+J.M.J.+
The Shadows Between the Neon
By "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
I finally got into the spirit, thanks largely to the soundtrack for the Livingston Street Terror Haunted House, which I have been listening to non-stop as I write the horror sections of the chapters. You might be able to get it through their website at www.livingstonterror.com. Things finally start to get spookier here. Enjoy your Halloween treat! (Hopefully my computer will let me finish typing the last three chapters later this week, so I won't keep you all in the dark for long and so I can FINALLY get back to ZE: EOT; [Are you listening you bucket of conductors???]).
Disclaimer:
See Chapter I.
VI October 29, 2159
Bulletin, Our Lady of the Immaculate Heart Chapel, October 29, 2159
From the Pastor's Desk:
…At the risk of sounding heretical, I ask you to please keep our silicon and titanium brethren in your prayers, that God may protect these defenseless creatures from the assassin lurking in the shadows between the neon. Already five of these defenseless creatures have been destroyed. To those who object to this intention, I remind you that these lover Mechas are of themselves blameless, it is what we use them for that is sinful…
"So are you going to the Danse Macabre tomorrow night?" Cecie asked Kip and Phila as they headed out of the chapel after Mass Sunday morning.
"I don't know: after seeing some of the awful costumes in the stores, I don't know if we should," Phila said. "Besides, isn't there something a little satanic about Halloween?"
"Not satanic, just dark," Cecie said. "It's the old Celtic new year's day, when the druids offered sacrifices to propitiate and drive back the dark gods who threatened to blot out the sun and plunge the world into eternal night, with the shortened days as a harbinger of things to come, and to ensure the safety of the souls of the departed of the year before."
"Sort of like a pre-Christian All Souls' Day. They were just trying to put in a good word with the big kahuna, as they knew him, for the souls of the deceased: 'Hey, Celtic big kahuna, I'm offering this, my best cow, on behalf of my brother Seamus who died during the year. Use my merit, miserable as it is, to go back and help him die a good death—and find out Who really is the big kahuna'."
"That's one way of looking at it. The Church built off it, just as grace builds off nature, and the way the whole liturgical calendar echoes the cycle of the natural year," Cecie said.
"It's really supposed to mirror the life of the Church and the life of Christ," Phila insisted.
"I think Father Crawford would say you're both right in different ways," Kip said.
"You speak that in true diplomacy," Joe said, falling in step with them.
"Hiya, Joe, you holding up these days?" Kip said.
"I am, as well as I can in these times which try the very fibers of ones being," Joe said. "Have you heard that yet another Mecha murder has occurred?"
"Yeah, Frank told us about it right before Mass," Cecie said. "He and Bernie left right after Mass so Frank could go home and rest for awhile."
"It's weird that Hal keeps insisting on working on the photos on his own computer instead of the ones at the newspaper office," Phila noted.
"Frank says Hal's just trying to protect his investment in his computer and that camera," Kip said. "You can't blame him, really, but he almost makes it awkward for the paper."
The four of them headed down to the Langiers' apartment.
"Shouldn't Julien be with you?" Cecie asked Joe. Phila glared at Cecie, totally misunderstanding the question.
"He has a standing order with an old dowager who reigns from one of the towers," Joe said. "He shall not be freed of her for most of the morning: but he will page me as soon as she gives him leave to roam free once more. She has said she might buy Julien from Mr. Flyte for the little rascal's weight in platinum. She can well afford it."
"I hope she does," Cecie said.
Joe studied her face for a second, clearly trying to guess her intention. "You dislike him indeed!"
"Of course," she wound her arm through his. "He kept trying to get in between you and I."
The three of them had a sedate brunch, but the conversation was anything but sedate.
"So where were all of you when the latest victim was found?" Cecie asked.
"We were both across the river in Haddonfield, buying pumpkins," Kip said. "Frank and Bernie were home having a quiet evening."
"We were trying to have a quiet evening," Bernie corrected.
"I went for a walk, but I had to turn back, because I spotted something and I had to pass on the information to Burnstead," Cecie said.
"Why, what happened? What did you see?" Kip asked.
"I was down near the Red Zone, when I spotted this really weird guy," Cecie started.
"You're bound to see a lot of weird guys down that way," Phila said, rolling her eyes.
"Let Cecie tell her story," Kip said.
"He was weirder looking than that: he looked a lot like Joe; he could have been Joe's twin brother. I almost thought it was him."
"Fortunately for us all, it was not I," Joe said coldly. "The Orgas of the Red Zone have no use for Mechas of my capability; they do not deserve me any way." Then with a proud little smile, he added, "I had the good fortune to be engaged with a young lady just learning the ways of tenderness."
"Lucky you were: if you stumbled onto the scene of the latest crime and someone who had spotted the weird guy saw you, they'd think you were him," Cecie said. "I figured it out he wasn't you: he didn't carry himself the same way and he had a gash across his right cheek, not sealed over well."
"Like someone had done a patch job and didn't know quite what they were doing?" Kip asked.
