Nightside CIty (25 page)

He nodded. “I’ve got it.”

“Any problem with any of it?”

“No,” he said, and he shook his head. “No
problem.”

I smiled. “There!” I said. “That wasn’t so
bad, was it? There
is
one more little detail, but we’ll get
to that in a minute. First I want to see you make those guarantees
I mentioned.” I pointed toward a nearby screen and jack. “Go to
it.”

He did. I think I’d made an impression; he
didn’t try anything at all, did it all up properly. The contracts
didn’t mention reasons; they just stated that Paul Orchid undertook
to remove himself and any agents in his employ from all
self-initiated contact with Carlisle Hsing and with all persons
resident within a half-kilometer radius of the intersection of
Western and Wall. Breach of contract would be punishable to the
fullest extent of the law—and in Nightside City, with its
casino-based economy, that was plenty.

The muscle with the claws dragged Rigmus in,
more or less conscious, and jacked him in, and had him thumb his
copies of the same agreements.

Then Orchid called the Ipsy and relayed my
messages to Doc Lee, and told them, “She means it.”

Which was true, because I did mean it, every
word of it, except the victim’s privilege.

Lee seemed shaken, but he swallowed and
smiled and agreed, and put it on record over the com. Each of the
five others then took a turn doing the same. Nobody gave me any
back-talk this time.

When that was taken care of I said, “All
right, Orchid, just one more detail, and you and your woman can get
back to what you were doing, if I haven’t spoiled the mood.”

The woman made a noise, but I ignored it.
This wasn’t her business. The muscle with fangs still had his gun
at her throat, and that was fine with me. I didn’t know anything
about her; for all I knew, if he hadn’t had the gun there she might
have jumped me. Of course, attacking me would have been stupid, but
I had serious doubts about the good sense of anyone I found in bed
with Paulie Orchid— particularly someone dressed like that. Her
outfit was mostly greens, which went nicely with her skin but
clashed with the room she was in, and it floated off in various
directions, giving fleeting glimpses of bare flesh—not exactly your
practical garment.

“All right, Hsing,” Orchid said, resigned,
“what is it? What’s the detail?”

“Set me up a date with Sayuri Nakada,” I
said. “I want to talk to her.”

He gaped at me, but he didn’t have much
choice. He made the call.

I don’t know why I wanted to see Nakada in person,
but I did. It was important to me, somehow.

We met on neutral ground. We met at a little
breakfast bar on Second, in the middle of Trap Over. I was sitting
there waiting, with Mishima’s muscle quiet in the background, when
Nakada walked in with a piece of muscle of her own and an entourage
of floaters.

She didn’t recognize me until I called her
name.

“Mis’ Nakada! Over here!”

She came and looked down at me and said,
“What the hell happened to your hair?”

“Long story,” I said. “You wouldn’t be
interested.”

She shrugged, and sat down.

I pointed at her muscle, a big guy with
sleek, hairless black skin that might or might not have been
armored. If it was armored, it was a better job than Mishima’s
bunch could afford. “Do we need him?” I asked.

She glanced back at him, and waved him away.
He went and found a wall to lean on outside—there wasn’t room in
the bar.

Most of the floaters went with him; one
stayed, a little golden multipurpose job, and I decided not to
argue about it. After all, even if it left, she still had implants
down to the marrow, and I couldn’t make her leave those
outside.

The bar delivered my tea and puffcake, and I
asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head.

“All I want,” she said, “is to know why you
got me down here.”

I didn’t answer directly. “How’s the project
going?” I asked.

She scowled at me. “The project?” she
asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “You know, the one that’s
going to make you rich.”

She didn’t like my manners, that was obvious,
but she answered. “Bad,” she said. “They hit some kind of snag in
the mapping data. Everything’s been delayed.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Too bad,” I said.
“Remember your promise that you’d let me know when the date’s
set.”

“I remember,” she said.

I was playing this by guess, plugging in
values as I went. I wasn’t sure at all what I was doing, why I was
there, or why Nakada was there. I just knew that I had to talk to
her, and here I was, talking to her.

