Whether Slip agreed with her or not, he didn’t say. Marcie jumped from the building, a drop of eight to ten storeys. The street clear of jocks and crewcuts, she jogged to the immigration gate. She might be thirty thousand credits closer to Sal’s lungs, but they still had a long way to go.
Chapter 42
The sky had turned a deep shade of grey as day transitioned to night. Her flying suit still damp from the docks, Marcie clamped her jaw, her entire body locked tight as she shivered while walking back through the Black Hole on her way to her shitty hotel. The darkening day made the neon surrounding her pop. There were at least two signs for every shop. God knew what they meant, or if they even applied to the current business occupying the establishment. Illuminated cherries and a pig’s face seemed to have very little in common, and the Black Hole didn’t seem like the kind of place where a new business would invest in a full refit. Most businesses would be gone in a few months.
A tall man slammed into Marcie on his way past. From the way he leaned into her, he meant it. He clearly hadn’t expected to spin away like he did, shouting an indecipherable word and turning to face her. The man’s eyes shone silver, his teeth also glistening chrome like the receptionist’s in the transplant centre.
Marcie balled her fists. “Do you really want this?”
The tension left his face when he looked her up and down. He turned his back on her and left.
God, she hated this place. Although, still sixty thousand credits short of a pair of lungs, she didn’t exactly have the option to leave. A pang twisted through her chest. Would she spend so long here she’d forget what Sal sounded like?
“So other than trying to start fights everywhere you go,” the Eye said, “what’s the plan? What’s next?”
A girl about the same age as Slip shot across in front of Marcie, cutting a path through the crowd, her arms windmilling as she fought for balance before she tripped and fell to the hard asphalt. A man emerged from the shop she’d been spat from. He loosed a deep roar, stomping out after her like an angry bear.
The crowd stepped away from the fallen girl, clearing a circle around her as if she were contagious. “What are they doing?” Marcie said.
“This is justice in the Black Hole,” Slip said. “I’m sure she’s done something wrong.”
“But look at her. She’s tiny and he’s a fully grown man.”
A slight thing, the girl had matted blonde hair, brown eyes, and dirt-stained cheeks. Her mouth stretched wide as the large man’s shadow smothered her, pinning her to the spot.
The man had arms as thick as the girl’s waist. Balding, he had a full beard; the parts of his face not covered in hair were puce and blotchy.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said, her feet slipping over the ground when she flipped onto her back and tried to get away. She hugged a packet wrapped in wax paper to her chest before holding it towards him. “Here, have it back.”
Just a metre between them, the man shook his thick right fist at her. “You think someone will buy that now you’ve manhandled it? They’ll consider it diseased.” He drew a whip from his belt and snapped it with a crack!
The girl cried, her voice rising in pitch, her large eyes glazing. “Please! Please don’t hurt me. I’ll pay it off somehow.”
Since Marcie had been in the Black Hole, the crowd had paused for very little, but everyone around her had stopped to watch this. Too many red rings, she switched off her targeting.
The man shouted, “Yeargh!”
Marcie darted forward and caught his arm, stopping him dead before he could follow through. “You don’t want to do that.”
The man spoke through gritted teeth, the muscles in his arms bulging from where he fought against her restraint. “And what the hell are you going to do about it?”
Having used the strength needed to restrain the man and no more, Marcie had clearly given him the impression he could overpower her. She slowly pushed against him, his feet slipping over the ground while she walked forward. “You really want me to show you in front of all these people?”
But the man had loosed his ego and he clearly couldn’t rein it in. Just before he replied, someone said, “Frank!”
Both Marcie and Frank turned. The ginger girl with the black jacket. She approached with three friends, all boys. “This isn’t a good idea, Frank.”
“Where did you come from?” Marcie said.
The tension in Frank’s arm loosened and he lowered his whip. “Come on, Sally.” He pointed at the girl on the ground. “That little brat robbed me.”
“I’m not sticking up for her,” Sally said, “but this one is. And while I’d love to see both of them have the skin whipped off their backs—”
“Why don’t you try it, then?” Marcie said.
“Mads wants her left alone, which also protects anyone she’s sticking up for. He’s taken a shine to her for some reason.”
“It’s like the Blind Spot all over again,” the Eye said.
“What do you mean?” Slip said.
“Marcie had impunity there too.”
“All right! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
The man and the black jacket turned to Marcie. “Huh?” Sally said.
“I don’t need Mads’ protection,” Marcie said, then to Frank, “I can settle this myself, thanks.”
“You don’t get to tell Mads what you do and don’t need when in the Black Hole, sweetheart. He tells you. And what the hell are you wearing?”
The crowd had stood back in preparation of Frank using his whip. Now the man had lowered it, they closed in again, hanging on every word. Marcie moved so she stood between Frank and Sally, turning her back on the spiteful girl. “What has the girl stolen from you, and how much is it worth?”
“A pork loin. One hundred credits.”
“I’ll pay it.”
“That’s not the point.”
Marcie shook her head. “This offer isn’t going to get any better, Frank.”
