CHAPTER 9: DOCTOR? DOCTOR!
“Supervillains usually don't have health insurance.”
--Quote attributed to Agent Coleman, MRB
“I’m still not comfortable with this,” Vorpal groused.
She was younger than I’d thought, now that her mask was off. Had a smattering of freckles across her snub nose, and a small face to match her thin frame. I supposed other people considered her pretty; she seemed to match the parameters of social acceptance.
“It’s temporary,” I said, closing the chain-link gate behind us, and locking it. She tugged her borrowed jacket around her torso, and scowled. We didn’t have any spare pants, but the jacket hid her costume well enough, I thought. The pants could be mistaken for slacks at a distance.
“Come on. Longer you’re out here more risk we’re running.” Martin held the door for her, with an exaggerated bow.
“You good to move the crates by yourself?” I asked him.
“Should be. They’re more bulky than heavy.” Martin was stronger than he looked. I was glad to see that prison hadn’t dulled that. I followed Vorpal through the door.
She seemed impressed by the inside of the warehouse. “This is what I was expecting.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Most of your types need workshops.”
I blinked, and she scowled. “Mad science types.”
“Supergeniuses.”
She shook her head. “Not necessarily. Some are merely smart without the need to invent or build. Like Mentat.”
“Well. Mentat’s got his mental powers. Dire doesn’t know that he’d really need inventions.” Although the ‘mad’ part certainly seemed to apply to him. The man had been active since the eighties, and his crimes got weirder and weirder as time went on. The archives I’d searched through had quite a lot to say about him.
“If he could he would. He has certainly tried everything else. No, inventors are a class in of themselves.”
She really couldn’t be more than twenty, at best, but she spoke with a veteran’s voice.
“You’ve had a lot of experience with costumed people?”
“Costumes,” she corrected. Right, right, that was the proper slang. “And more than most, yes.” Her eyes shifted as she said that, looking faraway. There was a good amount of regret in those eyes.
No point in pushing her for more. I shut up and lead the way to the living quarters, ascended the stairs.
Bunny looked up from the desk as I opened the door, fumbled next to her, got her hand around the scattergun before I raised mine. “Easy, Bunny. Good to see you awake.”
She didn’t let go of the scattergun. “Dire.” Her face was pale, and her bald scalp was streaked with sweat. One arm was wrapped around her side, clutching the bandage.
“And company,” I confirmed. Vorpal padded in after me, face cold and neutral, not blinking as she looked Bunny up and down. “You don’t need that right now.” I pointed at the gun.
“I didn’t think I needed it back in the garage. Look where that got me.” But she took her hand away from it, rested it on the desk. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me the password for the computer?”
I walked over, glanced at it. Still locked. “That would depend on what you wanted it for.”
“Need to talk to some people. Warn them.”
“About what?”
Her eyes flicked to Vorpal, who was still staring at her. “Don’t know if I should say.”
“Your call,” I said. “Come, Vorpal. Dire will see about getting you set up with a room, and show you the facilities.”
Vorpal let out a chuckle when she saw the hot tub. I left her to steam up the bathroom, went down to help Martin with the crates. We got the last one inside, then I drove the pickup in and had my robots start up the chop shop treatment. Martin seemed impressed by the results.
“This is some Grand Theft Pinto shit right here. I know guys would’ve traded their left nuts for this kind of thing.”
“Fortunately, Dire has none to barter, so she went with cash instead.” We headed back upstairs, and Bunny nodded at us as we came in. She’d moved over to the couch instead, and was curled up on it.
Martin nodded. “I think it’s ’bout time to change that bandage again. You up for it?”
“It’s been hurting more,” Bunny replied.
Martin grunted.
“Is that bad?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I ain’t a doctor. Can’t see many ways it’d be good.” Martin went, got the first aid kit, and rolled up Bunny’s shirt.
“Shit.”
“What?” I asked.
“Those red lines around the hole? They’re spreading.”
Bunny groaned. “Infection. Got to be. My immune system’s been shot since the big C.”
“Whoa,” Martin said, looking her up and down. “Cancer?”
“Smokeless Fire Syndrome.”
“That Gulf War shit? You’re a vet?”
“Yep.”
Martin looked impressed, but I had little idea what she was talking about. I resolved to read up on it later. In the meantime, Martin finished up his diagnosis. He didn’t look happy. “Yeah. I can change the bandage, but there ain’t much I can do ’bout that. If the stuff I already dumped on there didn’t fix this, then it’s above my paygrade.”
“Do what you can, please,” I said. “Dire doesn’t want to lose any more friends.”
“We’re friends now?” Bunny asked.
“You alone stayed behind, out of all of your gang. You helped assault the Black Bloods, risked your life for Dire and her people.”
“It was the right thing to do. Whether or not I liked you didn’t enter into it. Not that I don’t appreciate the help, here, mind.”
I nodded. “Then this is the right thing for Dire to do. And she’ll consider you a friend, in gratitude for the lives you saved.”
Her eyes shifted to the wall of televisions, volume turned off, chattering in close captioned subtitles. “After you left, there was something up north. Trouble on the highway, some kind of attack. Some wounded, some dead. Was that you?”
