“Who the hell is Rakshasi?” Aaron grumbled as he caved in and ordered a handful of stimpaks. “Annoying buggers… can’t say they aren’t convenient.”
“A tí-zhèn with a bad attitude,” wheezed Lucky. “Hates men. I don’t think she was”―he twirled his fingers around his head―“brain tampered. She was there ’cause she wanted to be. If anyone knows where the freaky bitch went, it’d be her.”
Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, dreading the idea of having to deal with a woman who had enough neuralware to turn into a blur of speed and death. Out of the distant ambient noise, the faint whirr of a hovering bot grew louder. A spot of light descended from the traffic lane three stories up, coming to a standstill at Aaron’s side. The size of a shoebox, it nudged toward him in the manner of a sniffing dog until it found his NetMini signal and emitted a happy chirp. Its front end opened, revealing a trio of small, red autoinjectors shrink-wrapped together.
He held them up as the delivery bot flew away. “Great. Wonderful. What are the odds you can tell me where this Rakshasi is?”
Lucky flashed a weak smile. “She probably wit’ that Talis bitch.”
Aaron sighed at the ceiling. “Bollocks.”
lbow propped on the table, Aaron swirled a glass of scotch. About a finger and a half remained of his third helping. The drink dulled his frustration as well as the lingering soreness in his ribs. Syndicate enforcers had met him outside Lucky’s apartment, but seemed content with his explanation of personal business not involving them or their interests. Despite that, at least one had tailed him all the way to Mina’s.
The man didn’t follow him into the bar, the first place Aaron found without brain-smashing music throbbing from the walls. It had a quiet ambiance reminiscent of his old haunts back in London, not that he had been much of a drinker when he had lived there.
Chirps and beeps drifted in from the far left where a handful of people threw credits away with electronic gambling machines. One man wearing an oversized helmet draped with wires kicked a recalcitrant VR unit, which failed to turn on. Aaron chuckled into a sip, grimacing as the burning liquid scorched down his throat.
Damn synthetic shite.
Still, he wasn’t quite angry enough to pay 190 credits a cup. Synthetic would have to suffice at least until something catastrophic destroyed all reason. He slumped back in the seat, musing about the status of the pretzel nuggets languishing in a bowl. Large and puffy, they seemed as though they should have been soft and served with fake cheese.
They crunched.
He debated intentional hardness versus staleness while eyeing the room. A girl caught his eye by the bar, as much for her diminutive size as for her stark white hair. For a moment, he wondered how she’d gotten past the guy at the door. A high-necked black shirt ran into a matching skirt, which would have been short to the point of slutty if she hadn’t worn it over leggings. His initial estimation of her age, somewhere between fourteen and ‘going to jail’ changed when she made eye contact.
Aaron relaxed. Just a petite woman. I wonder what she’s cheesed off about. Looks like she’s ready to kill someone. He sipped his scotch, chuckling to himself. I’m one to talk. His gaze wandered over a few couples, a number of single men, and settled on a different woman standing by the bar. Her neat business suit and designer purse at her side said she had credits to spare and probably a comfortable job. Aside from the bartender, of all the women in the place without a visible date, she seemed the most approachable, but she had a ring on. A trace of wet on her chocolate-hued cheeks hinted at a recent painful experience he could exploit.
The short, white-haired woman looked fit to be tied, ready to bite the head off anyone who dared speak to her. Something about her made him unwilling to consider her in the running for a one-night toy. At first, he thought her size made her childlike to the point only a nonce could sexualize her, but her eyes spoke a language that his brain missed, connecting deep inside him, a sense that she, too, had suffered a tragedy like the loss of Allison.
He held eye contact with her for a few seconds, sharing the sort of standoffish camaraderie that might’ve occurred between rival gunslingers in the Old West. He let his gaze move on to a woman who looked about twenty with fluorescent yellow hair. She had the disconnected affect of someone who’d recently taken narcotics, so Aaron passed on her as a possible mark. Two other women sharing a small table struck him as being more than friends. The only other single woman here, sitting alone in the back, had the bearing of a Marine and probably had him by an inch or three in height. Hoy, she’s a tank. If she ain’t still active, she just got out.
