Three lotd-1

by Jay Posey

  She nodded, moved again by his suddenly obvious concern for her.

  “We’ll be back before sundown,” he said.

  “Alright.”

  He nodded and withdrew. When Cass returned to the main room, he was nowhere to be found. Mol was reading to Wren again, and he sat enthralled. jCharles approached and put himself between Cass and the others.

  “You shouldn’t need this,” he said in low tones, “but I’d feel better if you had it.” He slipped her one of his stubby jitterguns. “You know how to use it?”

  Cass gripped the chunky weapon, tested its weight. It wasn’t as viscerally terrifying as Three’s pistol, but its design was still a clear indication of vicious intent. Its some two-dozen slender barrels were tightly stacked in a squared-off housing. A classic close-range weapon for personal protection. Cass nodded and tucked it into her coat pocket.

  “Just a precaution,” he said. “More for me than you.”

  “Thanks, jCharles.” She leaned around jCharles. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart.”

  Wren looked up, and quickly hopped down. Her wrapped his arms around her waist, buried his head in her hip. “Be safe, Mama.”

  “I will, baby. Take care of Miss Mol while I’m gone.”

  “I will.” He slipped back away from her, and returned to his place on the couch. Snuggled into Mol. Cass couldn’t remember him ever having taken to someone so quickly before. Mol smiled and nodded, and without another word Cass left the safety of the Samurai McGann and plunged into the stream of humanity that seemed to flow in every direction except for the one she wanted to go: towards the darkest corner of Greenstone.

  Three stared up at the building that seemed to loom over them despite being only three stories tall. jCharles had gone in first to make sure everything got off on the right foot. As important as this meeting was, Three found it tough to focus on the task at hand. He wondered how Cass was handling the trek. Tried to convince himself she’d be fine. She was right, after all. She’d run with RushRuin. There was no doubt she could handle herself. She’d already proven how tough she was, fighting for her life and covering twenty or more miles a day without complaint. And she was back up and running on quint, which meant… well, it likely meant that even Three had no idea what she was capable of now. He was probably in more danger than she was, anyway.

  Three surveyed the street and surrounding buildings for the fifth time since Twitch had gone in. This section of Greenstone was surprisingly quiet. Almost vacant. There were a few stragglers here and there, but they seemed out of place. No, actually, they seemed too in place. Too evenly spaced, too strategically positioned. Three watched a man in a long, rumpled coat pass by on the opposite side of the street, noted how careful the man was not to look Three’s way, how careful to keep the coat closed. Perimeter security. Three wondered how much hardware the guy was packing inside the coat. Long gun seemed unnecessary for a two-man meeting. Then again, in Greenstone it never hurt to be over-prepared. Three reached inside his coat and checked his pistol, gave a slight tug to loosen it in its holster. Just in case.

  What was taking Twitch so long?

  The nearer Cass drew toward the Downtown district, the thinner the crowds got. Knots of people walked together here and there, others clustered together in doorways, on steps. Some glanced at her as she followed the internal beacon that guided her towards her destination, but most ignored her presence completely. She kept her head up, her stride confident, shoulders back. Anyone who looked her way found her looking right back. Experience had taught her that the projection of strength was more important than actual possession of it. Still, it helped her confidence knowing at least she could boost again if she needed it.

  Though the walls and alleys still bore the occasional spray of vivid symbols marking territory, the color had otherwise begun to drain from the surroundings. And with the loss of that wild façade, Greenstone was looking less and less like a vibrant city and taking on more and more of its original personality. The street hadn’t changed width, but the walls felt closer, taller, more dominating.

  Further ahead, Cass could see the rounded dome of the hangar peeking above the concrete-gray horizon. She put her head down and focused on reaching her goal. Get in, do the deal, get out. She realized she was gripping the jittergun in a tight fist.

  Breathe, she told herself.

  “Problem.” jCharles was back, looking grim. He moved close to Three, lowered his voice. Eyes roving the surroundings. “There are way more people inside than there should be,” he said. “The fact they let me come back out makes me think they’ve got ’em posted out here, too.”