The obvious question was whether I should
tell her that she was being rooked. The obvious answer was yes; I
mean, why the hell not? I didn’t owe Orchid and Lee anything.

And I wasn’t sure it would make any
difference. Hell, there was a good chance the whole scam was about
to fall apart anyway. My own opinion was that if Orchid was running
smooth he’d clear out, take what he’d gotten so far and get
off-planet without trying to bleed any more juice out of
anyone.

I decided to try the direct and honest
approach.

“Mis’ Nakada,” I asked, “have you ever really
looked at the scheme the Ipsy’s selling you?”

She looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, doesn’t it sound too good to be
true? Have you checked it over to see whether it would really work?
Have you discussed it with anyone, run their claims through any
analytical software?”

She stared at me. “I don’t understand what
you’re getting at.”

“I’m getting at the question of whether Doc
Lee and his bunch can actually do what they say they can,” I
said.

She almost snarled. “Of course they can,” she
said. “Lee’s a top planetologist. His team’s all top experts.”

“Experts can lie, Mis’ Nakada,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean that it’s all a trick, a sham,” I
told her. “They can’t stop the city, any more than anyone else can.
They’re conning you. They’re just taking your money and tucking it
away on Prometheus. You don’t have to believe me; get any
planetologist you like to come and take a look, and you’ll see.
They’re swindling you.”

She glared at me with a look that was about
the closest I’ve ever seen to pure hatred.

“You’re lying,” she said. “You’re the one
trying to con me.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m telling the
truth.”

“You’re lying,” she insisted. “Why would they
cheat me?”

“For the money, of course,” I told her.

“No,” she said. “You’re lying, that’s all.” A
brilliant idea occurred to her. “Did somebody hire you to get them
away from me,” she demanded, “to get them to work for someone
else?”

“No,” I said. “Nobody hired me.”

“
Somebody
did,” she said. “Somebody’s
trying to stop me.”

“Think what you like,” I said, amazed at her
ability to deny reality when it clashed with her desires.

I’d tried. I’d tried honesty, tried telling
her what was happening. If she didn’t accept it, it wasn’t my
fault. I’d done my full duty to truth and justice. Sayuri Nakada
deserved to be swindled if anyone ever did; I could almost
sympathize with Orchid, seeing all that money in the hands of
someone like her.

Of course, if she checked up later, and cut
Orchid and Lee and the rest off, or got them sent up for
reconstruction, I wouldn’t weep.

Right now, though, I had one more thing I
realized I had to discuss with her, and maybe it was something I
should have dealt with before I antagonized her. I had a client to
take care of. Just because Paulie and Bobo weren’t going to be
making the rounds in the West End didn’t mean nobody would.

“There’s one other thing,” I said, casually.
“I probably should have mentioned it the first time, but you know
how it is, things can slip your mind.”

She just glared. Maybe she didn’t know how it
is, with all the implants she must have had keeping her up to date.
Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit she knew.

“There’s a little matter of some people I
know,” I said, “living out in the West End in some of the buildings
you bought.”

“Squatters,” she said.

I nodded. “You could call them that,” I
agreed.

“Burakumin!” she spat. “Abid! A bunch of
social gritware. They pay rent or they get out; I don’t want them
around when I start cleaning up out there.”

I held up a hand. “Mis’ Nakada,” I said, “I
think you’re overreacting. They aren’t such bad people.”

I was lying; they were scum. But they were
also paying clients.

“What are they to you?” she asked.

“Friends,” I lied. “And I don’t want them
evicted.”

“
I
do,” she said, and she was pretty
damn definite about it. I guessed right then that collecting rents
hadn’t been Orchid’s idea at all, but hers. I doubted Orchid had
known just how much trouble collecting that stupid rent would buy
him, but at least he hadn’t come up with it on his own.

“Mis’ Nakada,” I said, “I hope you’ll
reconsider.”

“Why should I?” she demanded.

