Necrotech (37 page)

“Yeah, yeah.” I slanted her a half shrug. “Don't talk about confidential stuff, blah blah.” Like I cared.

Her eyes were serious behind her frames. “No, Riko.” She shook her head. “You don't talk about
anything
Mr Reed's department handles. Period.”

I couldn't help it. I slapped a hand against the sensors to keep the doors open and looked down at her. “Or what? I get sued?”

This time, her smile carried a deliberately sanitized curve. Utterly without emotion. “That's
a
word for it,” she said coolly. Echoes of my own snotty challenge to Orchard.

I got why Malik hired her.

“
Y
eah
, I know it's not the glam job you were imagining,” I said across the stark metal table, “but it's what you get. Do you want the creds or not?”

Detective Douchedick watched me the way a puppy stared at a bouncing ball: torn between launching himself at it or waiting for the chase. I didn't flatter myself too much about it. It wasn't
me
he wanted, but the creds I could give him.

If
he'd do the damn work.

“I hate paperwork,” he said, barely shy of a complaint.

“Yeah, everyone does.” Which is why I wanted him to do it.

He sighed, a real pity party, but rolled his shoulders under his leather jacket. The fact his persona still sported something that obscene in the height of summer's blistering heat said a lot about Greg's choices in life. “All right, fine. I'll dig up what I can on Vid Zone permits and surrounding tickets. I don't know what you're expecting to find in the mess.”

I didn't either, not yet. “Connections, Greg.” I smiled at him with a lot of teeth. “If I'm very lucky, someone fucked up and it's in your system. I'll be sending you a couple more addresses to check out for me.”

He shook his head, a streak of dark blond sliding over one eye. He pushed it back with one sculpted hand. “Where should I send the stuff I find?”

“You know the Mecca?”

“Not personally.”

I tapped the table. It didn't so much as budge beneath my persona's metal arm – it didn't even clank loudly, the way I'd hoped. Lazy filters. “Acquaint yourself. Leave the data with Shiva, she'll know what to do.”

Greg shrugged again, and stood up with an easy confidence I didn't think was all styling. His gaze, when it met mine, remained steady. “Thanks for the opportunity, Riko.”

Aw, damn. Sincerity, like a real human being. I was getting used to treating him like a thing. I pulled a wry face. “Don't thank me yet, detective. This is going to be a long, shitty road.” His lips tugged into a rueful smile, and for fuck's sake, I didn't need that, either. I waved at him. “Go away. I'm a very busy saint.”

He sauntered for that white door, obviously intent on using it to make a classic kind of exit. I half-turned in my chair to watch him go. I knew for a fact that his ass looked just fine in those jeans, in projected space and out. He needed no help there.

All of one day out of the Mantis medlab and I'd never felt lonelier. No real team to speak of. No girlfriend – no semi-permanent fuckbuddy, even. No mentor. And the crawling knowledge that necro-juice spread like the shits in a buffet left me feeling just this side of freaked.

One smegging day, and I felt like a hermit.

I left the projection shortly after he did, returning to the meatspace the rest of me occupied just outside the Mecca's front door. Shiva's reach didn't extend too far into the street, but only a total idiot messed with a saint outside her door.

Besides, projections didn't mask the real world. Just dimmed it some. Anyone shoved me, I'd feel it.

Then I'd make the asshole risking his hands feel it right back. I was feeling spiky.

I skipped the line, earning a few profanities, and pushed my way through the front door. The bouncer gave me a hard look – I raised both hands and shimmied my weaponless hips – but he didn't give me any sass.

Jad would have flipped me some shit for my trouble. I looked pretty damn good – lethal
and
hot in crimson pants and a white racerback tank, and I knew it. My black ankle boots sported four-inch spikes because I wasn't looking for trouble.

That and I could snap the heels off at the first sign of a fight. I'd done that enough times to be something of an expert.

Stepping inside the Mecca netted me the familiar bonedeep thud of thrashjam bass and wild color. The feel of it, the welcoming fragrance of incense and sweat, did something for my simmering tension that too many sleepless hours hadn't.

Threading through the crowd, immersing myself in the chaos, I made it as far as the bar when I heard my name.

I turned, scanning the tech-studded crowd.