  “Yeah. I count six ground level, two up high. Probably one across the street, second floor window, overlooking the intersection.”

  jCharles flicked his eyes that way.

  “Shutters are all pulled up there.”

  “Perfect vantage to the front and side entrances. They should have someone there.”

  “So what do you wanna do?”

  As far as Three was concerned, nothing had changed. Not really. Dealing with the Bonefolder was always a trap, in one way or another.

  “You walk. I’ll go in.”

  “It’s like this, Three. Bonefolder’s in there. Looking for you. So either we’re both going in, or we’re both shooting out.”

  “Well. Then I guess we’re goin’ in.”

  jCharles stepped back and nodded, glancing up and down the street.

  “Bartender’s faster than he looks. The big guy is the last one to worry about. If it goes bad, start right, I’ll take left. Meet you in the middle.”

  Three nodded, unfastened his coat, and forced himself to relax.

  The closer she got to the hangar, the more apparent it became as to why that was the meeting point of choice. Cass had walked the perimeter twice, and noticed only two doors, each on opposite sides of the structure. The main gates had been pulled to and welded shut long ago, and there were no windows to be seen. It’d be awfully hard to surprise anybody on the inside and still be able to get away without being tracked by someone on the outside. The place was almost tailor-made for deals between untrustworthy business partners.

  Cass checked the time. 13:27 GST. Soon. But enough time for one more lap. She’d run her first two perimeter checks clockwise, and started that way again, but something pricked in her gut and caused her to turn back. As she did so, she noticed a man in a grubby brown coat limping her way. When she turned, he hitched his step. The briefest eye contact. A hesitation. Slight, but as if she had startled him, despite being separated by more than thirty feet. He continued on his shuffling way, turned a corner and disappeared down a row of iso-units. By the time she’d reached the line of units he’d taken, he was nowhere in sight.

  Paranoia, maybe. But something about the man stuck with her that she didn’t like. Some unplaced familiarity. Or maybe he was just the kind of person she’d expect to find lurking Downtown. Three’s words flashed back to her.

  You see anything you don’t like, you walk away.

  It’d seemed like good advice at the time, but now it sounded so vague as to be useless. There was a lot down here she didn’t particularly care for. And the deal. The deal was big enough for her to get well, be well, and stay well for good long while. No way was she going to walk away from that chance. She shoved the man out of her mind and finished her final walk around the perimeter.

  “Either of you gentlemen carrying any weapons?” the neckless bodyguard asked.

  “No,” Three answered, despite the fact that his coat was open and his vicious pistol was widely on display.

  The bodyguard smiled, a gleaming white split amidst the pale pink flesh of his face and head. Three hoped this was the “big one” Twitch had mentioned. The Big One looked like a mountain of flesh, poured in a pile and shaped into some vaguely human form by someone whose only experience with anatomy had been muscular. He was dressed in a three-piece suit that looked like it was ready to tear apart if he so much
as turned his head. Though it was cleverly tailored and woven, Three could tell from the sheen of the fabric that it was fibrasteel, likely impervious to any stabbing or slashing that might occur.

  “And that piece is, I suppose, decorative only?”

  “Keeps the kids away is all.”

  “The Bonefolder understands the nature of the world in which we live, friend. We do not wish to deprive you of your protection. We mean only to inventory. I would, however, advise you to keep your hands away from your… ornament. This way, please.”

  The Big One led them both from the entryway into a large open room, set with a number of tables. There was a bar off to the left, where a man stood wiping down a counter with a rag. The bartender looked to be in his early 60s, and he tipped his head in greeting. Even across the room, the bartender vibrated with menace. An open staircase in the back led up to a second floor, where an open balcony surrounded and overlooked the first floor. Evenly spaced doors off the balcony hinted at some kind of upstairs living quarters.

  A knot of men sat or stood around small tables in the center of the room. And there at the large central table, all alone, sat the Bonefolder.

  “Gentlemen,” said the Big One. “Be seated.”