Sensing the way he surveyed the crowd, two men sent offering looks. Aaron returned a friendly smile and a polite glance of disinterest.
Scotch could only do so much to make him forget. He needed something more, someone to take his mind away from the all-consuming guilt gnawing on the back of his neck. Aaron put on his practiced half smile and sauntered up to the bar near the well-dressed woman. He opened himself to her thoughts, eavesdropping. Internal grumbling about her too-cautious fiancée twisted around her indecision regarding a seat at the bar or a table. The bar seemed too much like asking to be hit on.
“Good evening, miss.” Aaron tilted his drink at her. “You ’ave the look o’ someone a bit tired of the doldrums. Care to join me at a table?”
The woman’s fatigued expression matched her mental sigh. “Are you speaking to me?”
He couldn’t help but smile at her opinion of him as a scoundrel. “Aye.” He nodded toward the white-haired woman. “That one looks ready ta rip the lips off anyone ballsy enough to dare approach. Those two seem content wif each other. I figured I’d strike up a conversation with the most sincere woman here.” He took a sip. “I’d add ‘most beautiful’ too, but you probably hear that too much.”
She shifted her weight away from him, poised to run like a deer in the eyes of a lion. One glance made her hesitate. While the stimpaks had repaired his skin, the dust up left his clothes in rough shape. His overall presence struck her as several shades of dangerous. Discomfort sparring with intrigue showed as obvious on her face as it resonated in her thoughts.
“A conundrum, innit? Come to a pub, and all you want is a drink, an’ some bloke wanders over, you fink lookin’ for more than you’re offerin?” Aaron sipped his scotch and leaned on his accent. “I reckon we want the same thing, miss. The liberation of a good chat wif a complete non-judgmental stranger, a drink or two, no strings. I’ve ’ad a bad day meself.”
“Is that so?” She tapped her long nails, violet striped with black, on the sides of a bright green drink. A hint of honeydew hovered around her.
“Aye. I bet you’re standin’ here so as not to look too available. Sittin’ alone at the bar would be inviting company you’re not of a mind ta ’ave.”
She glanced at the surface of her beverage, streams of tiny bubbles racing from deep within to congregate in the shelter of the rim. Lips painted in gloss peach parted as if to speak, but she hesitated. Aaron’s confidence grew. There it was―doubt. Her man was too safe, too predictable and, in her phrasing, had to theorize six different approaches to any situation before selecting the one with the least risk. Their imminent wedding, on its third delay, had precipitated the argument that resulted in her standing in this bar.
Aaron kept quiet, a mute, invisible presence watching the fight replay from a corner of her remembered apartment. No matter how loud the woman screamed, Ben remained the perfect picture of valium calm. His lack of passion infuriated her and sent her out the door to cool off.
“What do you say, miss?” Aaron tipped his glass at her. “I assure you I’m quite ’armless, but what’s life without a little risk? Livin’ safe ain’t livin’. I’m Aaron, by the way.”
“Denise.”
Her inclination shifted. Conversation seemed like a good idea. Stage two.
“My table’s right over ’ere.” Aaron gestured with his non-drink-holding hand. “With th
e ’orrible pretzel-like things.”
Denise smiled and started to follow him to the table, pausing as two men in dark suits entered and strode straight at Aaron. He faced them with a disingenuous smile, hands to the side as if greeting old friends. They walked right up on him, looming into his personal space. Both were unremarkable in appearance and could have been distant cousins. A sheen of perspiration coated the head of the man on the right, which caused his forehead to glow soft brown.
“Somefin’ I can help you blokes with?”
“Alley,” said the dry one. “We’d like a word.”
Aaron moved toward the back door, flashing a casual smile at Denise as she slipped across his field of view. “I’ll just be a minute, luv.” Once she was out of sight, his face tightened. She knows Syndicate when she sees ’em. She’s gonna bolt. He rolled his neck, letting the satisfying creaks ripple down his spine. These two’ll ’ave to let me work off my frustration.
