John Shirley - Watch Dogs - Dark Clouds

“Tortured?”

“Sir, beaten to death. Black Viceroys, judging from the chatter I picked up… Sir.”

Four Mercs down. And Tranter. An important ally.

Would he even be able to keep the Graywaters working for him, with this kind of attrition rate? He’d have to double, maybe triple their pay…

“Sir, you had a plan about blocking that upload, s-s-sir?” Starling’s teeth were starting to chatter in the rooftop cold.

“No, that horse is out of the barn. My plan is to see that anyone who could substantiate those accusations has… an accident. Maybe in some cases—the same accident.”

“S-s-sir?”

“Blume is planning a demonstration of some new tech. Prototype self-driving cars. There’re four people in this town who can connect me with that missing money. And maybe with Purity. And we don’t want anyone talking about Purity. Some of these people might start panicking about now, what with this SystemsLeak stuff. Going to the Justice Department, maybe. Try to cut a deal.”

“S-s-sir, th-that w-would—”

“Will you stop that stuttering, Starling? Just shut up and listen. This is what I want you to do…”

“Ow!”

“You’re the one said you didn’t need a regular doctor,” Wolfe said, stitching the wound closed. “Best I can do. I got pretty good at it in the field, up country… There.”

Wolfe was sitting close beside her on the sofa of the folded-up sofabed. He leaned back to look critically at the minor wound on her shoulder. “You’re gonna have a scar. But that’s okay, you’ll be more badass that way.”

“Stop being a smart aleck, Wolfe, and cut the thread.”

He cut the thread from the needle. “How about some more local anesthetic on that?”

“You call that stuff from the corner store a local anesthetic? Forget it.”

“Hey don’t get mad at me, I didn’t shoot you. You jumped into this thing with both feet, Seline.”

“Yes I did. I was thinking about jumping out again. But not because somebody shot at me.” She took a pull on the Scotch. “Because I was involved in something that got bullets flying around a neighborhood in Chicago where there were ordinary, unarmed people—people who could’ve caught those bullets. We don’t know for sure someone didn’t get hit by a stray bullet.”

“Haven’t seen it on the local news yet.”

“I hope we don’t see it, Wolfe. We did see something on the news about five bodies being dumped.”

“Those mercs had to know they were working for the bad guys. They didn’t care. You makes your choice and you takes your chances.”

“They beat Tranter to death.”

“After years of abuse from him.”

“So that makes it cool?”

“No. It doesn’t. But you know, if we hadn’t had help from the Viceroys, we’d be dead by now. And there’s something big coming down, Seline. Something that could involve thousands of deaths—maybe millions. And a plot to take over Chicago. Use it as a base against the rest of the country.”

“You told me. You really believe that’s what they’re planning?”

“It fits like a jigsaw piece. Fits right in with everything I know about these creeps.”

She seemed to brood over that. “If I was sure…”

He stood up. What he had to do now, for Seline, was going to take an act of will…

“You know what, Seline—you don’t have to be sure. You can walk away from this. And you should. You’ve been in firefights at my side. You kept your head. You stuck by me. You did the job. You were a stand-up soldier. And you did what you came here to do. You uploaded your friend’s file. It’s making its way across the internet. You don’t need to be here anymore. You can leave Chicago.” He kept his voice gentle, as he said it. He knew he was angry—because he simply wanted her with him. Close to him. And that was selfish. He had to suck it up, and let her go. “I think you’re right—you should walk away from this, and leave it to me and Pearce. When I get more evidence, you can testify to the Justice Department with us. I’ll call you.”

Seline blinked up at him. She seemed disappointed. There was no figuring women.

“You want me to go?” she asked.

He didn’t. But he kept his face deadpan. “I think you should go. Tomorrow morning.”

He made himself walk to the bedroom, close the door, and lie down on the cot.

Wolfe, he told himself, you got to let her go.

You’ve got to face it. You’re on your own in this thing. Can’t get Shuggie in this anymore. Can’t expect Pearce to be out here on the firing line, ducking bullets.

And as for what you were hoping for, with Seline…

No. Forget it. Can’t put her at risk. You’re on your own, in life. All over again.

Better get used to it, pal. Better get used to it.

Wolfe didn’t sleep much that night. About eight in the morning, as he was just pulling on his boots, a pounding came at the front door of the flat. He grabbed his pistol, rushed out of the bedroom to the front door, and looked through the peephole.

Shuggie.

“Wolfe! It’s Shuggie! You gotta get out of there!”

Wolfe unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s up?”

“A fucking wrecking ball, that’s what’s up!”

“What? When the hell did they move that in?”

“About an hour ago! I just found out! This place has been slated for demolition for awhile but–never mind, man! Get out of there, motherfucker, it’s moving into position! There’s no time to argue with ’em!”

Wolfe turned—saw that Seline was dressed, putting her coat on, her face pale. He checked in his pocket, found he had his PearcePhone. He grabbed his coat, she grabbed the small backpack, and they followed Shuggie down the hall, having to run to keep up.

They pounded down the stairway, taking the turns like slapstick comedians trying not to fall over, and they were just reaching the second to the last flight when the building shuddered and—seemed to scream.

The scream was the sound of a 7,000 pound wrecking ball squealing as it crashed into bricks and metal girders.

The stairwell quaked and the floor rocked under them; Wolfe had to catch Seline’s arm to keep her from falling. Another squealing blow struck the building. As they stumbled down the stairs, Wolfe was thinking that this kind of demolition couldn’t be procedure. Had someone really searched the building to make sure there were no homeless, no squatters? Probably Verrick’s people suspected that Wolfe was here—and had moved up the timetable and bent the rules.

The building shuddered and squealed again, and continued to shake, dust powdering down from above—then pieces of plaster fell and finally bricks, debris raining around them as they stumbled onto the bottom floor.

Cracks appeared in the walls as they rushed through the door into the hall. Ceiling tiles fell, flipping end over end; insulation filled the air, rising in a choking cloud.

Then they burst out through the doors and into the open air—but they were far from safe.

The outer walls were coming down around them; the building they’d been staying in was leaning, threatening to fall into the one beside it. Rats ran from the buildings, screeching, and pigeons circled in confusion, disturbed from roosts. The air filled with dust, a fog of fine debris…

A cornice fell, narrowly missing Shuggie.

Then they were clear, running out of the cloud of dust, coughing, across the street.

They flattened behind the wreck of an old burned out car, trying to make no noise—a patrol car was coming around the corner. And chances were, the cops in the patrol car had been given Wolfe’s description. Verrick had to have more than one way into the police force.