'Becoming X' - Part two
Frank/Gerard
Rating: R
Warning for character death.
Part one / Part two / Part three
When the plane turns towards the rising sun everyone else is asleep. Frank slides open the window panel next to him, raising his weight up onto his elbows to take a look outside.
“How long has it been?”
He hadn’t remembered that Gerard would be conscious; feigning rest only for appearance’s sake. “A few years.”
The robot gets up from the opposite couch carefully. He steps over to bend and glance out. “I’ve never seen it.”
“What do you think of it, now that you have?”
“It doesn’t really have an impact in terms of sight. I have enhanced vision.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Gerard looks past Frank, through the reinforced Perspex again at the tainted sky. “You mean how does it make me feel?”
Frank nods.
“I guess I don’t really feel anything.”
Frank watches the clouds pass below. Eventually the others start to wake. Schechter is the first to head to the kitchen area, after a quick check on the pilot. “We should be descending in about forty minutes. From there it’s just a short drive to the house.”
Frank takes a cup of coffee from him; blowing ripples across its surface as Toro begins to twist on a nearby chair. Saporta emerges from the toilet, inspecting his pores in a vanity mirror and moaning about the air conditioning and what it does to his skin. Price is already perched in front of his personal computer at one of the desks, totally engrossed.
“How are you feeling?” Schechter sits next to him. “I suppose a good night’s sleep was out of the question?”
Frank clicks his head from side to side, feeling the ligaments in his neck resist.
“There’ll be a chance to relax later.”
“I’ll make time for that once I have the brief.” He places the cup down beside him to cool, turning it so that the private jet company’s logo faces him dead on; satisfying a particular compulsive urge. “You said Simden had skipped this town for good.”
“Never say never,” Schechter smirks, rather pointedly. “He has more friends than enemies here. That’s a novelty which makes it worth keeping some roots in the soil. He calls it a vacation home, but it’s mainly used for business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Many different kinds.” Schechter sips his own drink. He doesn’t elaborate.
Frank grumbles as he rubs his eyes. He already has a headache from the light. “So there’ll be time to sleep?”
“You’ll have time. The meeting has been arranged for after dinner.”
The two vehicles sent to collect them race along the bare roads, steadily climbing above the thickest of the chemical smog.
Frank had guessed that Simden’s place here would be impressive, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so intimidating. Once he’s shown to his room he cleans up, in a vast private bathroom, bent over a basin that’s almost the size of his old apartment’s tub. Wrapping his lower half in a towel, he smokes outside on the balcony afterwards; enjoying the obtrusive heat, despite the fact that it seems to make his cigarette extinguish occasionally. Each time he relights it he compares it to the annoyance of the same thing happening in the driving rain back home. At least this place has a pleasant view.
There’s a cough behind him. He turns around, gripping the knot of terrycloth at his hip when he feels it begin to slide down.
“Excuse me.”
Frank dismisses the apology with a frown as he untucks his cigarette from between his teeth.
“You’re expected to the table at eight. There is a change of clothes in the main wardrobe.”
With this instruction, the man in front of him is gone. Frank casts a quick glance down to make sure he didn’t reveal anything aside from surprise.
~
“You look like you raided your Daddy’s closet.”
Toro mocking him, whilst under the influence of alcohol, makes Frank feel slightly superior, even with cuffs turned up two inches on each of his sleeves. He makes his way towards the table. “You should really line your stomach before you drink,” he retorts. “It goes straight to your head. Not entirely professional.”
“That monkey suit you usually rely on mustn’t have been up to standard.” Saporta doesn’t waste any time inviting himself into their conversation. “I don’t think Simden knew anyone would need something from the boys department, though.”
“Gentlemen,” Schechter interrupts. “Good things come in small packages. Didn’t your mothers ever educate you to that fact?”
“Don’t bait me to start on your mother.” Toro grumpily helps himself to another glass from the collection of expensive liquor bottles he’s accumulating around him.
Saporta simply nods, looking bored. “We can’t help it when he makes it so goddamn easy.”
Schechter saws into a slice of meat pinned under his fork. “It would be wise for you two to think about knocking off the rival mentality you seem to have adopted since we left the rotten apple. I assure you that it’ll work out better for everyone if you do.”
Frank takes a seat next to a silent Price. “Ladies,” he smiles across the table. Saporta attempts to stare him down for a few seconds, before turning his attention to the programmer.
“So I thought all rats ate was cheese.” He points at Price’s meal. “Looks like you got an appetite for things above your station, there.”
A clatter pierces the air as Schechter’s knife drops onto the surface of his plate. He picks up his napkin, wiping his lips with it before he speaks. “Did I not explain myself well enough?”
Saporta looks him over; his cheeks still twitching around a lump of steak.
“This isn’t just about you and your ego. If it’s the only thing you’ll learn here, you’ll learn some respect. Keep this shit up and you’ll go home with nothing.”
Saporta swallows, and gives a rather complacent shrug. He lights another cigarette; disposing of the ash onto some leftover bread.
They eat. Frank watches Schechter plate up a second dinner - carefully selecting different vegetables, meats and sauces from the various dishes that have been brought out for them to enjoy - and place it down in front of Gerard.
“Will certain things fry his circuits?” Saporta asks innocently.
“He has tastes. Likes and dislikes, the same as you.”
“Engineered ones, though.”
“You were engineered too, in a sense. Unless you think you hitched a ride to earth with a stork.”
Toro starts to laugh, but is immediately silenced with one daggered look from his friend.
Several table staff emerge from the alcoves to clear away the empty plates, replacing them with sweeter, more colorful options.
“Where’s our host?” Frank asks.
The other faces turn towards the vacant chair at the head of the table.
“He must be held up.” Schechter doesn’t make eye contact as he answers.
“No bother.” Saporta stares at the female waitresses as they return to distribute another round of drinks. “Simden can take all the time he likes. I’ll be sure to thank him later for such attentive treatment.”
*
A flight of floating steps lead up from the dining room to a large first-floor lounge. No handrail. Frank controls the unsteady sensation he experiences whilst climbing them in the half-light.
They settle down into the couches and armchairs provided. A screen rolls down from one wall as the lights drop out.
“Quit the theatrics, Brian.” Toro twists his head around.
Schechter, who is leaning against the doorframe behind them, holds up his hands in protest. “For once, it’s not me.”
“Do we get popcorn too?” Frank asks sarcastically.
“Welcome,” the screen says, zoning their collective attention back in. It’s still blank, but Frank can just about make out the flicker of a feed distorting its surface. The voice emerging from the speakers is deep. Recognisable. “I know you’ve been kept waiting. I apologise for the delay, but sometimes arrangements don’t go to plan, no matter how hard I try. I trust my staff have been seeing to your requirements swiftly and courteously.”
Simden. Frank tunes out the hushed commentary coming from somewhere beside him.
“You’re all here because you’re the best at what you do. Experts. While this may have gifted you with a fair amount of negative attention - and in some cases even incarceration - it hasn’t deterred you. That’s the kind of dedication I admire. It’s something I see in myself, and respect in others. It’s why we find ourselves here tonight, in this room together.”
“Except you’re not here.” Saporta tilts the toothpick he’s holding back into his mouth once he’s spoken. There’s a substantial pause.
“That’s correct. Very observant of you, Gabriel. I can assure you that I’d prefer it to be otherwise. Brian can vouch for the fact that I don’t very much like this informal way of doing things. However, in order to provide protection for you all, it’s necessary that a certain distance is maintained.”
“Don’t you mean protection for yourself?”
“That, too.”
“You can see why some of us would be a little put off by this,” Ray adds.
The screen jolts. Colors appear. Eventually the image of a seated human form starts to stabilize, the facial features shadowed out. “Will this put you somewhat at ease?”
“I’ll guess we’ll have to take the gesture for what it’s worth.”
“Good. Now, if that’s enough with the pleasantries, we should begin with business.”
“Fine by me,” Saporta straightens his slouch, pulling himself upright.
“By now, you’re all aware of what our target is. What you’re here to receive now are the specifics. I’ve arranged a little show and tell, if Brian would be so kind as to activate the demonstration model.”
Schechter steps towards the screen, carrying a disc. He loads it into a waiting device.
“Old school,” Frank comments, lifting his fingers away from his mouth.
Schechter’s broad grin can be seen from the side. “Easier to smash into pieces than a chip, if I had needed to.”
The graphics begin.
“What you can see is a mock-up of the system from our point of view, which isn’t quite from the outside. As you’re already aware, Mr. Price has clearance to a certain level. It’s an authorised portal, left open deliberately in case of emergencies. Ellipsis’ contract with the government included a support package whereby their best programmers would be ‘leased out’ if something went wrong, that is, they’d be expected to assist in order to comply with the conditions of the payment.”
Toro interrupts. “Creating a problem to utilise that would be very risky. If they suspected something was up they’d clench their cheeks even tighter.”
“You can relax. We’re not taking that route.”
“Then how will the access that Price has help us?” Saporta asks. “We’re trying to hack the damn thing, not sweep the glitches up.”
“The answer to that lies in the way the system was built. You’re thinking of a standard infiltration. Boring a hole. Do that, and no matter how eloquent your movements, and you’d be blocked off in less time than it would take you to scratch your nose.”
“I think fast on my feet,” Saporta maintains.
“You can’t perforate it like you would a normal system, no matter how quick you are. This is a different animal.”
The image changes to a geography of weaving layers. Millions of levels of simulated code cloud the screen. “It’s not just a series of barriers, or locks. This is living. Intelligent. It’s a mesh of protection, and you’re going to need Price’s knowledge to do your job.”
“Which is?”
“Seep inside. Invisibly.”
Heads rotate to search each other’s expressions in the darkened room.
“Without leaving a trace?” Saporta asks.
“Yes.”
“Not possible.”
“If they find out they’ve been compromised, they’ll throw everything they have at the who and the how. Consequently, we’d have a limited time to extract and exploit the data. That isn’t acceptable.”
Frank watches the blue and green lights from the model play across Price’s face. The programmer hasn’t had much to say, and seems absorbed; like he’s trying to decipher a hidden message that’s trapped somewhere behind the diagram they’re being shown.
“If anyone doubts their ability to stick to these requisites, it would be best if they declared it now. You’ll be excused without judgement, and compensated for your time.”
Toro looks at Schechter, then at Frank, then Saporta. Saporta doesn’t look at anyone. He slides himself a little closer to the edge of the couch, unfolding his arms. “When do we talk money?”
