Necrotech (16 page)

That's what made 'jectors so damn dangerous, street side and in the corporate broadsheets. You never knew what they'd waded through, and what they'd hold against you later.

Well, that and their rate of tech corruption skyrocketed at an alarming rate compared to the rest of us.

So he led me to Jim, and I owed him a favor. Jax knew I'd keep it; hell, at this point, he might be the only one taking me on faith. I'd all but confirmed the mass amounts of shit I was in, and he still fed me this lead.

At a steep price, admittedly. I recognized a baited hook when I saw one, but it happened to be attached to a lifeline.

If my cred was so bad that Lucky was tossing me out? I'd have an uphill battle. Jax's favor, suck as it was, would help me earn it back. Hopefully.

I scrubbed at my face with my drying hand, groaning.

Fuck It Jim operated out of a ratbag motel thirty-seven minutes away by cab. Whatever he had, whatever data he knew that I didn't, it better be worth more than just my tanked cred – it damn well better be worth my life.

There was no telling what Jax would ask me to do later.

F
uck It Jim's
place hovered right by squalor plaza and within spitting distance of suicide lane. Dank and dirty as a testicular fistula. The dingy motel didn't look all that different from the other buildings nestling against it – diseased fuck-buddies all crowding for the same soiled blanket, layers of drab color interrupted here and there by bold paint from street taggers with nothing better to put their mark on.

I didn't bother checking in with the front desk. Place like this, I was just as likely to meet the business end of a shotgun as a friendly word. I'd had about enough of getting shotguns shoved in my face for a few days.

The row of stained brown doors and curtained, semi-boarded windows smiled at me as I stared at the façade. By the blackened edges, the last seven on the left had all suffered fire damage, which made them only slightly less unlivable than the other thirty-six rooms like it. Bugs, vermin, stains you were better off not asking about, room service that was comprised of a daily hammering on the door, a fat man in a cheap suit screaming for rent...

Yeah, classy place, this.

Unless he'd changed his MO, Jim was behind door number 14 – the age he liked girls best, he'd said when I'd first had the pleasure of meeting him. Inside joke.

Ha, ha.

I'd changed out of the board shorts, swapping them for a pair of printed denim loose enough to take a boot to Jim's head. I didn't think I'd have to, but sometimes the man played hard to get.

I wasn't in the mood today.

Of course, if I did kick his teeth in without at least trying, I'd have to deal with Jax laughing down my neck.

Assholes. Every one.

I took the stairs two at a time, the whole broken down thing wobbling with every step. To my left, I caught movement in another unit's window – a flutter of a curtain, a glimpse of crooked teeth and shadowed eyes – but nobody came out to see me. I didn't expect it. This was a pay-by-the-hour kind of joint, where questions weren't asked because the answers might just get you killed, entrapped, or worse.

My fist against door number 14 echoed hollowly, every thud of flesh against the shabby paint sending jolts of echoed pain down my other arm. “Open up, Jim!”

Silence.

It didn't occur to me that the fixer wouldn't be in. The guy had a hate list about three miles long – he hated the world at large and everybody in it. It made him willing to sell information on anyone; a double-edged sword. People hated him, too, and I assumed it was only a matter of time before somebody wrung his scrawny neck.

I slammed my fist against the door so hard, the whole frame juddered. “If I break this down,” I yelled, “you're going to have to explain it. You know they'll raise your rates.”

Like most men of Fuck It Jim's persuasion, he was a stingy bastard.

I counted back from three. On one, a lock clicked.

The hinges creaked as the door cracked open an inch. Just enough to reveal one bloodshot silver eye. It widened. Then it flashed.

“Now I have to warn you that if you do anything with that snapshot,” I continued, not unreasonably, “I will rip the storage chipset out of your shriveled little brain and make you eat it.” My standard policy.

“Riko.” My name on his lips wasn't welcoming. “What are you doing here?”

“First, delete that file,” I replied, flattening my metal palm on the door and pushing until the chain holding it snapped taut. The impact of the tension sent tiny fingers of pain up my shoulder.

I didn't wince. Wincing would give the man ammunition, and I needed him unarmed in every sense.

So I gave him my best smile. Something lacking in teeth. “Second, I want what everyone wants from you.”

The ocular replacement framed in jaundiced skin narrowed. “Do you want to kill me or do you want to give me creds?” He meant money. It didn't stop me from thinking I'd already given him too much cred and wanted desperately to take it out of his grimy skin.