In his periphery, the white-haired woman eyed the suits with an expression of disdain. Aaron went into the back hallway, past two bathrooms, and stiff-armed the door at the end. A wash of cold trash-scented air came over him as the Epoxil slab slammed into the outside wall. The echoing clatter carried down the alley behind the place.
An enormous, white button-down shirt blocked his path. He looked up into the face of a dark-skinned enforcer whose chin hovered above the level of his eyebrows. The man’s wide jawline gave his head a trapezoidal shape and called the presence of a neck into serious doubt. He grinned, flashing a pair of gold metal Fangz, cybernetic implants for the vampire obsessed. Sweaty scalp glinted in the channels between thick cornrows. Both eyes glowed orange behind sunglasses.
“That’s a great look for you.” Aaron tapped the man on the chest.
Smile fading, the enforcer backed away to let Aaron out of the building. He knew they herded him into a space between an overflowing trash compressor and a rain-soaked wall that had likely not been dry in months. The stink of human waste and trash intensified, drawing an involuntary tear from his eye. Vagrants nesting in the sedimentary deposits of debris along the base of the wall went through a bout of mental rock-paper-scissors. Those who lost got up and scurried away. The rest hunkered down.
Aaron stopped a step away from the wall and whirled to face the three men. He had nowhere to go, but didn’t care. “Awright then, what do you tossers want? You just cost me a one night stand, so it’d better be good.”
“Word is you’re a wanted man, Mr. Pryce,” said the sweaty one. “Not on the force anymore.”
“That means your ass is ours,” said the muscle.
“And who would you be?” Aaron skimmed the trio, catching the instinctual response at the tip of their brains. “Paolo, Charles, and Fernando.” Of the lot, Paolo was the only one to see the surveillance footage from the Vittorino. That explained the sweat. “What can I do for you, my Syndicate friends?”
Charles’ smile exposed his Fangz. “We need to have a word with Shimmer.”
“Where is she?” asked Fernando.
“Oh, is that all?” Aaron pulled out his NetMini. Paolo almost fainted. “Here.” He tapped it. “I’ve only ever met her hologram. Not a bloody clue where the bint is hiding… or if she’s even a she.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Fernando tilted his head at Charles and nodded at Aaron. “Maybe he needs some persuasion.”
“Sorry, man. Nothin’ personal.” Charles stopped smiling.
Aaron glanced up, sighing with exasperation. Motion drew his attention to the fourth floor, where a cat trotted across a narrow pipe connecting the building the bar was in with the one across the street. “Charles. You seem like a reasonable man. I’ve already killed one muscle-brained dogsbody tonight. I’d rather not make it two.”
Charles hesitated.
Aaron drained the last of his beverage and frowned at the empty glass. “You’re probably wondering why I’m not shaking in my boots given your obvious size advantage, not to mention it’s a three-to-one on me, plus firearms.”
Paolo took a step back.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Charles.
Fernando reached into his coat. “That smart mouth has a few too many teeth.”
With a resigned ‘sorry, but I gotta do this’ shrug, Charles cocked his fist back… and then flew straight up to the level of the pipe.
“I’m going to drop you in two seconds, mate. Better grab on.”
The pipe slung low under the man’s weight. He kicked and screamed, howling at no one in particular, “Get mah ass down!”
“Down is easy, mate. Just let go,” said Aaron.
Fernando pulled a gun, which Aaron telekinetically ripped out of his hand before it came to bear. He glided it closer and caught it.
“Nice. Deutsche Technik Firma. Imported.” Aaron gave the man an impressed lip thrust. “You Syndicate boys don’t skimp. That had to set you back almost two thousand.” He offered the weapon on an outstretched palm.
Before Fernando could touch it, the pistol blurred into a motion streak and punctured the side of the trash crusher, leaving a head-sized hole fringed by jagged metal warped inward. The clang made both men duck and grab their heads; the sight of the crusher knocked a foot-and-a-half away set Paolo’s hands shaking.
A creak of stressed metal rang out overhead, followed by the hiss of a cat.
“Momma!” yelled Charles. “Uhh, nice kitty. Niiiice kitty.”
Hiss.