Frank sees Schechter’s expression change. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s almost there. Gently satisfied.
“A fair split. The payment guaranteed to me from the sponsors of this little operation, divided six ways.”
“And what does that turn out to be?”
A neat figure generates on the screen, dissolving away after a few seconds. Frank nods. It’s never really been about the money for him, but it’s nice to feel valued.
“Are there any more questions?”
Apparently there aren’t. The screen switches back to a half-disguised Simden, tapping his tan fingers against his kneecap.
“I think the boys would prefer to get their teeth into it.” Schechter signals to Gerard, who raises the brightness in the room with a twist of the controls.
“Fair enough. Enjoy the rest of your downtime, gentlemen. The real work starts when you land back home.”
Price angles his way towards Frank as the bodies disperse from the room, but waits until it’s empty before he speaks. “You don’t strike me as nervous.”
“I don’t get nervous.”
“Maybe you should. A little modesty is healthy, and it seems in short supply here.”
“You’re with the professional outlaws now, Price.” Frank takes off his tie, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “I’ve spent years dodging the cops and getting away with it. I don’t plan on getting caught now.”
Price smiles. It’s the first time Frank’s seen him do it, and it doesn’t really suit his analytical, dowdy face. “I guess it’s just me who thinks this battle of the egos is a potential liability, then.”
“Arrogant bastards often know how to get results. That’s why they continue to be arrogant bastards.”
“I’ll hold you to that. The part about results, I mean.”
“Please yourself.” Frank scrapes up his Zippo from the end table by the couch. “Have some more to drink, Price. Loosen up. Cover your end, I’ll cover mine.”
~
Frank walks back to the east wing of the house.
In the corridor where the guest quarters are located, he finds Gerard. The robot is stood alone, staring into an ornamental tank of tropical fish set within the wall. The splashing of water and the giggle of girls can be heard from the nearby pool. Toro’s laugh reverberates between the pitch of their excitement.
“You don’t want to swim with them?” Gerard asks Frank as he gets closer. He hadn’t looked up to see it was him.
“Not tonight.”
Gerard touches the glass with a faint tap of his finger. One of the fish changes direction quickly, startled. “I do swim, if you’re curious about that too.”
“Well water stays inside you. I guess it should stay out.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Simple logic.” Frank’s eyes follow the fish curving around in the water. Their bellies reflect shots of blue as they turn towards the artificial light. He rubs at his nose; the arid heat is making it itch. “You don’t talk much when everyone’s around.”
Gerard puts his hand down, still looking into the tank. “No. I suppose I don’t.”
Frank pulls out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lights it, twitching his head away from the first loop of smoke. “Is that for a reason?”
“Gerard.”
Schechter’s calm voice echoes from the other end of the hallway. He’s pacing slowly; the key to his suite already prepared for the lock.
Gerard glances at Frank. “Goodnight,” he says, passing him. He steps though the door as Schechter holds it open.
“We’re due on board at eleven, Frank. Be ready in the lobby by ten.”
Frank shows he understands with a nod, and then turns back to watching the fish.
*
The flight back is unremarkable. Muted, in comparison to the outward journey.
They sit in maintained silence, each contemplating the instructions they’ve received. The aim is to get in and out without detection. Impossible. The logical part of Frank’s brain is pretty sure it is, anyway. Not that this seems like a reason not to try. Nothing ventured means nothing gained.
He’s dropped back to the apartment in a cab, and sleeps whatever’s given him another headache off, dreaming of the memory of being in math class as a teenager. The teacher would sometimes make a mistake while explaining something; fail to notice or carry on regardless. Frank would look around at the smirking faces of his friends. He’d joke about it out of earshot. Old man’s losing it, he’d say, laughing. Then it would hit him a few days later. Deliberate. Clever. So clever he’d missed it. Or dismissed it.
Three hours later he’s awake again, watching TV on the couch when there’s small knock at the door.
He rolls himself off the cushions and gets up.
The woman stood there opens her trench coat as he opens the door. She’s dressed simply underneath: sheer nylon hold-ups, a coordinated bra and thong, strappy heels. The general effect is that she doesn’t look cheap enough to have come from the immediate neighbourhood.
Simden’s name is dropped. A bottle of Grey Goose is held out as both an introduction and a greeting. He tells her that he doesn’t usually drink anything that clear. Without hesitation she suggests that perhaps tonight he could make an exception.
Frank doesn’t invite her in, but he doesn’t exactly ask her to leave, either.
He makes a start on the hooch, swilling straight from the bottle as she draws herself a bath. Sitting upright on his bed, he can detect her perfume mixing with the steam creeping out before he sees her emerge ten minutes later.
You’ve got a big job, she says.
As she comes closer, she dries her limbs with a towel and continues to talk about it vaguely, as if she’s already familiar with everything. She knows, she informs him, a thing or two about big jobs herself.
Frank allows himself to be pushed back on the pillows. His mind is elsewhere, but he’s an expert in how that feels and still functioning around it.
~
“I hope you’ve got spare sheets.”
If possible, Price’s eyes look even larger in the stark light of the hallway. The whites of them seem to glow, like phosphorus. Maybe it’s an optical illusion. Toxic shock hangover from a standard of alcohol Frank isn’t used to.
He squints and pulls the door he’s just opened back some more, a little reluctantly. “What, you didn’t get one too?”
“Oh, I got one alright. Made her a hot drink then sent her home.” Price doesn’t wait for Frank to move any further; shoving past him and placing his coat on the chair by the TV.
Frank locks up again and goes into the kitchen. He begins an inspection of the near-empty fridge as though something tasty might have materialized inside since the last time he checked. “I have to tell you, I’m not that enthusiastic about this whole ‘paired up’ thing.”
“Working alone is dangerous. Working together in one group is even more stupid.”
“Still so gloriously optimistic, aren’t you?” Frank turns his focus towards the coffee maker that was delivered yesterday and waiting for him when he arrived. While he unwraps the cellophane and slams the plastic segments together he can’t help thinking that Toro and Saporta got the least shitty straw.
“The way you attract attention, I think it’s advisable to do it this way.” In the main room Price’s lean fingers are already rattling about on his keyboard, and their speed surprises even Frank. “From Simden’s point of view, at least. Maybe he suspects that you might squeal under pressure if caught again. Cut a deal.”
“I don’t squeal.”
“I’m sure they could think of something imaginative to change your mind.”
Price unpacks some more things and gradually starts to set up shop. Frank leaves him to it, shutting himself in the bathroom for a long overdue piss. When he comes out the desk is a tangle of electric leads and the mattress from the bed has been slid upright against the largest window. Price is eating a deli sandwich he must have smuggled in undetected.
“Where the fuck are we supposed to sleep?”
“On the couch. In shifts.”
Frank tugs off his t-shirt and muffles a curse into the cotton.
“Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are tackling the tertiary-level filters. We’re on the sweep behind them. The robot should be here around ten.”
“He’s coming here, too?”
Price nods, limp flakes of coleslaw sticking out from between his lips.
“That’s just great.”
~
Around the time Gerard should be arriving, there’s a knock at door.
Frank’s lying at some awkward angle on the couch as he comes around. His hair was wet from his shower when he fell asleep, and has since dried in a soft upward quiff he feels bounce as he lifts his head up, trying to focus.
Price is asking him if he has a gun.
“What?”
“A gun.”
There’s another bout of banging, this time louder and more impatient. Frank looks at Price dead on; the mention of weaponry suddenly rendering him very much awake. “Who is that?”
Price is doing some kind of little shunt with his feet on the carpet, bent over and whispering: “Someone I don’t think you want to let in.”
Frank jumps up, dragging Price down into the seat he’s vacated and hushing him by gesturing with his finger over his lips. He steps towards the spy hole. As he turns back he can feel his face and hands drain of blood. No time to be surprised that they‘ve found him, let alone panic.
“Well, do you have one?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t magically cease to be incriminating when it passed the magnets in the door frame.”
Frank sneers this out and then looks around, seeing that Price has already hidden away all their equipment - how well, God knows. Perhaps it’s hanging out of the windows wrapped in garbage bags and noosed with electrical cord.
“They don’t look like they’re just going to go away if you ask them to.”
“No. They don’t.”
Think, Iero. Use that grey matter. Frank doubts the legal need for a warrant will be very effective in deterring the police’s hired muscle. Those assholes down at the station are really pulling out all the stops, and their timing couldn’t be any more inconvenient. On top of all this, Price has actually started sweating. “Knock it off,” Frank orders him. “You stay calm. Hear me?”
Price moves his fingers nervously into the front of his hair.
Frank checks himself over in the mirror on the wall. There’s some crust on one corner of his mouth which he wipes away, and he tries to flatten down his skewed parting to make himself look slightly less taken-by-surprise. There’s a single, blunt knock as he walks towards the door.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask them nicely.”
Frank removes the deadbolts. All the chains, except the thickest one. He swings the door inward, slowly. “Can I help you?”
The man at the front of the pack grins. He’s huge and bald; wearing an artificial leather jacket and wayfarer sunglasses which he takes off and puts into his pocket.
“Shouldn’t those be in a museum?”
“That famous wit. Shame you never feel in the mood to say the right thing.”
“It’s late. I’m supposed to be getting my beauty sleep. Can we do this some other time?”
The man takes a step forward in his gigantic boots. The floorboards creak as he leans his weight across and peers past Frank. “Nice new digs.”
Frank puts his own foot behind the door as solidly as he can. “Like I said, it’s not really a good time.”
“Sounds like the song of a man who’s got something to hide, hey boys? Perhaps a little twink he’s got gagged and stuffed inside the box-spring.” There’s a low round of laughter from the collected group. Frank thinks he counts an additional five, but doesn’t scan; keeping his eye contact limited to just the ringleader. “Listen, Iero. Why don’t you make this easier for yourself and move aside. We promise we won’t break your best china if you show us what you know we’re here looking for, and do us the courtesy of coming along quietly afterwards.”
Frank smiles bashfully, lowering his head. “I tell you what. Why don’t you come back in the morning? I’ll put some breakfast on for you and your friends. I make killer French toast.” He starts to close the door.
“Wrong answer.” The man moves to the side, making way for something. Frank doesn’t see who or what; he’s already got the latch closed and is in the process of replacing the various locks, wondering how long they’ll hold and how hard it’s going to be to scale down a wet fire escape on the off-chance that there’s not another contingent of goons waiting for them at the bottom.