I nodded. “Yes. Though the dead were the fault of her foes.”
“Then I don’t know if I can call you a friend, sorry. You’re one of the people we should be trying to stop.”
It hurt. She was one of the few I’d respected, back in the day. But I nodded, and forced my face to smile. “Your honesty is appreciated, and Dire is willing to help you regardless.”
“If you’re willing to accept our help,” Martin said. “I mean, if you’re too good for it, we could drop your ass off at a hospital like we shoulda done in the first place.”
“No hospitals. I’d be dead in hours.”
“Why?” I asked. “What is this all about?”
She grimaced. “Not sure I should tell you.”
Martin shook his head, as he finished up with her bandage. “You are one stubborn bitch— GAAH!”
I started forward, as she reached out, grabbed his ear, and twisted it.
“You do not fucking get to call me a bitch. Got it?”
“Bunny—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence. Martin grabbed her wrist, twisted it back until her hand opened.
“Fine. You’re a stubborn fucking asshole. Better?”
Of all things, Bunny smiled. It looked weird on her normally-glowering face. “Yeah, that’ll do.”
He backed up, stood, let go of her wrist. She offered no further fuss, and he wandered off, rubbing his ear. “Gonna get some lunch going. You want anything Dire?”
“Some of those pizza pastry things,” I decided. “Those are enjoyable.”
“On it.”
I dragged a chair over to the couch, sat in it. Bunny looked up at me, raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“What would it take for you to be sure that you should tell Dire of your troubles?”
“I don’t want my friends getting hurt. And you, you’re pretty destructive.”
“When Dire needs to be, yes. But she also doesn’t want her friends getting hurt.”
“I already told you I’m not your friend.”
I grinned. “Yeah, you don’t get to decide that. Sorry.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She took a deep breath, grimaced, and clutched at her side. “Okay. Look. Promise me a few things and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Maybe.” I was wary. “What did you have in mind?”
“You don’t hurt my friends, you don’t get involved in this without running your plans by me first and getting my approval, and you help me get to the Doctor.”
I frowned. “Didn’t you want to avoid hospitals?”
“The Doctor, not a doctor. I know a street doc. He’s discrete, and works on short notice. But you locked your flippin’ computer and every phone around here, so I can’t contact him.”
“Ah. Okay, Dire promises to abide by your conditions.”
“Me too,” Martin said from the doorway. We both jumped a bit, and Bunny shot him a glare. He met it head on, smiled, and offered her a bottle of water.
“Fine.” She took the water. “So. You know what happened when you took out the Black Bloods?”
“Property values went up,” Martin said. “North Side got a whole lot safer to live in. Lots of stuff like that.”
“Yeah. But what else?”
Martin leaned against the wall, frowned. “Shiiiiiit. Power vacuum, yeah?”
“Big time.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
“Okay, see, the Black Bloods had their hands in a lot of crime. A lot of profitable crime.” Martin explained. “So when they went out, there was a lot of profit out there still going on—”
“—but no one there to tend to it.” I finished.
“The whole of North side was open for the taking,” Bunny said. “The gangs gave it a few months for the aftermath of the Black Bloods and the publicity from that and Dire to die down, then they started moving in. Your old Crew was first, Martin.”
“Fuck. Yeah, Coate would, wouldn’t he?” Martin rubbed his chin. “And of course Die Kriegers couldn’t let that stand.”
“Right,” Bunny said. “And we’re caught in the middle.”
Martin frowned. “Unless you been doing a lot of expanding, the Midtown Militia’s turf should be way east of there. You guys got the Waterfront, right?”
“Yeah, but we couldn’t sit by and let innocent people be victimized again. This was a chance to stop crime before it started.”
“So you stuck your dick in the meatgrinder,” he said, then glanced down at her. “Uh, so to speak, anyway. You being the gang in general. If the gang was a dude. I mean— shit, I’ll quit now.”
“Thank you.” But she was smiling, just slightly, again. “It actually hasn’t been much of a meatgrinder. More of a cold war. Everyone knows that the first group to escalate is going to take the worst pain.”
“When it does break—” I stopped, collected my thoughts. “When it does break, how bad is the fallout going to be?”
“Bad.” Martin said. “Die Kriegers do most of the gunrunning round the ’Con. And SCK’s got numbers. It’ll be blood on the streets.”
“Lots of civilians in the crossfire. Only reason we’re trying to head it off, really. Otherwise we wouldn’t care if your bunch and their bunch took each other to hell a few bullets at a time.”
“Sure. That’s the only reason you’re involved. Riiiiiight.”
Bunny glared at him, but I held up a hand and interjected. “So how did this get you shot? Was it one of the other gangs?”
Her glare faded. “I wish. No. I noticed some weird stuff going on. Money getting shifted around, patrols getting cut back around the casinos. Strange meetings that didn’t get briefed up the chain to Munin like they’re supposed to. It looked like my boss, Carson, was trying to cut a deal with somebody else.”
“Somebody else?” Martin rubbed his cheek. “Who else— aw fuck. The mob.”
