“You have yourself a deal, Mister…?”
“Just call me Dolph,” said Ivan, deadpan. They shook hands and a few minutes later, Lewinski accompanied ‘Dolph’ out to the car and watched appreciatively as the girl stepped out.
What a pair of legs! He might even have whistled if the big guy hadn’t been within arm’s reach.
Ivan handed Stan the keys to the Dodge and scanned the used car lot in front of the wrecking yard. His eyes settled on a brown hatchback.
“How much for the Hyundai?”
Stan looked at him. He liked to think of himself as a good judge of character and decided he’d made enough dough off him for one day.
“Five hundred oughtta do it.”
Ivan counted out five hundred dollar bills into the old man’s open palm.
“I’ll get you the keys.”
Five minutes later they were headed to Chicago’s Croatian quarter, the Village.
20
“Ivan! It’s been too long!”
Mateo Babic, a big bear of a man, came barreling around from behind the bar of his restaurant. He embraced Ivan, thumping him heavily on the back before straightening his arms to take a good look at him.
“My God, you are even bigger than the last time I saw you. You’ve fully recovered from the… the accident then?”
“Da. I don’t remember much, but physically I feel better than ever.”
“Great! And who is this?” Babic asked.
“This is Inga.”
“What has happened?” Mateo asked, his curious gaze resting on Inga’s face.
“We’re in some trouble,” said Ivan. “Serious trouble. I came here to ask for help.”
“Of course, of course,” said Babic, bustling past Ivan and taking Inga’s hand.
“Come young one, sit. Can I get you some water?”
“I cannot drink water,” said Inga, looking at Ivan as she resisted Babic’s insistent tugging.
He nodded.
“Sit, Inga.”
She allowed Babic to pull her to a chair and sat down.
“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked again.
“No, she’s fine Mateo.”
The older man looked at him; one eyebrow raised and then back to the girl. He stood up straight and shrugged.
“All right my friend, tell me what has happened and what can a poor restaurant owner do for you?”
Ivan smiled. Mateo Babic was once the most powerful man in West Chicago. He had started and built up a thriving, mainly underground business, in the early 2000s.
When Molenski arrived and began building the foundations of his empire, he saw immediately that the Croatian syndicate was going to be his main opposition. While expansion wasn’t a driving factor for them, they were powerful and dominated the drug trade in the West Side. They were much too strong to take on in a direct war, so against his normal modus operandi, he had extended an olive branch to the Croatian – much better to avoid carnage that would leave both of them weak enough for someone else to pick off.
In the years following the Russian’s arrival, they’d had dealings that had been mutually beneficial, in fact, Ivan had been a part of their first handshake agreement very early on. The size of the silent, young man had impressed Babic, and he had requested him as sugar on the deal which slightly favored the Russian.
Ivan had been horrified when Molenski let him go without an argument, but as it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened to Ivan. Babic was no Molenski. While he was ruthless with those who did him wrong, he was never cruel and took a real shine to Ivan that was returned by the apprentice bodyguard.
Over time, Ivan came to see him as a father figure rather than a boss and, after a year, would have would have done anything for him. Ivan became a valued lieutenant of the Croatian syndicate and a very effective stand over man. His intimidation factor usually worked without the need for physical force, but when required he was extremely capable of handling himself and honed his skills at fight clubs.
After 25 years Babic decided he was ready for retirement, so when the upstart Russian, now dominating the greater Chicago crime scene, made him a monetary offer too good to refuse, the old Croat, without an obvious heir, decided it would be the perfect transition to retirement plan.
The only part of his business he didn’t sell to Molenski was the restaurant they stood in now.
Ivan’s return to the Russian’s employ had been a part of the deal of course. Initially, Ivan had been reluctant, but Babic had persuaded him.
“He’s a psycho bastard, but you should take the job, a couple of years you will be able to retire a wealthy young man.”
Molenski didn’t need another stand over man, so he made Ivan his personal bodyguard.
Now in front of his old mentor again, Ivan looked at him steadily.
“I need help.”
“Come, let’s have a drink while you tell me,” Babic said, leading Ivan behind the bar, where he poured them a whiskey.
They clinked glasses, but Ivan put his down untouched.
“Molenski?”
Ivan nodded.
“What has he done?”
In a low voice, Ivan began to tell Babic of what had happened that day.
“No!” Mateo exclaimed at one point, looking at Inga with wide eyes.
After Ivan had finished his tale, Mateo Babic put his hand over his.
“You will need to take your friend to see Dr. Vlad tonight, but you’re right. Molenski has a wide reach, Ivan. You will need to flee the country – tomorrow, at the latest. I can organize fake passports with a few calls; I will just need to take a picture of you both. Then we can book your flights. ”
“Passports would be great, but we can’t fly…”
“What, why?”
He simply nodded at Inga. The old man slapped himself on the forehead.
“Da, da! Of course! A ship then… from Philadelphia! My brother Uri has a private charter company. I’ll organize him to fly you there early tomorrow morning; then you’ll just have to find a way to smuggle her onboard a cruise ship.”
“Thanks. That will be less of a problem than a plane.”
