James Knapp - Element Zero

I flicked on the light in the bathroom and brushed my teeth. My new place was a step up from the last, and a long way from Bullrich. It had hot water all the time, AC in the summer, and steady heat in the winter. I had five rooms all to myself. Not bad for a third from Bullrich.

I had some time before I got a call back. I worked out, then hit the shower. I let the steam build, then got wet and lathered up.

I was older, but my body was still lean and hard. A few more scars, but except for the hand, I still looked like I did in my fight days. I ran my hands over my scalp and laced my fingers across the back of my neck. Behind my ear, I felt the scar under my thumb.

One night about a year ago, Nico showed up at my place. He told me to get in the car and not to ask questions. He took me somewhere where a guy put me under and I woke up with the scar. A new piece of tech showed up on the JZI. They couldn’t dig out Huma’s kill switch, but the shunt would keep it from going off, when the time came. That was the plan. He kept the whole thing off the record. He never said anything else about it, and neither did I, but I thought he made some kind of devil’s deal that night.

Seriously, you’ve got a sixth sense for finding them once you’re in there….

Singh and the rest of them didn’t know that I could hear them. Whenever one turned, I picked it up. The closer I was, the louder it got. If they ever found out, they’d round me up too, right alongside the rest of them.

I’d just toweled off when the call came back.

“Flax, I got them.”

“Where?”

“The Pit, like you said. One of my guys picked them up late last night. He’ll meet you there.”

He sent the coordinates to my GPS. The spot was deeper in than Singh thought, but not too far off.

“Got it.”

“The guy wants dope, on top of the credits.”

“It’s a good thing I know you, then.”

I hung up.

Those guys were always after more, but the fact was they worked cheap, and it was Stillwell’s dime. I’d have the deal done and the targets trucked out in time for lunch.

Part of me didn’t like it, but it was what it was. Every one of them I picked up was one more revivor off the street. They’d kept the average Joe in the dark so far, but behind the scenes no one sugarcoated it; it was coming, and when it did, anything was better than that many jacks tearing up the city.

Anything.

“Another drink?”

I looked up from the heavy rocks glass I’d been idly turning on a cocktail napkin. The bartender had come over and was smiling down at me. He was handsome and dressed to the nines. He smiled and his eyes were flirtatious, but it was all an act; he was just sucking up. Underneath, I could tell he looked down on me. When I went out these days, it was always to fancy, upscale places like the Blue Oyster, but I hated them all.

“Just keep them coming,” I said. I looked out the window to my right and saw snow falling on the sidewalk outside. In the glass, I could see my faint reflection, and my eyelids had gotten heavy. I looked the part; my clothes cost more than some people’s cars, and a diamond solitaire hung just under the Ouroboros tattoo whose red eye stared from over my jugular, where the snake swallowed his tail. My hair was pulled back in a tight bun, speared through with silver chopsticks. I looked as good as I supposed I could look, but the drinking was getting away from me again. I hoped the guy showed up soon so I could just get it over with and go home.

The bartender kept up the smile and nodded, then walked away. I watched the snow come down until I saw his hand put a fresh napkin in front of me, then put a new rocks glass, half-filled with ouzo, on top of it. He took the empty one away as I picked up the new glass and swallowed half of it.

While I waited, I tried to remember how many people I’d killed. I always remembered the first one all those years ago because it was an accident, and I always remembered Ted because he deserved it, but after that it got fuzzy. Ai had taught me a lot over the past year, and directing that particular ability was one of the most important, probably. No more accidents, and no more guesswork. When it had to be done, I could do it quickly, easily, and painlessly.

“You ought to slow down,” a man said as he passed. I looked up and saw an older guy with gray hair and a gold watch stop near my table and grin. He was doing the fatherly thing, I guess. Or maybe he had a fetish for weirdos. There was interest brewing around his head; I could sense it, but I couldn’t tell what his game was.

“Go away.”

“Troubles?” he asked. Was this guy for real? The guy I was waiting for came in every Friday around seven. He stayed for one drink, then went home to his wife. It was almost seven now. I didn’t have time for this.

The room got brighter as I looked into his eyes, and patterns of color appeared around his head. His smile dropped a notch and his eyes got stupid.

“Come here,” I said. He came closer, and I waved for him to lean in. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I—”

“Did someone send you?”

Genuine confusion rippled through the pattern of colors. “No.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, you just …You looked lonely,” he said.

I focused on the little ebbs and flows of his mind but didn’t see anything like sympathy. What I saw in there didn’t have anything to do with me. He didn’t think I looked lonely. He thought I looked pathetic and that I might be an easy mark. He was the one who was lonely.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” I told him. “Walk away, and forget you ever thought to come over here.”

I pushed, and his eyelids drooped. He nodded.

“You understand?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Smile, then walk away.”

I let him go. He smiled. I smiled back. He walked away. It was a good thing too, because just then, Marcus Landers walked into the bar.

He walked in, comfortable and easy. He was known there, and he knew everyone. People smiled and waved and he waved back. He signaled toward the bar, and the bartender started pouring him the usual scotch and soda. He didn’t even notice the weird redhead who he’d never seen there before.

This one was a politician of some kind. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was he did, but he was making a huge deal about unnecessary search and seizure. He was stirring up a lot of media attention around the search for the Huma carriers, and he was smart enough to know he had to go independent, off the CMC’s grid, to do it. Ai and the others had done a good job of sweeping it under the rug so far, but it was time to stem this one at the source.

He was a piece of work, anyway; for all his screaming, the only reason he could walk into a place like the one we were in was because he used a contact inside the FBI to funnel money impounded from weapon-smuggling rings into private, offshore accounts. He was a liar, and a thief too.

On a more personal level, he had a year-old assault record for punching his wife in the face after a domestic dispute. That was all I really cared about. That right there was enough for me to sign on for the job.

I watched him approach the bar and take the drink. He started talking to a pretty brunet with big tits who was not his wife. He kept glancing down at her cleavage like she was blind. There was no way she didn’t notice, but she didn’t seem to care.

Get a good eyeful, jerk.

He stayed for one drink, like he always did. Then he made a big, showy good-bye, like anyone there really cared whether he lived or died, as long as he kept buying drinks. He leaned forward to the woman with the big tits like he might hug her or kiss her, but he didn’t do either. He turned and left the bar, stepping out onto the sidewalk.