“Suppose you tell me now?”
“You’ve got to come out here. I don’t want to stay on the phone that long,” he said, glancing offscreen. “I’m staying at a friend’s place here in the NewTown Sector and—”
“Whoa now, that’s a rough area,” cut in Jake, shaking his head. “A completely private township with its own cops and—”
“I know what Hermione and Grossman knew.”
“How’d you come by that?”
“I’m the one who provided the information that got them both killed.”
“Give me your address,” said Jake.
SUSAN’S FATHER WAS a trim, handsome man of forty-five. He smiled, slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked away from the tennis court at the rear of their mansion.
“I thought I’d win that one,” he said, hugging her. “Congratulations.”
“It was close, Dad,” she said, laughing.
They strolled up to the terrace and sat at one of the small tables. “What would you like to drink, princess?”
She felt, briefly, tearful. “You haven’t called me that in a long while.”
“I regret that, Sue,” her father told her. “While that terrible woman was here, I simply ceased to think clearly.”
“She’s gone, gone for good and all,” reminded his daughter. “Pretty soon we’ll forget that Juneanne was ever here.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“Shall I call a butler to—”
“Who’s that down by the courts?” He half rose from his chair, eyes narrowing.
Susan turned to look, then inhaled sharply. “It’s them. It’s them.”
A slight red-haired man and a large hairless man were walking up across the simulated green lawn. They were laughing and now, realizing they’d been spotted, they both waved.
“Are these fellows friends of yours, princess?”
“No, they’re not. They … they’re the ones who killed Dwight.”
He frowned at her. “So you do know something about that?” he said. “Juneanne told me you were involved, but I didn’t want to believe that. Now it turns out that—”
“It was them, Dad. I tried to stop it but—”
“How could you have stopped them from killing your brother? Were you there when—”
“No, but I saw it.”
“Good God, Sue, are you going to start that psychic nonsense again?”
She made fists of her hands, saying, “This isn’t going right. This isn’t the Tek dream I—”
“Hiya, Susie,” said the redhead as he hopped up onto the terrace stones. “We’re here to take care of your problems.”
“No, I don’t want you to do a damn thing. Go away.”
The hairless man’s laugh was high pitched. “You want us to kill Juneanne and your father, kid.”
“And you ordered two of the deluxe coffins for them,” added his partner.
“Stop it,” she cried. “I don’t want this.”
The hairless man said, “You’ve got no idea of everything you’re going to get, kid.”
Reaching out, he yanked the headset off her head.
She sat up on the cot and cried out.
He was still there. He smiled and took hold of both her arms.
17
THERE was nothing in the parlor except two metal chairs.
Sam Hopkins sat in one, Jake straddled the other.
The one-way viewindow showed a matching row of identical small, square houses outside in the foggy night. The artificial bay was downhill with thick mist drifting in across its dark waters.
“The friend who’s letting me use this place just moved in,” the black man was explaining. “Hence the lack of furnishings.”
Jake said, “I don’t like the NewTown Sector. I don’t want to hang around any longer than I have to.”
Hopkins glanced toward the window. “I hate NewTown myself,” he acknowledged, “but if you work for NewTown Pharmaceuticals, you pretty much have to reside here.”
“That’s who you work for, huh?”
“Yes, in Promotion & Publicity.” He laughed a thin, dry laugh. “Ironic, considering what I’ve been up to lately.”
“How’d you know to contact me, Hopkins?”
“Hermione Earnshaw mentioned your name. She was planning to contact you, I believe, but then …” He rubbed his thin fingers over the bridge of his nose a few times.
“She was a friend of yours?”
“We actually lived together for nearly six months—year before last. I should have stayed with her.” He glanced at the window again. “Let me start off by explaining, Cardigan, that I don’t know as much about the situation as Grossman did. But because of what I told Hermione … well, both of them are dead.”
“So what exactly did you tell her?”
Hopkins asked, “Do you know anything about something called SinTek?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“The Burdons—that’s Rowland and Rebecca Burdon, the twin tycoons who run NewTown Pharmaceuticals—the Burdons arranged nearly a year ago with both state and federal authorities to try to develop a safe electronic drug. A synthetic one that will deliver the gratifying fantasies that real Tek provides its users. But, and this was the selling point, the damn stuff isn’t addictive. Not even habit-forming. Plus which, it doesn’t have any of the terrible side effects that Tek does—no brain damage from prolonged addiction, no seizures or blackouts.”
“Sounds like another miracle of science and technology,” commented Jake. “How far along are they?”
After checking the window again, Hopkins answered, “Lord knows if they’ll ever have a product to sell. The point is that SinTek is only a cover-up. NewTown has built a special Design & Research facility out of state, but it’s devoted to more than perfecting a safe synthetic substitute for Tek.”
Jake hunched his shoulders, frowning. “C’mon, you’re saying they’re manufacturing the real stuff on the side?”
“That’s it, exactly,” said Hopkins. “Anyone inspecting the setup sees SinTek only, but in the underground sections of the place they’re turning out street-quality Tek.”
