by Jason Mather
“Yeah. The file I read on you was very short, but I would say that Grit holds a certain amount of respect for you as well, despite your obvious failings.”
“And what would those be?”
“Oh, you know, trying to kill her brother. Trying to kill her.”
“I do not know who made the attempts on your life, but they were not sent by me. I would not try to assassinate Greta, she’s too important to my success.”
Hans believed her, mostly, though it didn’t help his confusion. “So where do we go from here?” he asked.
“For the moment, I will keep you here while I break your file and verify your story.”
“Still can’t trust me?”
“I don’t think you are lying to me, but I would never have gotten where I am by being too trusting.”
“And in the meantime, I am a prisoner.”
“Not a prisoner, Mr. Ricker, just a guest. You’ll be safer here than outside. We can accommodate you comfortably. You will not find a more secure hideout.”
“Fine, I’ll stay. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
— «» —
Onyx stood and left without any further words. Beefy returned a moment later and silently escorted Hans to the elevator.
The elevator moved downward, opened to another carbon copy hallway. Hans’ claustrophobia returned. Breathe slowly, stay calm.
They entered a large suite. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen alcove, all in monochrome like everything else. The whole place was a black and white movie in the making.
Beefy disappeared, silent as ever. Hans turned, looking where the door had been. Nothing to see, not even a hint of seam. It wasn’t opening ‘til someone else opened it. A prison was a prison, no matter how you dolled it up.
The wall to his left lit up with Onyx’s face.
“To your liking, Mr. Ricker?”
“Hans.”
“Hans. Is this ok?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question.”
She smiled coldly.
“This place have any windows?”
The far wall faded to transparence, the view was not scenic.
“We have an assortment of tranquilizers and other mood enhancers if your claustrophobia gets out of control,” Onyx said.
“That obvious?”
“Your vitals are constantly monitored in here, signs of stress are easily spotted.”
“Vodka and a pack of cigarettes if you got ‘em.”
She clucked at him, “Such nasty habits you have, Hans.”
“And you’re a paragon of decency.”
“I’ll send some down.”
“Thanks.”
The viewscreen blanked out.
He found it very curious that, for such a big shot, she had time to attend to him personally. He doubted it was simple courtesy. It was just a hunch, but he didn’t think this building was packed with people. If that was true, what was its purpose? Another question, no more answers.
Beefy returned with a tray holding a bottle of clear liquid and a small silver case. Very fancy. Wasted on him. He was far from a connoisseur.
Hans pulled a small padded chair up to the window and lit a cigarette. They were very good, but not as good as the vodka.
Despite everything, for the next few hours Hans was feeling pretty nice. The vodka gave him a pleasant, mellow feeling, which he maintained without getting too drunk. The cigarettes cleared his head. He sat and drank and smoked, eventually dozed.
— «» —
Beefy shook him awake. Trying for gently, not succeeding. That, and the man’s slab of a face up close meant that Hans had had better awakenings.
Beefy gestured, walked back to the door. Time for round two. Hans took a moment to get his bearings, then followed. Maybe the man couldn’t actually speak at all.
Back to the elevator. Or maybe it was a different one, Hans couldn’t tell. Rising to the top floor. Past the reception desk, empty now, and down another hallway to the first real door Hans had seen in this place. Beefy knocked. Looked like wood, sounded like wood. Expensive if it was.
“Come,” Onyx’s voice was distant through the door.
Beefy opened the door, shoved Hans through, and shut the door behind him. His footsteps retreated down the hallway.
Hans was in a small foyer, with antique wrought iron lamps lighting wood-paneled walls. A small bench was against the opposite wall.
“Please remove your shoes, Hans. There’s a pair of slippers in there that should fit you well enough.”
Hans sat, removed the boots Grit had given him. It was a huge pair of black slippers, meant for Beefy probably. He slipped them on, and his feet barely filled them.
Onyx was standing in the doorway. She had traded in the suit for a kimono, jet black, minimal ornamentation.
“Sorry,” she said, “I forget sometimes how big Lev is.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I have some proper clothes in a changing room, in case you’re getting tired of security issue.”
The whole situation was strange in the extreme, changing in her room? Just go with it. He didn’t want to die in army green.
Down a short, wood-paneled hall, Onyx gestured at a door. Hans entered, locked the door behind him, and found a large walk-in closet filled with men’s clothes.
“Your boyfriend’s stuff?”
“Former boyfriends.” Her voice was surprisingly close.
“Do you keep their bodies in here, too?”
“That’s what the incinerator in the basement is for.”
After seeing her attire Hans had been afraid that the room would be filled with incomprehensible foreign garb, but there were a fair number of western suits on display. He was normally a jeans man, but he knew how to wear a suit. He chose a dark blue suit with an off-white shirt, a vest, and a black tie. It fit well enough, but looked kind of silly with no shoes.