The old man clapped his hands.
“Excellent, it is settled. You should call Dr. Vlad now. I will keep Inga company.”
“Thank you, old friend,” said Ivan, standing up. “Inga, I will be in the next room making a phone call, wait here with Mr. Babic.”
“Yes, Myfriend.”
Ivan disappeared through the door that led to Babic’s office and the old Croat smiled at Inga. She met his gaze flatly. He shrugged and poured himself a shot of whiskey before emerging from behind the bar and pulling up a chair in front of her.
She looked at him, unblinking, as he pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and looked curiously at her face, particularly the scratch marks on her cheek, which had crusted over.
“So Inga, you are a robot?” he asked as if he didn’t quite believe it.
“Yes, Mr. Babic. I am a synthetic human form robot produced by Genitix, the world leader in human form robotics. I am a Sinthetica Model 676 with special features including Genitix RealFlesh and Genitix PhysSens- patent pending.”
“Amazing. So realistic!” Mateo shook his head and took off his glasses before downing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “Tell me Sinthetica Model 676, do you like birds?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Birds. Warm-blooded egg-laying vertebrate animals distinguished by the possession of feathers, wings, a beak, and typically by being able to fly. I am not programmed to ‘like’…”
“But you like Ivan – Myfriend, as you call him, don’t you?”
Inga didn’t answer immediately. Her face was blank, her mouth poised to answer but it appeared his question had stumped her.
“Come! You think too much,” he said, holding out his hand. “You need to feel.”
“Myfriend instructed me to wait here.”
“I kno
w, but I want to show you my birds. Come, they are just through that doorway. He said to wait with me didn’t he?”
Again she froze momentarily, processing the logic of the request, and after a few seconds took his hand and stood up, allowing him to lead her through a large doorway into the dining area of his restaurant. It was a grand room considering the bland exterior of the building, with rich furnishings and a spacious feel.
“Here they are!” he said.
He led her to a large wire cage in the front corner of the room under a curtained window.
The cage was home to two peach faced Lovebirds, their colors vibrant even in the filtered afternoon light. They began to tweet and sing as Mateo and Inga approached. The Croatian gestured to them.
“This is Max, and this is Maxine,” he said, introducing the birds one at a time.
Inga bent over for a better look, her forehead bumping the cage gently, causing it to rock back and forth. She reeled back in surprise when the startled birds took flight and fluttered around the cage.
“Shhh, shhh,” soothed a laughing Babic.
Inga watched intently as the birds found their way back to the perch.
“What do you think of my babies?”
“Babies?”
“Birds, I mean what do you think of my birds?”
“They are… nice.”
The old man chortled.
“So you do like them?”
“Like. To regard with favor; have a kindly or friendly feeling for; to find attractive…” she looked at him, her eyes wide. “Yes, I like your birds.”
“Here,” said Mateo, reaching for the door of the cage.
Inga watched, fascinated, as he reached into the cage and began making a making a soft clicking noise with his tongue. One of the birds immediately fluttered to his finger, and he carefully extracted his arm and held out the bird to her.
Inga reached out to grab it.
“No!” said Mateo, and her hand froze inches from the bird.
“Don’t grab him. Just hold out your finger as I am. They’re very delicate.”
She obeyed him and held out her finger. Her eyes widened as the bird hopped from the old man’s finger to her own.
“Pretty boy wants a kiss,” said Mateo.
“A kiss?” she asked. “Kiss. A touch or caress with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, or greeting… but the pretty boy has no lips.”
Again the old man laughed delightedly.
“That’s alright, just do this with your lips.” The old man demonstrated how to purse lips. “You do that and let him peck you.”
Neither of them noticed Ivan in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as he watched the strange interaction. Inga raised her hand slowly until the bird was just an inch or two from her pursed lips. The bird hopped to the end of her finger and began to gently nibble her lower lip.
“Ha-ha!” she cried in delighted surprise. The startled bird took flight. It had flown barely four inches before Inga’s hand snatched it out of the air, a single peach colored feather floating on eddies of air stirred by her quick movement was the only evidence it had been there a second before.
“What have you done?!” Mateo cried, attempting to grab Inga’s arm. She snatched his wrist with her free hand as quickly as she had snatched the bird. She pulled him forward as she reached into the cage again.
“No!” called Babic, assuming she would grab the other bird.
“Inga!” said Ivan from behind them, crossing the room quickly.
The robot ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. The old man struggled futilely against her iron-like grip, only ceasing his struggles when Inga opened her hand, and the unharmed Max flew to his perch, rejoining Maxine and preening himself as though nothing had happened.
Inga released the Croat’s wrist and turned to look at the two men. The restaurant owner’s face was pale. Ivan was frowning.
“I like birds,” she said simply and smiled.
Mateo, rubbing his wrist, smiled back uncertainly.
“Are you all right?” Ivan asked him.
“Yes, I’m fine – she just took me by surprise… did you see how fast she is? Amazing.”
“Yes – I saw, sorry if she gave you a fright. Dr. Vlad said I could take her to him in an hour. Will you order the passports?”