Shiva leaned against the nanofactoried bar, a slender goddess towering over her flock with benevolent tolerance. Her nails were
caution, danger
orange, her hair pulled into a high, perfectly straight fall of gleaming purple. Under the right lights, the bar would be the same color. Most of the time, it looked black.

Aggressive makeup took Shiva's mixed features into the surreal, with harsh blue lines painted out from her uptilted eyes and killer orange lipstick shaping her lush mouth. Her nose was strong, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and her slender body wrapped in blue and silver homage to her muddled heritage. Her shoes had heels that could put a hole through solid steel, designer brand to my cheap printed knockoffs.

She beckoned me, head tilted so her hair slid over her shoulder.

“Shiva,” I acknowledged, once I was close enough that I didn't have to yell. A beautifully stacked server with kinked black hair bypassed me, pausing to nod at her boss. Her gleaming red gaze raked over me, her wide mouth hiked into a smile, and she was gone.

I recognized cosmetic tech to give the girl a devilish vibe. I also studied the kind of lush ass designed to haul a train behind her. Delicious.

Shiva's tawny eyes danced over me, from ankle boots to gelled hair, and finally met my inquisitive gaze with a smile. “You look well, darling.”

“Much to your surprise?” I hazarded, earning a throaty laugh. “Thanks, I'll take it where I can get it.”

“So I have heard.” The innuendo earned the Mecca's reigning goddess a roll of my eyes. “Am I to expect another confrontation?”

It wasn't an idle question. I shook my head at her raised eyebrows, all but hidden beneath her thick fringe of purple bangs. “Not on the agenda. I'm just here to talk.”

“To Indigo?”

“And the rest, if they're here.”

Shiva shook her head, her ponytail swinging gently behind her. The lights pulsed off the bar, leaving a violet gleam in their wake. “Boone and the handsome one–”

“Valentine?”

“Yes, him.” She waved those neon nails. “They're working tonight.”

I didn't ask. I could have, but it'd cost me. I didn't need to know that badly. “So he's alone?”

“The short one with the dancer's legs?”

“Tashi?”

“No, the boy.”

I smothered a laugh. “Fidelity.”

“He's in there somewhere.” Shiva gestured at the full dance floor. “The pixie remains with Indigo. If you intend to test the floor, know that I expect blood soon.”

A fair warning – and a fair bit of interest made me glance at the writhing sea of flesh behind me. “I'll dance later.”

“It's always a pleasure,” Shiva said, and angled her body so that she no longer faced me directly. “Enjoy your evening, darling.”

“I hope to.”

I turned, but hesitated when Shiva added behind me, “And mind what truths you drop tonight.”

I didn't look back. It wouldn't have netted me anything but Shiva's serene regard, and if I asked, she wouldn't answer. The message was clear enough. There were wheels spinning in the Mecca that weren't all favorable to me or mine. I briefly wondered what the motives were – drugs, corp, cred or something more sinister – but let it go almost immediately.

Shiva tended to know more than she let on – part of her mysterious god-empress routine, right up there with her cultivated speech patterns – and I already had a job.

I pushed my way through the thrumming crowd without incident. A far cry from the last time I'd made this walk. Part of me expected to field Tashi's murderous knives again.

As Shiva promised, Indigo waited in the usual room, surrounded by a small mess of glasses and flanked by Tashi. She stilled as I ducked under the curtain, but she didn't get up.

Good. I really,
really
didn't want to break my word to Shiva.

Indigo set his drink down, something pink sliding down the sides. “Riko.”

“Indigo,” I returned in the same cautious tones.

As far as first meetings after the crazy train in the Vid Zone, it didn't feel as awkward as I'd thought. Wary, yes. A little overly guarded.

Tashi wasn't seated in the booth, but on top of it, her feet tucked where her butt should have been. She cradled a wide glass of something yellow between both hands. Her gaze stayed on me.

I eyed her, hands loosely at my sides. “I'm not here to fight, Tash.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Indigo elbowed her leg with a companionable familiarity that made me flinch inside. “Quit it.”

“I don't trust her.”

Tashi didn't talk much, so when she did, it mattered. That hurt. Worse, nothing I could do would fix that. If Tashi had challenged me, flipped me shit, I could have taken her on. Beat enough people into paste, and trust doesn't become so much of an issue.

In this case, I couldn't blame her for stating the obvious.