I didn't say it aloud. “I need information,” I said instead.

He brightened. “Creds, it is.” The door closed, the chain clinked, and then Fuck It Jim opened the door wide, his smile thin and sharp and naked with greed. “C'mon in. Why didn't Indigo tell me you were coming?” He paused. “Or, uh, is this for another thing?”

“Nice to see you, too, Jim.” I stepped inside.

Bukket Jehm wasn't an imposing figure. He was shorter than me, with swarthy skin painted yellow from some defect I didn't know and his eyes metallic silver in the iris. Ocular implants – straight-up replacements, probably. The whites of his eyes were
too
white, instead of yellow with whatever condition turned his skin sallow, and it gave his stare an eerily bright disposition. The fact that they were implants and
still
wormed by startling red told me whatever he was into, it wasn't good.

His stringy brown hair was kept too long, one of those braids that thinned until it was nothing but a wisp at the broken ends – crowned by the fact that he was balding at the top – and his hooked nose was usually running. Or plugged. Or bleeding, although somebody had usually punched him for that one.

Drug habit, I'd bet. A nasty one. Nanos weren't much good against drugs these days. As technology got better, so did the smart drug lords, the cookers, and the designers who made narcotics to counteract nano interference.

That's one of the things that made slank so popular. Easy to make, easy to cut,
and
easy to deal.

Swish was easier to make, but left a trail of burned-out corpses in its wake. Canker was about the same as rinsing your mouth with piss and bleach – the poor man's purgatory – and colordust was expensive to produce and harder to score outside corp and rich-world contacts. Strych hadn't seen a revival in years. That left only, oh, about a hundred other options.

Whatever Jim was spooning himself, I didn't recognize the signs.

He was dressed in his idea of luxury, though to me it looked like he'd gone bargain bin shopping in Kongtown. His garishly green silk pants and embroidered tunic looked as out of place in the cheap motel room as I'd look at a rich wedding.

But Jim, he liked flattery. So I gave him my best once-over and offered, “Nice pants.”

He stroked a hand down the front of his tunic, leaving a sweaty smear in the silk. “Like it? Got a whole set in every color.”

This didn't surprise me.

“How you been, Riko? Life treating you any better?” He waved at the only seating available – one of two beds – and took position on the closest.

There wasn't much else to pick from. The farthest corner from the door was cluttered with makeshift shelving, riddled with computer screens in various sizes and hunks of metal – wires exposed and linked together, dust gathering in between them. Makeshift hardware. A wave of palpable heat shimmered from the systems array, making the marginally cooler room seem stifling.

The curtains covering the windows were a weirdly streaked mustard color, thin enough to let the light through but too opaque to see more than silhouettes between the cheap threads. Scattered food cartons, most from places that delivered, peppered the floor near the nest of tech, which suggested Fuck It Jim wasn't much into fresh air or relaxation.

Or furniture.

If he thought I was going to get anywhere near a mattress with him, he was out of his mind.

I stood, feet braced, my arms folded under my breasts. I'd taken the time to put a cropped bra on underneath, so as his eyes flicked to my less than impressive chest, disappointment flashed across his features. Way better than greed. Only thing I wanted him lusting for was my credits.

“Better than what?” I asked pleasantly. I wasn't sure how much of anything he knew. He wasn't top shelf, but it never paid to underestimate a man with information at his fingertips.

“Well.” He gestured at nothing. “Better than when I saw you last?”

Fuck. I didn't even know when that was. Last time
I
remembered dealing with Jim, I'd threatened to scalp him over a few hundred stray credits. “I'm alive and kicking,” is what I said instead.

“I can see that.” His thin nostrils flared. “No one knows you're here, right?”

“Sure, Jim.” Again, I smiled. This one showed teeth.

Fuck It Jim lost a little bit of color in the face. “Uh...” He shifted a little. “Is this about that last transaction?”

Because I didn't know the first thing about sweet-talking a weasel, I didn't drop the smile. “Maybe.”

He sprang to his feet, scuttling so fast the bed was between us before both of his feet even hit the floor. “Now, hang on,” he stuttered, both hands held out. Pleading? Warding me away, anyway. Interesting. “You got your creds, fair and square.”

My creds? Hell if I'd ever gotten fair pay from the guy.

But I tried for tact, first, because he was enough of a rat to spill the goods if it came down to his skin or mine. “I'm not here to argue that, Jim.”

