by John Shirley
And as for what you were hoping for, with Seline...
No. Forget it. Can’t put her at risk. You’re on your own, in life. All over again.
Better get used to it, pal. Better get used to it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wolfe didn’t sleep much that night. About eight in the morning, as he was just pulling on his boots, a pounding came at the front door of the flat. He grabbed his pistol, rushed out of the bedroom to the front door, and looked through the peephole.
Shuggie.
“Wolfe! It’s Shuggie! You gotta get out of there!”
Wolfe unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s up?”
“A fucking wrecking ball, that’s what’s up!”
“What? When the hell did they move that in?”
“About an hour ago! I just found out! This place has been slated for demolition for awhile but–never mind, man! Get out of there, motherfucker, it’s moving into position! There’s no time to argue with ‘em!”
Wolfe turned—saw that Seline was dressed, putting her coat on, her face pale. He checked in his pocket, found he had his PearcePhone. He grabbed his coat, she grabbed the small backpack, and they followed Shuggie down the hall, having to run to keep up.
They pounded down the stairway, taking the turns like slapstick comedians trying not to fall over, and they were just reaching the second to the last flight when the building shuddered and—seemed to scream.
The scream was the sound of a 7,000 pound wrecking ball squealing as it crashed into bricks and metal girders.
The stairwell quaked and the floor rocked under them; Wolfe had to catch Seline’s arm to keep her from falling. Another squealing blow struck the building. As they stumbled down the stairs, Wolfe was thinking that this kind of demolition couldn’t be procedure. Had someone really searched the building to make sure there were no homeless, no squatters? Probably Verrick’s people suspected that Wolfe was here—and had moved up the timetable and bent the rules.
The building shuddered and squealed again, and continued to shake, dust powdering down from above--then pieces of plaster fell and finally bricks, debris raining around them as they stumbled onto the bottom floor.
Cracks appeared in the walls as they rushed through the door into the hall. Ceiling tiles fell, flipping end over end; insulation filled the air, rising in a choking cloud.
Then they burst out through the doors and into the open air—but they were far from safe.
The outer walls were coming down around them; the building they’d been staying in was leaning, threatening to fall into the one beside it. Rats ran from the buildings, screeching, and pigeons circled in confusion, disturbed from roosts. The air filled with dust, a fog of fine debris...
A cornice fell, narrowly missing Shuggie.
Then they were clear, running out of the cloud of dust, coughing, across the street.
They flattened behind the wreck of an old burned out car, trying to make no noise--a patrol car was coming around the corner. And chances were, the cops in the patrol car had been given Wolfe’s description. Verrick had to have more than one way into the police force.
The patrol car passed, the cops missing them—and the three fugitives stood up, letting the coughs come as the demolition ball continued to swing pendulously back and pound the building they’d just been in. After a full minute of coughing out the dust, and a good deal of spitting, Shuggie said, “Man, you are one high maintenance motherfucker!”
Coughing, Wolfe had to laugh. “Yeah. I guess I am. I’m gonna get out of your hair now, brother.”
“Well, stay in touch, bro. I got to get about my business. Got to cover my ass in all this.”
That’s when, pounded with unusual persistence, the building they’d been in simply imploded, crumbled in on itself, in a mighty cloud of rising dust...
Wolfe looked at it. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Shuggie said. “Those motherfuckers ain’t playin’.” He said it almost admiringly.
A car was pulling up, Renfo at the wheel.
Seline looked at Shuggie. “Thanks, Shuggie. Coming in there, when that wrecking ball was about to hit...you got some pretty big balls yourself.”
“Hey so do you, lady.”
Seline laughed, and Shuggie got in the car and drove off.
Wolfe said, “Come on, let’s get out of sight. Then we got to get you out of town.”
She looked at him, like she was considering saying something...
Then she shrugged and followed him across the street, through a debris choked alley.
#
“Pearce, you got any more spare safehouses?”
“Wolfe! You’re alive! I heard about what happened...I thought you were bleeding all over the rubble about now.”
