Zoe said, "What?"
AI-T4312 said, "I'm a medical AI, not a copbot. Scram."
I looked at the doc. "She really is innocent."
"I'll give you your five minutes." He glanced at a clock on the side of the AI. "However long you want."
"Five is fine. Thanks."
Zoe stood and nearly fell. I caught her. "You up to this?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
"Let's go." She started forward. I walked beside her, supporting her and expecting someone to yell at us at any moment. Her unsteadiness probably helped as we headed down the hall. She made a convincing patient as she gripped my arm, and with her head hanging forward, her hair hid her eyes from the staff that we passed.
The Mercedes was still in the parking lot. No cops were visible, which meant I actually had gotten all the locaters. I took Zoe to the car and helped her in. She shivered, and I realized that this was another cold December night in the Valley. I put my jacket around her shoulders, then pulled the bandage from her head. She blinked at it and grinned. "Quite the fashion statement." As we rolled out of the parking area, she added, "Max. Thanks."
"For what?"
"You could've left me—"
I didn't want to hear her gratitude. I said, "It's over."
I didn't look to see what her face did then. Her voice went quiet. "What do you mean?"
"Two people are dead. We've got no leads on who's behind their murders, but anyone who watches the news thinks we killed one of them. Nearly every copbot in town wants you dead, and none of them seem fond of me. Now some thug named Django Kay has a bounty on us. This case is so far out of my league that it's a whole different game. It's time to cut our losses and get out while we can."
"You're quitting."
"Sometimes you have to."
"If it's about money, I've got nearly a meg in the bank. I can give you a promissory note on my inheritance. There are things in Minneapolis I could sell—"
"It's not about money. It's about facing facts."
"We've got a lead. This guy Kay."
"He's not a lead, Zoe. He's a threat."
"If Kay's not behind it, he must know who is."
"He's too small a player to know much more than the cops. But he's way too big for us."
She jabbed my shoulder with her index finger. "What about that Mycroft? If I can track him down, maybe he can tell me something."
"Track him down how?"
"You're the detective."
"I checked my email at Eddie's. Nothing from Mycroft. There's no reason he should ever answer. We don't even know if Mycroft's his real name."
"He's still a lead, damn it. And so's Kay!"
"Okay," I agreed. "They're leads. One can't be found unless he wants to. The other wants to kidnap or kill you."
"So I'm supposed to forget this?"
"No. Pass their names along to Chumley and Vallejo. Let the cops do their job."
"Can they solve this?"
I wished I could lie to her. "Maybe not. But they can keep after it and stay alive. I doubt that's true for us anymore."
"I won't quit."
"You need to."
"Yeah, well, I'll think about that." She glanced at the neighborhood we were driving through, a deserted kingdom of auto parts stores and car dealers. "Drop me off."
"Sure. When I get you someplace safe."
"The cops? They're not—"
"Crittertown. Someone there can get you out of L.A."
"I'm not going till I know who killed Doc!"
"You think she'd want you dead, too?"
We drove in silence for a long minute. Then Zoe said gently, "What about you?"
"I know a good lawyer. I'll probably even keep my license."
"Christ, Max." She looked out the window at quiet store fronts. "I could smash the damn earring live on the ten o'clock news. Then they'd leave me alone."
"They'd think it was a fake."
She nodded. "You're right. I can't walk away from this, can I? I have to run."
I glanced at her, then turned my eyes back to the road. I had told her what she needed to know. My job was nearly over. I should've felt relieved. I felt worse than I had since leaving UNSEC.
Chapter Ten
Crittertown's streets seemed oddly deserted for ten p.m. on a Friday night. Far in the distance, a flickering light glowed beyond the rooftops where a building burned. Somewhere, a fire siren howled. That would've drawn away those who like cheap morbid sights, but it didn't explain the ghost town.
Zoe asked, "What's going on?"
"I don't know. Anything that distracts the cops is probably good."
I stopped at a red light as a small gang of young chimeras ran across the street. Most of them had extensive tattoos besides their species ID. They wore the usual tough kid gear, synth-leather jackets or shirts of flexsteel. A ratgirl did a double-take at me behind the wheel. "Hey! It's a skin!"
