Dead Dwarves Don't Dance Page 6

  He’d first met Cori as a computer support provider for one of his corporate contracts. She was a wiz hacker but worked only in the pseudo-legal world of industrial espionage defense. He’d been stunned by her looks and brilliance. She laughed at his clever passes, flirted back, but never let it go anywhere. Noose wondered if she thought he wasn’t serious. Well, he sure as hell was serious.

  They had remained in contact, and when she introduced him to her sister, Pamela, he was nearly knocked flat. Two sisters, each equally as beautiful, and yet quite different. Their parents must have been something to look at.

  Pamela quickly responded to Noose’s advances, but also kept him just far enough away to keep him interested. Pamela wasn’t in the biz, she was an executive assistant for some corporate suit, but she liked the danger and mystique that Noose represented. Cori kept trying to keep her away from him, warning her that…

  Noose paused as he pulled on his boots. Cori had been right about it after all. Pamela had died because she was going out with him. He didn’t believe the attack targeted him as Cori suggested, but that didn’t change the fact that if he hadn’t been trying to get involved with her, she never would have been at Stiltzkin’s.

  He shook his head, trying to force out such thoughts; they wouldn’t help him find Pamela’s killers. He stood slowly, holding his side. It was still sore, despite Cori’s painkillers and nanobots, but there was nothing he could do about that. It wasn’t likely he’d find the killers soon, so he’d have some time to heal up.

  He looked around for his Stormer but it wasn’t where he left it on the sofa. He checked beneath the cushions and only found stains of his own blood. He spotted the desk and found his two pistols in the large bottom drawer. He ignored the slight stabs of pain as he pulled on the holster and checked the holographic ammo readouts.

  As he pushed the drawer shut with his foot, he saw the holopic of Pamela and Cori on the floor. Pamela’s deep blue eyes gazed up at him from the picture. He shook his head and scowled angrily, replacing the picture on the desk. He didn’t have time for sentiment, soul-searching, or sorrowful reminiscing.

  The dwarf took his duster from the hook by the door, and pushed his arms violently through the sleeves. The pangs from his wounded side shoved his waxing grief from his mind. He reached into his inner pocket and found the bloody plastic shard he had taken from the apartment. He pulled it out and examined the dried purplish stains, blood of one of the scum-sucking maggots that had killed over two-dozen innocent dwarves, as well as Pamela.

  Noose stepped into the bedroom to check on Cori. She was still asleep, lying on her side. A lock of brown hair drooped over her face. He gently pushed it aside. She did not wake. He scribbled a note and left it on the nightstand.

  He grabbed the empty missile tube and walked out of the apartment and into the elevator. It was just past noon. He knew that the killers wouldn’t be standing around with their hands in their pockets. He was sure they hadn’t been idle in the last fourteen hours. It was time for him to make up for lost time.

  The elevator stopped on the seventh floor, and the doors slid open. A paunchy, balding, middle-aged man wearing glasses and running sweats started to enter, but then looked down at Noose, who graced him with a vicious scowl. The man hesitated, one leg raised to step into the elevator. His mouth opened, but he said nothing, silence filling the gap between dwarf and human. When the elevator doors slid shut, the man jumped back, leaving the dwarf alone.

  Noose pulled a cigar from his duster pocket and scraped it across the rough mock-stone elevator wall. As the end sparked and glowed, Noose puffed the cigar to life. He leaned back against the wall, taking in the fine relaxing taste of the smoke.

  “This is a smoke-free building,” a friendly, recorded female voice said, jerking Noose out of his few seconds of leisure. “Please deposit the offending cigarette or other smoking product in the receptacle.” A small door popped open just beneath the elevator buttons. Noose kept smoking.

  The doors opened again at the lobby and Noose stalked out, blowing one last big cloud of cigar smoke into the elevator.

  At noon, the lobby was much busier than the night before. Noose had cleaned himself up considerably since then, but that didn’t exactly help him fit in with the three corporate wives, spic-and-span apartment attendant, or the delivery boy that turned to see him stomp across the lobby.