“Bail.”
“What?” Price rises from the couch like he’s just been slapped across the ass with a cane.
“Out the bathroom window.”
The floor is still damp from Frank’s shower and squeaks under his shoes as he scrambles to raise the glass and buy them enough space to slip through.
“Wait,” Price tells him.
“You got any better suggestions, I’m all ears.”
“Listen.”
“What for?”
“Exactly. I don’t hear anything.”
“We don’t have time for this shit, Price.”
“Unless they’re crawling through the gap or picking the lock, I think they’ve gone.”
The possibility that the group have abandoned their raid is so strange that Frank has to digest it for a good few seconds before it’ll sink in. Price is right: there is no banging, no splitting of wood or furniture being toppled over. No activity from the main room whatsoever.
After waiting another minute, they walk out. All the locks are as Frank left them: some of the chains hurriedly jammed into the wrong slots.
Price almost jumps into Frank as the phone rattles on the nightstand.
“Easy, soldier. It’s probably just telesales.” Frank strolls calmly over and picks the handset up. Instead of the dial tone or silence some part of him is expecting, there’s a familiar voice on the other end. “That was a very close call.”
Frank doesn’t say anything.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’d like to hear how you know about it.”
Price is stood next to the empty bed frame, looking at Frank with a wobbly expression.
“Go to your window,” the voice on the phone says. “Not the one you just tried to throw yourself out of. The one next to you.”
Frank moves, trailing the cord behind him. He tucks the receiver under his chin, drags the upright mattress away a few feet and cracks open the curtain an inch with his fingers, staring out at the wet street. “What am I looking at?”
“The theatre to your right.”
Frank swings his head round. Parked on the road outside of the colourfully-lit box office is a black Lincoln. Inside is the face that matches the voice he’s talking to.
“Well you better get your synthetic ass up here,” Frank suggests as he checks his watch. “It’s twenty-past ten. You’re late.”
~
Gerard shakes the rain from his coat and hangs it on the peg by the door.
Price acknowledges he’s arrived with a simple tilt of his head and then disappears into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee and retrieve the hidden hardware from the ceiling vent.
“How did you get rid of them?” Frank asks.
“I distracted them with my boyish good looks.”
For some reason, Gerard’s joke doesn’t sit comfortably with him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still a little hung over from last night and a crew of thugs just came within seconds of breaking his door down.
He drops himself back into his previous horizontal position on the couch, leaving Gerard to either stand where he is or sit on the floor beside the bed. The robot chooses the former. “I hacked into the radio signal from the station. Your friends at the precinct had a designated channel open in case they needed to contact their men. A little white lie and a little voice simulation had them call it an early night. It won’t buy us much time, but it buys us some.”
“I guess we got lucky then.” Frank sparks up a cigarette, taking the opportunity to burp before he inhales.
“Charming,” Price comments as he emerges with two steaming mugs.
“Just give me my drink.”
Price hands Frank the coffee, keeping a grip on the handle so that Frank is forced to take hold of the searing hot ceramic.
“Thank you, Gerard,” Price says. “You’re certainly proving both Schechter’s time and effort to be a worthwhile investment.”
Gerard smiles in response, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Frank. Frank notices, even though he’s got his own vacantly leveled on the door. “Happy to be of help. I have his reputation to uphold, after all.”
~
They don’t stay at the apartment long. Frank tosses most of his drink down the sink and they leave; Gerard driving them back to the clubhouse.
“Why do you have all this space, anyway?” Price asks Schechter, looking around at the unfilled bar. The taps and the clientele dried up years ago and there’s just the odor of old upholstery and wood polish left behind.
“Why not?” Schechter gives him a smile that he drops as he switches over to more important conversation. “Toro’s not going to be very happy about it” he tells Frank. “He’s already disgruntled with me playing messenger for an absent Simden.”
Frank throws some stale peanuts into his mouth and chews as he talks. “Did you manage to put him at ease?”
Schechter nods.
“How?”
“I told him that I even I have to make some allowances sometimes. For the sake of the job.”
“And Saporta?”
“As far as he’s concerned Simden’s dollars are as green as anyone’s.” Schechter places his drink down gently. “How do you think they found you?”
“Honestly? I think they followed Price.”
Across the table, Price doesn’t look too pleased. “And what makes you think that?”
Frank shrugs. “Maybe you had a tail and you didn’t notice. Maybe you weren’t careful enough with your locks and blocks. Fuck knows.”
“I didn’t just stroll into this game yesterday, you know.”
“Yeah. Well. All I know is that’s the first time in a long time I’ve been surprised like that. And it’s the first time in long time that I’ve had company. Coincidences like that don’t sit well with me.”
Todd thinks for a moment, sliding his eyes to the side. “Could’ve been the whore.”
Frank wipes the back of his hand across his nostrils. “Unlikely.”
“What whore?” Schechter asks him.
“The ones Simden sent over. The pick-me-ups. Price got one, too. Although he fell asleep on her.”
“Toro didn’t mention anything to me about any escorts at their place.”
“That’s probably because it’s a typical weeknight’s entertainment for him.”
“You think it’s possible she was undercover?”
“She didn’t behave like she was.”
Schechter’s eyebrow goes up.
“They’re trained to go after information,” Frank explains. “And she wasn’t asking.”
“Well, wherever she came from and whatever you did or didn’t provide her with, you can’t go back to the apartment. I’ll arrange for you to stay somewhere else.”
Schechter retreats into his office to make some calls.
As Price uses the bathroom, Frank sits alone thinking about the various potential risks for the first time properly since this began. He’s just heard the flush and the groan of the old pipes when Gerard’s voice suddenly startles him. “Where’s Brian?”
“In the back. Pushing paper. Care for a cocktail?” Frank lifts up the bottle of whiskey he’s working his way through and taps it against an empty glass on the tray with a clink.
“I’ll give it a miss.” The droid walks past.
“He’s on the phone,” Frank tells him, craning his neck back.
“He won’t mind,” Gerard answers bluntly.
~
An hour later, Price takes the new key from Frank and pushes the door it unlocks open with the toe of his boot.
The place is on the fourth floor of a pretty close to condemned building in a mostly industrial neighbourhood alongside the docks.
Frank takes a step inside and understands how nice the previous apartment probably was in comparison. Tiny main room. Snapped shutters on the window. Something staining the bathtub that doesn’t look like rust.
“It’s not The Four Seasons, but it’s the best he could do with such short notice.” Gerard carries their things in and lies them down on two bare mattresses on the floor. “I have some clean blankets in the car. Let me fetch them.”
“Small gestures,” Frank sighs. He finds his eyes absorbed by the awful wallpaper and tries to make sense of the hexagonal design in its replicating tiles.
“Like I said, we’ll find somewhere else tomorrow. Unless you’d rather sleep in the street.”
Frank shakes his head. “It’ll be fine. Let’s get to work.”
After a few hours Frank changes over with a rested Price and goes to the bathroom. He looks through the pane of glass by the toilet, past the torn and mildewed curtains and down into the alley below; secretly wishing someone would come walking into his view and look up and spot him. Maybe a drunk spiraling off the main sidewalk, or anybody, just so he could see a reaction. The joys in life can often be harmless, perverse little things.
When he comes back out, Price is sat on the bed with a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a thick pair of spectacles on his face, examining Gerard’s back. He’s scanning through the robot’s flesh with an imaging probe, and must take his cue to look up and explain himself from Frank’s silent reaction. “We had a window. I needed a smoke, and Gerard here doesn’t mind.”
From the glow of the high frequency bulb in Price’s hand, Frank can see the wires and biomechanical mapping that run across the surface underneath. Price ticks something on the equipment with his thumbnail and the colors on the display deepen, showing what look like veins weaving between the plates of metallic bone. Gerard blinks, but other than this he’s perfectly motionless; indulging Price’s curiosity without complaint.
Frank grabs his coat from the chair.
“Where are you going?” Price looks up, pulling off his glasses.
“I need some air.”
~
Frank walks.
He heads to the nearest convenience store and buys a bottle of chilled beer. Light beer. Got to keep lucid.
He smokes on the corner, out of range of the cone of light thrown from the streetlamp, and fingers the microchip in his pocket that Schechter gave to him earlier.
“You trust me with this?”
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s probably the answer I was looking for.”
Frank inspects it. The shape is unusual for a design of its type. “What is it?”
“Something you’ll need, if anything happens. Consider it collateral.”
“What could happen?”
“I wouldn’t want to give God any ideas.” Schechter smiles. “Listen. Gerard wants to go with you again. With you and Price. He’s asked me. I’ve said yes.”
“Giving his leash a little more range?”
Schechter smiles blankly.
Frank slides the bottle of whiskey away for what he promises himself will be the last time tonight and turns his glass over to assure it. “He comes in handy. You sure you’re not going to need him?”
Schechter rocks back on the worn springs of his chair, nodding up at the cabinet of handguns behind him. “Oh, I’ve got a stock of things in there I can rely on. Besides, who knows I’m here? Unless you’re going to double-cross me.”
Frank laughs. “I’d have to have balls of brass.”
“You’re too generous. Even to an old fixture like me.”
“Yeah well, make the most of it while it’s in supply. I could be chained to a pipe in the district station’s basement by tomorrow.”
~
When Frank gets back the apartment smells of solvent air freshener and instant ramen. There’s no evidence of either, and Price is alone on the floor in front of his laptop; cross-legged like some kind of wired, emaciated Buddha.
Frank gestures around with his bottle as he pulls it from the damp bag. “Where’s he got to now? Playing with the cop’s radio again?”
“Just left. Schechter called.”
“Will he be long?”
“Didn’t say. He probably would have if he was gonna be.” Price wriggles his pinkie finger as deep as it will go inside his ear and then drops it to continue typing.
Frank picks about in the refrigerator. There’s nothing except lumps of ice wrapped in towels and some frosty-looking syringes he'd rather not investigate.
“Thought about how you’re going to spend your riches yet?”
Price doesn’t raise his voice and the question is just a hum of vowels Frank has to fill-out to interpret. He returns to the main room and sinks to his knees on the mattress opposite Price, then onto his back, pulling one of the fleece blankets over his bottom half. “I don’t count the eggs before I’ve fertilized them.”
“Wise words.”
“Yeah, well I’m a regular fucking swami.” Frank unclips the lid of the bottle using the edge of a broken hinge on the dresser next to him.