  Three and jCharles sat themselves across the table from Bonefolder.

  “May I have a beverage prepared for you?”

  “Bittertonic might be nice,” jCharles answered. “How about you Numbers, something to take the edge off? Good chance to taste something from the top of the shelf.”

  Three shook his head, kept his eyes on Bonefolder. He could tell from Twitch’s eager casualness that he was wound tight. Quick count put them down four to one, not counting the Bonefolder. Not good odds even against poorly-trained gun hands.

  “Very well,” said the Big One. He motioned to the bartender, who began preparing a drink for jCharles.

  Three took in as much about the Bonefolder as he could. High cheekbones, light brown hair that flowed in a steep cascade to just below her shoulders. Pouty lips drawn down permanently at the corners of her mouth. Gave her a look of constant, polite disdain. As he regarded her, she smiled, drawing her lips back fiercely in an almost upside down kind of way, that, rather than a frown, managed to be something of a smile while still communicating a sort of strained patience. She’d been a looker once. Maybe still was, to some of particular tastes. She seemed severe in every way.

  The fact that a woman had grown into such a commanding presence here in Greenstone told him all he needed to know about her will. And the deference the men around her showed her hinted at how she exerted that will. Her men exhibited the kind of fear and respect one might expect to see shown to a queen. Or an unforgiving goddess.

  “This is the one they call ‘Three’?” she said, with mild disdain, looking towards the Big One and waving her hand at Three dismissively.

  “I am,” Three answered for himself. The Bonefolder looked to him with mild disappointment.

  “We see. Not much of a proper name, is it? It sounds simply ridiculous to us, to go about having others refer to you by number rather than name.”

  If she had intended to garner a response, she would be disappointed. Three sat without reply. The Big One left the table. The corners of the Bonefolder’s mouth pulled downward.

  “Well, we won’t abide referring to you in such a manner, so here you will be identified as Mr Walker. Such seems suitable, from what we know of you.”

  “You can call me whatever you like, ma’am.”

  “How unexpected. It has manners.” The Bonefolder paused long enough to sip from her beverage, a steaming, brownish liquid Three couldn’t identify.

  “Mr Walker, we understand you wish to make use of our train.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The Big One returned and placed a bittertonic in front of jCharles, and then moved around to stand behind Bonefolder. jCharles didn’t touch the drink.

  “We had high hopes that we could reach some sort of an agreement on the matter. But it has been brought to our attention that an obstacle may have arisen between us already.”

  There was no further sign of the limping man and as far as Cass could tell the area around the hangar was clear. Or at least, clear enough. jCharles hadn’t told her which entrance to use, so she picked the westernmost. The door was steel, with thick white paint flaking off in strips. It didn’t seem like the kind of place where you’d be expected to knock. Cass raised the bar that served to hold the door closed, and nudged the door open. Inside, the hangar was a dusty orange twilight of artificial light. Smooth concrete floor. A stale odor of mildew and something like kerosene. Same feel as the lab back at the enclave, where Fedor had nearly caught them.

  She pushed the door open wider, and slid inside, careful to check both sides as she entered. Clear. From the inside, the hangar seemed impossibly large. The light didn’t stretch high enough to reveal the roof, so looking upward into that looming blackness gave a sense of endlessness that made her dizzy. A small group of people stood in a cluster right in the middle of the hangar, soaked in a bright yellow-white light from the four vertical tubelights that formed a rectangle around them. The lights were a bit of a surprise, given the relative darkness that surrounded them. It seemed like inside that box of light, it would be nearly impossible to keep a clear view of what may be going on beyond its borders. She had to wonder just how experienced these guys were.

  From this distance the tallest of the figures gathered in the center was no larger than her thumb. She knew that the eastern entrance was roughly the same span again from the center, which gave the hangar mind-boggling proportions. And she couldn’t help but wonder what had ever been housed here.

