Fantasmagoria (22 page)

“You know him well?”

Elsa pulled a long stitch along Jack’s thigh. “Oh, Vernal and I go way back. I used to be his teacher.”

Jack noticed an open textbook on a nearby bench, “The Care and Maintenance of Artificial Skin” by V. Frankenstein. Next to the bench was a small shrine to the Holy Trinity. All three figures were present: Goyen the Infinite Clockmaker in his white robes, Xueyin the Keeper with her sad eyes and elaborate headdress, and Kraxus the Destroyer in his second avatar, a tentacle-faced giant with green wings. It was unusual to have all three.

Elsa saw him looking. “Something tells me you aren’t a religious man.”

“I am whatever I need to be.”

“You’re in pretty bad shape is what you are.” Elsa blew tangled bits of burnt resin off Jack’s chest.

Jack looked down at his mangled body. His club foot was bent to the left and kept him from walking straight. His draw arm was ruined. “Yeah.”

“I wish I knew someone who could fix you.”

“Guess I’ll go to the tinker.”

“Have you ever been to a tinker?”

Jack had to think. “No. Why?”

Elsa looked through her thick magnifying lenses. “Because you don’t look like any mechanoid I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot. No wires. No electronic brain.” She went back to scraping. “You don’t trust him, do you?”

“Vernal? Hell no.”

“Good. He’ll sell you out, and for less than you think.”

“Am I supposed to trust you?”

“I’m just a skinshear, Mr. Jack.” She blew again and draped a long flap of pseudoflesh over his chest. The edge on one side ran right through the middle of a faded tattoo. He was a wall covered with mismatched paper.

Jack stared at her face. “Do I know you?”

“Sorry. I should call you Mr. Fulcrum.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jack looked up at the ceiling. “I wasn’t sure if we’d met.”

“Have you been to prison?”

Jack paused. “I don’t know.”

Elsa snorted. “I think you would remember something like that.”

“Not when someone has stolen your memories.”

Elsa made a face. “That’s a new one.”

Jack was still. He stared at the pseudoflesh on the ceiling, the former coverings of some poor ’bot who hadn’t made it. Jack envied him, whoever he was, and not in some facile way. Jack had made peace with his demise. The brief respite with Vernal, he realized, was only prolonging the inevitable. Now he was strapped down and couldn’t leave.

Elsa looked at Jack for a moment. “Problem?”

Jack’s skinless face smirked. “Death.”

“Yours or someone else’s?”

“Mine. Who else’s would it be?”

“Some people have loved ones, family, people they care about.”

“Do you?”

Elsa frowned. “I did. Once.”

“What happened?”

“Life.” She smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that things don’t always work out how we plan.”

Jack thought that was right. “I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Supposed?”

“Deserve, then.”

Elsa scowled. “I’ve not met very many people who
deserved
to die.”

“Lucky. I have. But that still doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Elsa stopped. She set her shears on Jack’s chest and removed her magnifying glasses. “Mr. Fulcrum, it’s better for me if I don’t know what’s going on with you and Vernal. But I do know this. There are no ‘supposed to’s in life. Nothing is
supposed
to happen. You can’t control what happens to you, good or bad.”

Jack stared. He hadn’t felt right for a long time. He couldn’t remember how he had become a gunslinger in the first place. With his draw arm, it seemed like that’s what he was made to do. But he couldn’t remember.

“You can’t stop bad things from happening. You can only control yourself, your reaction.”

Jack frowned. “How do I know what reaction is mine if I don’t know who I am?”

Elsa looked at Jack’s lidless mechanical eyes and waited.

He scowled and metal bars on his face tugged at skin that was no longer there.

She was stern. “You do the same as everyone else.”

“Which is?”

“Your best.”

Jack turned his eyes to the crowd on the promenade. A dirty child was squatting in a corner and begging from passers-by.

“I tried that.” Jack shook his head.

Elsa waited.

“Some kids ended up getting hurt. Killed.”

“Mr. Fulcrum--”

“Jack.”

Elsa sat back and sighed. “Jack . . . life isn’t about the choices you make when times are good and there are plenty of options. It’s about the choices you make when they’re bad, when things are uncertain, and every option stinks. I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work out. I’m sure you’re struggling with a lot of guilt. But that doesn’t change anything. You still have to face the same question as the rest of us.”

“Which is?”

“Do you or do you not have the courage to get back up and try again?”

Jack looked at Elsa again. “I bet you were a good teacher.”

Elsa picked up her glasses and went back to work. “I’m a better one now. Thanks to Vernal.”

“Vernal?”

She waved him off. “Oh, it’s a long story. And it happened a long, long time ago. What’s this?” She pointed to Jack’s abdomen. The hatch wasn’t flush with his exoskeleton.

“Oops.” Jack clenched his jaw.

Elsa opened it and stared at 100 pounds of military-grade plastic explosive. “Oh dear . . .”

The electronic detonator was still attached and blinking.

“Untie me and hand me that screw driver.” Jack scowled. It knotted the metal of his face. “And don’t tell Vernal.”

(TWENTY-FOUR) Handshakes in the Dark

It was a bad sign.

