* * *
Twisted Shadows.
The Buckhead location was the same but the name had changed, as had the décor and clientele. Marco Vance watched the crowd of high fashion revelers enter the popular nightclub. The club he had once owned. It had been the Spiced Dreams, years ago. Frequented by the ultra-rich, teeming with their genetically engineered pleasers of choice. Vance had provided their every desire, and they had been in his debt.
Debt. He did not like that word now.
The door to his limo opened and he stepped out, his body now fully back in control and clothed in a spotless white suit. His body provided no hint of the chromed lethality of his new cybernetic existence. Metal muscles propelled his prodigious weight with ease. New optics picked out every detail of the crowd. Accelerated ears eavesdropped on every conversation.
One of his neohuman escorts, designed for violence and intimidation, stepped forward to clear the way through the milling glitterati.
Amid grunts of displeasure and brief resistance, he soon stood before the double doors, splattered in neon paint. The bouncer, another towering neohuman, turned from a pair of joygirls to see Marco and his two escorts. A rigid stare froze on his rough face.
"Mr. Vance!"
"That's right, Carl." Marco smiled, his fat jowls quivering like Jell-O. "Let me in."
The goon hesitated. "I thought you was dead."
"You were misinformed," Marco replied, a grin on his face.
Carl made no response. Marco could almost hear the gears churning in the big skull. Goons weren’t designed for intellectual horsepower.
"Let me in, Carl."
"Uh, sure, Mr. Vance." After a second’s pause he opened the doors for Marco, who entered slowly, accompanied by his two shadows.
The interior of the Club of Twisted Shadows was not nearly as gloomy and dismal as its name implied. Color and light flashed everywhere, mauves and deep purple neon predominating, blinking strobes and sparkling motes. The interior was one big room, the ceiling two floors above, with various open and enclosed balconies. Dancers squirmed on the floor, users crowded the bars, watchers occupied the tables, and voluptuous pleasers gratified their customers. Raucous music emanated from the anti-funk band gyrating on the stage, the naked female musicians obviously enjoying the benefits of thousands in cosmetic enhancements. The audience stood in rapt attention of those benefits.
Using his bulk and his bodyguards, Marco forced his way to the back wall, past pushers, juicers, and wannabes, to a door marked "Employees Only". They had changed the club's name, look, and clientele, but the sign on the door was the same. The door guard was different.
"What do you want?"
Marco smiled, looking up at where he knew the concealed minicam to be located.
"I said, what do you want, porky?"
Marco's grin widened. Time to make a field test of his new body. His right arm swung out, wide, the giant fist aimed straight for the guard’s head. The man, obviously wired, blocked the swing with his left hand and ducked low, his right hand yanking a pistol from his shoulder holster. But it was too late. His ducking head collided with the eight centimeters of razor-sharp cerametal protruding from Marco’s extended left hand.
The man collapsed, blood spilling down his forehead and onto his clean purple suit. Several drops dripped onto Marco’s white sleeve. The blade slipped back into his arm and, holding up the guard, Marco kicked open the door and walked through it. One of his escorts retrieved the guard's fallen gun and assumed his position at the door, the other followed Marco.
Leaving the corpse near the closing door, Marco walked confidently down the hall, up two flights of stairs and around a corner. With a strong shove, he opened a pair of double doors.
"Marco!"
Inside, a clean-cut dwarf in a lavender suit sat behind a maple desk. Behind him, a window provided an impressive view of the glittering Atlanta skyline, dominated by the soaring Peerless Tower. Between the door and the desk were four razored goons who glared menacingly at Marco and his escort. Each held a firearm.
Marco walked farther into the room. The razors stepped to block his path.
"I thought you were dead, Marco!" The dwarf stared, wide-eyed.
"There you go thinking again, Bunny," Marco replied. "Didn't I tell you thinking could be bad for your health?"
The dwarf’s face darkened. "No one calls me Bunny any more, Marco."
"I do."
The dwarf grimaced. Marco noted his expanded waistline, and the beginnings of a double chin. The expensive jewelry and fine suit, the aroma of rich cigars in the air.
"What are you doing in my office, Bunny?"
"It's not your office any more, Marco. The club's got new owners."