Another kid yelled, "Get him!" A dogboy jumped on the hood. More teenbeasts wrenched at the doors as Zoe and I slammed down the locks. A pigboy kicked in a headlight.
Zoe said, "Max!" but I was already throwing the car in reverse. We screeched backward, losing the dogboy on the hood. I hit the brakes and wrenched the wheel, spinning the Mercedes around as the gang pursued us. I floored the accelerator, and we sped away. For a final farewell gesture, one of the little beasts threw a brick that shattered the rear window.
I looked at Zoe. "What did I say?"
"Whatever it was, don't say it again."
For the rest of the way, I rolled through stop signs and timed my approach to traffic lights so I didn't have to stop for reds. We saw more chimeras afoot, moving quickly, usually in small groups, though some traveled alone. None of them paid any attention to us. It felt like driving through a civil war, but then, all riots are test runs for civil war.
I parked close to the Tavern of Dr. Moreau. As we walked up to it, I saw a hand-lettered sign that'd been taped to the door very recently: "Chimera-owned business."
Zoe said, "This may not be a good place for you now."
I shrugged. "Can't think of a better place for you now." I held the door open. She looked at me, then strode inside.
The place was almost empty. A few chimeras sat at the tables, and a couple more at the bar. No one was laughing. A sign near the door said, "No smoking," but no one was enforcing that tonight: a tart tinge of burning tobacco laced the sickly-sweet smell of beer.
Behind the bar, a big HV was on with the sound low. The picture showed an aerial shot of a Crittertown street about half a mile from the tavern. Several stores were burning. Chimeras ran through the police and news flyers' spotlights. One chimera threw something, and another building caught fire.
The bartender, a small, brown-haired man with a long nose, very little chin, and a weasel tattoo, looked up and smiled at Zoe. "Welcome back, Cousin Cat. Find your detec—"
Then he saw me and fell silent. So did the room. The weasel came around the bar, telling me, "What the hell are you thinking? Get out! Now!"
I looked at Zoe. "It's my breath. You can tell me."
The weasel brushed by me and opened the front door. Four or five chimera kids ran past, heading up Lankershim toward the major action. Most carried pipes or baseball bats. The weasel slammed the door, said, "Fuck!" and pushed Zoe and me toward a door behind the bar. "In there!"
Zoe said, "What's the tale?"
At the bar, a monkeyman dropped several K beside his empty glass, called to the weasel, "See ya, Nate!" and hurried out.
Nate nodded to the monkey as he rushed us into a small back room office. On two shelves around a cluttered desk were dusty bottles of more expensive liquor than you would expect to find in a chimera bar and cardboard boxes with labels like "In," "Out," and "Fuck If I Know." The largest box was labeled "Lost and Found."
Nate said, "Cat, you gotta start watching the news. Amos Tauber was killed. They're pinning it on a fur. Two hours ago, the
cops hassled a dogboy outside the subway and the whole goddamn neighborhood blew up."
I said, "So that brick through the car window wasn't personal."
He gave me a blank look. "Nah. You're a victim of discrimination."
I nodded at Zoe. "She's got to get out of town. The sooner, the better."
"Why?"
She said, "I'm the fur they want to pin for killing Tauber."
I added, "She didn't do it. You know someone who can sneak her out?"
Nate studied us, then spoke. "For a price."
Zoe said, "We don't have—"
I opened the Infinite Pocket. Nate stepped back fast. I let the SIG lie in my open palm. "One Infinite Pocket and a SIG Nine Recoilless keyed to it. There's Pocket technology in its magazine. Meaning you can shoot ten thousand times before you have to reload."
"So?"
"Any competent surgeon could make the transfer." I opened the Infinite Pocket again to make the pistol disappear.
Which made Nate more comfortable. He inhaled deeply, then said, "I think they'll go for that."
Zoe said, "Max!"
"What?"
"You can't do this!"
"Huh. I thought I just did."
"I can't take—"
"Sure, you can. You get set up somewhere, you can repay me."