“Now…” Aaron gathered a sense of both men’s weight in his mind, levitating the pair a few feet off the ground. “Will you wankers get it through your thick fecking skulls that I haven’t got a clue where this bitch is hiding?”
“I-I d-don’t think he’s lying,” whispered Paolo.
Charles screamed along with the yowls of an angry cat. “Come on, man. Let me down!”
“Nothing personal,” said Aaron.
Metal creaked, triggering another “Momma!” from Charles.
“You shouldn’t kill him,” said Fernando, as calm as if he were still the one with an advantage.
“I’ve got plenty enough to worry about without having to wipe out the Syndicate on top of it.” He flung the two men to the left in a heap, right as the pipe gave out with a crack and the terrified wail of a cat.
Aaron lent a telekinetic parachute to the four hundred and some odd pound Charles, guiding him to fall on top of them. He slowed the man enough to prevent serious injury, but the impact left the two normal-sized men stunned. The big man set his hands on the alley surface on either side of his associates and pushed himself up, letting out a startled cry at the sight of a levitating mass of screeching fur and claws inches from his face.
Aaron set the cat down and feigned a cringe. “Oh, that looked unpleasant.”
The animal ran off, screeching.
Charles crawled away from the moaning bodies under him and dusted his coat off. He leaned forward, fixing Aaron with a stare equal parts anger and embarrassment.
Don’t worry, mate. Aaron flicked something green and leafy from his arm, spatter from the pierced trash crusher. I doubt your associates will speak much of this.
“How the fuck did you just talk and your lips”―Charles waved a finger at Aaron―“didn’t move.”
“Either you just learned to fly and you’re having a psychotic break from reality, or I’m psionic.” Aaron walked to the bar’s back door, patting Charles on the shoulder as he passed. “You decide.”
The other two struggled to their knees, nursing broken ribs and various other bruises while the enforcer stared into space.
Aaron paused at the entrance. “I’m not particularly enamored with that one, by the by. Her information wasn’t much use. I’d tell ya if I knew… It ain’t my lumber to carry.”
He pulled the door closed behind him with a telekinetic tug. Aaron stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and fidgeted with Allison’s nametag while trudging to the bar room. The bartender seemed surprised
to see him and sure enough, Denise had vanished.
“Bollocks,” he whispered.
Perhaps the brush with danger sent her running home to Mr. Safe. The white-haired woman remained at the bar and still looked pissed off at the universe. The instant he made eye contact, she scowled and looked away.
Her expression would have been a perfect fit for a child forced to eat Brussels sprouts. He stood in the mouth of the hallway, motionless. She snuck a sideways glance at him, and the distaste solidified in the curl of her lips. Aaron tilted his head. Something went on there that defied the initial contempt for men like him when women gave him that look. No, this transcended simple disinterest or surface-level contempt. She radiated ‘you killed my cat in a former life’ vitriol, yet it blended with a degree of resignation implying she intended―or was forced―to interact with him.
Her surface thoughts were blank. Nothing but white noise.
Aaron smirked. She’s psionic too, blocking me. A weasel’s grin spread over his face as he wondered how much of his interaction with Denise she’d eavesdropped on. That could explain the contempt. Yes, eavesdropping would account for the face she made. Contempt and disgust. She must have watched him work Denise and knew exactly what sort of man he’d become. He figured that’s about the look his wife would’ve given a man like him.
The sort of man Allison wouldn’t have said two words to.
Aaron went to take a sip, finding the glass empty. He tilted it back and forth, heaved a sigh, and trudged for the front exit, leaving the cup on the table next to the horrid pretzels. Perhaps a few hours’ walking about would help, as he’d lost all interest in women for a while.
aron eyed a trio of young girls with wild colored hair, indecent clothing, and several visible firearms. As much as his shame at what Allison would think of him now had dampened his urges, he paused to admire the scenery. The bad intentions swirling around in his mind dissipated as soon as their surface thoughts gave away their ages―two sixteen and one fifteen. He rubbed his nose and wandered to the left with no real decision behind it beyond moving away from the bar. Cool breezes followed the intermittent passage of ground cars. Patches of clean air let the scent of distant food sneak between gusts of city foulness.
Zero Rogue Page 9