“If I was already thinking about it though, hypothetically, I’d probably imagine that I’d want a boat.”
“Plenty of boats out there already.”
Price ignores him. “I’d sail down south. Or west, where it’s still warm.”
“Ace. You might run into Saporta and Toro taking a private cruise to congratulate each other.”
“You’re not a very happy person, are you Frank?”
Frank studies the condensation on the brown glass in his hand. “Ain’t got much left to be happy for.”
“What you pull down for this job could give you something to care about again. You might starting finding someone you like in there,” Price points to Frank’s chest. “Money’s a lot like a woman. If you show it respect, and don’t take it for granted, it’ll take care of you.”
“This is nice. I thought it’d be dull in here without cable TV and the self-help channel, but you’re really stepping up to fill that void.”
Price unfolds his thin legs and Frank can hear his bones clicking under the denim. “Sometimes I find myself wondering who’s more human, you or that robot.”
Frank smiles. He has his eyes closed. “Money can’t mend everything, Price. Some things are gone for good, whether that’s part of your lot, or just a little bonus. The powers that be - it’s their way of making you feel loved. As a crusader for public rights I’d have thought you’d understand that better than anybody.”
Price either doesn’t have a comeback or doesn’t feel like taking it to the next round. He shifts his weight about and peels himself off the floor. “I’m hungry. You hungry?”
Frank shakes his head.
“Suit yourself. I’m going to get something hot.”
*
Three months into his probation feels longer than Frank’s entire stint in jail, which doesn’t make sense. Unless of course he’s become institutionalized. He considers this possibility as he slides the piece of paper away. It picks up a layer of air underneath, floating up from the desk down onto the floor.
“I don’t suppose there’s much point in challenging it?”
Bryar bends to pick it up. He holds it in his hands for a minute, curving it into a large roll; hiding the print but not distorting the shape too much. Regrettably, this one’s for keeping. “You need to see how things go first. Even though you’re not in their dungeon, this is still their game. And you don’t know quite what the rules are yet.”
Frank picks at the faint scabs on his knuckles. Then he shakes his head. “She’s not gonna let me. I know it.”
“People change.”
“She doesn’t think so.”
Bryar strokes at his beard. A little time passes in silence and eventually someone breaks it by knocking at the door. A suited outline can be seen on the other side of the frosted glass, bobbled at the edges. He opens it a fraction and tells whoever it is to come back later.
Frank’s eyes are still set on the empty desk. They snap up when the mechanism of the door clicks back into place. “Would you?”
The lawyer swings his chair out and places himself into it slowly. “I can’t say. I don’t have one.”
“Say you did. Pretend.”
This clearly stumps him. He diverts his pale eyes to another part of the room, probably trying to think of a way to dodge giving a decent answer. Presently, he opens his mouth. “I’d have to think about the pros and the cons. Write a list. Whichever side was greater would determine how things worked out.”
Frank imagines doing this. The two columns in the fantasy notebook he’s writing into seem especially lopsided. The face of the person concerned is already starting to fade, hovering at the edge of the table: big eyes, smooth hair, asking him: What are you doing?
“Give it time.” Bryar rises, walking round and patting Frank’s back roughly, as if he’s rescuing his windpipe from a small blockage. “This order expires in a year. You can reapply then.”
“Light at the end of a very long tunnel.”
“Light, all the same. I hear it’s worth its weight in gold in this place.”
*
The call to Frank’s cell in the middle of the night is from Schechter’s number.
He feels it vibrating against his hip and fumbles to answer, but when the person on the other end of the line doesn’t speak after three attempts to get them to reveal their name, he quickly hangs up.
Surrounded by cardboard take-out trays on the floor, Price is already looking up at him like something is wrong.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To check something out.”
It’s easy to go above the limit on a wet road with free-reign of the dead streets. Frank has to watch the needle closely to make sure his speed doesn’t go past the mark that will attract unwanted attention, but his heart is starting to thump in his chest and he wants to dip his foot on the gas to try and level it out.
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing.”
The wipers smear across the glass with a restricted whine. Price stares out the window, biting his lip.
When they arrive at the club the spare key Frank has turns easily in the lock. The knot in his lower guts eases slightly when inside, nothing looks out of place. The stools are stacked as normal: the contents of all the display cabinets are untouched. The office door is shut, and for a reason that escapes him, Frank knocks once before stepping inside without waiting for a reply.
Everything is almost as it should be. The bubble of the empty aquarium in the corner is the sole source of noise and motion. The papers on the table and the ornaments beside those are positioned exactly as they always have been. Sitting at the desk with a neat and bloodless hole in the front of his forehead, is Schechter. His eyes are open winder than usual: expressionless and aimed at the far wall.
Price covers his mouth with his hand. Frank doesn’t move any further forward.
“Did you touch anything?
Price shakes his head.
“Price? Did you?”
“No.”
“Let’s go.”
*
It isn’t the first time an operation has fallen apart.
Frank reminds Price of the Parker Corporation swindle they worked on together when either one was just a name to the other. Data chips and cash mixed with blood in a gory cocktail. Even to those who weren’t there it was legendary: a haemorrhage of evidence all over a downtown hotel suite following a dispute over trust. Then he realizes he’s not talking out loud, just driving - recalling a memory that isn’t even his. Price is sitting next to him rummaging through the various virtual compartments on his phone, looking for numbers.
“Where are you taking us?”
“I don’t know,” Frank confesses. His own answer alarms him.
“We need to get the stuff. Clean out.”
“Back to the apartment,” Frank checks flatly.
“Yes.”
He parks up and doesn’t bother with the handbrake. The strong lap of the water against the dock can be heard from the entrance to the building; the dark sea getting angrier in preparation for a storm.
Frank’s back on autopilot as soon as they get upstairs: collecting the machines and storage devices. Price is stuffing leads and coils of wire into a bag, and keeps looking at the door.
“Leave that shit,” Frank tells him.
“Fuck you.” Price snaps back.
“Fuck me? How’d you figure that one?”
“Just let me do what I want. I promise you won’t have to talk to me ever again in about fifteen minutes.”
Then they grab and shove in silence.
Frank’s just clipped his duffel bag together and checked for the chip Schechter gave him in his pocket when the door swings open. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
Gerard searches his face as though the question is an unfair one. “Where else would I go?”
Frank isn’t sure if the robot knows about Schechter, but if not, it sure doesn’t seem very perplexed as to why they’ve stripped the apartment bare. “Deactivate,” he says simply. He swings the bag over his shoulder as Price pushes past him, heading for the exit himself.
“What?”
“Shut down. You’re not needed anymore.”
“I can’t do that.” Gerard’s wet hair flops over one of his eyes. He’s stood there in Frank’s way, staring him down like they’re having a quaint domestic argument.
“Fine, stay here and rust.”
Price is already halfway down the hallway, heading to the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Gerard comes after them. In several of the other doorways there are already curious, dirty faces peering out: some just children.
“I have no clue where he is going, and he has no clue where I am going. And that’s going to be the same story for you, too. So long, Gerard.”
Frank mistakes the immediate pain in his shoulder for some kind of muscle spasm from the weight he’s carrying, but when it also flips him around, his knees buckle towards the floor and he drops the goods with a muffled smash.
Gerard is standing above him.
“What the ever loving fuck,” Frank snarls as he picks himself up. In retaliation he shoves Gerard and hopes he’ll go into the wall, but it’s just the same effect as if he’d pushed against a parked van.
Frank looks the robot over for second, fighting the useless urge to punch him. “Your boss is dead. Taken out. This is over. Now leave us alone.”
He grabs his bag and strides away, expecting another attempt at prevention, but for whatever reason it doesn’t come.
Out in the in the street, in the rain, he looks for Price. A futile effort. The programmer is already long gone. Pulling the keys from his pocket, his cell shivers next to his hand with one pulse. He gets it out and reads the message as he jogs to the car. Run. Don’t let it follow you. And don’t reply, because this number doesn’t exist anymore.
~
There used to be a hotel on the edges of town that Frank would often use when he was leaving for out-of-state meetings.
Luckily for him, it’s still in business.
A shower helps him think. A few undisturbed cigarettes help him calm down. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t want a drink. That mental shot of Schechter’s lifeless face keeps pinning his thoughts back to that moment, and sitting on the edge of the bed with his hair dripping down his back onto the sheets, he shakes it off by running through his cell, validating his contacts. Who can you trust, really? No calls yet. No cries for help. See what the next few hours bring.
“Mister, there’s someone to see you downstairs.”
It’s a short while later. Frank’s taken the room’s phone off the hook to try and sleep and the receptionist is in the corridor outside, punctuating her announcement by hammering on the wall.
“Who is it?” he asks angrily.
“How the fuck should I know, Prick?” The heavy thump of her feet on the floorboards dies away.
Frank slides off the bed and rubs his face with his hand, leaning across to his bag. Inside it he finds the small pistol he’d taken from Schechter’s place, wrapped in foil and newspaper in a crude evasion of the street patrol scans.
Armed, he slinks down to the lobby, using the stairs. His head’s whirring, and the strange thought that keeps his nerves company as he descends is that the carpet is so ugly it won’t be too problematic for the proprietors if his blood is splattered all over it by several dozen shots of lead.
He really doesn’t expect to see what’s waiting for him at the bottom.
“If you knew what was good for your health you wouldn’t have followed me here.”
Gerard glances over to the desk, seemingly worried that the janitor and the landlady might pick up on Frank’s words.
“Did you malfunction? Just fucking deactivate.”
“There is no failsafe.”
Gerard says this to Frank, then nods, like Frank should understand implicitly. His face seems unsettlingly tired, like he’s viewing Frank and somehow managing to mimic what he sees.
“Get out of here.”
“I have nowhere to go to.”
“Follow Price. He seemed enamoured with you a few hours ago.”
“I lost Price.”
“In that case just go chuck yourself off a bridge or something.”
“I can’t do that. My survival settings won’t allow it.”
Frank feels the random desire to laugh at him, even though nothing’s really funny. “Then what do you want me to do?”
Gerard is silent. He stands on the spot, still as a mime. Like he’s waiting for Frank to answer his own question.
“You have identification,” Frank points out helpfully. “Steal a car. Walk to the next state if you want. Just don’t come near me again.”
He mounts the stairs once more, leaving the robot in the lobby. “No more disturbances,” he shouts to the woman. “This kid had the wrong person.”