The man worked his jaw as if it helped him hold back his response. He clicked his fingers. A skinny boy about fourteen years old appeared at Frank’s side with a card machine. He’d already programmed it to accept one hundred credits. The boy kept his head bowed, twitchy every time Frank so much as moved beside him.
Hovering her card over the machine, Marcie spoke to the boy but fixed on Frank. “Does Frank beat you?”
Still focused on the ground, the boy said, “Frank looks after me very well.”
The welt on the boy’s cheek—a strip of livid red flesh about three inches long—suggested otherwise. About the same size as the tag hanging from the end of the whip. Marcie held the piece of leather in a pinch. “I’d say it’s about time you retired this whip, Frank.”
“Would you now?”
She leaned so close to Frank she inhaled his sweaty funk. “Or not. But know I’ll come back to check up on this boy. Maybe you’ll get to find out what I can do after all.”
The card machine beeped, accepting Marcie’s payment. To save Frank the effort of replying to her previous comment, Marcie said, “You’ve just felt what I can do. Don’t test me.”
Frank drew a breath, but Marcie cut him off. “And don’t make any more of a fool of yourself than you need to.”
Frank’s thin lips grew thinner. He turned his back on her and returned to his shop. Many of the onlookers stood open-mouthed at the butcher’s humiliation.
Although the crowd dispersed, the black jackets remained close. The slight blonde girl picked herself up from the ground. She continued to hug the wrapped pork loin to her chest.
Slip whispered as if fearful of the others hearing him. “Those who are invisible do best in the Black Hole and Prime City. You’d do well to remember that.”
The Eye laughed. “Marcie doesn’t do invisible. Surely you’ve worked that out by now?”
“I can’t watch a fully grown man beat a small child.”
The child stepped closer to Marcie and held the wax-paper parcel
in her direction. “Here, this is yours. You’ve paid for it.”
Marcie waved her away. “Take it. Now get home, go on.”
The black jackets stood aside for the girl. Sally’s smile lifted with a snide twist and her green eyes narrowed. “Quite the Robin Hood, I see.”
“What do you want?”
“It’s not what I want, it’s what Mads wants.”
Marcie chewed on the inside of her mouth and waited.
“He says you need to be protected in the Black Hole.”
“I can protect myself.”
“With the number of enemies you’re making? You’re painting quite a large target on your back.”
“I can look after myself.”
“Mads said to make sure. I’m guessing he has plans for you.”
“Well, you can politely decline on my behalf.”
“You don’t get how it works around here, do you?”
“How about you tell Mads to go fuck himself, then?”
Not only did the four black jackets gasp, but Slip also squeaked in her ear. “Sally’s the wrong person to say that to,” he said. “She’d even stir an empty pot.”
Sally lit up. “He won’t like that.” She shook her head and giggled. “He won’t like that at all.”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit. I don’t mind taking on bounties for him. Those people needed to face the consequences of what they’d done, and if I can get paid to do it, then so be it. But if he wants me to do any more, he needs to start paying me better, and he needs to offer a different way to win the bounties. I get the sport of a fight, and I’m up for that, I can see how betting on the fights is big business. If I’m honest, I like the workout. But as you’ve seen, I won’t kill someone in the ring, and I won’t be involved with someone who thinks it’s appropriate to execute a fighter when they’ve already lost. Beating them’s enough.”
Sally sneered. “But it’s all part of the game.”
“A game I refuse to play. That’s my point.”
“Mads won’t like this.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“What shall I say to him?”
“Like I’ve already said, tell him to go fuck himself.”
As Sally led the other three black jackets away, Slip said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Chapter 43
Marcie stood at the bottom of the ladder with Slip, the Eye climbing down to meet them at the steel door leading into the arena. The tock of his feet on the rungs provided a metronomic countdown to their entry.
They’d spent another night in the shitty hotel, and even the Eye needed to get out for a while. The lumpy and sagging mattress did little for Marcie’s sleep, and only god knew how many cockroaches had scuttled over her in the night. And how many had she eaten? She shook her head as if it could banish the recurring thought. “And you’re sure Mads won’t kill my next opponent when I don’t?”
Slip shrugged. “He’s promised to respect your wishes. He likes you, Marcie.”
“I don’t need or want him to like me. And the bounty?”
“Sixty-five thousand credits.”
“Enough to buy Sal’s lungs.”
“Yep.”
“Strange that he’s offered that figure, isn’t it?” the Eye said. “Almost like he knows our plans.” He stepped off the bottom rung. “Like there’s a little rat feeding information back to him.”
“Mads knows everything that goes on in the Black Hole,” Slip said.
“Especially when he has little weasels whispering in his ear.”
“Here,” Marcie said, handing the Eye her glasses. “Look after these for me.”
“You sure you’re up for this one, kid?” The Eye slipped her glasses into the inside pocket of his fur coat. “Something about this fight makes me uneasy. Almost like it’s too simple. When you’ve claimed this final bounty, we’re done. I just don’t see Mads letting us walk away. I wonder what he’s planning.” He flicked his head in Slip’s direction. “What they both have planned.”