"Yeah. Oh, and he smelled of hydraulic fluid, like it had got on his clothes. And I got this real bad feeling near him."
"I'd have a bad feeling just being in the Red Zone," Phila put in.
"We know you would: let Cecie finish her story," Bernie said.
"Yeah, there was one last bit that sealed it: he didn't dance when he walked, you know the way Joe dances when he walks," Cecie said. "This guy just strode down the street, all on autopilot, like he had some place to be and he couldn't waste time on things like looking good."
"Wait, wasn't the Mecha that beat up those people in Omaha and Nova Francisco a JO-4679 like our boy?" Kip asked.
"Yeah, I told Inspector Burnstead about it. He wasn't quite convinced, but he wouldn't rule out the possibility, either. The thing had been spotted in Kentucky a week after the Omaha incident."
"I suppose you're doing the right thing by helping the investigation and you owe it to the inspector for clearing you," Phila said. "But aren't you putting yourself at risk?"
"We all have to take risks in order to do the right thing," Cecie said. She put her hand on Joe's hand. "I don't want him to be next."
A few minutes later, Frank came out of the back bedroom arms in front of him zombie-like, an empty coffee cup balanced on his head.
"Need coffee," he murmured tonelessly. He took the coffee cup down and put it on the sink. "I snoozed for about forty-five minutes, but then I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep for anything."
Bernie got another pot of coffee ready.
"So did you know the Mecha who got his brains ripped out last night?" Frank asked Joe.
"I did not know him well: he belonged to a procurer on the north side of the city," Joe replied. He eyed the datascriber stylus sticking out of Frank's shirt pocket. "Will this go into your written account for the Broadsheet?"
"Nah, probably not. I got that written, plus I gotta run that and Hal's photos over this afternoon."
"Mind of we look at 'em," Cecie asked.
Frank shrugged and got up to fill his coffee cup. "Sure, though mind you, they're rather graphic. Someone really hacked at this poor guy."
He took a sip of coffee, set down the cup and went into the bedroom. He came back with a plastic folder, which he opened and laid out on the table. Disks, a printout of the draft of the text, and three 8X10 glossy photos with a label on the back written out in Hal's spidery handwriting.
Cecie studied the photos. The first showed Burnstead and a tech kneeling beside the draped body of the victim; the second two showed just the victim, a Mecha with dark blond hair. His faceplate had been smashed in and the middle of his forehead cut into. The jaws had been torn open so that the lower jaw lay on the neck, showing the skull beneath the silicon skin. One arm lay at an odd angle as if it had been torn from the socket. The chest lay split open as if the attacker had torn the ribs from the breastbone, or whatever a Mecha had there. Bits of metal viscerae and fiber optic cabling and lucite chip boards lay scattered on the ground.
The third photo resembled the second, except that the victim lay alone; someone's well-shod foot could be seen near the victim's head.
Cecie studied the last two photos closely. "Frank, you notice something different about these two photos of the body?"
He looked. "Yeah, there's and unidentified foot that's not in the third photo."
"No, the angle of view is different. The third one is at a sharper angle."
Frank peered at the photos; Joe looked at the over Frank's shoulder.
"By golly, you're right," Frank said.
"It is as if Mr. McGeever was standing upon a wooden box when he took this picture," Joe said.
"Hal wouldn't do that. If he was gonna get on something, it would be something bigger 'n a box: a trash can or a tree branch or a windowsill…or my shoulders."
"D' you know if Hal has an assistant? A camera carrier?" Cecie asked.
"No, he's always been a lone wolf, except for me. No one else can stand him."
"I certainly can't," Phila said.
"Maybe we should do a little investigation ourselves," Cecie said
"What did you have in mind?" Frank asked, stifling a yawn.
"Maybe we should follow Hal and see where he goes, who or what he meets."
"Sounds good: just let me get some more winks before," Frank said.
Joe's pager trilled. He took it in hand like a nineteenth century gentleman looking at his pocket watch. "Julien has escaped from his gilded cage," he said.
"Let's meet up here about, say, 17.30?" Cecie said. "Wear black, Frank, you'll blend in with the shadows better."
"Will do," he said, "I jus' might put a black cover over my face to keep the light out." To Joe he added, "You be on time y' hear?"
"The question is will you Orgas be on time what with the time change? My internal clock has already been reset," Joe replied.
"It's been reset, eh?" Frank asked. "That I'd like to see."
The cockiness vanished from Joe's face. "You would find it as painful as I do."
The sun set at the same time as before: he worked only by the sun as far as he could see it. He had huddled long enough in the dank little hole below the level of the river where he had been hiding himself. Rats and other vermin had crept out of their nooks in the walls of his chamber; he had caught them with his hands and crushed the life from them. They had been easy to catch: he smelled like nothing to them. But the time to move had come; time to get his orders for the night. Perhaps a time to receive payment for his labors, or time to give back to the boss. Or time to kill. Or, better yet, all three.