“Almost was. Wasn’t for Shuggie, I’d be mush. And Seline too.”
In another safehouse, Aiden Pearce was letting “Doc” Morrsky take his blood pressure as Pearce spoke to Wolfe on the phone.
“Your blood pressure’s okay,” Morrsky said. He was a middle aged man with a red nose, receding hair, and the profile of a weasel. “But we need to get you a CAT scan. I can set it up somewhere, we’ll fake up your identity, they’ll never know who you are.”
“Forget that, Doc.”
“Come on, Pearce, help me out here. Any dizziness?”
“Occasionally,” Pearce admitted.
“Then you’re not going to risk falling over dead by going on any of your goddamn missions till I tell you different.”
“Pearce, you still there?” asked Wolfe, in his ear.
“Yeah, hold on. Doc—I hear and obey. Now get the fuck out of here.”
“You owe me some money.”
“You know it’ll be in your account when you get home. Go. And keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
“Sure, Pearce. You know me.”
Yeah, Pearce thought. I thought I knew Merwiss too.
When Morrsky had gone, Pearce said, “Wolfe...go to the corner of 47th and South Archer. You’ll find Blank there. He’ll give you the address. And when you’re there, call me—I’ve got something new for you.”
“Hope so. The upload cast suspicion on Verrick but I just heard on the radio he’s calling it all a lie spread by an ex-con--that would be me. He’s trying to discredit the whole thing. Casting suspicion on him isn’t enough. Maybe I should’ve talked about the info you got on that attack—made a special doc to go out with the Medina file. And then we could go to the DoJ.”
“No. We’ve got no specifics and we don’t want to drive Purity further underground...”
“We’ve got to do something. I’m starting to get worried we’re not going to find out what this thing is...until it’s too late to stop it. Maybe you can live with that, Pearce. I can’t.”
“Just wait till I verify some stuff...Not get over to that corner.”
Pearce ended the call and sent a text, under an arranged name, to Kiskel. He was going to need some inside dirt--from his inside man at the Blume Corporation.
We need to talk. Life and death for a lot of people.
Sending a phone to you...by special messenger. The Blank kind.
#
The new safehouse was in the basement of a Southside pool hall near the lake. Wolfe and Seline could hear footsteps overhead, as the players walked around the pool tables, along with outbursts of laughter or hooting derision.
An outside stairway went up to a cracked, weedy old parking lot behind the building. The upper floors of the old brick structure housed an SRO hotel, complete with “bathroom down the hall”.
The basement safehouse was dank and damp, its peeling wallpaper spotted with mold, but it had all the simple necessities of the previous one and more or less the same layout.
Seline was using the shower, now, washing off the dust from the collapsed building, as Wolfe sat on the sofa, drinking beer. He’d bought a six-pack from a liquor store next door to the thrift store where they’d bought fresh clothes.
&
nbsp; With the edge of his thumb he wiped a bit of plaster dust from an eye and waited for the PearcePhone on the coffee table to ring.
He wanted to be out doing. Not thinking about Seline--about how she was getting set to leave town. In half an hour, she’d be gone. And that’d be that.
He wouldn’t find a woman like her again, not easily. Not only pretty but brave; not only brave but cool headed; not only cool headed but caring; not only caring but smart...
There was something else between them too. The raw attraction; the visceral tugging he felt when he looked at her. As if she was some missing part of him he’d been searching for, and his body wanted to unite with it, restore its wholeness.
Don’t be a sap, Wolfe. Let her go.
She came out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her cheeks seemed blush-red; her eyes bright. She sat beside him, and opened a beer. “I’ll get out of here pretty soon...”
“No hurry,” he said.
“Wolfe...listen, I....”
The phone rang. Wolfe automatically picked it up. “Yeah?”
“Wolfe?” It was Pearce. “Listen...There’s a guy who works for Blume, knows a little too much about Verrick. Guy’s name is Lawrence Bullock.”