Part three
Rating: R
Warning for character death.
Part one / Part two / Part three
When the plane turns towards the rising sun everyone else is asleep. Frank slides open the window panel next to him, raising his weight up onto his elbows to take a look outside.
“How long has it been?”
He hadn’t remembered that Gerard would be conscious; feigning rest only for appearance’s sake. “A few years.”
The robot gets up from the opposite couch carefully. He steps over to bend and glance out. “I’ve never seen it.”
“What do you think of it, now that you have?”
“It doesn’t really have an impact in terms of sight. I have enhanced vision.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Gerard looks past Frank, through the reinforced Perspex again at the tainted sky. “You mean how does it make me feel?”
Frank nods.
“I guess I don’t really feel anything.”
Frank watches the clouds pass below. Eventually the others start to wake. Schechter is the first to head to the kitchen area, after a quick check on the pilot. “We should be descending in about forty minutes. From there it’s just a short drive to the house.”
Frank takes a cup of coffee from him; blowing ripples across its surface as Toro begins to twist on a nearby chair. Saporta emerges from the toilet, inspecting his pores in a vanity mirror and moaning about the air conditioning and what it does to his skin. Price is already perched in front of his personal computer at one of the desks, totally engrossed.
“How are you feeling?” Schechter sits next to him. “I suppose a good night’s sleep was out of the question?”
Frank clicks his head from side to side, feeling the ligaments in his neck resist.
“There’ll be a chance to relax later.”
“I’ll make time for that once I have the brief.” He places the cup down beside him to cool, turning it so that the private jet company’s logo faces him dead on; satisfying a particular compulsive urge. “You said Simden had skipped this town for good.”
“Never say never,” Schechter smirks, rather pointedly. “He has more friends than enemies here. That’s a novelty which makes it worth keeping some roots in the soil. He calls it a vacation home, but it’s mainly used for business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Many different kinds.” Schechter sips his own drink. He doesn’t elaborate.
Frank grumbles as he rubs his eyes. He already has a headache from the light. “So there’ll be time to sleep?”
“You’ll have time. The meeting has been arranged for after dinner.”
The two vehicles sent to collect them race along the bare roads, steadily climbing above the thickest of the chemical smog.
Frank had guessed that Simden’s place here would be impressive, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so intimidating. Once he’s shown to his room he cleans up, in a vast private bathroom, bent over a basin that’s almost the size of his old apartment’s tub. Wrapping his lower half in a towel, he smokes outside on the balcony afterwards; enjoying the obtrusive heat, despite the fact that it seems to make his cigarette extinguish occasionally. Each time he relights it he compares it to the annoyance of the same thing happening in the driving rain back home. At least this place has a pleasant view.
There’s a cough behind him. He turns around, gripping the knot of terrycloth at his hip when he feels it begin to slide down.
“Excuse me.”
Frank dismisses the apology with a frown as he untucks his cigarette from between his teeth.
“You’re expected to the table at eight. There is a change of clothes in the main wardrobe.”
With this instruction, the man in front of him is gone. Frank casts a quick glance down to make sure he didn’t reveal anything aside from surprise.
~
“You look like you raided your Daddy’s closet.”
Toro mocking him, whilst under the influence of alcohol, makes Frank feel slightly superior, even with cuffs turned up two inches on each of his sleeves. He makes his way towards the table. “You should really line your stomach before you drink,” he retorts. “It goes straight to your head. Not entirely professional.”
“That monkey suit you usually rely on mustn’t have been up to standard.” Saporta doesn’t waste any time inviting himself into their conversation. “I don’t think Simden knew anyone would need something from the boys department, though.”
“Gentlemen,” Schechter interrupts. “Good things come in small packages. Didn’t your mothers ever educate you to that fact?”
“Don’t bait me to start on your mother.” Toro grumpily helps himself to another glass from the collection of expensive liquor bottles he’s accumulating around him.
Saporta simply nods, looking bored. “We can’t help it when he makes it so goddamn easy.”
Schechter saws into a slice of meat pinned under his fork. “It would be wise for you two to think about knocking off the rival mentality you seem to have adopted since we left the rotten apple. I assure you that it’ll work out better for everyone if you do.”
Frank takes a seat next to a silent Price. “Ladies,” he smiles across the table. Saporta attempts to stare him down for a few seconds, before turning his attention to the programmer.
“So I thought all rats ate was cheese.” He points at Price’s meal. “Looks like you got an appetite for things above your station, there.”
A clatter pierces the air as Schechter’s knife drops onto the surface of his plate. He picks up his napkin, wiping his lips with it before he speaks. “Did I not explain myself well enough?”
Saporta looks him over; his cheeks still twitching around a lump of steak.
“This isn’t just about you and your ego. If it’s the only thing you’ll learn here, you’ll learn some respect. Keep this shit up and you’ll go home with nothing.”
Saporta swallows, and gives a rather complacent shrug. He lights another cigarette; disposing of the ash onto some leftover bread.
They eat. Frank watches Schechter plate up a second dinner - carefully selecting different vegetables, meats and sauces from the various dishes that have been brought out for them to enjoy - and place it down in front of Gerard.
“Will certain things fry his circuits?” Saporta asks innocently.
“He has tastes. Likes and dislikes, the same as you.”
“Engineered ones, though.”
“You were engineered too, in a sense. Unless you think you hitched a ride to earth with a stork.”
Toro starts to laugh, but is immediately silenced with one daggered look from his friend.
Several table staff emerge from the alcoves to clear away the empty plates, replacing them with sweeter, more colorful options.
“Where’s our host?” Frank asks.
The other faces turn towards the vacant chair at the head of the table.
“He must be held up.” Schechter doesn’t make eye contact as he answers.
“No bother.” Saporta stares at the female waitresses as they return to distribute another round of drinks. “Simden can take all the time he likes. I’ll be sure to thank him later for such attentive treatment.”
*
A flight of floating steps lead up from the dining room to a large first-floor lounge. No handrail. Frank controls the unsteady sensation he experiences whilst climbing them in the half-light.
They settle down into the couches and armchairs provided. A screen rolls down from one wall as the lights drop out.
“Quit the theatrics, Brian.” Toro twists his head around.
Schechter, who is leaning against the doorframe behind them, holds up his hands in protest. “For once, it’s not me.”
“Do we get popcorn too?” Frank asks sarcastically.
“Welcome,” the screen says, zoning their collective attention back in. It’s still blank, but Frank can just about make out the flicker of a feed distorting its surface. The voice emerging from the speakers is deep. Recognisable. “I know you’ve been kept waiting. I apologise for the delay, but sometimes arrangements don’t go to plan, no matter how hard I try. I trust my staff have been seeing to your requirements swiftly and courteously.”
Simden. Frank tunes out the hushed commentary coming from somewhere beside him.
“You’re all here because you’re the best at what you do. Experts. While this may have gifted you with a fair amount of negative attention - and in some cases even incarceration - it hasn’t deterred you. That’s the kind of dedication I admire. It’s something I see in myself, and respect in others. It’s why we find ourselves here tonight, in this room together.”
“Except you’re not here.” Saporta tilts the toothpick he’s holding back into his mouth once he’s spoken. There’s a substantial pause.
“That’s correct. Very observant of you, Gabriel. I can assure you that I’d prefer it to be otherwise. Brian can vouch for the fact that I don’t very much like this informal way of doing things. However, in order to provide protection for you all, it’s necessary that a certain distance is maintained.”
“Don’t you mean protection for yourself?”
“That, too.”
“You can see why some of us would be a little put off by this,” Ray adds.
The screen jolts. Colors appear. Eventually the image of a seated human form starts to stabilize, the facial features shadowed out. “Will this put you somewhat at ease?”
“I’ll guess we’ll have to take the gesture for what it’s worth.”
“Good. Now, if that’s enough with the pleasantries, we should begin with business.”
“Fine by me,” Saporta straightens his slouch, pulling himself upright.
“By now, you’re all aware of what our target is. What you’re here to receive now are the specifics. I’ve arranged a little show and tell, if Brian would be so kind as to activate the demonstration model.”
Schechter steps towards the screen, carrying a disc. He loads it into a waiting device.
“Old school,” Frank comments, lifting his fingers away from his mouth.
Schechter’s broad grin can be seen from the side. “Easier to smash into pieces than a chip, if I had needed to.”
The graphics begin.
“What you can see is a mock-up of the system from our point of view, which isn’t quite from the outside. As you’re already aware, Mr. Price has clearance to a certain level. It’s an authorised portal, left open deliberately in case of emergencies. Ellipsis’ contract with the government included a support package whereby their best programmers would be ‘leased out’ if something went wrong, that is, they’d be expected to assist in order to comply with the conditions of the payment.”
Toro interrupts. “Creating a problem to utilise that would be very risky. If they suspected something was up they’d clench their cheeks even tighter.”
“You can relax. We’re not taking that route.”
“Then how will the access that Price has help us?” Saporta asks. “We’re trying to hack the damn thing, not sweep the glitches up.”
“The answer to that lies in the way the system was built. You’re thinking of a standard infiltration. Boring a hole. Do that, and no matter how eloquent your movements, and you’d be blocked off in less time than it would take you to scratch your nose.”
“I think fast on my feet,” Saporta maintains.
“You can’t perforate it like you would a normal system, no matter how quick you are. This is a different animal.”
The image changes to a geography of weaving layers. Millions of levels of simulated code cloud the screen. “It’s not just a series of barriers, or locks. This is living. Intelligent. It’s a mesh of protection, and you’re going to need Price’s knowledge to do your job.”
“Which is?”
“Seep inside. Invisibly.”
Heads rotate to search each other’s expressions in the darkened room.
“Without leaving a trace?” Saporta asks.
“Yes.”
“Not possible.”
“If they find out they’ve been compromised, they’ll throw everything they have at the who and the how. Consequently, we’d have a limited time to extract and exploit the data. That isn’t acceptable.”
Frank watches the blue and green lights from the model play across Price’s face. The programmer hasn’t had much to say, and seems absorbed; like he’s trying to decipher a hidden message that’s trapped somewhere behind the diagram they’re being shown.
“If anyone doubts their ability to stick to these requisites, it would be best if they declared it now. You’ll be excused without judgement, and compensated for your time.”
Toro looks at Schechter, then at Frank, then Saporta. Saporta doesn’t look at anyone. He slides himself a little closer to the edge of the couch, unfolding his arms. “When do we talk money?”