“The Tek cartels don’t take kindly to amateurs going into competition with them.”
Hopkins told him, “I’m fairly certain Rowland Burdon got one of the big NorCal Tek cartels to go into partnership on this whole damn project.”
“Which one?”
“That I haven’t learned.”
“But Dwight Grossman found out, huh?”
“That’s what Hermione told me,” he said. “I knew she and Grossman were preparing a series of reports on the big SoCal drug companies. I told Hermione what I knew and what I suspected. After she passed that along to him, Grossman obviously did considerable investigating on his own.”
“Was he planning to put all he learned into his report for Thelwell?”
Shaking his head, Hopkins said, “I suspect that Grossman, who wasn’t an especially nice guy—”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I think he was contemplating trying to collect a substantial fee to keep quiet.”
“That wasn’t too bright of him.”
Hopkins lowered his voice. “Listen, I don’t think anyone’s on to me yet at NewTown Pharmaceuticals,” he said. “But if things start to go bad, can you—Christ!”
The door of the parlor suddenly came flying into the room.
Three men, all in the uniform of the NewTown Private Police Force, charged in in the wake of the fallen door.
“This is an illegal meeting, convened to conspire to commit criminal acts,” announced the highest-ranking intruder, a lean sergeant. “You both are being arrested, under the NewTown penal code section that—”
“Hold it, folks.” Jake was on his feet. “Do you make-believe cops have a warrant for breaking into this—”
“Looks like this guy is resisting arrest,” said the lean sergeant to one of the other officers.
“Withou
t a doubt, sir.” He swung the stungun in his hand three inches to the left and shot Jake.
THE AMPLE BLOND ANDROID in the black bathing suit said, “It’s never too early to think about dying.”
“Very true,” agreed Dan.
He and Molly were in one of the coffin showrooms of the Eternity Depot.
“Now, these three models here, including the one that plays favorite hymns around the clock,” continued the android salesperson, “you can buy on easy installments that even school kids such as yourselves can afford.”
“Actually, in point of fact,” said Molly, “we came here to see the Second Assistant Manager.”
“Really?” The blonde scratched her backside and looked disappointed. “Nice clean-cut kids such as yourselves, and you want to indulge in … Well, that’s none of my darned business, now, is it? No, not at all. ‘Pamela, you just work here, kid. Keep in mind that you’re nothing more than an android, a collection of nuts and bolts without a soul or—’”
“How do we find him?” asked Molly impatiently.
“Level 2, Door 5.” She rubbed her believable hands together dismissively and turned away from them.
As they headed up to the next level of the vast store, Dan said, “Did you see any of the coffins that you really liked?”
“Saw one I might pop you into if you don’t cease trying to be the Gomez of your generation.”
“Sid’s a very clever guy and—”
“For them as cherishes clever guys. Me, I like your type better.”
When they located Door 5, Molly said, “I hope the ritual Susan told me about a while ago still prevails.”
She tapped the door twice, waited, then tapped once more.
Creaking and scraping, the door moved open.
“Newcomers,” said the overhead voxbox. “Lovebirds, no doubt.”
Molly took hold of Dan’s hand and smiled up at the speaker in the ceiling. “We’d like to share a crib, sir.”
“That’ll be $300, kiddies.”
Dan said, “$300 just to—”
“That’ll be fine. I have the Banx chits right here.” Molly reached into her pocket and produced a handful of money.
“Just toss ’em on the floor and head through the door yonder. You’re in Crib 14. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A door in the opposite wall rattled open.
Hand in hand, Molly and Dan entered the corridor. As the door grated shut behind them, a young woman screamed behind one of the crib doors.
“That’s Susan,” said Molly, starting to run.
18
THERE was a pain all across his upper chest—a sharp, needling pain.
Jake made a groaning noise, rubbing his palm across his chest.
The pain kept on.
Very slowly, as he became aware of other pains in other parts of his body, Jake started moving toward full consciousness.
He was, he now realized, sprawled flat on his back on something fairly soft.
He opened his eyes very gingerly and was assaulted by pinkish light and images of rose petals and twining leaves and vines.
Wincing, he shut his eyes again for protection.
New pain started gripping at his stomach and he felt dizzy.
“Stungun,” he recalled. And he was experiencing the usual aftereffects.
Carefully, cautiously, Jake risked opening his eyes a second time.
The walls were indeed decorated with a pattern of flowering rosebushes.
There was also a delicate rosebud scent lingering in the air.
Aloud, in a dry, rusty voice, Jake speculated, “What the hell sort of jail is this?”
After keeping his eyes open for a couple of minutes, Jake decided he might attempt to sit up.
He’d awakened on a wide oval bed, one that was covered with a soft, pale pink thermoquilt.
He noticed now that, although fully clothed, his boots were missing.
Concentrating, working to keep all the assorted pains from overwhelming him, Jake succeeded in sitting up.
Next, groaning and muttering, he swung his bare feet over the side of the bed.
For a while he felt very wobbly and the roses started chasing each other around the walls.
Gradually, though, Jake regained control of himself.
