32 – The Stomach for It

  Tony leaned against a dream-chip vendor’s stall, one of the few that was still operating at that hour. The attendant had tried to sell him a chip that would be “like having every member of Soy Phantoms obsessed with him.” Tony might as well live under a rock for all his pop-culture awareness, but even he’d heard of the band. Still, he declined; he’d never been one to lose himself in dream-rig scenarios. Instead, he used the stall as cover, leaning against it as he watched the front entrance to a boutique cybernetics clinic.

  It was a classy storefront—crystal-glass panels displaying tasteful modifications on beautiful people. A simple, cursive word above the door in blue neon read, “Chavez.” That door was sealed, though, and Tony knew it only opened for people with an appointment. So, he watched and waited. One thing about Chavez that he doubted had changed was that the doc was a night owl. He’d always wanted to see Tony after midnight, and back in the day when they’d first met, Tony hadn’t minded one bit.

  “You gonna buy something, boyo?” the dream-chip vendor asked, stepping down from his stool to look around the side of his stall.

  “Nah, just waiting for someone.”

  “You gotta do it here? Scaring my customers away.”

  Tony nodded toward a woman wearing a faux-fur stole, walking on transparent, glass-like cybernetic legs toward Chavez’s clinic. “There she is.”

  “Right. Why not buy her a chip? Something the both of you can enjoy?”

  “Maybe next time.” Tony walked toward the woman, measuring his steps to time his arrival just right. As Chavez’s door beeped and slid to the side, he stepped up behind her, close enough that he felt her warmth through their clothes. She gasped, but he took hold of her shoulder with one hand and pressed his pistol against her lower back. “Just walk and I won’t use this thing.”

  “What—”

  “Just walk.” Tony pushed her through the short entrance alcove into the reception area of the clinic. Three plush faux-leather recliners lined one wall—white like the marble floors and walls—and another door adorned the far wall. Tony pushed the woman to the side and announced, “I’m here to serve a warrant on Doctor Raul Chavez. Open the door, or I’ll use reasonable force to open it.”

  When Tony leveled his pistol at the door’s latch mechanism, it flashed red, and he heard a lock slide home. “Your choice.” He squeezed the trigger, the batts on his mass driver whined and then with a teeth-rattling zwap, it threw a lump of dense ferro-mass through the door’s plasteel housing and shattered the harder steel latch mechanism. Sparks flared from the panel, and the door hitched open a few centimeters.

  “I’m calling building security!” the woman said, clutching her fur tight around her shoulders.

  Tony glanced at her. “That’s fine. I have a warrant. You can leave if you want. The doctor won’t be working tonight.”

  She stumbled toward the exit, but the door was locked, flashing red. At that moment, Tony noted the line of static flickering over his visual feed and a slight hum in his ears. “Are we being jammed?”

  Nora was quick to reply, “Yes, Tony. It started when the inner door locked.”

  “Hey! I want to leave,” the woman said, slapping her palm against the bio-lock on the exterior door.

  Tony shrugged, starting for the inner door. “You’ll have to wait, I guess.” He knew he had minutes—seconds, maybe—before help arrived, either in the form of hired mercs or Kinzoku Tower security, so he didn’t use much caution as he stormed down the white hallway. There were patient screening rooms on the left and right, but he gave them only a cursory glance to ensure Chavez wasn’t hiding in either. They were empty.

  Tony knew the place well. How many nights had he spent in that damn clinic? Dozens, at least. Hell, his upgrades had probably paid for half the equipment in the surgical suite. A fresh wave of ire washed over him. Hot sweat dampened his hair and made his shoulders itchy under his heavy coat. He squeezed the grip of his pistol so tightly that his mechanical hand trembled. He might have worried about an accidental discharge if Nora weren’t monitoring his trigger finger. She wouldn’t let him shoot by mistake.