"And they let you manage the place? I'm surprised you haven't run it into the ground."
Bunny's face reddened. "I don't have to take this from you, Marco! You're old news, history. I could have you killed right now."
"Go ahead, try it. But you'll be missing out on a prime opportunity, one your new boss wouldn’t want to miss. But, if you've got the guts, have your gunboys shoot me down. Make an executive decision. I don't think you can do it."
Bunny moved away from the desk, went to stand looking out the window. Marco saw his hands shaking.
"Want us to kill him, Mr. Kensington?" one of the razors asked after several moments of silence. No answer.
"Not much of a leader, Bunny," Marco reprimanded, putting his hands in his pockets. "I would have killed you the moment I pushed opened the doors."
Bunny spun around. "I ain't you, Marco! You got nabbed, I took over. I kept this club moving, making money! More money than it ever made while you were in charge!"
"Money isn't everything.” Marco grinned, smiled. His mouth opened wider and his jowls began vibrating violently.
The floor-to-ceiling window behind Bunny shattered into a million tiny fragments. A barely audible shriek filled the room, and everyone but Marco and his escort grabbed their ears in pain. Several soft thumps accompanied the collapse of Bunny’s four guards. Marco’s escort replaced his silenced pistol inside his jacket.
Marco closed his mouth, the shrieking stopped. He walked to the cringing Bunny and lifted him easily back into the chair.
"But money can buy interesting new and experimental cyberware."
Blood dripped from Bunny’s ears and his hands now shook uncontrollably. He looked up at Marco, at the wide fat face grinning before him.
“Hey! Marco, I don’t want to mess with you.”
“You already did.” He backhanded Bunny, sending the dwarf flying out of the chair, to land at the edge of the window. Humid Atlanta air wafted through the broken window, gently tugging at the satin curtains. “You were always a good little sycophant while I was around, Bunny. But looks like you got some upward mobility while I was away. Actually, you impress me. I never took you for someone with the nerve to rise to the top.”
Bunny cringed on the floor. “What was I supposed to do, Marco? I thought you were dead. I heard you’d been geeked in prison.”
“You could have checked up on that rumor.”
“I...I was too busy. Some new heat came to town, started eating up your action. I had to stop them from ruining everything you’d built.” A gleam appeared in Bunny’s eye, and the corners of his mouth curved up ever so slightly. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Does the right thing include selling out to this new heat?” Marco smiled when he saw Bunny’s face droop. “Yeah, I know. I know a lot. I know you helped this new heat eliminate those loyal to me.”
“No, that ain’t true!”
“Sure it is.” Marco stepped nearer to Bunny and dropped to his haunches. “Truer than true. And that’s why you’re going to die.”
“No! Marco, listen to me! I had no choice!”
“You’ve got a choice now, Bunny.” Marco stood, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood smear on his jacket. “I’ve got enough b
lood on this suit already, and I’d really rather not get yours on it as well. So, let’s see if you can be a good little rabbit and jump out the window.”
Bunny swallowed. “What?”
“Either I kill you, or you jump out the window. Dwarves are genetically engineered to endure a lot of damage, right? You’ve got thicker, strong bones, I hear. It’s only three stories, you may survive. And if you do, you can tell your new friends that I’m back in business.”
“Marco! Please, don’t–”
“You’ve got ‘til the count of three.”
Bunny pulled himself to one knee. “Marco...”
“One. ”
“I can’t... You can’t...”
“Two.” Marco raised his hand and the blade slid out from his arm.
Bunny stepped back toward the window, his feet mere centimeters from the ledge. “Please!”
“Three!” Marco feinted menacingly. Bunny jerked and stumbled backward, dropping over the edge and out of sight. His scream was short.
Marco righted the dwarf’s chair and pulled it around to face the Atlanta skyline. He appraised the chair suspiciously then pushed it out the window after its owner. He sat on the edge of the desk and reached around for a cigar from the box beside him. He clipped and lit the cigar, puffing on it appreciatively. He looked out the window. A Kokastik ad blimp emerged from behind the Peerless Tower.
“I always loved this view.”
Dead Dwarves, Dirty Deeds Page 6