  Two of the three women whispered to each other and moved away, trying not to look like they were in a hurry. The third stayed at the counter, talking to the delivery boy, while the attendant barely managed to conceal his unease at the approaching dwarf.

  “Call me a cab,” Noose commanded as he neared the counter. A bodysculpted wife, clad in tight stylish gym clothes, turned to look. If Noose had been paying attention, he would have noticed undeniable interest in her eyes, but he didn’t even give her a second glance, despite the impressive manner in which she filled out her clothes.

  “Uh, yes…sir,” the attendant replied, turning to the vidphone behind his desk. “Right away.”

  Noose had barely slowed as he grumbled his demand for a cab. He strode past the counter, through the automatic doors, and out to the sidewalk. Hands in the pockets of his duster, he glared at every car that passed.

  “Nice day for a walk.”

  Noose glanced up at the woman from the corner of his eyes. It was the wife from the lobby. She smiled down at him.

  Noose glanced up at the blue skies. A few clouds distorted the view of the Peerless Tower.

  “Better day to die,” he said menacingly.

  The woman laughed, and Noose had to give her credit. She didn’t scare easily.

  “It’s never a better day to die,” she said. “Unless you’re a vampire cultist.”

  Noose turned his head to see a cab pulling up toward him. “I’m not a vampire cultist, and I’m not going for a walk.”

  “Then maybe we can share this cab?” the woman suggested, as Noose snatched open the door even before the cab stopped. The woman moved to get in but Noose pushed her back, none too gently.

  “Go back inside, lady, and wait for your husband.” He jumped in the cab and slammed the door.

  “Where to, buddy?” the cabby asked.

  “Emory University.”

  The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb as the woman walked back into the apartment building. He strained to watch her reflection in his mirror. “Hey, pal, that’s one piece I’d like to share a cab with.”

  “So let me drive and go after her,” Noose said angrily.

  “Hey, no reason to get bugged,” the driver apologized. “Just trying some convo on–”

  Noose leaned forward. “I don’t want any conversation. Just drive and shut up.”

  “Sure thing, boss. Mind if I turn on the radio?”

  “Knock yourself out…” Noose shrugged, leaning back on the seat and looking out the window. As the driver scanned through various stations, Noose noticed a few pillars of black smoke rising from the city in the distance to the east. He sat up and strained his eyes for a better look.

  The driver finally settled for a news-channel “…rioting seems to be under control in Dekalb, while several fires are still raging in Cobb. Conditions in the Blackzone and parts of Douglasville remain violent, and there was an automaniac in a souped up Cadillac hunting people near the IR-675 and IR-285 junction. Regional Police gunships seem to have obliterated him with limited collateral damage. And, in a statement made thirty minutes ago, Governor Jones-Utu-Rudeholmer-Xin assured all Atlanta citizens that the Regional Police will have these localized disturbances under control before the five p.m. rush hour–”

  The driver flicked the radio off. “Rioting, rioting, rioting. Big deal, eh, pal?”

  Noose did not reply.

  “I mean, when Purists torch a night club and fry thirty or forty dwarves, what do they expect to happen?”

  “What do you mean? Purists were behind the attack?”

  “Nobody’s claimed re
sponsibility yet.” The cabbie shrugged. “But it don’t take a psyker to put two and two together. Those Purist slags hate you gennies, and they sure did take out a lot of gennies last night. Lucky thing you weren’t there, eh, pal?”

  “Yeah.” Noose glared back at the driver in the rear-view mirror. “Real lucky.”

  “Well, it just ain’t been safe for you neohumans recently. Seems to me there’s been a lot of problems. Remember that neohuman rights activist got force-fed dog food with a serrated shovel?”

  “Don’t you remember me telling you to shut the hell up?”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” The cabbie clamped his mouth shut and didn’t say another word until Noose stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Emory University.

  13

  “…just a few blocks from the old Fulton Stadium and the carnage has left the street dripping blood!”

  Valerie Flynn-Diaz stumbled in high heels through the scattered rubble and debris. She bore numerous scratches and cuts, and blood dripped from an unsightly gash high up on her leg. Her miniskirt was ripped, and her tight blouse was torn.

  “If you look behind me, you can see the damage that rioters have caused.”

