James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time I figure out which of the abandoned apartments in the building belongs to Ryan, he's already getting settled in for some serious unwinding time from work. He's got a beer in his hand as he leans back on a broken-down brown leather La-Z-Boy, its surface splattered with patches of duct and masking tape to cover various holes. When he turns on the TV, I get a chance to catch the highlights from the Mariners game… and oh, surprise, surprise – they lost. Seems I'm out another hundred bucks. Not since the 2002 Mets has there been such a talented team so completely incapable of winning.
That's when I get the big surprise. "Do not attempt to adjust your sets. This is a Streaming Freedom video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly 60 seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in the city." Can't say I expected an Eyes Only report tonight. After all, it's almost midnight. Have big news for the graveyard shift, does he?
"The struggle of the city's transgenics continues unabated," Eyes Only reports, failing to tell me anything I didn't already know. "Eyes Only has uncovered information indicating that the transgenics currently under siege in Terminal City have offered, as a condition of their release, to have a sizable portion of their number enlist in the armed services. This is, after all, the fate that was intended for them from the beginning. So despite constant persecution and threats from their fellow citizens, the transgenics have volunteered to put their lives on the line to defend freedom and their countrymen. Rather than react with gratitude, support, and understanding, however, Seattle's citizens continue to give in to fear and paranoia. An explosion that occurred at Seattle's office of the CDC was immediately blamed on transgenic terrorists, and a small coterie of transgenics conducting a peaceful meeting with government representatives was ambushed, one of their number being gunned down. How much more will it take to convince people to stop letting themselves be controlled by fear? How much more will it take to allow the transgenics the peaceful existence they crave?" Well, that report was a bit heavy on the editorial side for my tastes, but I guess no one's perfect.
The news that Erin is apparently dead sucks, that's for sure. I wonder if Logan has evidence of Max's clone's death, or if he's just reporting on something Max was bound to mention to him when she dropped by. Does it really matter? Get with the game, Alec, I tell myself. Seems I've been thinking that a lot lately.
Once that spooky screen showing Logan's eyes fades away and Sports Center comes back on, I'm delighted to see that the Dodgers continued their winning streak. Okay, now I'm only out fifty bucks for the night. I'd love to stay and find out what happened in the Cubs-Senators game, but I really don't have the time. Max expects me back at Terminal City by dawn, and my night has only just begun.
Ryan lights a cigarette and takes a long drag off it as I continue to watch, trying to figure out what I can do for the guy. Okay, so he was a big-time security guy with a promising future before I blew him up. I guess I could get him some money or something, maybe get him out of this dilapidated hellhole in the middle of a crappy neighborhood. And how do I know how crappy the neighborhood is, you ask? Well, as fate would have it, Ryan lives only three doors down from my place. So yeah, I could hook him up with some cash and get him the hell out of Dodge.
But is that really what you think he wants? a voice deep inside my head asks me. Uncomfortable as it is, I'm forced to face the truth of the matter. Of course that's not what Ryan would want. A nice apartment in a safe neighborhood, a luxurious but sensible car, enough money in the bank to never have to worry about the little things… Those are all nice, but not what a guy like him actually looks for in life. It's a good thing, too, actually, since I have no idea in hell how I'd ever get enough cash to give him those things. No, Ryan told me himself what he'd rally want – he wants the operations needed to make him whole again. He's a smart, tough guy, and I don't think he'd have any problem with the idea of actually working his ass off to get where he wants to be.
All Ryan probably wants is not to be a cripple. I can do that for him. Hell, I can certainly do that more easily than I could set him up for life. Fifty grand, that's what he said it would cost. Think, Alec – think. Sure, fifty grand… If I could have just gone out one night and gotten my hands on fifty grand, I would have done it months ago. It sure would have made my life more comfortable, and maybe I wouldn't have needed to actually hold a job.
So I have five, maybe six hours to get my hands on fifty grand. It's not like I don't know where there are places with that kind of money, but to go in to those places and actually steal it… You damn wussie, that irritating voice chastises me. If you needed the money to help out Max, or Joshua, or even Logan, you'd do whatever you had to to get it. So don't start making excuses now. You know, as irritating as that voice is – I wonder if it's my conscience – I have to admit that it's right. I think maybe the worst thing about a conscience is realizing that it's right more often than my instincts are. It's so inconvenient.
The only question that really remains is figuring out how to get the cash. Like I said, I know of lots of people that have access to insane amounts of money at the drop of a hat, but knowing them doesn't necessarily mean it's a good idea to mess with them. Unfortunately, though, the more I dwell on it, the more I have to admit that Sergei Dragonov is probably my best bet. Sergei's got some serious Russian Mafia connections, and I happen to know him because he bankrolled some of my wagers back in my glory days as Monte Cora. He should have at least two, maybe three hundred grand sitting in his safe. And of course, for someone like me, breaking into a safe is easy enough. The only problem is getting close enough to the safe to crack it.
Last time I was at Sergei's he had nine armed guards. Not that I was counting, keeping in mind the possibility that something like this might one day seem like a good idea. Okay, maybe the thought crossed my mind, but I didn't take it seriously. Well, not too seriously, anyway.
Each of the guards carried an H&K MP-5. It's not exactly the most modern hardware available, but it's a weapon that held sway for decades as the premiere sub-machinegun. And for good reason, too. It's one hell of a weapon. In fact, it's still my personal favorite. So I have to break into a fairly well-guarded warehouse owned by the Russian Mafia, slipping undetected past the sentries, alarm system, and dogs (did I mention that Sergei has a thing for Dobermans?), break into a safe without anyone noticing, and make off with at least fifty grand before anyone can identify me. I so can't do this alone.
But who can I ask? It isn't exactly like I've endeared myself to many people since I left Manticore; and that's not to say I endeared myself to many even before I left. Let's face it, I'm not exactly the most endearing person in the world. Of course, endearing people aren't the sort that try to rip off the Russian mob so they can pay for surgery to treat injuries sustained by a bodyguard they inadvertently blew up years earlier while assassinating a prominent businessman. You know, thinking of it that way makes me realize exactly who I should call to help out on this little job. Of course, his help won't be cheap, but if I promise to let him keep everything over and beyond my fifty, maybe sixty thousand, I'm sure he'd agree.
So I guess it's time for me to run my ass over to Preston Tower. I'm sure I can get some help there.
To be continued…………………………