Probably not the way most people tried to commune with the guy. He stared. “You... aren't?”

“Nope, not even a little.” I didn't move from my spot on the stained floor, didn't drop my arms.

I probably could have jumped on him, beaten him until his teeth fell out and demanded answers, but Jax's caution made my skin itch.

I didn't
have
to beat everyone up. I just found it easier.

And Fuck It Jim's little rodent face set off every instinct I had – he deserved a beating. I wasn't sure for what, but he'd know even if I didn't. It'd be fair somewhere.

Instead, I had to stand here, feeling stupid while I tried to be
nice
. “But you know how things go,” I continued, wrinkling my nose. “Something goes sideways, and the bosses want all the details in a neat, orderly list.”

Jim's chuckle cracked. “Heh. Yeah.”

“So, you know. He sent me here to ask a few questions.”

“He?” Jim's face closed down – far too late for poker.

Oops. I had no idea what the hell we were talking about. His response made me wonder how much he knew, and whether I'd fucked up with “he”. Maybe I was reporting to a woman?

Jim shifted uncertainly. “You okay, Riko? You seem...” He hesitated. “Different.”

“Nothing a little chat can't fix.” I leveled him with my best patient stare. “Can we just be honest with each other?”

“Fuck, Riko.” Jim stroked down his tunic again, and I noticed he'd left another damp smear. He was nervous. “You know I can't do honest.”

“Yeah, you can.” I rocked back on my heels. Nothing to see here. Totally harmless. Right. “Be straight with me and I'll be straight with you. It's easy.”

His eyes darted left. “If I do, I'll lose some serious cred.”

Like I had in dealing with him? The rat owed me.

My smile didn't slip. “If you don't, you'll lose some serious blood.”

“Heh.” His laugh was weak, too thin, and he scooted a bit along the mattress. Another foot between him and me. “You get real scary real fast, you know that?”

I dropped my arms, ran a hand through my hair to push it from my face. “Hell, Jim. This isn't scary.”

“No?” He asked like he didn't believe me. Like I was joking.

“No,” I repeated seriously. And then I closed the distance. It happened so fast, I don't think he even marked the point where I'd shifted from idle to speed. My feet dug into the floor, his throat was in my left hand, and I had his short body off that bed and pinned to the wall behind it with my arm servos straining. The muscles in my shoulder girdle screamed.

I'd tried it Jax's way. I'd felt stupid doing it, and it didn't net me jack. Now I'd see about mine.

My teeth bared, and this time there was nothing smiley about it. “
This
is scary.” He gurgled. “So here's how this is going to roll,” I told him, only a little out of breath. “You're going to tell me everything I need to know, and then I will very nicely not squeeze your liver out through your nose. You get me?”

He struggled, gasping, choking around the vise grip at his throat, but his thin fingers couldn't force the metal digits around his neck to loosen. His face mottled under all that yellow, turned ugly green and purple.

Jim was light. Way too light. The heads-up numbers put him at a hundred and two pounds, and this close, I noted how far his clavicle protruded under the thin silk.

Sick. A whole lot sicker than I remembered him being.

His nostrils flared wildly, feet kicking, thudding against the wall, shaking it. I waited him out. He'd lose it before I did, no matter how badly my shoulder hurt for it.

His eyes bulged as he spat out curses that would have made a delicate woman blush. Instead, I grinned.

That did not go over well.

“Get away from me,” he managed to choke out. “You crazy bitch!”

“I've been hearing that a lot lately.” Bracing my knees, I shoved more thrust into my shoulder, forcing him higher against the wall. He squeaked. It was probably supposed to be a scream, but there wasn't a lot of room between my fingers and the narrow diameter of his windpipe. “Make this easy, Jim. You don't want to die here.”

Despite my general dislike for the man, I found sympathy in my voice with that one. It was obvious whatever was eating at Bukket Jehm, it wasn't a guilty conscience.

“Tell me everything I need to know about our working relationship, and I'll let you go.”

“Why?” he gasped.

“Because I can't remember,” I said tightly, earning a bulging-eyed stare from the man whose throat moved beneath my diamond steel fingers.

Yeah, he was the one hanging by a fleshy straw, and
I
was the crazy one.

I snarled. “Now, Jim!”

“Agh…!”

I chose to believe that was an “all right”. I let go, letting his frail weight drop to his feet, slump gracelessly to the floor. He hunched over, gasping, coughing, forcing blood back to his brain.