Authors: Nick Kelly
Delambre’s aptitude for religious reference was far deeper, as he demonstrated. ‘And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
‘And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, come and see.
‘And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.’
“Technically, of course, Pestilence rises first, though that wasn’t the case with our encounters.”
“So, the original MH, yer tellin’ me that was…War?”
“Yes, and no,” Delambre said as he shook his head. “I actually think that was a prototype. I’m not certain it was ever meant to be discovered. Our enemy is chaotic and reckless enough that his first attempt may have prematurely held its audition.”
Cat nodded. “Yeah, I remember havin’ a ringside seat. That big monkey almost stepped on me.” He took a drink and continued. “Corporate Security gettin’ rid of the big beast might have ended the story before anyone realized there was more to it. You think this was a good thing for our lunatic scalpel jockey?”
“The MetaHuman’s premature death may have instilled a heightened sense of caution in our enemy, though I doubt it, based on his continued behavior. Shutting down his creation was a strategically sound move. Bankrupting his accounts was the logical follow up action.”
Cat turned a cold gaze toward the geneticist. “How’d you find out about that?”
“I have access into his account as deep as any hacker you could hire.”
The cleaner was off the sofa, his pistol raised. He face heated, and his temper soared. “You wanna explain that last statement, or do I hire yer little girl ta find me a cleanin’ service that can get your brains off my walls?”
“I thought you’d respond in such a manner.” Delambre’s hands were raised in a traditional display of non-violence. “As I mentioned, Catwalk, this alleged religious fanatic and I go back a long way. The image you captured earlier was no coincidence. He didn’t craft his Angel of Death out of some distant memory. He did so as homage.”
Cat let the barrel of the 11mm drop. “What’re you sayin’, doc?”
“Our enemy believed he was honoring my daughter by placing her image on the harbinger of death. He knows me. He knows Angela. He even funded my research long before he stole the majority of my studies.”
Cat cursed under his breath, reaching back and draining the rest of his glass before facing Delambre again. “So, ta put it in simple terms, you designed the last few things that tried to kill me?”
“In short, yes.”
Cat holstered the pistol. He stepped away from Delambre, who breathed a silent sigh of relief. The cleaner looked around the room twice before shaking his head and returning his focus to the geneticist he recently hired.
“Remind me to fire you again tomorrow, Delambre. For now, I need ta know who you think the next religious icon is gonna be. I’m flexible. If I gotta face a six-story Buddha, or a ten-meter Cthulhu, I’m alright with that. I just wanna know how to prepare.”
The medtech stared at him, a few moments longer than he had intended. When Catwalk returned his gaze, he couldn’t help but ask. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“Cause yer not party ta this, Delambre, and neither is Eva. You got yerself in some deep chit, which is why you came ta me. I get it. You’re a helluva team. You understand genetics, what makes people tick and how ta alter that. She’s got you whipped when it comes ta cybernetics and operational applications. Together, you’re a one-two punch most Universities can’t match. I get that. I shockin’ get it.”
Cat turned his gaze away for a minute. He leveled his gaze at Delambre and nodded, confirming something in his own mind. “You targeted me. You risked yer ass ta find me. You approached me seekin’ a partnership, but that wasn’t it. That was never it. You didn’t come ta me for a job. You came ta me for protection.”
Delambre dropped his eyes to the floor. “You were, and are, our best hope for survival.”
“Good. So let’s start talkin’ about the next MH, an’ how I’m gonna retire it without losin’ any a’ my own limbs. I got a date tomorrow, an’ no Apocalyptic mofo is gonna keep me from makin’ it.”
Delambre’s sudden confession left a sour taste in Cat’s mouth. He hadn’t hired the geneticist just to add another victim in need of a savior. He’d thought that Delambre was every bit as sharp as he’d interviewed. After all, the medic’s credentials were flawless. Maybe that would still apply if the homicidal maniac crafting MetaHumans wasn’t tied so closely to the geneticist. For a few minutes, Cat had considered putting a slug into Delambre and tying up loose ends. The mad scientist would have one less reason to chase him down.