“Um...” He realized he shouldn’t have answered the phone in that moment. Someone a glance of Seline’s eyes conveyed that fact.
She got up, using the towel to dry her hair, and went to the bathroom, probably to brush it and comb it back...
Already used to living with her.
Give it up, Wolfe. Let her go.
“...this Bullock.” Pearce was saying, “apparently helped Verrick buy his way into Blume. Verrick had some shares but--Bullock pushed for him to be Security Chief, for one thing. And Bullock’s tied into this Purity thing somehow. He talked to Kiskel about Purity, trying to recruit him. Kiskel said no way. Bullock swore him to silence and backed off. So now Bullock’s been acting weird and scared at work--and then the upload on Verrick came out. Apparently this really spooked Bullock.”
“Pearce...”
“Listen, man! Bullock has gotten an invitation to test out one of Blume’s new prototype self driving cars, along with another guy. The other guy is an exec with a shell company used by The Club. Jakey Morrison. So I did some digging--indications are, Morrison may have been the guy who helped Verrick launder that stolen money through the Four Clubs casino. He’s invited as a shareholder in something called Morrison Incorporated which does some automotive investing. Kind of a coincidence these two are in the same autonomous, self-driving car, same time...”
Suddenly Pearce had Wolfe’s full attention. “Yeah. It is.”
“I found a phone record of a call from Verrick to the engineer, arranging the self-driving car ‘experience’ for key people. Got the name of the engineer from Kiskel..Don’t know what Verrick said. But soon after that two guys connected to Verrick were put in the same car.”
“Those cars can be hacked?”
“Theoretically...yeah. Or tampered with in advance.”
“So...they could be used to kill somebody. Make it look like an accident.”
“Right. There are two of these prototypes. And two other people, local bigshots in business, are scheduled to be in the other car. I haven’t located any definite connection with Verrick. But those two could be a couple more he wants to get rid of...to cover his ass after this upload made him look so shady. Only, it’s got to look like an accident. And these people don’t appear in your file. Most people aren’t going to see any connection with Verrick...”
“Maybe he thinks they’re going to testify against him, if things get ugly, and investigators start snooping around.”
“I figure that’s exactly it. Now suppose you were to save these people--or at least some of them. Suppose you were to hack the hack? Suppose you got in there...and get them out? They’re going to be scared, after their close shave. And they just might give us the inside track we need.”
“Even if they’re not willing to talk...we can convince ‘em to do it.”
“You mean--the hard way?”
“If we have to. A lot of lives are at stake.”
“You’re a cold son of a bitch, Wolfe. I like that. Okay--here’s the down side of this whole plan...”
“What?”
“It’s tomorrow morning. Early. You’re going to have to go to the address I give you and see what you can do. I can’t get out of here for another twenty-four hours or so. I’m counting on you. And you seem pretty good with that tech.”
“That was my specialty, when I was on base...”
“Yeah. You probably know more about it than I do,” Pearce admitted.
“Imagine that.”
Pearce laughed. “I’ll text you the address and all the background data I can get on Blume’s autonomous car. And the schedule. Then it’s up to you, Wolfe.”
“You know, chances are, the son of a bitch is going to have some of those Graywaters watching over this thing. Just waiting to bust a cap in my ass.”
“Chances are, yeah. You don’t want to be bored, do you Wolfe?”
“Look, Pearce...”
But Pearce had already ended the call.
Wolfe sighed, and looked up to see Seline making some dinner on the camp stove that sat atop the disconnected appliance.
“Canned food?” he asked.
“Canned stew. Oh, yum.”
“I can’t cook for crap, anyway,” she said.
“Not important.”
She looked at him.
Wolfe cleared his throat. “I mean, if anyone was...Uh...you want another beer?”
“What time you want me out of here in the morning?” she asked, her voice cold as she turned back to the little stove.
“You? I...I’ll be out early, so...it’s up to you. Where, uh...where you want to sleep? Sofa or bedroom?”