Nate said, "So, the offer stands?"
I nodded. "Yep."
He scribbled an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Zoe. "Get there. They'll handle the rest."
I said, "I'll see she makes it."
"Your company isn't exactly an asset," Nate said. "You could get yourself killed, and her, too. This is not a good night for skins in Crittertown."
Zoe jerked open the top desk drawer. Nate said, "What're you looking for?"
She pulled out a black marker and grinned at him. "No skins around here."
He frowned, then shook his head. "Cats. You're all nuts." With a pitying look at me, he returned to the bar.
Zoe pushed a desk chair toward me and aimed the desk lamp at it. "Sit down and tilt your head back."
"Wait a minute—"
"You only have to pass at a distance in the dark."
Which was true. I could leave her here with no shame—hell, for reasons I didn't want to think about, I was effectively paying her now to work for her. But I wanted to see her off. I do too many jobs that have no sense of closure, when I fail to find what I'm looking for or the client skips out on me. Waving goodbye to Zoe at the station—whatever her ride might use for a station—looked like the best I could hope for, given the way things had gone so far. I sat in the chair and squinted in the light. "Nate's right. You're crazy."
She grinned, took my chin in her hand, and began drawing on my forehead. As the tip of the marker dragged over my skin, her expression became more and more intent. Her concentration on her work made her look more catlike than ever. Very conscious that her face was mere inches from mine, I closed my eyes and swallowed.
"Hold still." She drew three dots to connect my eyebrows, then thick lines swirling over my cheekbones. The marker smelled antiseptic. One small, strong hand held the back of my head to keep it steady. As she brought the design down to my chin, she said, "Take off your shirt."
I squinted up at her.
She said, "The wild ones do full-body tattoos."
I wasn't planning to let anyone close enough to examine my collar, but if someone did, it'd be embarrassing to be caught simply because I didn't want Zoe to see I was carrying a few more pounds than I had as one of UNSEC's fair-haired boys. That she had seen me naked the night before didn't change the feeling. She had surprised me then. This was a choice. I stripped off my shirt.
Zoe moved behind me. I could feel her gaze on my bent neck like the sun on a bright afternoon. One of her hands gripped my shoulder, then the cool tip of the marker began making dots and sweeping lines that grew up from my shoulders onto the back of my neck.
A minute or two later, she stepped in front of me. Her knees brushed mine as she drew patterns on my upper chest and worked them up my throat. She said, "You work out?"
I shook my head.
"Hey!" she said. "Respect the work."
I did my best impersonation of a ventriloquist. "I used to swim a lot."
She cupped my chin to tilt my head back. Our eyes met. Our faces were inches from each other. Her lips parted slightly, then she said, "Swimming. Maybe I should've made you a tiger." She drew several quick slashes on the underside of my chin and stepped back, breathless. "Okay. Put on your shirt. No, wait."
She pulled several large T-shirts with beer logos from the shelf by the Lost and Found box and tossed me a green one. "Put it on backwards unless you want to be a walking ad." She turned around a black one for herself. I wondered if I was about to get a free show, but she pulled it over her red dress, then did the magician escaping a straight-jacket trick that so many women use at the beach to dress before the curious.
I put on the green T and my jacket while Zoe rummaged through the Lost and Found box. Grinning, she came out with a pair of sunglasses and a black knit cap. "Much better than tying a towel around your head and having to squint."
I put on the glasses. The world went three degrees darker. I could live with that. I decided not to smell the cap as I pulled it on. When I glanced at Zoe, she grinned and said, "Oooh, tres urban, darling!"
She twisted the multicolored strands of her hair into a tail, which drew her hair tight to her skull. That made her tufted ears stand out like banners, and her golden eyes seem to fill her face. Over the large black T-shirt, she slipped on a red-and-black baseball jacket from the Lost and Found, then held her arms fashion-model wide. "Ta-dah!"
I whistled. "It's the Queen of the Cats."
She tossed me a long, dark duster. "Then you better look like her date."
Zoe left the office first. Nate saw her and nodded approvingly at her new look. Zoe said, "We swapped some clothes. Hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. Ruby's expecting you. Say Nate sent you."