Two other big obstacles impacted that theory. First, his enemy knew that Cat was responsible for crippling his means of payment, as well as murdering one of his prized creations. Second, even with Delambre in the ground, the mysterious scientist would still come after Angel, Eva. As he thought of her, Cat made himself pause.
Maybe investing in Delambre hadn’t been such a bad move. The old man was above average, but Eva had shown her skills as one hell of an asset. For everything her father knew of his internal biology, she’d shown equal aptitude for armament, armor, and new ways to integrate his cybernetics. Writing off Delambre would mean writing them both off. That changed things. She added too much value to the equation. He’d continue with the two of them as his colleagues, even if that meant putting his neck on the line a little more than usual. Cat chided himself. It came down to a woman.
Didn’t it always?
From his closest bets, Delambre seemed willing to believe that the third horseman, Famine, would be near completion. The elder bookworm seemed positive that the design would be flawed as a result of the creator’s limited budget and inherent vulnerabilities in the original design he felt his counterpart had stolen. There was a larger than average chance he was correct. After all, War had shown up out of order due to its creator’s lack of control.
It was best to treat their enemy with a loose leash, since there was no way of telling how erratic his behavior, or his creations’ designs, had become. The twisted image of the cross, complete with skulls and fire, confirmed Delambre’s original theory. The severed right hand of the thing called Pestilence matched what Cat had seen in Will’s morgue. There wasn’t much left to circumstance.
For now, Cat shuffled all of those thoughts into a folder marked ‘secondary chit’. Delilah had called him back, and the H-S sped along the highway to their meeting point. Given that the last time he’d seen the model, she was in shock. He was amazed she would ever contact him. The thought of seeing her again was an instant injection of adrenaline, and he pushed the motorcycle to redline several times on the way. Something about this woman invoked a feeling of pure desire whenever she was near.
He leaned forward, his chest on the tank. A twist of the wrist and the armored motorcycle channeled his desire for Delilah into an easily read kmph gauge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He'd programmed in the directions, but with his recent bout for survival and shift in trust with his technical team, Cat couldn’t remember the name of the joint. Either way, what was important was getting there and drinking in the sight of the captivating redhead once again.
A blip in his heads-up display indicated he’d arrived at the coordinates. Cat looked up to see a large neon sign promising multiple orgasms by state-of-the-art designed cybernetic humans. ‘Better than the real thing’, it callously declared. He scowled under his helmet when his comm rang. Undoubtedly, it was Delilah, and she was savoring the small victory of tricking him into hitting the wrong location. Whether she meant to really meet him remained to be seen.
He clicked the line to life. "This is Catwalk, comin' to ya live outside of the Healin' Hands Massage Therapy Center. I'm hopin' this is a joke an' yer not callin' me a walkin' prick."
Her laughter was low and throaty. "I am not inclined to insult those who save my ass. Just thought you might like a challenge."
He was more relieved than he wanted to admit. The sanctuary of the helmet was welcome since he was pretty sure he was blushing. "Any time, Red. So...if yer callin' now, then you must be close enough ta get a kick outta this. Wanna tell me where ta park it?"
"Oh, let me think." The delay made him clench his teeth. "It's called the Java Joint. Corner place, looks like it has one door. Dim lighting. Great coffee and privacy. Remember my directions?"
Cat rolled his eyes, knowing she couldn't see. "I can see it from here. I'll be there in...I dunno, two hours?"
"Two hours,” mock disappointment resonated in her voice, “I have two coffees waiting."
"Well, I gotta give myself time ta recover from the 'better than tha real thing' multiples that this place promises. I figured you were sendin' me here so I didn't show up ta meet you a ragin' bag of hormones."
"I wouldn't want to do anything to aggravate that!"
"Alright, since the coffee’s hot, and the hostess too, I'll head yer way now. Just remember, you were warned bout dealin' with a revved-up guest at yer little party."