  Cass drew a breath, steadied herself, then started the long walk, her footfalls echoing mercilessly in the metallic cavern. Floorbox electric lights ran in a haphazard path the full length of the hangar, bathing the floor in dull pools of hot-orange between pockets of dusky hues. The cluster of people broke up slightly as she approached, two of the larger coming forward while the others remained behind. Separated as they were, she got a solid headcount. Six, altogether. Tyke, Jantz, and security. Seemed about right. Not great numbers for her, though, if it went bad.

  When she was about twenty yards away, one of the bigger men raised his hand, indicating she should stop. It was tough to see him well, backlit as he was by the tubelights, but she could see enough of his silhouette to get the gist. She held her place.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  Cass suddenly wished she’d asked jCharles for a little more info. Every chem scene had its own nuances, its own etiquette. Common greetings, sometimes elaborate introductions, even unspoken rules about distances to be maintained at all times. Play it wrong, and the other guys would know right off the bat you were an out-of-towner. That might just cost you an extra thirty or fifty percent. Worst case would cost you a whole lot more. On a whim, Cass reached up and nonchalantly unfastened her shirt a little lower.

  “You boys keep it hot in here, don’t you?”

  “Are you looking for someone in particular?”

  Dangerous question. In some circles, if you didn’t have the right name, the deal would be off. In other circles, mentioning names was a quick way to get dusted off. She played cool.

  “My boy from uptown sent me out for business, said he’d sent word.”

  “Why didn’t ‘your boy’ come himself?”

  “On account of his unexpected delay with the Bonefolder.”

  The mood suddenly shifted.

  “Oh, you’re McGann’s little sister? Why didn’t you say that, come on over here!”

  Cass just smiled and walked to the group. As she approached, the light shifted enough that she could see the man who’d been talking to her. He was sporting the uniform of a Greenman, but it was ill-fitting. She saw him checking it out, and chuckled.

  “Helps with the walk in,” he said with a shrug.

  “Long as you don’t meet any greenmen, I gu
ess.”

  He nodded, and led her to the others, who largely stood gawking. There was a small collapsible table set up in the middle of the lights. A case sat on the table. Behind it stood two young men she recognized from jCharles’ pictures. Quick scan of the three other guards. One in red, one in black, one wearing a white coat with a backpack.

  “This here’s Tyke,” said the guard, pointing to a tall and thin youth with long hair and a hawk-beak of a nose. “And that’s his buddy Jantz.” Jantz was shorter, but just as rail thin, with a shock of orange hair highlighted silver. Neither made eye contact. Both were staring at her chest.

  “Boys!” the guard snapped, drawing Tyke’s attention. He glanced up, wild-eyed, looking back and forth between the guard and Cass several times. Jantz lingered.

  “Hi, yeah, sorry, sorry, little jumpy out here with all this material out here, you know, out here. We’re big fans of your brother, Mr McGann I mean, big fans, I read all his stuff. Me and Jantz both do, all his stuff. Maybe, you know, maybe if we’re all happy with this arrangement, you know, after we, you know, handle what we have to handle here, maybe sometime down the road we could actually meet him. If you’re cool with that, I mean.”

  “I’m sure that’d be great, Tyke,” she cooed, putting on the womanly charm. A little bit of skin seemed to have them all distracted. The sultry voice would probably have them completely mesmerized. Completely off guard. “He had nice things to say about you already.”

  Tyke let out something halfway between a giggle and a snort. A thin thread of phlegm flipped itself over his bottom lip and dangled there a moment before he wiped it away. Jantz lowered his head and stared at the table. Then slowly slid his eyes back up to Cass’s cleavage.

  “My understanding is that you’ve received the half up front?”

  “That’s right, and you can check the case if you want,” he said, as he swiped a fingertip across a chrome strip. A mechanism hissed and the case unsealed itself. “It’s all there, forty-five hundred, cut in stacks. We went ahead and cut ’em in stacks for you so, you know, so when you, you know, when you sell ’em off or whatever, they’re easier for you to move, for when you sell ’em. That’s a little extra service we wanted to provide to you on account of Mr McGann. For when you sell ’em.”