Digo gestured. “Sit.”

“No.” I folded my arms. “Thanks. Look, I'm not trying to nose back into the team, I'm just–”

“Riko–”

“I'm leaving,” Tashi announced. She lifted her legs, spun on the back of the booth with a dancer's grace. She dropped off the back, rounding it with her drink balanced easily in hand. I didn't move. She didn't alter her trajectory. Her shoulder clipped my right arm, but she didn't so much as slow. The curtain slid back into place behind her.

Digo leaned back in his seat. “She'll come around.”

“To what?” I asked dryly.

“Working with you.”

Oh, shit. My chest squeezed. “That's a far cry from where we were just the other day.”

One long finger pinned on the base of his drink. He scooted it across the table at me. “A few rough days compared to almost six years of solid runs. Do the math.”

“Not a fan of math.” I relented enough to approach the table, but I didn't sit. I angled a hip against the edge, bracing one arm on the surface. I glanced at the drink briefly, but my gaze slid to Indigo almost immediately. He looked all right. Better than he had down in the necro pit. “Are you all patched up?”

His neatly groomed black eyebrows knitted. “No scars, nothing to show off for chicks.” Humor flickered behind his dark blue eyes. “You were right about the itching.”

I didn't understand. Where was the angry Indigo of only a few short days ago? Where was the mistrust?

Hell, where was mine?

When I didn't smile, his features sobered into harder lines. Serious edges. “Look, I'm...” He splayed both hands over the table. “I'm not going to apologize for everything. I don't think I should.”

Honestly? I'd prefer if he didn't. What was done was done. If he started falling all over himself, I didn't know the protocol. I shrugged. “I'm not asking.”

“Yeah, I know.” Digo leaned back, hands held in place like it mattered they stay there. Awkward. “I want to be clear where we're standing. You claim you don't remember anything after April, but that doesn't leave a whole lot to go on. You vanished. My sister was supposedly fried at a chopshop.”

“Except not.”

“Except not,” he agreed. “And...” He let go of the table, slipping his comp unit out of its holster at his hip – a new one, I noticed, with sleeker lines and a fresh coat of matte black paint. “There's this.”

I didn't have to see the screen to know what image filled it. Me, imprinting my thumb as I sold Nanjali Koupra to hell.

I reached for the drink and downed the rest. “Yeah,” I said on the exhale. I wiped my mouth. “Did you find anything?”

Indigo tipped the computer briefly, studying it. When he looked up again, his eyes met mine without flinching. “It's impossible to tell if it's fake.”

I thumped the table. “Damn it.”

“But it's also,” he countered as I slumped back, “heavily encrypted. That's enough to have me wondering what they're trying to hide.”

“So I could still be smegging mental,” I pointed out. “Still the one who sold you all out. Where does that leave us?”

He shook his head. “Nowhere helpful. Whatever markers I could have used to identify the fingerprint are gone.” He tapped the computer against his palm. “I think you should try Reed.” Oh, he had no idea the unlimited sweep of my interest in that one. “His tech labs might be able to go farther than I can without hiring a projector.”

“Fuck me.”

Indigo put the comp unit away. “I'll apologize for that, anyway.”

“You did your best.” And if Indigo's best wasn't good enough, that meant whoever was behind this had some serious bankroll. This wasn't a half-rate job. I grimaced.

I'd gone from Indigo's team to a Mantis contract, which was kind of like making the leap from a homemade shanker to a professional grade interceptor. In the end, both would leave a nasty scar.

I slid into the seat across from Indigo. My butt hit the hard plastic, and my foot connected solidly with his shin at the same time.

He jumped, flinched. “Ouch! The shit!”

“That's for going all self-sacrificing back on that street,” I told him, saccharine sweet. I fluttered my lashes at him, knowing how stupid it looked. “You ever pull a move like that again, and I'll skin you alive.”

He rubbed his leg under the table, mouth pulled into a growled slant, but his eyes gleamed wickedly. “You're just pissed I thought of it first.”

“I'm just pissed I had to go save your sorry ass.”

“And you still had to be dragged out by a corp rescue,” he retorted, and this time, I did flip him a finger. A metal one. He snorted. “At least you didn't throw a glass at me.”

“I thought about it.” The asshole hadn't been nearly so concerned for me last time we sat like this.