Zoe stepped aside and turned her hand toward me. "How about my pal?"
I sauntered up to the bar and checked out Zoe's artwork in the mirror. I didn't look like anyone I would want to meet on a quiet street at night. I felt a little silly, like a kid in a Dracula costume, and a little vain, like a kid who knew that Dracula was way cool, and a lot worried, like a kid who was about to walk among real vampires who wouldn't be amused if they saw through the deception. I leaned closer to the mirror. Zoe had sketched a fierce dog's head on my brow.
Nate laughed. "Sure there wasn't a wolf in the family woodpile?"
"Could be, Cuz," I said with a growl.
He laughed again, then told Zoe, "Better tell people he's mute."
The HV caught my eye. Adam Tromploy sat in front of a still image of Amos Tauber. Nate saw my glance and bumped up the volume. Tromploy said, "—no leads in the murder of nonhuman-rights activist, Amos Tauber. Oberon Chain, C.E.O. of Chain Logic Robotics, offered a hundred million dollar reward for information leading to the capture of his killers."
The image cut to Oberon Chain in a sleek office building lobby, telling a gaggle of reporters, "I'm devoted to Amos Tauber's dream: equal rights for human and machine intelligences. I can't imagine how a chimera could take the life of a person to whom its kind owes so much."
The sight of Oberon Chain fired sluggish neurons in my brain. I gave Zoe a look that betrayed some of my alarm. She frowned, but when I sniffed loudly, then glanced back at Chain on the monitor, she nodded.
Nate killed the sound as the bulletin ended, and turned to us. "Better fly."
"What's fastest?"
"Take Lankershim north. They'll have a doc come to get their pay."
"Thanks." As I held the front door for Zoe, I glanced back and saw Nate watching us.
He called solemnly, "Good luck." Then he grinned. "Cousin."
Zoe and I stepped into the cool night. Down the block, Arthur's car burned as two
ratkids ran from the blaze.
The Mercedes was reciting, in the calm, cultured voice they give Mercedes security systems, "I am on fire. Please call the police. I am on fire. Please call the police."
Zoe said, "Arthur'll scream when he sees his ride."
"I'd like to think so."
"Now what? Catch a pert?"
"There are security cams at every station. We walk." As we headed north, I said, "When you said Chain smelled funny—"
She met my eye. "Like Blake."
"Any other humans smell funny?"
"Not like those two."
"What gives them away?"
She shrugged. "If you met one and didn't know what it was, nothing much. It's like sugar and No-Cal. Both taste sweet, but No-Cal tastes wrong." She whirled toward me. "Hey! Is Chain a lead?"
"More likely a dead end. If I was the head of Chain Logic, I'd sure use bot doubles to skip boring parties."
"What if someone kidnapped Chain and substituted an AI?"
"Someone who could do that could do anything at all with a chimera and a cheap detective. Let it go."
"But—"
"Suppose you claim Chain's an AI. Who'll believe you? If we could put enough pressure on him to make him respond, he'd just buy a doctor to testify anything he wanted. If you got some other chimeras to sniff him, they could only say he smelled odd, 'cause they wouldn't have Blake or Doyle as reference points. If you shot him full of holes in front of a primetime audience, people'd just be more convinced he was human when they saw him bleed. Have I left anything out?"
"Yeah. The possibility that the real Oberon Chain is a prisoner somewhere."
"If so, he's probably safe as long as the bad guys think their secret's secure. If we talk, we just give them an extra reason to kill him. And us." I had another thought then: "If Chain had synthetic legs or something, wouldn't he smell like Blake?"
Zoe nodded reluctantly. "Maybe."
We walked on. I thought about Chain and AIs, and Tauber and Gold and chimeras, and Zoe Domingo and me. None of those thoughts went anyplace I liked. We passed a burning newstand, then, a few blocks further, more angry chimeras ran by, smashing store windows and grabbing what they could. I considered cutting through residential streets, but I didn't think safety lay anywhere in Crittertown that night. Better to take the fastest route, I thought. That way, we could spot trouble in time to avoid it.
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