Max Collins - Skin Game

“I figured that out.”

“Good for you, Agent Gottlieb! Now, why don’t you go talk to your superiors about it?” Logan rose, tossed a bill on the bar, and took a step.

Gottlieb grabbed onto Logan’s arm. “I can’t talk to my superiors, or to anyone else in the government. White’s got ties everywhere — I couldn’t trust anyone. My friends in the government may be his friends. There’s no way to know.”

Logan let the hand rest on his arm as he nodded. “You’re right about that much. But why Eyes Only?”

“If you can’t trust your friends,” Gottlieb said meaningfully, “who’s left but your enemies?”

That was a good point.

“All right, follow me out,” Logan said.

Then he climbed the stairs and headed outside. The sun had grown warm and felt good on his face. With Gottlieb stepping up next to him, Logan heard the cock of a gun and wondered if he’d been suckered...

... until he turned to find Asha standing behind them, her pistol aimed at Gottlieb’s skull.

“Maybe we should find somewhere more private,” Logan said as he lifted Gottlieb’s pistol from its holster.

The three of them turned down an alley, trooping far away from the street and into the shadows, Gottlieb leading the way, but Asha prodding. The alley smelled of decaying food and urine; somewhere, a cat cried out. Slipping behind a Dumpster, the three of them stood out of sight of the traffic on the street, though Gottlieb still peered around nervously, looking for prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

“Tell us what you know,” Logan ordered.

Otto Gottlieb gave them his story — all of it.

Logan had suspected much of what Gottlieb had to report, and had actually seen the assassins outside Jam Pony; but he knew they needed more.

“Do you have proof of any of this, Otto?”

Gottlieb shook his head. “There never is any — White calls it ‘plausible deniability.’ ”

The phrase had an all-too-familiar ring to Logan. “Where can we get proof?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have come looking for Eyes Only.”

Logan decided to change course. “Where’s Sage Thompson?”

Looking as though he’d just been punched, Gottlieb asked, “How the hell do you know about him?”

“Because Eyes Only found out about Calvin Hankins.”

“I can’t believe it...”

“Otto, do you know where Thompson is?”

“No! But if I did, he might be able to corroborate some of what I’ve told you.”

The smell in the alley was as unpleasant as it was thick; Logan — ready to find a new office — said, “If you’re on the level, Otto, you’ll have to do exactly what I tell you.”

Gottlieb sighed. “I’m good at that.”

“You got a car?”

“Sure — just around the corner.”

The three of them marched to the vehicle. Asha got behind the wheel, Otto sat on the passenger side, and Logan got in the back.

“Hand me your cuffs, will you, Agent Gottlieb?”

“Make it ‘Otto.’ ” He fumbled around behind himself and got them out, then held the cuffs up over his shoulder.

“Right hand,” Logan ordered.

Gottlieb frowned. “What?”

Asha stuck the gun in his ribs, and the agent’s right hand went behind the seat.

Locking the bracelet over that hand, Logan said, “Now the left.”

Gottlieb obeyed, awkwardly extending his other arm around the seat, and Logan cuffed him with his arms pulled behind him.

“What’s this about?”

Logan got out and Asha rolled down the passenger side window for him to lean in. “Show of good faith or not, I can’t trust you, Otto. So, you’re going to have to trust me. Asha will watch you — she’ll take you to a safe place. I’ll join you as soon as I can. If I find Agent Thompson, we may be able to help you. If you’re lying... well, I think you can fill in that blank, yourself. Do we have an understanding, Otto?”

Looking very scared, Gottlieb nodded.

Logan shook his head slowly. “I hope you’re telling the truth, Otto. A lot of people are depending on you... and if we don’t find Agent Thompson, they might all be in serious trouble.”

And right now Otto Gottlieb looked like he knew all about what it was like being in serious trouble.

Alec opened his eyes to terrible, harsh brightness, and immediately shut them again. He tried to move his arm up to shield his face, but found the limb restrained, the other one too. Keeping his eyes closed, the light warm on his face, he tried to move his feet; they too were tethered.

“You’re not going anywhere, 494,” a familiar caustic voice said.

Alec’s gut tensed: Ames White .

The X5 did not move, eyes shut, as if opening them had just been a twitch, a flutter in his sleep. A hand settled on his face, thumb under his chin, fingers and palm on his cheek, a chill snake-belly touch. The fingers began to tighten — White had the strength to crush a man’s skull, even a transgenic like Alec.

“Open your eyes, 494,” White said. “Or would you rather I close them forever?”

Alec opened his eyes and stared into the face of the cold-eyed NSA agent, who removed his hand from the X5’s cheek, though the man still hovered over the right side of the bed like a vampire caught in the act. The agent — in his typical dark suit — had the sick pale look of a bloodsucker at that, his skin an unnatural white brought on by the fluorescent lighting.

Alec’s head was swimming. “Is this... prison?”

“Don’t be silly,” White said, a small smile playing on thin, cruel lips. “It’s a hospital. You’re getting the best of care — your furry friend, too.”

His head was settling down. “How did I get here?”

“The police. A friend of mine on the department whispered in my ear — something about your friend’s dog snout that made some people think you two might be transgenic.”

Restrained though he was, Alec was able to survey the small hospital room — it was empty but for himself and White. “I don’t see a police guard. Is there one in the hall?”

“Maybe you’d like a map of the building? How else can I be of service?... The guard is federal, 494. Transgenics are the NSa’s jurisdiction — but surely you know that?”

Alec smirked back at the man. “And you haven’t killed us yet, because...?”

“Why, I’m hurt, 494 — you transgenics are citizens like any American.”

“That’s funny — I seem to remember you telling Congress we’re a bunch of homicidal freaks.”

“Aren’t you? You stumbled in on the road show of Silence of the Lambs, didn’t you? Courtesy of one of your own?”

“What the hell do you want? Why am I alive?”

The jokey mask fell and the emotionless, dead soulless son of a bitch Alec knew White to be was revealed in all his antiglory. “Because, 494 — we’re going to have a little talk, you and I.”

Alec shook his head. “Could you have a nurse turn me over? So you can kiss my transgenic ass?”

A little half smirk colored the dead-eyed face. “Your choice — this is America, after all. You can die fast, or you can die slow, or — here’s another option — you can die very fucking slow.”

“How about none of the above?”

“No — not on the docket. Bottom line is, 494... you and I are going to talk... and when we’ve explored our various areas of discussion, you’ll be dead. Quick and painless, or slow and drawn-out — one from column A, or one from column B.”

Alec spit in White’s face.

Slowly, White wiped the saliva glob away with a middle finger, and flung it back in Alec’s face.