Onyx stood exactly where she’d been, sipping vodka. Had she had the glass before? He couldn’t remember.
“You clean up well, Hans. I was unsure if you would know how to knot a tie.”
“I’ve been to job interviews. “
He followed her down the hall. It ended at a dining room containing a large, ornate table carved from what looked like one giant slab of ebony. Hans had some familiarity with carpentry, and the craftsmanship that had gone into the table was by far the best he’d ever seen. Woodworking was a rapidly declining art in this day and age, with newer, more resilient materials able to mimic it nearly perfectly.
“It’s Russian,” Onyx said, noticing his admiration.
“How much did you pay?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
“I know a guy who could have done this for a couple hundred.”
“You’ll have to give me his number.”
“He doesn’t have a phone.”
She took a seat at the head of the table, and gestured to a seat next to her. Hans ignored her and sat on the opposite side.
“Afraid of me, Hans?”
“I believe in never underestimating potential threats.”
“If I wanted you dead or harmed you would already be.”
“You’ll have to allow me my delusions.”
“How about some food?”
“You got steak?”
“That can be arranged.”
“Rare, please.”
The secretary entered the room, took her instructions, and departed.
“A drink?”
“Some more of that vodka if you got it.”
Onyx stood and moved to the wall, which slid back to reveal a small alcove containing a few decanters and some glasses.
“Ice?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
Onyx was pleased with his answer. She filled a small glass, placed it in front of him, and returned to her seat. They drank.
“How’s the vodka?”
“I don’t think you need me to tell you it’s excellent, and I’m not much of a judge
anyway. We don’t often get quality liquor in my hometown. I suppose you get it from Russia.”
“I distill it myself.”
“Really? I’m impressed.”
A genuine smile at the compliment.
“A friend and I tried to brew up some bathtub gin one time. Tasted like pickled ass and just about killed us both,” Hans said.
“The secret is multiple distillations and filtering.”
“I’ll have to remember that. You get the recipe from your mother?”
“Mr. Ri…” She took a deep breath and another drink. “Hans. You have made a request of me, and I will comply. In return, you will not make any references to what you think you know about my past. Do we have an understanding?”
“Sure.”
“You are a difficult man to like, Hans.”
“True enough. This whole situation is fucked, and I’m not good at pretending. How about you tell me why you didn’t kill me?”
She took another sip, considered him, “You tell me you lost something that belonged to me, and that you have come to make amends. I believe that you intended me to kill you. Since I have not… yet… you owe me a debt, and you have certain properties I might be able to make use of.”
“Those being?”
“You have no criminal affiliation. You have an identity under complete lockdown, and you have no ID tracking tag. This anonymity makes you of possible value to someone in my line of work.”
“I didn’t come here to break the law for you.”
“I haven’t asked you to.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
The secretary entered with their food. Beef for Hans, some kind of raw fish for Onyx. The meat was delicious. The secretary cleared the plates. Onyx brought out another silver cigarette case. Hans accepted, along with a light. Up close, with her eyes uncovered, he could see that her irises were an extraordinary pale gray. A ghost’s eyes. He’d seen eyes like them recently.
When he was seated he popped another question. “Was it your man who picked me up outside the city?”
“My man?”
“The guy in the four-by-four?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He irritated her. Good.
“OK. I have another question then, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
She waited for him to ask, smoking angrily.
“What was in the package I delivered?”
Still didn’t answer him.
“What’s with your eyes?”
Onyx shot a confused look at him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re the second person today I’ve seen with eyes that color.”
“Startling coincidence, I’m sure.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is there a point to any of this, Mr. Ricker?”
“I’m not sure, Ms. Li. My life has been one strange occurrence after another since I woke up, and everyone seems to know more than me. I don’t expect you to give me any answers, but don’t think I don’t notice things. Everyone seems to think I’m an idiot.”
“You give us little choice.”
Hans finished his cigarette and put it out on the table. Onyx didn’t react.
“I’d like to go back to my room now.”
The door opened and Beefy came in. Onyx stood.
“Thank you for joining me for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
— «» —
Hans treated himself to a bath in the large tub provided in his room, turned off the lights, turned the water up until it turned his skin beet-red and made him short of breath, and floated in warm blackness. It helped him think.
Onyx wasn’t the one who’d tried to kill him, though he didn’t trust her. She’d been polite, mostly, even when Hans goaded her. She might even be lonely. She and her two silent assistants in this alien place. Squash that train of thought, it was useless to go into Damsel in Distress mode. Onyx didn’t need anything from him.
He climbed from the tub, banging his shins on the high walls, groping blindly for a towel, giving up and turning on the light. The towels were above the toilet, alternating black and white, like everything else in this place, but comfortable and soft, even warm somehow. Another disturbing molecular manipulation, no doubt.
