed him by the shoulder. "Is that normal?"

  "How should I know? Do I look like a vet?"

  I took Zoe's arms as her eyes opened. "Zoe!"

  "Max?" She frowned at me, then glanced at the room. "Where are we?"

  "In a hospital. How do you feel?"

  She sat up, then shook herself. "Like I mainlined a quart of espresso."

  AI-T4312 said, "That's a normal response."

  I turned to the doc. "I hate to thank you this way, but—" I pointed at a chair. "Sit there and put your hands behind you."

  He said, "Oh, God. She woke up. You don't have to—"

  "Relax. You can scream for help in five minutes. It'll give you a great story to tell." I tied him to the chair with a roll of bandages.

  Zoe looked at the AI. "This thing must've called the cops."

  AI-T4312 said, "Your last contact with the police resulted in a life-threatening condition. It would be unethical for me to make another contact likely."