Metal Sky

by Jay Caselberg

  Back at the apartment, he dumped the bags in the living room and headed straight for bed, leaving Billie to look after herself. He gave one last look as he closed the door, but she was curled up on the end of the couch. There was a suspicion growing in the back of his mind that he didn’t really want to deal with. What if it was Billie who was affecting his abilities? What if it was her presence that was responsible for the apparent dampening of his extra senses? He paused, watching her for a couple of moments before finally closing the door. It couldn’t be Billie. He’d dreamed, he’d found stuff. There was no reason she could be affecting him. He’d be better equipped to think about all of it after a good night’s sleep.

  Jack rose late. There was no sign of Billie yet either. He was halfway through brewing a coffee when he remembered that he hadn’t even bothered to check messages when they’d gotten in. He wasn’t expecting anything apart from one, and that was more like dreading it—the call he didn’t want to happen—Morrish or Laduce. They’d only been gone just over three days. What could possibly have happened in the meantime?

  He wandered into the living room, carrying his coffee, and called up the system.

  There were two messages.

  He settled himself on the couch, cupping his mug in both hands, and asked the system to play.

  The first was a face he didn’t recognize. “Mr. Stein. This is Christian Landerman. I know you don’t know me—”

  “Pause,” said Jack. He studied the face. The man had snowy white hair. His face was slightly ruddy, high cheekbones, thin with a sharp chin and nose. The eyes were gray. No, he was right. Jack didn’t know him. He looked hard though, hard in the way that didn’t countenance compromise.

  “Continue,” he said.

  “—but I believe you have made the acquaintance of one of my employees. He informs me that you have an item that belongs to him. I would appreciate it if you could get in touch with me at the Excelsior Hotel. Again, my name is Christian Landerman.”

  “Stop,” said Jack. He didn’t know what this Christian Landerman was talking about. He placed his mug down on the table. He wasn’t in time zone yet and he wasn’t thinking straight. His thoughts were dragging themselves sluggishly through his slowly waking consciousness.

  “Play again.”

  He sat forward and watched the message, looking for hints. The fittings certainly looked like the Excelsior. Perhaps he was talking about Talbot. But that couldn’t be right. If this man was Talbot’s employer, then Landerman had no idea that Talbot was dead. But then Talbot could hardly have told him that Jack had anything. It still didn’t make sense.

  “Play next,” he said.

  Landerman’s face appeared on the wall again. “Mr. Stein. Perhaps you didn’t receive my previous message. I would appreciate it if you could contact me. I am staying at the Excelsior. Christian Landerman.”

  He looked at the time stamp. The messages were a day apart, and in the second one, Landerman had looked mildly pissed off. Jack reached for his coffee again. He needed some caffeine in his system before he decided what he was going to do.

  By the time he’d finished the cup, Billie had emerged.

  “Billie, I think you want to see this. Something interesting.”

  She humphed at him and headed for the kitchen. Okay, he could wait. He followed her in to get himself another coffee. She was making breakfast, slopping from cabinet to fridge to drawer, clattering around, her pajamas rumpled and her hair back to a tangle. This was the Billie he was used to. He grabbed his coffee and left her to it.

  While he was waiting, he watched both messages again. There was someone in the background in the second one whom he hadn’t noticed before, just a shape, nothing he could clearly identify.

  Billie had clearly chosen to finish her breakfast in the kitchen. The time zone change seemed to be hitting her harder than Jack. Finally she joined him, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand and scrunching up her hair with the fingers of another.

  “What is it?”

  “Watch this,” he said, and replayed the messages. She watched them and shook her head, semiscowling.

  “Okay, I need to know who this guy Landerman is.”

  She shrugged.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Well what?”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I guess,” she said grudgingly. She pushed herself from the couch and headed off into her room. She was in a bad way.

  She’d jump into the shower now, so he decided to take the opportunity to call Landerman while she wasn’t in view.

  “Call Excelsior Hotel.”