“Because if you don’t,” I said, “I’ll put
everything I know about the little plan you have the Ipsy working
on on the public nets. That could cut into your profits pretty
badly, having the word get out too soon.”

“That’s blackmail,” she said.

I shrugged. “You could call it that, I
suppose,” I admitted. “I have a chunk of information; I can hand it
out free, or I can sell you the dissemination rights. If you want
to call that blackmail, suit yourself. Which do you want? Do I put
it on the nets or not?”

“No!” she said, sharp and hard.

“Then we make a deal,” I said. “We can put it
in writing. I’m not looking for anything permanent, just a little
time for my friends to get relocated. I’ll agree not to release to
the public or anyone except partners or immediate family any
information I may have concerning your investment plans or dealings
with non-profit scientific organizations, and I’ll bind all
partners and immediate family to the same commitment. In exchange,
you’ll agree that you will not attempt to collect any rents on
property in the West End for, shall we say, three years?”

“That’s too long,” she snapped.

“All right,” I said, “until you’re ready to
refurbish the buildings, or three years, whichever comes first. The
day your repair crews arrive, the squatters will be out; how’s that
sound?”

“How do I know you won’t make more demands?”
she asked.

“That’s in my end of the agreement,” I said.
“If I spread the word, or if I demand anything more, then I’m in
breach of contract—and you and I both know what the penalties are
for that in Nightside City. I’m not interested in a term of
indenture, or in selling body parts.”

She thought for a minute, then nodded.

“All right,” she said.

That little golden floater had all the
necessary equipment for the contract, and in fifteen minutes we had
shaken hands and left.

I don’t know where she went. I went home to
my office. I thanked Mishima’s muscle and let them fend for
themselves; I didn’t see that I needed them anymore.

The case was over, as far as I could see. I
sat at my desk and ran through the records, making notes, seeing if
I’d missed anything. I didn’t see that I had. My contract was to
stop the new owner from evicting the squatters; I had Nakada’s
agreement recorded and sealed. Side issues had been to find out who
was doing what, and why, and I had all that figured out. Orchid and
Rigmus had tried to kill me, but I had it set so they wouldn’t try
again.

It looked smooth. I started clearing
everything out of the com’s active memory.

Then the com beeped and I touched keys, and
Mishima’s face appeared.

“Hello, Hsing,” he said.

“Hello, Mishima,” I replied.

“So how’d it go?” he asked.

“How did
what
go?” I said.

“Your little talk with Sayuri Nakada—how’d it
go?”

I wasn’t terribly happy to hear him ask that.
I was beginning to have second or third thoughts about any sort of
partnership with Mishima. I’d always worked alone, my own way and
at my own speed; having a partner checking up on me did not carry a
lot of appeal. It had seemed wonderful when I was lying in a
hospital bed with new eyes and my new skin still baby-slick,
feeling vulnerable, with no idea how I could face down Orchid and
the others all by myself, but now I began to see drawbacks.

I still appreciated the loan of the muscle,
not to mention the medical bills and the detail that Mishima had
ventured out onto the dayside to rescue me, and I could see virtues
in the arrangement, but I didn’t like being called to account like
that.

“It went all right,” I said, trying to think
how I could put my concerns.

“What did you get?” he asked.

“What do you mean, what did I get?” I
said.

“I mean, what did you get from Nakada?” he
said. “How much did she pay you to keep quiet?”

“She didn’t pay me anything,” I said. “She
just agreed to leave the squatters alone.”

He stared at me for a minute. “Listen,
partner,” he said, “I don’t want to get this relationship off to a
rough start. Let’s just keep the bugs and glitches to a minimum.
Let’s not hold out on each other, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m not holding out.”

“Oh, get off it, Hsing,” he said. “You went
there with all the details of this scam, with everything you needed
to prove to Sayuri Nakada’s old man back on Prometheus that she’s a
complete idiot, and you came away without a buck? You expect me to
believe that?”

It was my turn to sit back and stare for a
minute.

“All right, Mishima,” I said, “suppose you
tell me how
you
think it ran.”