  The camera panned from the newsbabe to a long street shot in which at least a dozen cars burned. Regional Police officers in full riot gear advanced with transparent tuffplast shields held before them. They walked behind a large riot suppression vehicle with high-pressure water blasting from its turret. Bullets sparked off the vehicle, and two Molotov cocktails shattered on its hull to burn uselessly. The police fired shock rifles at anything that moved.

  A large explosion ripped up the pavement twenty meters in front of the camera, sending three officers flailing through the air. The image shook and wobbled, first showing a deep blue sky, then tilting over to provide a stunning ground-level view of a tire.

  Only a few seconds passed before the camera angle returned to the street, focusing on Flynn-Diaz as she lay sprawled provocatively on the ground. She pulled herself up, careful to provide the camera a perfect view of her long legs. She pushed her platinum blonde hair out of her face, surreptitiously pulling her blouse open.

  “Oh my god!” she squealed. “Some rioter has artillery! This is terrible!”

  After lingering on the newsbabe’s cleavage for a few extra seconds, the camera zoomed in as the police dragged their injured comrades to safety. Heavy machine gun fire blasted out of a building a block ahead, pinning down the police. The riot vehicle stopped, blocked by a mass of burning vehicles that stretched across the road. One of the police officers signaled for a retreat.

  “Well, Brian,” said Flynn-Diaz, taking cover behind a low, concrete wall. “It looks like Regional Police are pulling back. The rioters are too well armed. They’ve got everything from grenades to rockets and they’re causing a lot of damage down here!”

  The screen split and Brian appeared, his face stern. “That they are, Valerie. Thanks for that report. Now, how about that weather, Gary?”

  “Looks like the collateral damage from that rioting is wreaking havoc with Valerie’s wardrobe,” the weatherman appeared, a smile on his face. “But, now we’re going to switch to telling you about what the weather’s going to look like today, tomorrow, and all week. If you were hoping to see one of Valerie’s famous wardrobe malfunctions, you’ll have to try again later.”

  14

  “Life’s a bitch,” said Wade Winthrop-Worrelly, turning off the vid that consumed an entire wall of his office trailer. If the newsbabe wasn’t going to provide another journalistic peepshow, he wasn’t going to watch. What did those idiots think he watched their crap for? The news?

  He sighed and looked out the window. His neon sign flickered: Century Used Recreational Vehicles. Damn rioting even interfered with the electricity.

  It was already past noon, and he hadn’t sold anything all day. But how could he sell when no one even showed up on his lot?

  He leaned back and took a deep puff from his Kokastik, letting the buzz seep through his brain. Wade wondered what kind of lunatic fringe maniac would torch a dwarf bar and kill dozens of people. Whoever did it must have known it would cause widespread violence and retaliation.

  Wade shook his head. What was the world coming to? Through the window he could see a pillar of smoke rising into the clouds. He leaned forward and scrutinized it. It couldn’t be more than three or four kilometers away. That was too close for his tastes.

  Actually, at least he had been lucky enough to avoid any direct threats to his lot. For some reason, the rioters were ignoring this part of Douglasville. He’d heard that farther west, in the shantytowns that the squatters and Chinese refugees had set up, Reggies were in full force.

  Wade exhaled a cloud of narcotic smoke. People were too scared to go out on the streets today, what with the media constantly splashing the violent chaos on the vidscreens. If they wanted to destroy commerce for enterprising young businessmen like him, they sure as hell couldn’t go about it much better!

  Gore and death might be ravaging parts of Atlanta, but why splatter that fact all over town? Why not downplay it a bit, assure the citizens that it was safe to go out and buy a damn vehicle if they wanted to.

  Wade shook his head. And all that advertising he’d done for the weekend was wasted. If the police didn’t get this crap under control by Saturday he’d be in trouble as far as sales were concerned.

  A bit of movement at the edge of the lot caught Wade’s eye and he turned to see a hulking goon step onto his lot. He stood up and watched the neohuman, dressed in camouflage pants and overcoat, walk toward the 2130 Rolls Royce Grand Safari. Wade stomped on the Kokastik butt and grabbed his Remington 10 gauge. If the big grunge wanted trouble, he’d give it to him. He exited his office and strode out into the lot.