  The desk program greeted him. He was getting a little tired of this particular hotel.

  “Could I speak to one of your guests, please? Christian Landerman.”

  He half expected to get the same runaround as last time he called, or even to hear that Landerman had checked out. He was half disappointed when the program put him through to the room.

  “This is Landerman.” The same severe face took over the wall. He was wearing a deep green silk robe of some sort; at least it looked like silk.

  “Jack Stein.”

  “Ahhhh, Mr. Stein. So good of you to get back to me. I was starting to give up hope.”

  “Well, Mr. Landerman. Sorry about the delay. I’ve been out of town for a couple of days. I must say, your message intrigued me, though I have to be honest. You said something about an employee, about an item. I’m sorry, but I can’t say I know what you were referring to.”

  Landerman laughed. “Poor Larkin. He is a little forgettable sometimes, I must admit. What it must be to go through life and make such little impression on people.”

  Jack frowned. “Larkin?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Landerman. “He was not impressed when he returned from your meeting. Not at all impressed. I believe you took something from him. A gun, perhaps?”

  “Oh, damn. I’m sorry.” Jack had completely forgotten about the little man across the street.

  Landerman waved his hand. “No, no. Nothing to be sorry about. I’m sure you were perfectly within your rights. It’s important to protect what’s yours, no? Though Larkin is still not very happy with your . . . rough treatment of him. Naturally he feels offended. Suffice it to say he does want his property back. Guns are expensive things, Mr. Stein. And I too would appreciate it should you be inclined to return it. No recriminations, of course. Unfortunate things happen from time to time, and it is good when we are in a position to make amends. So, would you be prepared to return the weapon in question?”

  Jack nodded. “I can’t see why not.”

  “Good, good. So I can expect you when, Mr. Stein?”

  “Let’s say in about an hour or so. Would that suit?”

  “Perfect,” said Landerman, and smiled. He steepled his fingers in front and gave a little smile with his tight thin-lipped mouth. There was nothing pleasant about the smile. “I’ll be here. End,” said Landerman. The wall blanked.

  Jack hadn’t even been close enough to form a real impression, but he knew he didn’t like this guy already. He considered, waiting.

  It took a little while for Billie to emerge again.

  “Listen, Billie, I’m going up to see this Landerman guy. Remember our little friend across the road with the gun? He works for Landerman.”

  She stood in the doorway with crossed arms.

  “Well, can I have some money before you go?”

  “What for?” he said.

  “I need to buy some stuff.”

  “What sort of stuff? Haven’t we bought enough?”

  She screwed up her face. “Just stuff, Jack.”

  “Ohhh,” he said. Having a young woman—because that’s what she was becoming—in his charge sometimes had its disadvantages. There really was some stuff that he didn’t want to think about. With a slight grimace, he dragged out his handipad and transferred some funds into the home system where they could both access them. Repressing the urge to clear his throat, he
kept his attention focused on the handipad and spoke.

  “That should be enough. Take what you need.”

  He stood, grabbed his coat—the old coat—replaced the handipad in its pocket, then tried to remember where he’d put the small ugly gun. Billie waved her hand in the direction of the shelves.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. He reached up to the top shelf, felt around, and located the gun, giving it a quick look before shoving it in his other pocket. “And Billie?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When you can. Stuff on this Landerman guy.” Anything to change the subject.

  She nodded and disappeared back into her room. Okay, let her take her own time. He left the apartment, leaving her to get on with things as she would.

  He felt strange walking up to the Excelsior yet again, especially so soon after Mandala. It was like some weird form of déjà vu, but with another high-end hotel. He was immensely conscious of the weight of the gun in his left pocket as he strode into the now-familiar lobby. Yet another new face was behind the front desk. He wondered exactly how many real staff this place employed. It was nice to be able to afford it.

  “Hello, my name’s Jack Stein. I’m here to see one of your guests, Mr. Landerman. I believe I’m expected.”