“Bedroom. Your slop is almost ready, Wolfe. Get a plate. There’s some in that cabinet, over there.”
He sighed--and he got his plate.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wolfe was across the street from the address Pearce had given him. He was, standing on a sidewalk that ran along a street that turned beneath an overpass. From here, he was in shadow, looking out at the pearly morning light shining off the two, silvery autonomous-car prototypes parked in front of the hotel. They were smallish cars, each with less bulk than a Prius...Cameramen were set up, a small crowd of people in fine clothing were gathered near the autonomous cars...
Wolfe wondered who, in that crowd, were the ones marked for death.
It was an overcast morning. The clouds threatened rain--maybe even snow. Or both. The wind was changing directions, jamming clouds up against one another as if piling them up.
They were starting to load people into the prototype cars. He’d need a car himself...and he’d need to borrow it without anyone knowing. A luxury car he could hack easily...
Wolfe put up his collar, pulled his knit cap lower, and got out the PearcePhone.
#
Bullock was a spindly, nervous man, with a high pale forehead, lank brown-blond hair, and a long, pinched nose; he was aware that his appearance belied his name. Bullock buckled the backseat belt and smoothed out his Italian blazer.
Morrison, a heavy set man with a red face, jowly cheeks, small eyes, was just heaving himself into the seat beside Bullock. Morrison grunted as he struggled to connect his seat belt. Then he slammed the door of the self-driving prototype. The smell of Morrison’s cologne filled the car.
Bullock discreetly lowered his window a crack for a little fresh air.
Morrison adjusted his tie and his suit jacket, glancing out the window at the row of reporters. He seemed pleased at the attention. He waved. Someone snapped a picture.
“Well, Bullock,” Morrison said, glancing up at the empty front seat. “I’m not sure if I feel like a pioneer or a damned fool. There’s a steering wheel up there, but no driver, and it’s going to stay that way even after we get going.”
“The cars were thoroughly tested, with dummies and then with volunteers,” Bullock said. “The steering wheel’s just there in case anyone wants the car on manual. It does have a driver...”
“I prefer my drivers visible,” Morrison chuckled. “But yes, I’m confident we’ll be fine.”
“I’ve probably been in more dangerous amusement park rides,” Bullock said. He liked Disneyland and Universal Studios. They seemed like safe artificial worlds, to him. If you had enough money, everything there was fine.
“Oh, I don’t like those rides,” Morrison said, shuddering visibly. “My grandson made me take him on one...Oh, gosh, what’s happening?”
The car had started moving. The hybrid was so quiet, its motions so smooth, that the passengers hadn’t noticed till it was underway.
“Very smooth ride,” Bullock said. But he was staring at the steering wheel. It was turning, by itself. It was like something from an old ghost movie. The directivity of the car was carried out from inside it, via computer and cameras, but the wheel was there for emergencies, and it turned as the car did, because passengers found it disorienting otherwise.
“Pretty weird,” Morrison said, looking at the steering wheel move.
“Tell you what else is weird--you and me being assigned to this car together--long with Monteleone and O’Mara in the other car. I mean, only you and O’Mara work for Blume. Monteleone is a lawyer of some kind. Near as I can figure out, the only connection between us four is Purity. And Verrick, of course...”
Morrison stared at him. “That is kinda odd...I mean, I know how you and I are connected to Verrick. Well, there’s Purity. And there’s the other thing. But Monteleone? And O’Mara?”
“Monteleone did some legal work for Verrick--setting up Iceberg Investments. He transferred some money, hid some of the trail for it. After it was, uh, washed by you guys at the Four Clubs. And O’Mara--he owns some freight planes. He helped him transport a big package from the Middle East. Knows what was in that package...”
“Really.”
The self driving car was accelerating. Up ahead was the other car--with O’Mara and Monteleone in it. They were on the freeway alongside Lake Michigan, and picking up speed. Going surprisingly fast. You’d have thought the demo program would keep these self-driving cars right at the speed limit.