"I can take care of myself," he heard her reply and her nails audibly tapping the counter. "Revved up sounds…interesting."
The squeal of tires was the only response as he fired the bike into a burnout, reversing his direction. He’d come a long, long way from the junkyard and the rusted ol’ Kawasaki. A cold shower might be in order at the moment, but he wasn't going to delay his chance to share the model’s company.
The H-S slid to a halt in under a minute. The engine dropped to a low hum, sounding upset at having to stop so soon. Cat bounded off of the motorcycle, arming its security system. He pulled off his helmet, ran a gloved hand over his hair, and pulled the door to the coffee shop open. Taking one extra breath, he stepped in and took a look around.
Catwalk had seen countless shoots, endless advertisements and a dozen billboards of the model. When he spotted her across the room, they all failed to do her justice. Delilah sported a one-piece jump suit of tempting red leather. Her dark hazel green eyes casually surveyed the small room. Then, her gaze drifted to the door. He smirked in response, trying to exude more confidence than he was feeling. She was a pro at this interpersonal stuff. He had fewer occasions to practice his poker face, but hoped it was holding up alright. He walked toward the woman and the inviting booth, measuring his paces to slow himself down.
"Good eve, would you care to join me?" The auburn-haired starlet gestured to the steaming second cup that sat next to hers. "I presumed to order for you."
Cat removed his glove and extended a hand to greet her formally. "I'm honored."
Her skin was soft in his grip. "Please. Sit."
He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand before realizing he'd even done so. "How could I resist such an invitation?"
Her reaction was a speechless stare, and he again second-guessed himself. The devil on his shoulder poked him with a pitchfork, reminding him to be who he was and not some caricature he’d tried to cook up. He placed the signature helmet in the booth next to him, the vacant yellow eyes seeming to watch his every move. He craned his neck from side to side with an audible crack, unzipped his jacket, and sat down. He eyed the coffee. "An’ here I wasn’t sure you even remembered my name.”
"Mr. Caliber, I wanted to thank you for -- for meeting me. A phone call seemed only cursory. I felt it important to tell you in person." Her voice dipped to a whisper. "Thank you."
He chuckled. "You already thanked me. Somewhere in the neighborhood a’ ten times. Right between askin' me who they were and confirming...again...that I killed them."
Her blush radiated from her cheeks downward. She'd been looking into his eyes, and his last words forced her gaze from him.
He raised the coffee in a mock toast and then took a sip. It was better than he'd expected. "So..."
"Ordinarily, I am not so repetitious."
“You never told me why you were at the Shift in the first place.”
“Research. I’ve been approached by a clothing line about modeling their goods. I was hoping to witness their target market without being disturbed.”
"I mean this in a nice way, I promise. How much more did you spend buffin' up yer security in the few days after our meeting?"
"More than I should have, I suppose. I ordered an outside firm to come in and run through a security audit. Their consultants installed new cameras and motion sensors at my office and my hotel suite, and improved four-point biometrics for all the ‘employee only’ sections of the hotel. They were installing some system that correlates all the cameras and detection equipment and alerts the guards when I left. It’s outside of my realm of understanding, but I realize how important that equipment is now.”
“That’s a lotta work.”
“That wasn’t all. I went weapon shopping. I was told I needed training." Her tone betrayed the thought that she’d been forced to swallow bitter medicine.
His eyebrow shot up instantly. "Nitro City's most beautiful woman went weapon shoppin’?"
Her head tilted. "I can't expect a savior to jump out of the darkness every time a questionable someone approaches, can I?"
He was back in his comfort zone. The pressure on his chest was gone. Instead, he could address areas of his expertise in an effort to build something between them. Gods, he wanted to build something, anything tangible, between himself and the goddess across the damp tabletop. He tipped his head. "Fer the right price, Red. I'll jump outta yer armoire if you want."
Her eyes widened. "I was not thinking of hiring you as a bodyguard, Mr. Caliber. If I take some classes, some martial art or other, learn to handle the pistol that should suffice."