There were sounds of ice clinking in the other room. Onyx? Hoping she wasn’t here for some kind of liaison, he dressed quickly. He didn’t fancy turning down the advances of a woman that dangerous, but the other option was even less appealing.
It wasn’t Onyx. Instead there was a familiar-looking man sitting on the small couch pushed up against one of the walls.
“Hello, Hans.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“Wasn’t mine. Just borrowed from a friend.”
“Borrowed or stolen?”
“Acquired. Necessary to save your life. You may remember that. Drink?”
“Why not?”
The man stood and crossed the room to the almost empty vodka bottle.
“Ice?”
“No, thanks.”
“Onyx would approve.”
“You her boss?”
The man turned, holding both glasses, and gave Hans a beaming smile. An ageless face, light and shadow adding and subtracting years as they played across it. “Let’s call me a benefactor.”
“I’d rather know your name.”
“I may have to disappoint you there.”
“Everyone disappoints me sooner or later.”
“Such is life.”
He crossed the room, handed Hans his drink, still smiling. Up close Hans could see gray specks in his hair.
“You her father?”
“And what would make you say that, Hans?”
“Same eyes.”
“Ah. Rather rare color.”
“Never seen it before.”
“Not common to this area, more so where we come from.”
“Hong Kong?”
“Now what would make you say that?” the man chuckled, his eyes showing genuine amusement.
“Just a guess.”
He moved to the couch, sat and drank. Hans remained standing.
“No one makes vodka like she can,” the man said.
“Multiple distillation and filtering.”
“And a small amount of molecular adjustment.”
“She didn’t say anything about that.”
“Trade secret. Done merely to purify the molecule, I assure you.”
Hans put his glass down, not sure if he could drink it anymore. “If I can’t know your name, what do I call you?”
“Is a name necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, call me James.”
Hans retrieved the silver cigarette case from the nightstand where he’d left it, lit up, and sat down on the bed. “OK, James, what do you want?”
“You have questions?”
“Hundreds.”
“I’m here to answer what I can. You deserve that.”
“Anything I want to know?”
“No. But a large portion.”
“Who’s trying to kill me?”
“No one.”
“Try again. There’ve been two attempts on my life in two days.”
“Neither aimed at you specifically.”
“Who then?”
“Both intended traps for your sister, your involvement was incidental.”
“So, you’re trying to kill my sister.”
“Not I nor anyone else in this building.”
“All four of you?”
“And change.”
Hans took a moment and a few more puffs. “Did you send the creature?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The thing that broke into my hospital room and killed the assassin.”
“That was one of mine, yes.”
“What the hell was it?”
“A… helper. A multipurpose tool.”
“So, breaking and entering, m
urder, things like that?”
“It does have those capacities, though it is certainly capable of much more constructive duties.”
“Such as?”
“Saving a life.”
Hans took a moment to retrieve and light another cigarette. He had purposely not asked about the type of tobacco in them. “Did your ‘helpers’ also kill those men in the truck?”
“Those men, along with about a hundred others, had intended to use you as bait to draw your sister into a trap. My forces disarmed the trap.”
“That’s a yes on the multiple murder then?”
“Yes. My forces killed them to the last man. All the men that had been sent to kill you and your sister, dead at my hand. Is that what you wish to hear?”
“I guess I should thank you for that.”
“No need.”
James finished his second glass of vodka and went back for another refill. He wasn’t affected visibly at all. No wobbling, no slurring of speech. Hans would be well on his way to inebriation.
“Why?” Hans asked.
“Why what?”
“According to you you’ve saved my life twice.”
“I wish to correct an error.”
“How is that?”
“Carelessness on my part, an amateur error. I thought my monitoring was airtight. Something got through.”
“You couldn’t track me, could you?”
James pause, considered, took a sip. Hans figured his next words would almost have to be a lie.
“I’d grown complacent.” The phrase revealed nothing, left possibilities floating like dust motes, “Why do you not have an ID tag”?
“I had it disabled.”
“Really? That’s a somewhat dangerous proposition for someone your age.”
“Can be. I know a good brain surgeon.”
“Even so, why would you risk permanent brain damage and possible conviction of tampering with state property?”
“The feds can call it what they want. It was in my head, so it was mine. I’m not federal property. They can feed me as many lines as they want about benevolent monitoring and laws to protect its abuse, but they put something in my head without my permission. I couldn’t remove it, so I broke it.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you I agreed?”
“I don’t have much surprise left in me at this point.”
“I admire your conviction, Hans. I could use someone like you.”
“I’m not a criminal. I already told Onyx that.”
“Removing an ID tag is a criminal offense.”