  He knew that Chavez rarely worked alone; he’d have one of his assistants with him; they were just girls, though, hired for their looks more than their skill with an auto-surgeon. None of them doubled as security. Looking ahead, Tony saw the door to the surgical suite, and past it, the consultation room on the other side of the hallway. Being that they were in the bowels of a mega-structure, Tony knew there would be more, including a rear access corridor, and that would be where Chavez ran.

  He’d been in the consultation room many times to review options for upgrades, and he’d always taken note of the rear door—EMPLOYEE ACCESS ONLY. It might be storage, but he’d seen Chavez’s storage room off the surgical suite. No, he had a feeling it was where he’d find a staff lounge and, likely, a staff exit. His hunch proved fruitful because, as he stepped into the tastefully appointed space, he heard the click of the door closing; his quarry was close.

  Tony strode toward the door—a normal hinged one with a manual latch—grabbed the handle and yanked. He couldn’t break it with his human hand, so he holstered his gun and, using all the strength in his mechanical arm, pulled. The aluminum handle deformed, the door’s plasteel housing bent, and the latch pulled free of the door jamb. He stormed through in time to see two white-coat-wearing individuals running down a short hallway into a brightly lit room with a circular table and chairs. Vending machines lined the far wall—a fitting backdrop for Chavez’s demise.

  “Take one more step,” he growled, already depressing the trigger. His mass driver whined, and he was just a hair away from finishing the job when the assistant fell to the floor, sobbing in terror. Chavez threw his hands up and froze, but Tony’s eyes were on the woman. Something cracked in his vengeance-bound shell and, for just an instant, he saw Addie huddled there. His finger came off the trigger.

  “Jesus, buddy, I don’t know who paid you, but I can pay more,” Chavez stammered.

  Tony looked up from the woman, blinking, as he refocused his gaze on the back of the doctor’s head. Of course he hadn’t recognized him; the cameras out front wouldn’t have picked up clear images of his face, not with his eyes projecting interference patterns. More importantly, Chavez probably thought he was dead. He walked past the whimpering assistant and put the thick, hot barrel of his mass driver against Chavez’s skull. “Call them off if you want to live.”

  “Th-them?”

  Once again, Tony’s hot anger stirred, and his finger touched the trigger. The mass driver whined and vibrated, and the doctor stammered, “Okay! Okay! I canceled the alarm. S-see for yourself, the jammer’s off.”

  Tony didn’t need to be told that much; the constant buzzing in his ears had faded, and Nora’s online indicator had gone green. “Well?” he subvocalized.

  Nora replied, “I’m not showing any active security alerts in this section of the tower. I checked in with the Kinzoku AI, informed her of the door breach and also the peaceful apprehension of your target.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “And the lady in the waiting room?”

  “M-my patient? I unlocked the door.”

  Even as the doctor responded, Nora said, “Kinzoku Tower has informed me that the woman’s complaints have been filed under your investigation for further review.”

  Tony’s hot fury had faded, only to be replaced with irritation—irritation that he’d let his anger go. Now that he had time to think, now that he had an innocent woman sobbing on the floor at his feet, all he felt was dirty. He didn’t feel relieved, and worse, he didn’t think killing Chavez in cold blood was going to make him feel any better. “Goddamn it.”

  “I-is that you, Tony?”

  Tony slid his pistol into the holster, then grabbed the man by the neck, jerking him to the side and slamming him against the wall. Peering into Chavez’s brilliant, depthless aqua-blue eyes, he snarled, “Surprised to see me?”

  The woman sobbed, and Tony glanced down at her. She couldn’t be more than twenty. “D-don’t hurt her,” Chavez stammered. The words infuriated Tony, but the anger was self-directed. Chavez knew him well. Did he really think Tony had come there to slaughter his medical assistant?

  “What’s your name?” Tony asked the girl, ignoring the doctor’s further stammered objections.

  She looked up, makeup smeared, and blinked away her tears until she could focus on his face. “Me?”

  “Yeah. Come on, stand up. I won’t hurt you.”