Marcie caught Slip as he tried to get past her, swinging for the Eye but coming up short. A wild little creature, the dreadlocked boy snarled, “Why do you keep saying that? I’ve given you no reason to doubt me. I like Marcie. Why would I screw her over?”
“Because you like Mads more. Because Mads pays you.”
Tears stood in Slip’s eyes. “Mads has never paid me thirty thousand credits.” His voice broke. “Marcie’s made a real difference to me and my family.”
Marcie opened the steel door, the crowd noise dousing their growing argument like a bucket of ice-cold water. They were louder than she’d ever heard them. Goosebumps lifted on her body while shimmering ripples ran the length of her arms and legs.
The ring stood empty, the large dryer returning to its spot in the ceiling. The crowd fell silent and they all turned their way. “You’ve built up quite the reputation, I see,” the Eye said. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
“You stay up here by the door,” Marcie said. “You can leave if you need to.” She increased the glow of her eyes, several people in the crowd gasping as she descended the steps to the ring.
The black-jacketed touts in the crowd remained seated. Had they already bet on the fight? Was she the only person who didn’t know the identity of her next opponent? How many had backed her to win?
The lights above the ring grew brighter with every step Marcie took towards it until she had just two stairs left. The place then fell into darkness, her pulse quickening. A spotlight focused on her, and a deep musical voice echoed through the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the people’s villain, the nonconformist, the deadly fighter with a conscience. Miss. Marcie. Huuuuuuuugoooooooooo!”
A bass-note boo rang through the arena followed by a barrage of abuse. Of the insults thrown her way, several were repeated enough for her to decipher them. “Coward. Scumbag. Cheater.”
Every instinct urged Marcie to drop her head. Instead, she pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and entered the ring, her attention on the shielded booth overlooking the cage.
The crowd in the front row shouted the loudest, leaning against the fence, the chain-link bowing from their pressure. All the lights burst on again, illuminating the extent of the ugly rage surrounding her.
The Eye and Slip remained at the top of the stairs. The Eye held the steel door open, ready for a quick exit. And he should go if it got hairy. He couldn’t help her, and her need to save him would only be a hinderance should it kick off. Today wouldn’t go the way of the other two fights. The air broiled as if in anticipation of the mood turning sour.
The place fell dark again. Pitch black again. It silenced the crowd again.
A single spotlight lit up the other side of the ring. A black jacket. One she didn’t recognise. A tall boy, over six feet. Both athletic and broad, his frame spoke of speed and strength. Another light came on next to him. A girl with a knife. At least eight inches long, it shone in her grip. Another light revealed another black jacket.
When they were done, the commentator said, “Six against one.”
More lights came on, the Eye shoving Slip at the top of the stairs. When he looked up to see Marcie watching, he stopped. Whatever beef they had, they needed to save it for another time. Maybe Slip had something to do with it, and maybe he didn’t. For now, Marcie needed to focus on what stood before her.
At first, the athletic and broad boy hadn’t brandished a weapon like the others. But while they were limbering up, he pulled a samurai sword from a sheath on his back, gripped the black handle with both his hands, and pointed the tip of the blade at her. Every one of them had a weapon now. From knives to bats to chains.
“Marcie might not be prepared to fight to the death,” the commentator said, letting the pause stretch out before he added, “but the black jackets are more than willing. One thing we can promise you, ladies and gents, is there will be blood!”
; The crowd cheered and stamped their feet, those at the front shaking the cage, the wash of rippling metal swirling around them.
The commentator silenced the crowd when he spoke again. “Before we start”—the commentator’s voice swelled around the confined space—“would you like a weapon, Marcie?”
Marcie shook her head as a lone voice from the crowd yelled, “Tear her fucking head off.”
“Very well,” the commentator said. “Three … two … one …”
Were it not for the red rings in her eyes, Marcie wouldn’t have seen them. For all the peacocking from the six in the ring—the swinging of swords, the waving of clubs—the danger came from the ring’s entrance on her right. Six, eight, twelve red rings. More black jackets flooded into the fighting area.
Sally led the charge, yelling as she tossed a throwing star at Marcie.
Marcie jumped aside, the star hitting the cage behind her. Hopefully one of the abusive crowd had gotten too close and just lost a finger.
Marcie darted forwards and dropped Sally first, sparking her with one hit. Three more came straight at her, two more on her left.
Before they reached her, Marcie jumped straight up, the black jackets slamming into one another in the centre of the ring. The crowd booed as she hung from the rigging with the lights. A large circular structure made from hollow metal poles about three inches in diameter, it had lights every two feet. Each one hung down, a glass screen covering the bulb inside. She swung up and shattered the first screen, fragments showering the black jackets below. With her second blow, she kicked the bulb out.
By the time she’d reached the second light, the black jackets had thrown several weapons at her; sparks flew from the rig where metal hit metal. A sword clanged beside her and fell, tip first, through the cheek of a black jacket. Judging by his scream, it hadn’t killed him. Marcie kicked out the next light.
Prime City: A Science Fiction Thriller (Neon Horizon Book 2) Page 20