Frank sees Schechter’s expression change. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s almost there. Gently satisfied.
“A fair split. The payment guaranteed to me from the sponsors of this little operation, divided six ways.”
“And what does that turn out to be?”
A neat figure generates on the screen, dissolving away after a few seconds. Frank nods. It’s never really been about the money for him, but it’s nice to feel valued.
“Are there any more questions?”
Apparently there aren’t. The screen switches back to a half-disguised Simden, tapping his tan fingers against his kneecap.
“I think the boys would prefer to get their teeth into it.” Schechter signals to Gerard, who raises the brightness in the room with a twist of the controls.
“Fair enough. Enjoy the rest of your downtime, gentlemen. The real work starts when you land back home.”
Price angles his way towards Frank as the bodies disperse from the room, but waits until it’s empty before he speaks. “You don’t strike me as nervous.”
“I don’t get nervous.”
“Maybe you should. A little modesty is healthy, and it seems in short supply here.”
“You’re with the professional outlaws now, Price.” Frank takes off his tie, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “I’ve spent years dodging the cops and getting away with it. I don’t plan on getting caught now.”
Price smiles. It’s the first time Frank’s seen him do it, and it doesn’t really suit his analytical, dowdy face. “I guess it’s just me who thinks this battle of the egos is a potential liability, then.”
“Arrogant bastards often know how to get results. That’s why they continue to be arrogant bastards.”
“I’ll hold you to that. The part about results, I mean.”
“Please yourself.” Frank scrapes up his Zippo from the end table by the couch. “Have some more to drink, Price. Loosen up. Cover your end, I’ll cover mine.”
~
Frank walks back to the east wing of the house.
In the corridor where the guest quarters are located, he finds Gerard. The robot is stood alone, staring into an ornamental tank of tropical fish set within the wall. The splashing of water and the giggle of girls can be heard from the nearby pool. Toro’s laugh reverberates between the pitch of their excitement.
“You don’t want to swim with them?” Gerard asks Frank as he gets closer. He hadn’t looked up to see it was him.
“Not tonight.”
Gerard touches the glass with a faint tap of his finger. One of the fish changes direction quickly, startled. “I do swim, if you’re curious about that too.”
“Well water stays inside you. I guess it should stay out.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Simple logic.” Frank’s eyes follow the fish curving around in the water. Their bellies reflect shots of blue as they turn towards the artificial light. He rubs at his nose; the arid heat is making it itch. “You don’t talk much when everyone’s around.”
Gerard puts his hand down, still looking into the tank. “No. I suppose I don’t.”
Frank pulls out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lights it, twitching his head away from the first loop of smoke. “Is that for a reason?”
“Gerard.”
Schechter’s calm voice echoes from the other end of the hallway. He’s pacing slowly; the key to his suite already prepared for the lock.
Gerard glances at Frank. “Goodnight,” he says, passing him. He steps though the door as Schechter holds it open.
“We’re due on board at eleven, Frank. Be ready in the lobby by ten.”
Frank shows he understands with a nod, and then turns back to watching the fish.
*
The flight back is unremarkable. Muted, in comparison to the outward journey.
They sit in maintained silence, each contemplating the instructions they’ve received. The aim is to get in and out without detection. Impossible. The logical part of Frank’s brain is pretty sure it is, anyway. Not that this seems like a reason not to try. Nothing ventured means nothing gained.
He’s dropped back to the apartment in a cab, and sleeps whatever’s given him another headache off, dreaming of the memory of being in math class as a teenager. The teacher would sometimes make a mistake while explaining something; fail to notice or carry on regardless. Frank would look around at the smirking faces of his friends. He’d joke about it out of earshot. Old man’s losing it, he’d say, laughing. Then it would hit him a few days later. Deliberate. Clever. So clever he’d missed it. Or dismissed it.
Three hours later he’s awake again, watching TV on the couch when there’s small knock at the door.
He rolls himself off the cushions and gets up.
The woman stood there opens her trench coat as he opens the door. She’s dressed simply underneath: sheer nylon hold-ups, a coordinated bra and thong, strappy heels. The general effect is that she doesn’t look cheap enough to have come from the immediate neighbourhood.
Simden’s name is dropped. A bottle of Grey Goose is held out as both an introduction and a greeting. He tells her that he doesn’t usually drink anything that clear. Without hesitation she suggests that perhaps tonight he could make an exception.
Frank doesn’t invite her in, but he doesn’t exactly ask her to leave, either.
He makes a start on the hooch, swilling straight from the bottle as she draws herself a bath. Sitting upright on his bed, he can detect her perfume mixing with the steam creeping out before he sees her emerge ten minutes later.
You’ve got a big job, she says.
As she comes closer, she dries her limbs with a towel and continues to talk about it vaguely, as if she’s already familiar with everything. She knows, she informs him, a thing or two about big jobs herself.
Frank allows himself to be pushed back on the pillows. His mind is elsewhere, but he’s an expert in how that feels and still functioning around it.
~
“I hope you’ve got spare sheets.”
If possible, Price’s eyes look even larger in the stark light of the hallway. The whites of them seem to glow, like phosphorus. Maybe it’s an optical illusion. Toxic shock hangover from a standard of alcohol Frank isn’t used to.
He squints and pulls the door he’s just opened back some more, a little reluctantly. “What, you didn’t get one too?”
“Oh, I got one alright. Made her a hot drink then sent her home.” Price doesn’t wait for Frank to move any further; shoving past him and placing his coat on the chair by the TV.
Frank locks up again and goes into the kitchen. He begins an inspection of the near-empty fridge as though something tasty might have materialized inside since the last time he checked. “I have to tell you, I’m not that enthusiastic about this whole ‘paired up’ thing.”
“Working alone is dangerous. Working together in one group is even more stupid.”
“Still so gloriously optimistic, aren’t you?” Frank turns his focus towards the coffee maker that was delivered yesterday and waiting for him when he arrived. While he unwraps the cellophane and slams the plastic segments together he can’t help thinking that Toro and Saporta got the least shitty straw.
“The way you attract attention, I think it’s advisable to do it this way.” In the main room Price’s lean fingers are already rattling about on his keyboard, and their speed surprises even Frank. “From Simden’s point of view, at least. Maybe he suspects that you might squeal under pressure if caught again. Cut a deal.”
“I don’t squeal.”
“I’m sure they could think of something imaginative to change your mind.”
Price unpacks some more things and gradually starts to set up shop. Frank leaves him to it, shutting himself in the bathroom for a long overdue piss. When he comes out the desk is a tangle of electric leads and the mattress from the bed has been slid upright against the largest window. Price is eating a deli sandwich he must have smuggled in undetected.
“Where the fuck are we supposed to sleep?”
“On the couch. In shifts.”
Frank tugs off his t-shirt and muffles a curse into the cotton.
“Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are tackling the tertiary-level filters. We’re on the sweep behind them. The robot should be here around ten.”
“He’s coming here, too?”
Price nods, limp flakes of coleslaw sticking out from between his lips.
“That’s just great.”
~
Around the time Gerard should be arriving, there’s a knock at door.
Frank’s lying at some awkward angle on the couch as he comes around. His hair was wet from his shower when he fell asleep, and has since dried in a soft upward quiff he feels bounce as he lifts his head up, trying to focus.
Price is asking him if he has a gun.
“What?”
“A gun.”
There’s another bout of banging, this time louder and more impatient. Frank looks at Price dead on; the mention of weaponry suddenly rendering him very much awake. “Who is that?”
Price is doing some kind of little shunt with his feet on the carpet, bent over and whispering: “Someone I don’t think you want to let in.”
Frank jumps up, dragging Price down into the seat he’s vacated and hushing him by gesturing with his finger over his lips. He steps towards the spy hole. As he turns back he can feel his face and hands drain of blood. No time to be surprised that they‘ve found him, let alone panic.
“Well, do you have one?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t magically cease to be incriminating when it passed the magnets in the door frame.”
Frank sneers this out and then looks around, seeing that Price has already hidden away all their equipment - how well, God knows. Perhaps it’s hanging out of the windows wrapped in garbage bags and noosed with electrical cord.
“They don’t look like they’re just going to go away if you ask them to.”
“No. They don’t.”
Think, Iero. Use that grey matter. Frank doubts the legal need for a warrant will be very effective in deterring the police’s hired muscle. Those assholes down at the station are really pulling out all the stops, and their timing couldn’t be any more inconvenient. On top of all this, Price has actually started sweating. “Knock it off,” Frank orders him. “You stay calm. Hear me?”
Price moves his fingers nervously into the front of his hair.
Frank checks himself over in the mirror on the wall. There’s some crust on one corner of his mouth which he wipes away, and he tries to flatten down his skewed parting to make himself look slightly less taken-by-surprise. There’s a single, blunt knock as he walks towards the door.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to ask them nicely.”
Frank removes the deadbolts. All the chains, except the thickest one. He swings the door inward, slowly. “Can I help you?”
The man at the front of the pack grins. He’s huge and bald; wearing an artificial leather jacket and wayfarer sunglasses which he takes off and puts into his pocket.
“Shouldn’t those be in a museum?”
“That famous wit. Shame you never feel in the mood to say the right thing.”
“It’s late. I’m supposed to be getting my beauty sleep. Can we do this some other time?”
The man takes a step forward in his gigantic boots. The floorboards creak as he leans his weight across and peers past Frank. “Nice new digs.”
Frank puts his own foot behind the door as solidly as he can. “Like I said, it’s not really a good time.”
“Sounds like the song of a man who’s got something to hide, hey boys? Perhaps a little twink he’s got gagged and stuffed inside the box-spring.” There’s a low round of laughter from the collected group. Frank thinks he counts an additional five, but doesn’t scan; keeping his eye contact limited to just the ringleader. “Listen, Iero. Why don’t you make this easier for yourself and move aside. We promise we won’t break your best china if you show us what you know we’re here looking for, and do us the courtesy of coming along quietly afterwards.”
Frank smiles bashfully, lowering his head. “I tell you what. Why don’t you come back in the morning? I’ll put some breakfast on for you and your friends. I make killer French toast.” He starts to close the door.
“Wrong answer.” The man moves to the side, making way for something. Frank doesn’t see who or what; he’s already got the latch closed and is in the process of replacing the various locks, wondering how long they’ll hold and how hard it’s going to be to scale down a wet fire escape on the off-chance that there’s not another contingent of goons waiting for them at the bottom.