  “Of course, Mr. Stein. Mr. Landerman says you should go straight up. If you go over to the right, the elevators will take you up. Mr. Landerman has suite eight two five. Eighth floor.”

  Yep. That figured. Top floor. Right on the roof of the world.

  He nodded and wandered over to the elevator. At his approach the doors whisked silently open, and he stepped into mirrored and paneled shine, smelling deeply of polish. He knew the scent was fake, piped in to give the impression, but it had the desired effect anyway.

  “Eight,” he said.

  There was barely any sensation of movement as the doors slid shut and the elevator began its ascent. At the eighth floor, the doors slid silently open. He stepped into a broad corridor, plush pale carpet, retro, gold-striped wallpaper in a pale yellow. Large vases of lilies sat on tables at either end of the corridor. Their heavy scent hit him as soon as he stepped out. On the wall opposite, small arrows pointed the direction, picked out in gold. He got his bearings and headed down the corridor. Three doors down was suite 825. He stood for a moment outside the door, seeing if he could get an impression. After a couple of seconds, he sighed and knocked.

  The door swung open and Landerman’s voice spoke from within. “Come in, Mr. Stein.”

  Jack entered, stepping into a wide, richly carpeted living area. There were couches, cream and gold, chairs, a couple of low tables in what looked like deep mahogany. Landerman sat in one of the high-backed chairs, dressed in the same green silk robe he had worn in the call. Two white roses, one on each shoulder, were woven into the design. In front of Landerman on a low table sat a silver tea service. Jack suddenly became aware that it wasn’t a robe Landerman was wearing, but some sort of coat, over a high-necked shirt and straight black trousers.

  The door closed behind him. The next instant, Jack felt something hard and round shoved into his back. He stiffened, looking accusingly across at his host while hands patted him down, found the weapon in his left pocket, and wrenched it free. He lifted his hands. The hard object pushed into the small of his back, painfully, shoving him forward.

  Landerman chuckled. “Mere precautions, Mr. Stein. You understand.”

  Jack clamped his jaw shut and took a half step forward. Again he was shoved. Jack had had enough. He took a quick step to the left, spun, and chopped down with one hand. The gun that had been pressing into his back fell to the floor, the sound muffled by the thick carpeting. The little guy with the brown jacket stood looking at him wide-eyed, sudden fury growing on his face. Before he could do anything else, Jack grabbed the little man’s other hand, holding the gun taken from Jack’s pocket, and twisted hard. That too fell to the floor. Jack grabbed a handful of shirt and slapped the guy hard.

  “I don’t appreciate having guns pointed at me,” he said. “I would have thought you’d have learned by now.”

  The man, Larkin, had fallen back against the doorway, pale shock written all over his face. Jack stooped, quickly scooped up the pair of weapons and, dangling them from each hand, crossed to the low table and placed them down. He looked back as Larkin emitted a low growl and took a step forward.

  Landerman, giving another chuckle, waved him back. “No, Larkin. Mr. Stein is right. It was very rude of us. That’s no way to treat a guest.”

  Larkin, his pale face written with fury, stood where he was, fists bunched at his sides. Jack turned away from him dismissively, looking down at the weapons on the table. The other one was large, much nastier than the smaller weapon he had previously removed.

  “So, Mr. Landerman, is that it?” said Jack. “Or is our business here done? If it is, I’ll be going.” Jack wanted to test the boundaries. And despite his little performance, he really was annoyed.

  Landerman nodded slowly. “I apologize for the circumstances, Mr. Stein. I would like to talk to you. Will you sit? Take tea with me?”

  “What about clown boy there?” He glanced over at Larkin who stood where he was, fists still bunched, a muscle working at the side of his jaw.

  “Larkin, leave us, will you?” said Landerman.

  Larkin looked from one to the other of them, his eyes widening again, and then stalked from the room, only pausing to shoot a glare of complete hate in Jack’s direction. Jack waited until the door was closed.

  “So,” he said.