Ruud stopped when he saw Zen-ji standing outside the closed doors to Erasmus’s chambers. The stiletto killer straightened his velvet tie and brushed back his pomaded hair before walking up the last few steps and standing before the giant Japanaman. He didn’t look up. There was no point. Zen-ji’s colorful, curved helm kept his face hidden. Nor was there any point in speaking. Ruud would either be allowed to enter or not. He’d either be killed or not.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and the samurai opened the doors.

Sciever sat on a couch in the waiting room, clutching a highball. He was swollen and covered in bandages, including over one eye, and he popped a palmful of pills while he feasted on the beating in Erasmus’s office.

“Rabid’s dead,” he said without turning.

Ruud nodded as his eyes followed the splatter. Togo smacked a big man in the face with his brass-knuckled fist. The man’s head wobbled but he was still conscious. His arms were tied behind a rickety chair that rested on plastic sheets.

Ruud looked around. The girls were gone. That was unusual. The boss always liked company. “Who’s left?”

“Not many.” Sciever watched the beating. “Zeek’s dead, too.”

Ruud nodded and lit a cigarette. “I heard. Lying in a warehouse with her face blown off. Where are all the girls?”

Sciever shrugged.

“Who’s the big guy?”

“Are you nervous?”

Ruud exhaled smoke. “Huh?”

“You always ask a lotta questions when you’re nervous.”

“I gotta talk to the boss.”

“Good luck breaking in on that.” Sciever nodded.

Togo’s tattooed face scowled and he beat the man across the jaw in the opposite direction. Something cracked.

Ruud puffed twice then exhaled. “Yeah, well I gotta try.” He walked through the open doorway into the office. Erasmus was behind his desk facing his prey with floating eyeballs. Tiny bubbles clung to his brain.

Ruud turned and breathed in. The man’s entire face—his eyes, his lips, his cheeks—were red, blue, and swollen. His fat lower lip was cut and his mouth oozed blood and phlegm. He was missing several teeth. Ruud walked toward the bar as the man spit blood defiantly.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Erasmus was quiet.

Ruud reached over the bar for a glass and a bottle. “I have bad news.” He heard the crack of another punch. The faceless man was half laughing, half crying. Ruud turned around but didn’t look. He poured himself a drink.

“You see this tragedy, Ruud? He had bad news, too.”

Ruud emptied the glass in two gulps and looked at his boss as he poured another. “If you wanna kill me, go ahead. Just make it quick. No way I can take a beating like that.”

“’Course not. This man is a fighter. He’s taken worse beatings than this. Isn’t that right?”

Togo hit him again. There was a fat slap.

The man coughed through swollen lips and missing teeth, and his voice rasped like escaping gas. “I dunno where he is.”

“Where does he go? Who are his friends?”

“He dusn hav friens.”

“Everybody’s got friends. Even Ruud, here. You don’t get by in this town without friends.”

“Jus his siser.”

“We already checked the sister’s apartment!” Erasmus yelled.

“I don know.” The man shook his head.

Togo scowled and hit him again. A tooth bounced off the wall and landed on the carpet. The man started to sob.

Ruud nodded toward him. “He know the runt?”

“Spit it out,” Erasmus growled at Ruud. “What’s the word from uptown?”

“The Empire is going to declare martial law.”

“What?”

“They’re about to roll tanks into Old Amazonus and work their way out to the hills. House to house cultural inquisition. Total purge. Aminals. Mechanoids. Criminals.”

“Criminals, huh? Then they should start at City Hall. What the fuck do we pay those assholes for if I gotta hear this from you?”

Ruud shrugged and puffed on his cigarette. “You hear anything from our contacts in the Capital?”

Erasmus was silent for a moment. “No. What else?”

“Anybody with a passport is getting the hell out. Freecity is about to be a ghost town.”

Erasmus didn’t reply. Togo looked at him and waited for an order.

Ruud cleared his throat. “That means no business at the Dark Red or any of our casinos. And the Empire will round up anyone with Neverod paraphernalia, which means all our customers are about to go bye-bye.” He waved.

Sciever walked into the office. “There’s someone here to see you. Out front.”

Togo shook his head at the swollen man. It was not a good time for house calls.

“He says he’s from the Hand.”

“What the fuck do those nut jobs want?” Erasmus barked.

“He says it’s about Jack. And the end of the world. The guys told him to buzz off, but he’s got a box of scythe beetles. Not that it matters, I suppose. Carnival is empty. But he seems set on talking to you, or making one bloody mess.”

“Beetles? That’s clever. Bring him down.”

Togo raised his eyebrows.

“But take the gods-damned beetles off him first!”

“Right.” Sciever walked out.

“What the fuck do those crazies want?” Ruud asked.

“Shut up and get back uptown. I need you to keep an eye on things. Get up to that ship.”

“How am--”

“’Cuz it’s your fucking job!” Erasmus yelled. “I don’t care how. Cunt-lap a ninety-year-old heiress. Just get aboard that ship! I need at least a couple hours’ warning on those tanks.”

“Right.” Ruud downed his drink, snuffed his cigarette, and walked out.

“What about this guy?” Togo asked.

“Shoot him in the balls.”

“No . . .” Dobie sobbed. “Please . . .”

Togo pulled a gun and shot. Dobie started screaming.

“Gag the fucker!” Erasmus moved his spider contraption out from behind the desk as a half-mechanoid man walked into the room. He wore no clothes. Spindly metal limbs extended from his abdomen to the floor. One of his eyes was artificial. “Did you search him? Inside and out?”