“Yep,” Bunny said. “The Caviliogne family.”
“They ain’t been players for years.”
Bunny shook her head. “When I did some digging, I found that the New York mob decided to back one of the local bosses after Y2K. Most of the heroes who brought them down are dead or moved on. I don’t know what kind of deal Carson cut with them. I decided to give him a chance to come clean, arranged for a private meeting... and, well, he wasn’t there. Those guys you ran into were there, with guns.” She nodded my way. “So thanks.”
“You are welcome. Dire too has felt the sting of betrayal, you have her sympathies.” I said, as I folded my hands together. “This begs the question; what will you do now?”
She shook her head. “Got a few people to get in touch with. Huginn’s branch of the Militia, and some emergency numbers. A few heroes I’ve worked with before.” Then she grimaced, and rubbed her side. “But before any of that, I need to see the Doctor. Doesn’t do me much good if I die before I warn people.”
I nodded. “Phone or computer?”
“Phone’s better.”
I went back into my main storage room, came out with one of the burners. A quick check of the serial number refreshed my memory on the passcode, and I unlocked it, tossed it to her as I came back to the main room. “There you go.”
“Thanks.”
I headed back to my quarters, and Martin followed. I glanced up at him, but he just shook his head, until we’d gotten away from the front room, to one of the lounge areas I’d set up. He shut the door, and leaned against it.
“You want to talk about something?” I asked.
“Maybe. I know that look.”
“Oh?”
“That look that says someone needs a beating. I’m thinking you’re thinking you want to go take down some mobsters.”
I grinned. “The thought had crossed her mind.”
“Yeah. So let’s say you go in hard and brutal, like you did with the Black Bloods. Let’s say you win.”
“Foregone conclusion,” I said. “if the people they have are like the ones they deployed in the parking garage, then they won’t be a challenge.”
“Except it’s a different challenge.” Martin said. “They’ll fight back in different ways than the Bloods did. And unlike the Bloods, they follow the rules. Syndicate rules. They’ll have allies, and legal assets, and mercenaries, and shit. They might not have the crazy or the brute force that the Bloods did, but they got the mean. And people in charge who aren’t batshit crazy.”
I shrugged. “So it’s a challenge.”
“Yeah. But let’s say you win. Who comes in after them?”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. There’s money in the casinos they control, and the brand of vice they got. Demand’s still gonna be there. But if you get rid of those guys, then someone else rises up. And on top of that, you just took out the Midtown Militia’s big secret ally, so that when the gang war comes, the Militia takes it up the ass the worst.”
I rubbed my chin, thought it over. “So what’s the solution?”
“There ain’t a simple solution. Most simple solutions are for dumbasses, ’cause the world’s a complicated place. But maybe you figure out your goals before you go charging in? What are your goals, here?”
That was a good question. I sat down on an overstuffed armchair and gave it some thought. Martin leaned against the wall and gave me space to ponder.
Finally, I nodded. “Got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Make sure Bunny lives through this.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all.”
“Kind of surprised.” He sat down across from me, taking the recliner. “I mean, I was expecting something more... ambitious, I guess.”
“Well, she can always scale it up if the situation demands. And if they kill her, she’ll kill them right back and take their stuff. Dire’s promises to Bunny preclude immediate or drastic action right now.” I spread my hands. “Only two go
als in play; get enough money to grow and expand, and protect her friends. Bunny’s a friend, even if she won’t admit it. The rest of the city?” I shrugged. “Not Dire’s friends. A problem to be fixed eventually, once Dire has a good solution. But if the gangs move in on new territory or the mob grows in influence, so be it. Without a good view of the big picture, there’s no way to say that she won’t enable a worse situation later.”
Martin nodded. “Common fucking sense. Cool. Aight, just wanted to make sure you were thinking on this.”
“She’s always thinking.”
A knock at the door. I opened it, found Vorpal wearing a towel, and not much else. She took a step back as Martin’s eyes snapped open wide, and shot him a glare until he looked away.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Fresh clothes?”
“Dire’s might be a bit big on you.”
“I can roll sleeves and pantlegs up.”
“Good enough.” I left Martin in the lounge, went and got her some of my spare casual wear.
“Thank you. I will pay you back when I get my share.”
“Not necessary.”
She smiled, headed into the bathroom, and returned in a more clothed state.
“You seem calmer now.”
She was smiling still. “I have had time to think.”
“And?”
“I think that we are in a good situation. The cargo is ours, we can examine it at our leisure, and the longer we sit on it, the more frantic our treacherous employer will become. We stand to make much from this ransom.”
“Assuming the cargo’s not time-sensitive,” I pointed out.
“True. And also there is the matter of the other player in this game. And Chaingang.”
“Who’s probably working for the other player.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“No, it’s pretty certain. A plant-monster at the ambush site, and a kaiju at the rendezvous— no, once would have been coincidence. Twice is confirmation. It’s pretty obvious that he’s compromised.” I leaned against the wall, glanced back toward the front room.
“Who is the woman?” Vorpal asked.
“A guest, much like yourself. A vigilante of sorts.”
DIRE : SEED (The Dire Saga Book 2) Page 13