  Landerman waved at a chair. “Please, sit, Mr. Stein. It is far better to discuss our business in comfort, don’t you think? Now, can I offer you tea, or would you prefer something else.”

  Really, Jack could have done with a coffee, but he pulled out a chair and sat. He couldn’t understand why people insisted on drinking tea. He guessed he could put up with it. “Yes, tea will be fine.”

  He waited while Landerman made a performance of setting out the cups, pouring the tea, and then asking whether Jack wanted anything with it. Jack shook his head and took the proffered cup.

  “Yes, very wise,” said Landerman. “I always just prefer to have a little slice of lemon with my tea. It enhances the flavor rather than dulling it.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Jack. “But that’s not why you got me up here, is it? We’re not here to talk about the aesthetics of tea.”

  Landerman chuckled again. The chuckle was starting to annoy Jack too.

  “No, of course, you’re right,” said Landerman. “I wanted you here to have the opportunity to discuss a matter of some importance.”

  “Go on.”

  Landerman paused to take a sip at his cup, closing his eyes and breathing deeply of the vapors before continuing. He placed his cup back down and then fixed Jack with a penetrating look. Beneath the mannered façade, Landerman was clearly a man who knew precisely what he wanted.

  “I understand that Larkin is not the only one of my employees that you’ve had dealings with recently.”

  Jack gave a slight frown. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Oh, but I’m sure you are, Mr. Stein. A woman. Slightly reddish brown hair, petite. Well presented. I am sure you know who I mean.” His gaze was unwavering.

  Jack did know who he meant, and his mind was racing. Landerman was telling the truth, and Bridgett Farrell did work for him, or there was another possibility—Landerman might be setting him up, just as a way to get to Farrell. There was enough about the man to make Jack suspicious.

  “Okay, say I do know this woman you’re talking about. You need to give me a little more than that. I don’t know you, Mr. Landerman. I don’t know anything about you.”

  Landerman slowly placed his cup and saucer down on the table, then sat back, linking his fingers in front of him. He paused for a moment, tapping his forefingers together, and then finally spoke. He looked less than amused.

  “Two of my people came to Yorkstone to retrieve a par
ticular item for me. Now, this item is very, um, shall we say, significant to me. Unfortunately, I have had difficulty contacting either of them. One is the woman I was talking about. The other is a man.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “So far so good . . .”

  “I see,” said Landerman. “All right. The item is something of great age, an antique, you would call it. Now, from what I understand, you were contacted by the woman to assist her efforts to retrieve the item.”

  “And the man?”

  “He seems to have disappeared completely. The last contact I had was from Danuta, a mere few days ago. I decided that it was necessary to come to Yorkstone myself and find out what had happened.”

  Jack frowned. “Danuta?”

  “Yes, that’s her name. Danuta Galvin.”

  Jack sat back. “Okay, Mr. Landerman, you seem to have things right up until a point. But I don’t know any Danuta Galvin.”

  “Oh, dear.” He chuckled. “And what name is she using this time? Carlotta perhaps? Or might it be Bridgett?”

  Jack sighed. “Yeah. Bridgett. Bridgett Farrell.”

  Thirteen

  Landerman poured himself another tea, took his time placing the slice of lemon in the cup, carefully selecting which one he wanted, and then gestured with the pot in Jack’s direction. Jack lifted his hand.

  “No, thanks.”

  Landerman nodded, lifted his cup and saucer and sat back, fixing Jack with that penetrating stare. Jack didn’t mind the slight respite in the interplay; he was thinking hard.

  “So, you understand my problem, Mr. Stein.”

  “No, I’m not sure I do,” said Jack.

  Landerman tilted his head a little to one side and then chuckled. “Well, well, Mr. Stein. I think perhaps you do. I send a couple of people to this nice enough little city to do something for me. Both of them disappear. I know one of them at least has contacted you. What am I supposed to think?”

  Jack wasn’t quite sure how much to reveal. Not yet.