  He watched as she struggled to her feet, bracing herself on the wall as she sniffled. Chavez started to speak again, but Tony squeezed his neck until he stopped. “What’s your name?”

  “Helen.” She sniffed again, wiping her nose on her white sleeve.

  Tony nodded at the round table in the break room. “Sit down, and if you don’t leave and don’t cause any trouble, you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  She lurched over to the table, her legs wobbly, and fell into one of the plastic seats. She put her head down and continued to sob, but her plaintive words came through, mumbled but clear, “Please don’t hurt Doctor Chavez!”

  Tony peered into Chavez’s eyes again. “That’s on you.”

  When Tony loosened his grip, the doctor stammered out, “Tony, I didn’t have a choice! Don’t you see that?”

  Some of his earlier heat returned, and Tony leaned forward, putting his face centimeters from Chavez’s. “You butchered me, you fuck.”

  “They had guns on me. I had Eric threatening me! I have a contract with Cross. What was I supposed to do, die for you?”

  Tony stared at him for a long time—long enough that the girl’s sobs faded into exhausted whimpers. As much as it irked him, as much as it made him hate himself, Tony had to admit Chavez had a point. They weren’t family. This man wasn’t Eric. He was a doctor who’d made a lot of money off Tony. He was a business owner who’d been friendly and shared drinks with him, but it had always been about the upsell. Could he even call the man a friend? They’d had a mutually beneficial relationship. That was all.

  More heat spread up his spine, crawling up the nape of his neck onto his scalp. He felt the blood rushing through his skull; he heard it. It wasn’t anger, though; it was shame. He’d been frustrated by his need for vengeance, frustrated by the need to play nice with Eric. And what had his response been? He’d decided to risk everything for just a taste of hollow vengeance. He let go of Chavez’s neck.

  “I suppose you already alerted Cross I was here?”

  “No…” Chavez licked his lips and massaged his throat with one hand. “They’re not tied into my security system—it’s private.”

  Tony sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Wish I could believe you, but what can I do? I don’t have the stomach for torture or murder anymore.”

  “You sound disappointed. Dammit, Tony, I was your friend! I hired a snoop to look for you. Did you know that? Hell, he’s still on retainer. I don’t know how hard he’s trying, if we’re being honest. He said from day one that Cross probably buried you somewhere.”

  Tony arched an eyebrow. “That true?”

  “It is! I can give you his contact info!”

  Tony closed his eyes, mentally chasing after the plot. What was he doing there? What was the point of all this? He’d already flubbed any chance at “vengeance.” He shook his head and turned, stalking back the way he’d come.

  “Tony, wait!” Chavez called.

  Something inside him wanted to hear those words, even though another part of him screamed that he ought to run, that he should cut his losses. He turned, though. “What?”

  “Just talk to me, man. Listen to me. You know I didn’t stand a damn thing to gain from what they did to you… what they made me do.”

  Flashes of memory tickled Tony’s mind, and he heard those voices again, like the conversation was happening right then, right there:

  “This plasma forge is bonded with the bones. We’re not getting it off in one piece.”

  “Take the arm.”

  “Who’s the lucky SOB getting this reactor and matrix? Tier-one Dust-tech, man.”

  Tony’s heart quickened, his breathing grew ragged. He clenched his fist and strode back to Chavez, grabbing him by the lapels of his white coat. “What about my gear, you bastard? You cut me up like a pig! Where’s my—”

  “Your plasma forge? Jen gave it and your reactor to one of her men. I didn’t even get an install fee.”

  Tony narrowed his eyes. “Which one?”

  “LaMonte.”

  “Icebox? Wasn’t he tier-four?”

  “Not anymore. With your gear and a big payday from Cross, he moved up. Operating at the second tier now.”

  Tony sighed and gestured toward the vending machines. “Get us a drink, will you?”

  “Come on.” Chavez motioned back the way Tony had come. “I’ve got the good stuff in the consultation room.” He nodded to Helen. “Can I send her home?”