This was definitely a bedroom he’d awakened into. In his limited experience with the police of the NewTown Sector he’d never actually been in one of their jail cells. But he didn’t think any of them were furnished like this.
Confidence returning, he placed both feet on the thick red carpeting and stood.
His left leg refused to function. Jake went falling to the floor with a thud.
“Why the heck didn’t you call me if you wanted to try this?”
Coming through the doorway, wearing a rose-colored slaxsuit, was Kacey Bascom. She hurried to him, offered her hand.
“Begone, shoo,” he suggested, waving off any assistance from her.
“What, then—are you planning to sit there on your stubborn backside for the rest of the night?”
“Eventually I intend to rise,” Jake informed her. “Entirely unaided. Why, by the way, am I in your damned bedroom, Kacey?”
“Lot better than a cell, wouldn’t you say?”
“Remains to be seen. Are you affiliated with the NewTown cops?”
“That’s a nasty thing to accuse anybody of.” She stood, studying him. “If you’d take my hand, I’ll get you upright again and put you in a chair in my living room so we—”
“Explain first where I am and exactly why.”
“Obviously this is my house in the Westwood Sector.”
“And why didn’t I wake up in the clutches of the NewTown vigilance committee?”
“It took a lot of arranging, but I finally got the NewTown Sector board of supervisors to—”
“Backtrack.” By using the bed and ignoring his collection of pains, Jake was able to pull himself to a standing position eventually. “Go ahead, explain.”
“Oh, sorry. I got fascinated watching you display your intense stubbornness,” Kacey said, smiling faintly. “Once you were arrested, I set about to finagle you out of jail. That’s all, simple.”
“Where’s that chair you were touting?”
She reached for him. “Next room. Here, I’ll help you to—”
“Just indicate the location. I feel in the mood to sit a spell.”
Shrugging in resignation, she returned to the living room and left him to follow her. “You have a choice of seating arrangements.”
He settled for the nearest one, a plump yellow armchair. “Where are my boots, Kacey?”
“Right behind you, next to the bedroom door.”
Jake managed, without falling seriously out of the yellow chair, to retrieve the boots and start tugging them back on. “Explain how you knew I was in the NewTown jug.”
“Well, I’d followed you from your condo to the NewTown Sector, and when the local cops—”
“Nope, no,” he interrupted. “Nobody followed me. Nary a soul.”
Kacey perched on the arm of the white sofa. “Okay, I was tipped off. Because of my political connections, I have people in the NewTown establishment who—”
“What’s my current status? Am I out on bail or—”
“You are as free as a bird, that’s your status. Thanks to me, all charges were dropped.”
He watched her for a moment. “You didn’t have anything to do with that raid, did you?”
“I told you I’m not affiliated with the NewTown cops. They’re a shade too conservative even for me,” Kacey assured him.
“Would the Burdons be among the folks you know in the NewTown Sector?”
“I know who they are, but we’re not friends. I do have a few friends who’re executives with NewTown Pharmaceuticals, though.”
Nodding, Jake asked her, “What about Hopkins?”
“Who?”
“Sam Hopkins. He was in that apartment with me
when the cops busted in.”
Kacey’s brow furrowed. “The police report claims you were arrested for operating a skycar while under the influence of stimulants.”
Jake said, “Damn, what did they do with the guy?”
“Maybe I can find out. See, I never heard of him until just now,” she said. “Tell me something about him.”
“Hopkins works for NewTown Pharmaceuticals in the Publicity wing,” said Jake. “Forty or thereabouts, on the slim side. He’s black and—”
“Then they might’ve taken him to the Colored Holding Facility.”
“I haven’t heard of that.”
“The Pure California Coalition is very strong in NewTown and they got that through last year. Actually, it’s a very comfortable sort of—”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Can you find out about him? If Hopkins is still above the sod, I want to have another talk with him.”
“Why do you suspect he’s not alive?”
“Dwight Grossman’s defunct, so is Hermione Earnshaw,” Jake explained. “Hopkins is the lad who prompted them to investigate certain activities. That got them killed.”
Leaving the sofa, she crossed to stand over him. “This all ties in with my father, then—with why he was framed?”
“All a part of the same package, yeah,” he said. “Where did my skycar end up?”
“It was towed here. You’ll find it out in the landing area.”
Standing up in a wobbly, swaying way, Jake told her, “I think I’ll head for home, Kacey.”
“Not yet.” She pushed him, gently, and he sat again. “You’re still too shaky for solo flying. More important, you’re going to have to tell me everything you learned from this Hopkins guy.”
“If you know much more, Kacey, they’ll put you on the shit list, too.”
“Don’t be a ninny, I’ve probably been on it from the start. Walt Bascom is my father, remember?” she said. “Besides, we made a deal to work together, which means sharing information.”
“Okay,” agreed Jake. “Sit yourself, don’t interrupt, and I’ll fill you in.”
19
SPRINTING ahead of Molly, Dan reached the door to Crib 11 before her.
He took hold of the handle, turning it. When the door started to open, Dan booted it.
As the door went flapping inward, Dan, yanking out his academy stungun, hunched down.
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