“Bail.”
“What?” Price rises from the couch like he’s just been slapped across the ass with a cane.
“Out the bathroom window.”
The floor is still damp from Frank’s shower and squeaks under his shoes as he scrambles to raise the glass and buy them enough space to slip through.
“Wait,” Price tells him.
“You got any better suggestions, I’m all ears.”
“Listen.”
“What for?”
“Exactly. I don’t hear anything.”
“We don’t have time for this shit, Price.”
“Unless they’re crawling through the gap or picking the lock, I think they’ve gone.”
The possibility that the group have abandoned their raid is so strange that Frank has to digest it for a good few seconds before it’ll sink in. Price is right: there is no banging, no splitting of wood or furniture being toppled over. No activity from the main room whatsoever.
After waiting another minute, they walk out. All the locks are as Frank left them: some of the chains hurriedly jammed into the wrong slots.
Price almost jumps into Frank as the phone rattles on the nightstand.
“Easy, soldier. It’s probably just telesales.” Frank strolls calmly over and picks the handset up. Instead of the dial tone or silence some part of him is expecting, there’s a familiar voice on the other end. “That was a very close call.”
Frank doesn’t say anything.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’d like to hear how you know about it.”
Price is stood next to the empty bed frame, looking at Frank with a wobbly expression.
“Go to your window,” the voice on the phone says. “Not the one you just tried to throw yourself out of. The one next to you.”
Frank moves, trailing the cord behind him. He tucks the receiver under his chin, drags the upright mattress away a few feet and cracks open the curtain an inch with his fingers, staring out at the wet street. “What am I looking at?”
“The theatre to your right.”
Frank swings his head round. Parked on the road outside of the colourfully-lit box office is a black Lincoln. Inside is the face that matches the voice he’s talking to.
“Well you better get your synthetic ass up here,” Frank suggests as he checks his watch. “It’s twenty-past ten. You’re late.”
~
Gerard shakes the rain from his coat and hangs it on the peg by the door.
Price acknowledges he’s arrived with a simple tilt of his head and then disappears into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee and retrieve the hidden hardware from the ceiling vent.
“How did you get rid of them?” Frank asks.
“I distracted them with my boyish good looks.”
For some reason, Gerard’s joke doesn’t sit comfortably with him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s still a little hung over from last night and a crew of thugs just came within seconds of breaking his door down.
He drops himself back into his previous horizontal position on the couch, leaving Gerard to either stand where he is or sit on the floor beside the bed. The robot chooses the former. “I hacked into the radio signal from the station. Your friends at the precinct had a designated channel open in case they needed to contact their men. A little white lie and a little voice simulation had them call it an early night. It won’t buy us much time, but it buys us some.”
“I guess we got lucky then.” Frank sparks up a cigarette, taking the opportunity to burp before he inhales.
“Charming,” Price comments as he emerges with two steaming mugs.
“Just give me my drink.”
Price hands Frank the coffee, keeping a grip on the handle so that Frank is forced to take hold of the searing hot ceramic.
“Thank you, Gerard,” Price says. “You’re certainly proving both Schechter’s time and effort to be a worthwhile investment.”
Gerard smiles in response, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Frank. Frank notices, even though he’s got his own vacantly leveled on the door. “Happy to be of help. I have his reputation to uphold, after all.”
~
They don’t stay at the apartment long. Frank tosses most of his drink down the sink and they leave; Gerard driving them back to the clubhouse.
“Why do you have all this space, anyway?” Price asks Schechter, looking around at the unfilled bar. The taps and the clientele dried up years ago and there’s just the odor of old upholstery and wood polish left behind.
“Why not?” Schechter gives him a smile that he drops as he switches over to more important conversation. “Toro’s not going to be very happy about it” he tells Frank. “He’s already disgruntled with me playing messenger for an absent Simden.”
Frank throws some stale peanuts into his mouth and chews as he talks. “Did you manage to put him at ease?”
Schechter nods.
“How?”
“I told him that I even I have to make some allowances sometimes. For the sake of the job.”
“And Saporta?”
“As far as he’s concerned Simden’s dollars are as green as anyone’s.” Schechter places his drink down gently. “How do you think they found you?”
“Honestly? I think they followed Price.”
Across the table, Price doesn’t look too pleased. “And what makes you think that?”
Frank shrugs. “Maybe you had a tail and you didn’t notice. Maybe you weren’t careful enough with your locks and blocks. Fuck knows.”
“I didn’t just stroll into this game yesterday, you know.”
“Yeah. Well. All I know is that’s the first time in a long time I’ve been surprised like that. And it’s the first time in long time that I’ve had company. Coincidences like that don’t sit well with me.”
Todd thinks for a moment, sliding his eyes to the side. “Could’ve been the whore.”
Frank wipes the back of his hand across his nostrils. “Unlikely.”
“What whore?” Schechter asks him.
“The ones Simden sent over. The pick-me-ups. Price got one, too. Although he fell asleep on her.”
“Toro didn’t mention anything to me about any escorts at their place.”
“That’s probably because it’s a typical weeknight’s entertainment for him.”
“You think it’s possible she was undercover?”
“She didn’t behave like she was.”
Schechter’s eyebrow goes up.
“They’re trained to go after information,” Frank explains. “And she wasn’t asking.”
“Well, wherever she came from and whatever you did or didn’t provide her with, you can’t go back to the apartment. I’ll arrange for you to stay somewhere else.”
Schechter retreats into his office to make some calls.
As Price uses the bathroom, Frank sits alone thinking about the various potential risks for the first time properly since this began. He’s just heard the flush and the groan of the old pipes when Gerard’s voice suddenly startles him. “Where’s Brian?”
“In the back. Pushing paper. Care for a cocktail?” Frank lifts up the bottle of whiskey he’s working his way through and taps it against an empty glass on the tray with a clink.
“I’ll give it a miss.” The droid walks past.
“He’s on the phone,” Frank tells him, craning his neck back.
“He won’t mind,” Gerard answers bluntly.
~
An hour later, Price takes the new key from Frank and pushes the door it unlocks open with the toe of his boot.
The place is on the fourth floor of a pretty close to condemned building in a mostly industrial neighbourhood alongside the docks.
Frank takes a step inside and understands how nice the previous apartment probably was in comparison. Tiny main room. Snapped shutters on the window. Something staining the bathtub that doesn’t look like rust.
“It’s not The Four Seasons, but it’s the best he could do with such short notice.” Gerard carries their things in and lies them down on two bare mattresses on the floor. “I have some clean blankets in the car. Let me fetch them.”
“Small gestures,” Frank sighs. He finds his eyes absorbed by the awful wallpaper and tries to make sense of the hexagonal design in its replicating tiles.
“Like I said, we’ll find somewhere else tomorrow. Unless you’d rather sleep in the street.”
Frank shakes his head. “It’ll be fine. Let’s get to work.”
After a few hours Frank changes over with a rested Price and goes to the bathroom. He looks through the pane of glass by the toilet, past the torn and mildewed curtains and down into the alley below; secretly wishing someone would come walking into his view and look up and spot him. Maybe a drunk spiraling off the main sidewalk, or anybody, just so he could see a reaction. The joys in life can often be harmless, perverse little things.
When he comes back out, Price is sat on the bed with a cigarette hanging from between his lips and a thick pair of spectacles on his face, examining Gerard’s back. He’s scanning through the robot’s flesh with an imaging probe, and must take his cue to look up and explain himself from Frank’s silent reaction. “We had a window. I needed a smoke, and Gerard here doesn’t mind.”
From the glow of the high frequency bulb in Price’s hand, Frank can see the wires and biomechanical mapping that run across the surface underneath. Price ticks something on the equipment with his thumbnail and the colors on the display deepen, showing what look like veins weaving between the plates of metallic bone. Gerard blinks, but other than this he’s perfectly motionless; indulging Price’s curiosity without complaint.
Frank grabs his coat from the chair.
“Where are you going?” Price looks up, pulling off his glasses.
“I need some air.”
~
Frank walks.
He heads to the nearest convenience store and buys a bottle of chilled beer. Light beer. Got to keep lucid.
He smokes on the corner, out of range of the cone of light thrown from the streetlamp, and fingers the microchip in his pocket that Schechter gave to him earlier.
“You trust me with this?”
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s probably the answer I was looking for.”
Frank inspects it. The shape is unusual for a design of its type. “What is it?”
“Something you’ll need, if anything happens. Consider it collateral.”
“What could happen?”
“I wouldn’t want to give God any ideas.” Schechter smiles. “Listen. Gerard wants to go with you again. With you and Price. He’s asked me. I’ve said yes.”
“Giving his leash a little more range?”
Schechter smiles blankly.
Frank slides the bottle of whiskey away for what he promises himself will be the last time tonight and turns his glass over to assure it. “He comes in handy. You sure you’re not going to need him?”
Schechter rocks back on the worn springs of his chair, nodding up at the cabinet of handguns behind him. “Oh, I’ve got a stock of things in there I can rely on. Besides, who knows I’m here? Unless you’re going to double-cross me.”
Frank laughs. “I’d have to have balls of brass.”
“You’re too generous. Even to an old fixture like me.”
“Yeah well, make the most of it while it’s in supply. I could be chained to a pipe in the district station’s basement by tomorrow.”
~
When Frank gets back the apartment smells of solvent air freshener and instant ramen. There’s no evidence of either, and Price is alone on the floor in front of his laptop; cross-legged like some kind of wired, emaciated Buddha.
Frank gestures around with his bottle as he pulls it from the damp bag. “Where’s he got to now? Playing with the cop’s radio again?”
“Just left. Schechter called.”
“Will he be long?”
“Didn’t say. He probably would have if he was gonna be.” Price wriggles his pinkie finger as deep as it will go inside his ear and then drops it to continue typing.
Frank picks about in the refrigerator. There’s nothing except lumps of ice wrapped in towels and some frosty-looking syringes he'd rather not investigate.
“Thought about how you’re going to spend your riches yet?”
Price doesn’t raise his voice and the question is just a hum of vowels Frank has to fill-out to interpret. He returns to the main room and sinks to his knees on the mattress opposite Price, then onto his back, pulling one of the fleece blankets over his bottom half. “I don’t count the eggs before I’ve fertilized them.”
“Wise words.”
“Yeah, well I’m a regular fucking swami.” Frank unclips the lid of the bottle using the edge of a broken hinge on the dresser next to him.
