Stefan Petrucha - Dead Mann Walking

Then again, he wouldn’t be the first.

3

Mr. Turgeon was full of surprises.

“Tonight? You want to go tonight ?”

He could laugh his wobbly ass off at my last name all he wanted, but I wasn’t getting maimed for a few bucks, even for a lot of bucks. I tried to put it politely. “Look, Mr. Turgeon, I admire your tenacity, but even armed liveblood cops don’t go to Bedland after sunset on a Friday.”

“I understand the risk.”

“No, sir. I don’t think you do. Every meathead in Fort Hammer gets the weekend off from his shitty job. They spend it looking for more exciting ways to get off, and hakking is the number one sport. If the hakkers don’t kill us, the ferals they leave behind will. Add to that the fact that we don’t even know if your boy can still answer to his name. . . .”

Pursing his lips, he looked out the window. The flighty evening glow had vanished into a more honest dark. “I told you. We have to find him before his siblings. There are four shantytowns, aren’t there? And the hakkers only attack one? Doesn’t that put the odds in our favor?”

One in four. I looked at Misty. She shook her head, no way. I agreed.

“Sorry, Mr. Turgeon. Bedland’s the favorite, the biggest target. They just use the others for practice. Unless you want to wait until morning, you’re on your own. Believe me, it’ll be well worth the wait, if only because you get to live another day.”

I wanted to put the fear of God into him. He did me one better and summoned Mammon. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another envelope stuffed with cash.

“Take it. There’s a third just like it if we find him.”

Crazy son of a bitch. I reached for the bills.

“No,” Misty said.

I owed her, I should have listened to her, but the money would be too good for both of us. For that kind of cash she’d take the chance if she could. I nodded for her to step out into the little anteroom that doubled as her bedroom. She grimaced, but did.

I hefted the envelope and finally asked a decent question. “How much is Derby paying you to find Boyle? Take it from someone who knows: It’s not worth being dead for a bigger flat-panel TV, even if it is HD.”

If he was afraid, his face didn’t show it, but he rubbed the rim of his hat, turned the Stetson like it was a little steering wheel and he was trying to avoid an oncoming truck. Appearances aside, I got a strong sense of naïveté from his demeanor. He knew what he wanted, but so does an infant. I wasn’t even sure if he’d been out at night by himself.

Finally, he spoke. “You know how some men slave all their lives in a job they hate to give their wives and children a better life?”

I shook my head. “You don’t strike me as a family man.”

The hat stopped moving. “That’s the point. I’m not . I don’t have a wife, children, or friends, just this job I do. Mr. Derby made it clear that if I didn’t find Frank Boyle, I’d be fired. I don’t want to work anywhere else. I just don’t. I can’t. I can’t let him fire me. I’d rather . . .”

His voice sounded distant, but I didn’t have any reason to doubt him. It was pathetic enough to be true. If I didn’t go with him, he could toddle out there all by himself and get hit by a car.

I tossed my hands up. “Your funeral, my mutilation. Do you have a gun?”

I was still trying to scare him, but, surprise, surprise, he nodded. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as I thought. If I didn’t know it’d come out more like a hiss, I’d have sighed.

“Then let me get mine. Assuming that yellow Hummer outside is yours, I’ll meet you at the car.”

He smiled like Mommy had pinched his cheek; then he rolled up to standing and ambled on out. The second the outer door clicked, Misty rushed back in, all teary-eyed.

“No fair—you know I can’t cry,” I told her.

“Don’t go, Hess. Even if they don’t chop you up, you shoot a liveblood, even by accident, and they catch you, it’ll be worse than death.”

“Like this isn’t?” I said. When she didn’t react, I grimaced. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but half an hour ago, Jonesey went feral and nearly had me for dinner. I shook him out of it, but it’s just a matter of time now.”

Misty lowered her head. “Shit. He’s one of the smart ones.”

I poked a thumb into my chest. “Smarter than me, Mist. So how long do I have? And who even knows if ripping is permanent? We could all go, any minute. I don’t make some kind of move now, I might never be able to, right?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Right?” I asked again. I sounded angry. I was angry, taking it out on her just because she was worried about me. It’s so much easier to think about not existing if you can be sure you won’t take anyone with you.

She made a face. I let it go.

I opened the lower desk drawer and removed the false bottom. I had two things hidden there, both contraband: a little vial of green liquid and a Walther P99. The vial’s its own story. For now, I took out the gun, a nice combo of stopping power and low recoil. Too little of the former, whatever I shot would still be coming at me. Too much of the latter, I could tear my arm off by firing the damn thing. It’s totally illegal for a chak to own a weapon, but you never know when breaking the law might suddenly become the best idea in the world.

“You’re doing this because of the money?” Misty wasn’t finished yet.

“Partly,” I said, checking over the gun. “It’s also something to do. I’m curious about this Boyle guy. Being curious is good. Better than watching TV.”

Satisfied he’d perform, I shoved Walther between the back of my pants and the small of my back.

I turned to Misty, looked in her eyes, and touched her cheek. The last of her tears, a big one, rolled onto my finger. The dead flesh sopped it up like a sponge. “We have to be realists, right? We have to be. More than likely, I’ll be back this time. But do me a favor, Misty? If and when I do go, make sure my head’s totaled. Crushed or something. Not just a D-cap. And definitely not fire.”

“I hate it when you talk like this, Hess.”

I forced my lips into a smile. It hurts to do that, ever since I died, but I had to show her I was still in here. “Me, too. But I’ll feel better if you promise. So?”

“I promise.”

I turned her head side to side, studying her a bit. Her cheeks were so hollow when we met, from the drugs, that her face had no affect. Now it was easy to see how worried she was. I was her lifeline. I really was risking both of us. “You’re looking better. Try not to worry too much. I like to think I’m not an idiot. And you heard the big baby. We’ve got a one–in-four shot at a quiet night.”

I took a hundred from the envelope and held it out to her. “If you want to keep busy, you can get some more bleach and go down to Cruger. Flat-headed guy there has some finger rot. Can’t miss him if you follow your nose.”

She eyed the bill. Depression meant one thing for me, something else for her.

“Got anything smaller?” she asked.

I looked in the envelope. “Nope.”

“Too much temptation. Keep it. I still got some bleach left. Should be enough for some fingers. We’ll go pick up some more when you get back. And you’d better get back in exactly as many pieces as you are now or I’m taking that envelope, buying a shitload of crack, and smoking it until I get to see God face-to-face so I can demand an apology from his almighty ass for this fucked-up life. You got that?”

I gave her a salute and headed for the door. “Deal. Say hi for me.”

She tossed me my cell. “Call him yourself.”