John Shirley - Watch Dogs - Dark Clouds

She shrugged and carried her clothes into the bathroom to change.

He sat down at the desk, and looked up the file he’d organized on Tranter. He copied and pasted select parts of it, making a summary, that he uploaded to the PearcePhone. He had a feeling it could be useful in the search for allies.

Then he picked up the phone and called Pearce. It took a while for the system to bounce the call around securely enough. The heard Pearce’s voice crackling gruffly through. “Wolfe?”

“Yeah. So—you know about Seline Garnera.”

“Yeah. Got your message. So—you crashed a chopper together? Good first date. She’s there with you now?”

“Yeah. She’s taking a shower. Doesn’t know you could be watching her get undressed and stuff.”

“I could even watch her in the shower if I wanted to. But I don’t have those cameras turned on. Never have been.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“You never had to worry I was going to check out your naked ass, Wolfe. You know what to do about the uploading?”

“Yeah. I got the address. Doesn’t look easy.”

“Best way to do it right now.”

“Uh—look. You want to meet Seline? I mean—onscreen? We’re already tangled up with her. And she’s already here. And it’s not like you haven’t been all over the news about three hundred times in your life.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Pearce hung up.

Seline came out of the bathroom, dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday. “Only problem is my shoes. They’re still kinda stiff. Wasn’t easy getting the mud and stuff off ’em.”

Aiden Pearce suddenly appeared on the television screen. “Hello, Ms. Garnera.”

Seline gasped, spinning toward the television. “What the fuck.”

Pearce smiled crookedly at her from the TV screen. “Wolfe said you might want to meet me. Here I am. Aiden Pearce! You’re staying in one of my safehouses. Which means I saved your ass. And so did the software I gave Wolfe there. Just keep it in mind—and in return keep your mouth shut about anything you find out about me.”

“Uh… sure.”

“I’ll let Wolfe explain the rest. There’s some instant coffee in the cabinet to your right.”

Pearce’s image flicked off the TV screen.

The windshield wipers chugged with metronomic regularity, wiping off sleety rain, as a man’s deep voice said,

“Wild action in downtown Chicago last night where a helicopter was stolen from the helipad atop the Armstrong Arms, a high-priced apartment building just a block south of Union Station. The helicopter pilot, David Hendle, had been waiting to take a client to Las Vegas when apparent gunfire broke out on the roof. Escaping the gunfire, Hendle climbed down from the rooftop using an emergency ladder. Unidentified persons, reportedly a man and woman, hijacked the helicopter and flew it a few miles south only to crash it into Wolf Lake, possibly as a result of bullet damage to the helicopter’s fuel line. ctOS security camera footage is inconclusive… The thieves were not found at the scene of the crash. The lake is being dragged for their bodies.

“Blood was found on the rooftop along with shell casings but none of the wounded or the other gunmen. This is CKNW, Chicago’s News Radio… Now let me tell you something I bet you didn’t know about car insurance. For a fantastic deal…”

Wolfe switched off the radio of the stolen Ford Explorer. “I’ve gotta stop stealing cars and helicopters and things. One of these days I’m going to be arrested.”

Seline, who was driving, just smiled. “At least you don’t keep them or sell them for parts.” She glanced at him. “Do you?”

“Nope. They get back to their owners eventually. I’m not sure the police would accept the ‘I just borrowed it from a complete stranger’ concept though. And the truck I took from Verrick got special treatment—I let it roll into Lake Michigan.”

“Ha. Good.”

He glanced down at the small backpack on the floor of the Exporer. In it was the laptop with the file for SystemLeaks.

“Wolfe—’look!”

Up ahead the road was blocked by orange cones and blinking temporary traffic barricades—stolen from some roadwork, somewhere, probably. Standing behind the barricade were half a dozen African Americans in hoodies with day-glow orange trim. Two of them carried AR15 semi-auto rifles. The tall one in the middle had a Desert Eagle pistol stuck in his waist band, the grip showing over the bottom of his sweatshirt. He grinned at Wolfe, and waggled his fingers in a joking wave.

Wolfe snorted. “It’s okay—those are friends of mine. Black Viceroys. The one in the middle’s the boss of his own little chapter of the Viceroys—Shuggie’s his name. Just pull up and let me talk to them.”

“I’m getting out too. If you’re their ally I want them to be clear that I’m here with you.”

“Okay but keep the car running in case we gotta get out of here quick.”

She stopped the car and put it in park. “I thought you said they were friends of yours?”

“They’re not the reason we might have to get out of here. Come on.”

They got out of the Explorer into the cold sleety morning, Wolfe putting up his own hood against it.

“Hey Shuggie,” he said. “What’s up?”

Shuggie nodded as they walked over to the barrier. All the Viceroys but Shuggie were having a good long look at Seline.

She looked at Shuggie.

Shuggie hooked a thumb at her. “We saw you takin’ your woman to that crib you got all up in that crap hole of a building.”

“I’m not anybody’s woman” Seline said, in flat, informational tone.

The Viceroys laughed.

“Bitch, shut up while Shuggie’s talkin,” Renfo said.

Hearing that, Wolfe felt a tautness come into his shoulders and jaw. He put his hand on the butt of the .45 at his waistband. “Renfo. Don’t talk to the lady like that.”

“Never mind, Wolfe,” Seline said calmly.

Without looking at his lieutenant, Shuggie said, “Shut up, Renfo.”

Wolfe saw Renfo give Shuggie a cold look. Could be Renfo was starting to resent Shuggie.

Wolfe relaxed a little and dropped his hand from the gun.

“Wolfe,” Shuggie said, “this is the end of my turf, right here.” He tapped the barrier. “I been having some trouble with a, what you call it, a splinter faction. All Viceroys having trouble with ’em. And past here, there’s the other Viceroys. Different chapter.” Shuggie shook his head sadly. “Man I cannot guarantee, if you go on from here, you get through where you goin’. It’s looking pretty sketchy down that way. There’s a motherfucker in CPD got some friends in the Chunkies.”

Wolfe glanced past Shuggie at the street beyond. It looked lifeless from here. “‘Chunkies’ are the splinter faction?”

“Yeah, Chunky Crunkies , is what they call themselves. Splintered off from the Viceroys. I think they’re working for the Club, is what’s up. They say they got their own thing. I don’t like either one—not Club, not Chunkies.”

“When you say the ‘other Viceroys’, Shuggie, what’s that about?”

“You think I tell all Viceroys what to do? No, just my ‘hood, man. Motherfuckers past here are… harsh. I cannot guarantee my protection there. Not from every Viceroy on the Southside, dude. You stay around that crib of yours, it’s okay. But past this point…”

Wolfe shrugged apologetically. “I got to go down there.”

Shuggie seemed to think it over. Then he nodded. “I’m committed to staying here—I’m watching this corner, man. But… you got my cell number. And who knows?”

Wolfe nodded. “Sure. Who knows? How do I identify a Chunkie?”