  Tony shook his head. “Not yet. Bring her.”

  The doctor frowned, but he said, “Helen, come with us. We’ll sit down and have a drink.” He had to take her arm and coax her up. “Come on, Tony’s not the kind to hurt someone like you.”

  A few minutes later, Helen and Tony sat on a plush white couch, while Chavez poured three drinks from a bottle of whiskey he claimed was “older than Helen.”

  Tony watched him, noting the tremble of his hands—the after-effects of adrenaline. “That guy, LaMonte—he’s still shadowing Jen?”

  “Shadowing, and, if word on the street can be believed, screwing.”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he braced himself for a fresh wave of anger, but nothing came. He couldn’t care less about Jen’s sex life. “She use him for off-the-books stuff?”

  Chavez walked over and handed Helen one of the tumblers, then offered one to Tony. He took it, but set it on the table beside the couch. As he picked up his own glass, Chavez said, “If not him, I don’t know who. I mean, she’s got her private crew, but they’re not cut from the same cloth, you know? They’ve got some tech, but I’ve seen their loadouts. Not one of them could pass a tier-three exam.”

  “So LaMonte’s her big bad dog now, huh?” Tony would have cut his own tongue out rather than admit to feeling a slight twinge of jealousy.

  Chavez shrugged, sitting in a synth-leather chair opposite the couch. “I guess so. I mean, I’m sure she hires out work, but I’m not privy to any of that. Sure, the men talk when I’ve got ’em on the table, but they just don’t know as much as you used to. LaMonte might, but he’s a prick. Tells me to zip it when I try to make small talk.”

  Tony smirked, looking at the glass of whiskey beside him. “Probably have a team coming right now, don’t they?”

  “Tony, when are you going to get it through your head? I’m not working with them! I have a contract, sure, but I’m not fucking happy with Jen these days, not since they screwed you over. Everything’s been going downhill for years, but that was the flashpoint. Eric never shows his face anymore, and when Jen sends her boys for work, they act like they’re entitled. Remember the good times we used to have?”

  He sat back, rubbed his chin, scoffed, and then leaned forward again. “Listen, you could have zeroed me out, but you didn’t, right? Think about that.” He drained his drink, set the glass down, and thumped himself on the chest. “We’re friends. I owe you, okay? I’m not gonna sell you out. Not unless there’s a gun to my head.”

  Tony glanced at the door leading to the exit. “Is there?”

  “No. Like I said, they don’t know you’re here—not unless you told them.” Chavez was a handsome man, made handsomer by millions of bits worth of cybernetics. His eyes were top of the line; his skin—at least on his face—was synthetic and flawless. His hair was too, for that matter. That said, he didn’t look great sitting there. He might work for thugs and killers, but he was most definitely not used to having a barrel against his skull.

  “You gonna hold a grudge about this?” Tony asked, tapping his fingers against his mass driver. He felt Helen flinch and regretted the gesture.

  Chavez shook his head. “I wish I had your stuff, Tony. I’d put it back in you and send you off with my prayers. I mean, you need ’em, right? You’re going after them?”

  Tony’s heart might have been thawing. He might have been feeling some genuine trust toward the man, but that question sent ice back into his veins. Chavez might not have sold him out yet, but he was fishing for information. For himself or someone else, Tony couldn’t be sure, but he wouldn’t risk it. He shook his head. “Nah. I’m good with Cross. In fact, I’m trying to rebuild some bridges.”

  “Oh? Oh, well, hmm. Maybe don’t mention what I said about them, yeah?”

  Tony shook his head. “Nah. Anyway, I, uh, I’m sorry about how I came in here. Sorry about the door I wrecked.” Tony shifted to look at the medical assistant, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you, Helen.” He stood and was about to leave, but paused, his eyes drifting down to the deep, glossy red of his artificial hand. “Actually, if you really feel like you owe me, I could use a small favor.” He jerked his thumb toward Helen. “I’ll even pay for her time.”