Elizabeth Bear - Hammered

Bobbi turned over her shoulder to glance at Mitch, pouting prettily. Her gaze came back to Razorface. “Pick up Washington over to New Britain Avenue. Head for West Hartford. There’s something going on you need to know about.”

The car accelerated smoothly, two more vehicles falling into line behind. “What sort of something?” Mitch asked.

“Meeting,” she said. “Midnight. I’m going to ask you lads to drop me off a block or so away. I’m carrying optics.”

“Dangerous to transmit,” Mitch put in.

Bobbi shrugged, small, strong shoulders rolling under a silk jacket embroidered with dragons. “I’m Bobbi Yee, Officer.” Her voice rose and swayed with the lilting accents of a tonal language. She laughed. “This girl knows how to take care of herself.”

“Who be running this thing?”

She chuckled. “A lady who was looking for Maker a little bit before Maker disappeared.”

Mitch wasn’t sure if the hiss of intaken breath he heard was his own or Razorface’s. “What does she want?”

Bobbi laid one small hand on Razorface’s arm, tendons in sharp relief across her bones. “Your head on a spike, Razorface. And Michael’s, here, too.”

“What’s the bounty?” Mitch whistled low when Bobbi named a figure. “So why are you clueing us in instead of collecting?”

Bobbi laughed her high, musical giggle. “She’s no friend of Maker’s. And any friend of Maker’s is a friend of mine. Besides, Razorface has such a sexy smile.”

Sweating in his bulletproof vest, Mitch leaned back in the passenger seat of the Cadillac and almost put his feet up on the dash. Razorface’s warning glance was enough to remind him of propriety. Mitch had hacked into the dashboard phone with his HCD, and Bobbi’s feed hung in the air between the two men, sound turned down low. Razorface was watching the car’s proximity sensors as much as the feed, and Mitch had noticed him arming the antitheft devices.

Mitch chewed his lip. Sitting in a dark alleyway in the Elmwood section of West Hartford watching a street mercenary infiltrate a cocktail party wasn’t the last thing he’d expected to do tonight. But it hadn’t been high on the list, either. He reached out and enlarged the image.

“Not too bright,” Razorface said, and Mitch nodded. He would have projected it to contacts, but the big gangster didn’t wear them.

“It looks like a corporate meeting room,” Mitch commented. “I guess we can guarantee that CCP management is in on this.”

Razorface grunted, but he didn’t look down: protecting his night vision as much as he could, no doubt. “What’s the setup?”

“Looks like five, six ronin. I recognize two of them other than Bobbi. Both in her league. I see two suits. I don’t know either one.”

“You see Casey yet?”

“Hide nor hair. Bobbi’s shaking hands and kissing babies… well, you get the idea. Working the floor.”

“Networking,” Razor said.

Mitch glanced up at him in surprise. Never forget who you’re dealing with. “Yeah. She knows these people. Oh, not this one. He’s down from Boston. Ah, shit, I know that name.”

“Name?”

“Chance.”

“Hell, yeah. Heard of him.” Razor’s lips thinned, and this time he did look, and then quickly look away. “The original bad motherfucker, that one. Any names on the suits?”

“Bobbi hasn’t ID’ed them yet. She introduced herself to one a minute ago, and he mentioned that someone would be out shortly to talk to them. I don’t know about this meeting in the boardroom, though. This is a weird way to hire bounty hunters, Razor.”

“Not if you’re not looking for bounty hunters, piggy. Makes sense if you’re putting together a gang.”

“A private army. Of course, and— Fuck!” Mitch’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, hand heedlessly on Razorface’s arm. “Razor, we’ve got problems.”

The lean, well-dressed woman who had just entered the room came as no surprise. But there was someone beside her — a pox-scarred man with a nose like a broken knife blade. “Cocksucker,” Razorface hissed. “Emery. Fuck.”

Mitch touched on his mike. “Bobbi, get the hell out of there. Disengage, now.”

She didn’t answer, but he saw from the feed that she was edging toward the door. She had her hand on the doorknob, in fact, slight frame hidden by one of the larger ronin, when a hand fell on her shoulder. She — and Mitch, watching through her contact — looked up into the eyes of one of the suits. “Miss Yee,” he said in level tones. “Surely you’re not leaving us so soon?”

“Ladies’ room,” Bobbi answered, and reached for a knife and her gun.

Barb Casey saw the pistol come out, saw the glitter of a flat-whirled blade flashing toward her. A killing smile tugged the corners of her lips up as she sidestepped, weapon in her hand. The little Chinese ronin had Carroll, the warehouse general manager, by the throat, sidearm snuggled up under his chin, and was crab walking him toward the door.

The knife smacked into the paneling where Barb had been standing a split second before. Her gun spun into her hand as she dropped to one knee, leveling it across the room. The speaker’s podium at the head of the room gave her half-cover. The conference table wreaked havoc with her field of fire. A targeting ring flickered on in Barb’s contact; well-trained assassins dove for cover.

The Chinese ronin— Yee —dragged her hostage’s head down and snarled something in his ear. Barb was surprised by the strength with which Yee controlled Carroll as he groped backward, turning the door handle for her. Well, that tells me what side she’s working for. Barb had hoped to get through the meeting without having to kill anybody, but it stood to reason that at least one or two of the Hartford ronin would have some loyalty to Razorface. Bringing Emery into the meeting had had the desired effect.

Barb let the joyous, icy clarity of combat wash over her. The door swung open. Emery, standing upright like the macho idiot he was, wrestled an ugly snub-nosed machine pistol out of his coat. Now, if the rest of the room just stays the hell out of the fight like the professionals they’re supposed to be…

Barb saw the choreography of the upcoming fight unfold before her inner eye as if the combatants were actors hitting taped marks. Emery’s going to get shot now. She would rather have been watching it through a sniper scope.

At least there was going to be blood.

Emery brought the gun up, squeezing the trigger. Yee threw her captive forward and rolled left and into the room. Barb was already tracking the movement. She grinned. She’d expected Yee to dive for the door, and if she had, Barb would have had her. Sneaky. This is going to be fun.

Bullets from the machine pistol sprayed the door and Carroll. Bystanders flattened further, weapons coming out and coming up. Yee fired once without rising to her feet, went from somersault to crouch and into a slick, collected dive so fast that the shot Barb snapped off actually missed . She heard Emery gurgle and pitch back. Thought so.

Wood splinters stung her face as Yee fired a second shot, clipping the edge of the podium. Barb ducked, came back around the same side as Yee’s second shot whinged past the far one. Barb returned fire, but it was unaimed, a snapshot. She swore under her breath as Yee, moving faster than anyone— except Jenny— had any right to, kicked one of the other ronin in the face going by, and scrambled past him and away.

“Fuck.” Barb rose to her feet slowly, eyes on the door. “You’re all hired. Get after her.”

Emery gurgled one last time before Barb sank a bullet in between his eyes.