“Yes, I’ll call now. Did you tell the doctor that she is…” he paused, aware the girl was watching him.
“Yes, apparently he has worked on them before. He sounded excited. Are we able to stay here the night when we’re done?”
“Yes, of course, you can stay upstairs. It is only me at the moment. Viktoria is in Croatia visiting family. Chef is already preparing in back, and after I make the call to the documents man, I will bring you both something to eat. Then I will take your pictures.”
Ivan looked at him, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. Mateo looked puzzled for a second and then slapped himself on the forehead again.
“I mean, I’ll bring you something to eat. Sorry, my slow old mind just cannot process that she is an it!”
He led them out through the kitchen, Mateo briefly introducing them to the chef as his friends before leading them outside and then up the external stairs to the small apartment he shared with his wife. It was much as Ivan remembered it from his years in Babic’s employ. Clean but dated.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a bed to offer you tonight Ivan, but you’ll find the sofa comfortable.”
“The sofa will be fine.”
“What about…?” the old man nodded to Inga.
“She has sleep mode.”
“Yes, I will stand in the corner. May I go into standby mode and run a diagnostic scan?”
“You won’t restart?”
“No Myfriend, a diagnostic scan is similar to a virus scan on a computer, it is not necessary to shut down.”
“All right, as long as it doesn’t take too long, we have to leave shortly.”
“Yes, Myfriend.”
Both men watched her walk to the far corner of the room. Blood from the wound on her back had seeped through the white jacket Ivan had picked for her. She turned to face them and smiled, her clear blue eyes regarding them for a moment before closing.
“Amazing,” Mateo whispered again, shaking his head. “I must go downstairs; the doors open in twenty minutes. Help yourself to anything you need. Perhaps you should pick a new jacket for your friend. Help yourself to Viktoria’s wardrobe, and there is a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
After Mateo had left, Ivan sunk into the sofa and looked at Inga. He didn’t know why she had begun deferring to him; it was as though she had forgotten that Molenski was her primary user. Somehow the damage she had taken had messed with the adaptive technology that Marina mentioned. Whatever it was, he liked the change, not to mention the fact that if it hadn’t happened, he would be a cooling hunk of meat back at Molenski’s mansion.
Far from sleepy, he closed his eyes and began to work through everything that could go wrong in the next 24 hours.
21
Tom Redfern tried to sleep, but it was difficult to sleep when you couldn’t breathe. He tried to roll over, but the heavy weight on top of him was too much to push away. Rachel?
Slowly – reluctantly – he began to wake.
The memory of what had happened rushed over him. He opened his eyes and looked straight into the staring eyes of the man who had been trying to strangle him, the slack, gray face slightly distorted by the bullet that had so recently traveled through the skull behind it.
For the second time that day he fought his way from under a corpse.
He climbed to his feet, his throat raw from the attempted strangulation, and checked himself – no other injuries.
“I’m alive,” he rasped, then cackled like an old crone.
Suddenly the rush of relief turned to one of triumph as he looked down upon the bodies of the killers. They were next to each other, with almost identical head wounds. They looked like th
e victims of a professional hit.
“Yeah! You like that bitches!?” he yelled down at them and did a little jig before doubling over in a coughing fit.
When he had recovered, he heard the faint sound of sirens. Fuck! Even though he had technically done nothing wrong and was, in fact, a victim, Redfern panicked. His recent trauma and the moral and legal responsibilities that had been drummed into him as a robotics technician overrode logic.
He had to find that robot and stop it. With the damage it had apparently sustained, there was no use trying to override its programming remotely. He would just waste valuable time. The only way to do that was to remove the card and shut her down.
The sirens were growing louder. Redfern bent over and pocketed the gun he had shot both men with and then ran to the display, snatching up the GPS unit. The red blip was stationary. The visual feed on the screens was dark, which meant the robot was still functional but in sleep mode. Good.
He quickly grabbed the mini laptop computer they had been using to control the robot and ripped it away from the cables connecting it to the display. He rushed to the kitchen. He went straight to the microwave oven and placed the laptop in it, setting the timer for twenty minutes on high. It began sparking immediately; he ignored it and headed back for the front door.
Redfern, stressed by the proximity of the sirens, swore and skidded to a stop at the front door. Transport! He needed a vehicle, and the Genitix van would be too conspicuous. He dashed back to the desk and grabbed the keys to the dead men’s SUV and fled the apartment.
Just five minutes later, after nearly causing an accident, Tom Redfern pulled over and forced himself to calm down. Unless he did something stupid on the road, he wasn’t likely to be stopped by the cops. Given the current state of the vehicle’s owners, he didn’t think the vehicle he was driving would be reported stolen anytime soon, if at all, and he had clearly escaped the scene without being detected.
“Breathe,” he said aloud as he gripped the steering wheel. “Just find the robot. Remove the card. Deactivate it… then go to the cops and explain everything.”
He hoped that shutting down the rogue robot would help mitigate the killing of the two men, but more pressing in his mind was preventing further loss of life. He had seen what the robot could do in glorious living color, and it wasn’t pretty. It would have to be destroyed; there was no doubt.
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