  As Wade neared, the neohuman looked in the open side door of the expensive RV. The salesman cringed at the bulk of the goon, who loomed well over two meters tall. Swallowing, Wade strode up.

  “What do you want?”

  The genny stepped away from the Grand Safari. Wade noticed that he was older, with white hair streaking his head and wrinkles running across his face.

  “Maybe I want to buy this RV,” the goon grumbled, staring at the Remington in Wade’s hand. “What’s the hardware for?”

  Wade noted the unmistakable aroma of beer. “You want to buy a Rolls Royce Grand Safari?”

  “Yeah, you got a problem with that?”

  “No, but you might.” Wade grimaced. He didn’t like messing around with idiot genny looky-loos. “That’s a two-hundred thousand cred ride.”

  “No kidding,” the neohuman said, slapping the vidsticker on the vehicle’s large domed windshield. “I can read.”

  “What I mean is,” Wade said, realizing that antagonizing a goon probably wasn’t the best thing to do, “I have several other recreational vehicles here that are probably more in your price range.” He started walking sideways, trying to lure the goon over to another vehicle. “If it’s an off-road vehicle you’re looking for, I’ve got a used Chevy Prairie Dog over here that’s in real good shape. Only fifteen thousand.”

  “I don’t want a Prairie Dog.”

  Wade noticed that the genny was not following him, so he stopped and turned to face him directly. “You want a Rolls,” he sighed.

  “Yeah, I’ll give you a hundred and fifty in certified cashcards,” the goon reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful – a big, goon handful – of bearer cashcards.

  Wade stared at the cards in disbelief. “Um, well, you wouldn’t mind if I authenticate those, would you?”

  The neohuman dropped three cards into the salesman’s hand. “Be my guest…”

  “I’ll be right back,” Wade said and turned away, examining the cashcards as he walked back to the trailer. Each was a five-thousand cred card. Wade whistled.

  Back in the trailer, Wade pushed the cashcards into his verifier. Each came back positive, and he whistled again. He looked out the large
window and saw the goon examining the tires of the Grand Safari. Straightening his bright red tie, and leaving the shotgun on his desk, Wade hurried back to his new customer.

  “Well, sir, welcome to Century Used Recreational Vehicles! I’m so very glad that you decided to shop with us today.”

  The goon turned and glared at him.

  “These certified cashcards are definitely authentic, I must say!” Wade couldn’t help but smile, revealing three scintillating neon teeth. “Now, you say you’re interested in this fine Grand Safari, eh?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “Well, you couldn’t have chosen a better off-road vehicle. A 2130 Rolls Royce Grand Safari. Rolls Royce sure knows how to combine luxury and efficiency, as they’ve proven time and again. This Grand Safari has the famed milspec engine that’s found in Peacekeeper scouting vehicles. Multi-fuel, high torque, high power. What more could you ask?”

  “I asked to buy it.”

  “So you did! So you did! But have you noticed the satlink dish and luxury mini-bar? It’s also got impact enhancements: titanium alloy roll bars, reinforced wall panels, extra airbags, soft-touch seatbelts.”

  “Yeah, I noticed all that. I want to buy it.”

  “A finer vehicle you won’t find on this lot, or any other. A great buy at 225,000 creds.”

  “The sticker says 200,000.”

  “That’s the bare bones, zero option price.”

  The goon growled. Wade took a step back.

  “I don’t like taking your crap, little man. I’ll give you 175 thousand in certified cashcards for the Grand Safari just the way it is, and no questions asked.”

  Wade hesitated. There was really nothing to stop this giant from taking the Safari and driving over him. Besides, a couple hundred-thousand cred sale would make up for the losses all the rioting would cause over the weekend.

  “Tell you what, my friend,” Wade said, taking the goon by the arm and walking him back to the office, “you’re just too good a negotiator. I’ll take that deal, just the way you offered. I know you’ll think I’m an idiot, but I can see you’re a man of action and resolve, so no use arguing all day about a few measly creds. Yessirree, that’s a steal at two hundred, and don’t you know it!”