“If I was already thinking about it though, hypothetically, I’d probably imagine that I’d want a boat.”
“Plenty of boats out there already.”
Price ignores him. “I’d sail down south. Or west, where it’s still warm.”
“Ace. You might run into Saporta and Toro taking a private cruise to congratulate each other.”
“You’re not a very happy person, are you Frank?”
Frank studies the condensation on the brown glass in his hand. “Ain’t got much left to be happy for.”
“What you pull down for this job could give you something to care about again. You might starting finding someone you like in there,” Price points to Frank’s chest. “Money’s a lot like a woman. If you show it respect, and don’t take it for granted, it’ll take care of you.”
“This is nice. I thought it’d be dull in here without cable TV and the self-help channel, but you’re really stepping up to fill that void.”
Price unfolds his thin legs and Frank can hear his bones clicking under the denim. “Sometimes I find myself wondering who’s more human, you or that robot.”
Frank smiles. He has his eyes closed. “Money can’t mend everything, Price. Some things are gone for good, whether that’s part of your lot, or just a little bonus. The powers that be - it’s their way of making you feel loved. As a crusader for public rights I’d have thought you’d understand that better than anybody.”
Price either doesn’t have a comeback or doesn’t feel like taking it to the next round. He shifts his weight about and peels himself off the floor. “I’m hungry. You hungry?”
Frank shakes his head.
“Suit yourself. I’m going to get something hot.”
*
Three months into his probation feels longer than Frank’s entire stint in jail, which doesn’t make sense. Unless of course he’s become institutionalized. He considers this possibility as he slides the piece of paper away. It picks up a layer of air underneath, floating up from the desk down onto the floor.
“I don’t suppose there’s much point in challenging it?”
Bryar bends to pick it up. He holds it in his hands for a minute, curving it into a large roll; hiding the print but not distorting the shape too much. Regrettably, this one’s for keeping. “You need to see how things go first. Even though you’re not in their dungeon, this is still their game. And you don’t know quite what the rules are yet.”
Frank picks at the faint scabs on his knuckles. Then he shakes his head. “She’s not gonna let me. I know it.”
“People change.”
“She doesn’t think so.”
Bryar strokes at his beard. A little time passes in silence and eventually someone breaks it by knocking at the door. A suited outline can be seen on the other side of the frosted glass, bobbled at the edges. He opens it a fraction and tells whoever it is to come back later.
Frank’s eyes are still set on the empty desk. They snap up when the mechanism of the door clicks back into place. “Would you?”
The lawyer swings his chair out and places himself into it slowly. “I can’t say. I don’t have one.”
“Say you did. Pretend.”
This clearly stumps him. He diverts his pale eyes to another part of the room, probably trying to think of a way to dodge giving a decent answer. Presently, he opens his mouth. “I’d have to think about the pros and the cons. Write a list. Whichever side was greater would determine how things worked out.”
Frank imagines doing this. The two columns in the fantasy notebook he’s writing into seem especially lopsided. The face of the person concerned is already starting to fade, hovering at the edge of the table: big eyes, smooth hair, asking him: What are you doing?
“Give it time.” Bryar rises, walking round and patting Frank’s back roughly, as if he’s rescuing his windpipe from a small blockage. “This order expires in a year. You can reapply then.”
“Light at the end of a very long tunnel.”
“Light, all the same. I hear it’s worth its weight in gold in this place.”
*
The call to Frank’s cell in the middle of the night is from Schechter’s number.
He feels it vibrating against his hip and fumbles to answer, but when the person on the other end of the line doesn’t speak after three attempts to get them to reveal their name, he quickly hangs up.
Surrounded by cardboard take-out trays on the floor, Price is already looking up at him like something is wrong.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To check something out.”
It’s easy to go above the limit on a wet road with free-reign of the dead streets. Frank has to watch the needle closely to make sure his speed doesn’t go past the mark that will attract unwanted attention, but his heart is starting to thump in his chest and he wants to dip his foot on the gas to try and level it out.
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing.”
The wipers smear across the glass with a restricted whine. Price stares out the window, biting his lip.
When they arrive at the club the spare key Frank has turns easily in the lock. The knot in his lower guts eases slightly when inside, nothing looks out of place. The stools are stacked as normal: the contents of all the display cabinets are untouched. The office door is shut, and for a reason that escapes him, Frank knocks once before stepping inside without waiting for a reply.
Everything is almost as it should be. The bubble of the empty aquarium in the corner is the sole source of noise and motion. The papers on the table and the ornaments beside those are positioned exactly as they always have been. Sitting at the desk with a neat and bloodless hole in the front of his forehead, is Schechter. His eyes are open winder than usual: expressionless and aimed at the far wall.
Price covers his mouth with his hand. Frank doesn’t move any further forward.
“Did you touch anything?
Price shakes his head.
“Price? Did you?”
“No.”
“Let’s go.”
*
It isn’t the first time an operation has fallen apart.
Frank reminds Price of the Parker Corporation swindle they worked on together when either one was just a name to the other. Data chips and cash mixed with blood in a gory cocktail. Even to those who weren’t there it was legendary: a haemorrhage of evidence all over a downtown hotel suite following a dispute over trust. Then he realizes he’s not talking out loud, just driving - recalling a memory that isn’t even his. Price is sitting next to him rummaging through the various virtual compartments on his phone, looking for numbers.
“Where are you taking us?”
“I don’t know,” Frank confesses. His own answer alarms him.
“We need to get the stuff. Clean out.”
“Back to the apartment,” Frank checks flatly.
“Yes.”
He parks up and doesn’t bother with the handbrake. The strong lap of the water against the dock can be heard from the entrance to the building; the dark sea getting angrier in preparation for a storm.
Frank’s back on autopilot as soon as they get upstairs: collecting the machines and storage devices. Price is stuffing leads and coils of wire into a bag, and keeps looking at the door.
“Leave that shit,” Frank tells him.
“Fuck you.” Price snaps back.
“Fuck me? How’d you figure that one?”
“Just let me do what I want. I promise you won’t have to talk to me ever again in about fifteen minutes.”
Then they grab and shove in silence.
Frank’s just clipped his duffel bag together and checked for the chip Schechter gave him in his pocket when the door swings open. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
Gerard searches his face as though the question is an unfair one. “Where else would I go?”
Frank isn’t sure if the robot knows about Schechter, but if not, it sure doesn’t seem very perplexed as to why they’ve stripped the apartment bare. “Deactivate,” he says simply. He swings the bag over his shoulder as Price pushes past him, heading for the exit himself.
“What?”
“Shut down. You’re not needed anymore.”
“I can’t do that.” Gerard’s wet hair flops over one of his eyes. He’s stood there in Frank’s way, staring him down like they’re having a quaint domestic argument.
“Fine, stay here and rust.”
Price is already halfway down the hallway, heading to the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Gerard comes after them. In several of the other doorways there are already curious, dirty faces peering out: some just children.
“I have no clue where he is going, and he has no clue where I am going. And that’s going to be the same story for you, too. So long, Gerard.”
Frank mistakes the immediate pain in his shoulder for some kind of muscle spasm from the weight he’s carrying, but when it also flips him around, his knees buckle towards the floor and he drops the goods with a muffled smash.
Gerard is standing above him.
“What the ever loving fuck,” Frank snarls as he picks himself up. In retaliation he shoves Gerard and hopes he’ll go into the wall, but it’s just the same effect as if he’d pushed against a parked van.
Frank looks the robot over for second, fighting the useless urge to punch him. “Your boss is dead. Taken out. This is over. Now leave us alone.”
He grabs his bag and strides away, expecting another attempt at prevention, but for whatever reason it doesn’t come.
Out in the in the street, in the rain, he looks for Price. A futile effort. The programmer is already long gone. Pulling the keys from his pocket, his cell shivers next to his hand with one pulse. He gets it out and reads the message as he jogs to the car. Run. Don’t let it follow you. And don’t reply, because this number doesn’t exist anymore.
~
There used to be a hotel on the edges of town that Frank would often use when he was leaving for out-of-state meetings.
Luckily for him, it’s still in business.
A shower helps him think. A few undisturbed cigarettes help him calm down. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t want a drink. That mental shot of Schechter’s lifeless face keeps pinning his thoughts back to that moment, and sitting on the edge of the bed with his hair dripping down his back onto the sheets, he shakes it off by running through his cell, validating his contacts. Who can you trust, really? No calls yet. No cries for help. See what the next few hours bring.
“Mister, there’s someone to see you downstairs.”
It’s a short while later. Frank’s taken the room’s phone off the hook to try and sleep and the receptionist is in the corridor outside, punctuating her announcement by hammering on the wall.
“Who is it?” he asks angrily.
“How the fuck should I know, Prick?” The heavy thump of her feet on the floorboards dies away.
Frank slides off the bed and rubs his face with his hand, leaning across to his bag. Inside it he finds the small pistol he’d taken from Schechter’s place, wrapped in foil and newspaper in a crude evasion of the street patrol scans.
Armed, he slinks down to the lobby, using the stairs. His head’s whirring, and the strange thought that keeps his nerves company as he descends is that the carpet is so ugly it won’t be too problematic for the proprietors if his blood is splattered all over it by several dozen shots of lead.
He really doesn’t expect to see what’s waiting for him at the bottom.
“If you knew what was good for your health you wouldn’t have followed me here.”
Gerard glances over to the desk, seemingly worried that the janitor and the landlady might pick up on Frank’s words.
“Did you malfunction? Just fucking deactivate.”
“There is no failsafe.”
Gerard says this to Frank, then nods, like Frank should understand implicitly. His face seems unsettlingly tired, like he’s viewing Frank and somehow managing to mimic what he sees.
“Get out of here.”
“I have nowhere to go to.”
“Follow Price. He seemed enamoured with you a few hours ago.”
“I lost Price.”
“In that case just go chuck yourself off a bridge or something.”
“I can’t do that. My survival settings won’t allow it.”
Frank feels the random desire to laugh at him, even though nothing’s really funny. “Then what do you want me to do?”
Gerard is silent. He stands on the spot, still as a mime. Like he’s waiting for Frank to answer his own question.
“You have identification,” Frank points out helpfully. “Steal a car. Walk to the next state if you want. Just don’t come near me again.”
He mounts the stairs once more, leaving the robot in the lobby. “No more disturbances,” he shouts to the woman. “This kid had the wrong person.”
Part three