Pain. He kept his pain keened to knife-edge, which counterbalanced with the heightened pleasure he sensed. The two together made a strange cocktail. Perhaps he would drink deeply of it tonight.
Time to see how the apple cart would get upset tonight, time to see what would roll off tonight. Jay would be looking for his cut and he needed it himself…
Cecie arrived at the Langiers' at 17.30 on the button. She didn't see Joe, hadn't seen him anywhere. The streets had been weirdly empty all day and even that evening, especially empty of male lover Mechas. Concerned owners had doubtlessly kept them off the streets. Perhaps Mr. Flyte had likewise kept Joe indoors and out of harm's way. She couldn't fault him for that. But she'd made and appointment with Joe and that had to be respected.
She hoped he wouldn't bring Julien along, but Flyte probably required it. No, not that pest! She ground her teeth at the thought as she knocked on the Langiers' door.
A jack o' lantern glowed in the window, probably Kip's work: at brunch he'd talked about carving jack o' lanterns with a drill press at his garage and soaking the finished work in a pumpkin preservative he'd bought in Camden.
Something banged the inside of the door. It flew open and a dark figure strode out onto the doorstep, clad in a black trenchcoat over a heavy black jersey, black cargo pants and combat shoes. Black rimless sunglasses hid his eyes.
"Do I look inconspicuous enough?" he asked.
"Kinda, your get up reminds me of when I was in high school and the kids used to annoy me at Halloween by trying to dress like me."
"So where's the third guy?"
"Correction: where is the third guy and the fourth guy," said a familiar charming voice behind them.
"The more eyes you have, the more eyes there will be to see the maleficent," Julien added as he and Joe stepped out of the shadows to join Frank and Cecie.
"The fourth wheel on a cruiser," Cecie said. She took Frank aside for a moment. "I've got an idea," she, putting her head close to his and sharing the plan.
"All right, let's go find us that Mecha-killer," Frank said, rubbing his palms.
"Do you mean a killer of Mechas or a Mecha who kills?" Joe asked as they headed along the street.
"Hopefully just the former. I don't want to think about the latter," Frank said, shivering inside his coat.
"Should you really be tagging along, Julien?" Cecie asked. "Wouldn't you rather be safe back at the Perfumed Alcove?", referring to Flyte's headquarters.
"And so neglect to guard you from the killer? Pah! You must take me for a coward," Julien said, ruffled like a bantam rooster.
They came at length to a narrow alleyway that opened off a small square. "Okay, Sir Julien, if you're so brave, you go see if there's anything suspicious lurking in that square," Frank ordered.
"Oui, meesieu'," Julien sneered.
Julien found no one more suspicious than a few older model female lover Mechas, who mistook him for an Orga. He refused them delicately; they could not enjoy fully what he could give them and with his DAS as high as it was, he could not savor their presence either. He had his orders.
He returned to the spot where he had left Mademoiselle Martin, Monsieur Sweitz and his own beau comrade Joe. They had vanished.
"Joe?" he asked. "Have you spirited away our Man'zelle Martin?"
A low groan rose from the alleyway. He stiffened, ready to flee. He started to approach the alley mouth, a square portal opening onto blackness, not a gleam of light to relieve it. Even his night vision could not penetrate the gloom. Had the killer--?
Another deep wail rose, echoing off the walls and the ceiling. The lubricating fluid in his joints and the hydraulics in his torso ran cold.
He stepped valiantly toward the alleyway; if he was destroyed, let it be in defense of Cecie and Joe.
"AaaaaaOOoowwwwweeeeehhhh!!!" a wolf howl resounded.
A mask of a face lunged out of the void, hollow-cheeked, mouth gaping, lit by an eerie blue-white light. The tongue, purplish and flabby, lay loose over the lower fangs.
Another scream split the stillness, Julien's own cry, escaping his voice synthesizer. Overriding his valiant intentions, he fled, running as fast as his short legs could carry him, his servos whirring madly. The soles of his shoes barely touched the steps of the escalator as he ran up it; he didn't stop until he safely reached the tower where Flyte lived and had his business.
"Bye-bye, Julien; I hope you don't meet any real horrors," Frank said, as the three of them stepped out of the alleyway. "Amazing what you Mechas do when your DAS is too high."
"Julien has his idiosyncrasies, which worked wondrously to our advantage," Joe said.
"I wish I could have seen my face," Cecie said. "Nice touch with your hand light."
"One does what one can," Joe said. "It helped achieve your goal—and, in a manner of speaking, mine."
"Why, you as sick of him as we are?" Frank said.
Joe processed this. "You might call it that: finding business is not so easy in twos as it is alone."
"So what's the game plan, Frank?" asked Cecie.
"I talked with Burnstead on the phone today: he seems to think the killer is hiding inn the Lower Deck by day and coming out at night to do his dirty work. There's a method to his madness, whoever he is."
"Whatever he is," Cecie added.
"True."
"Might it possibly be a she? I have suffered at the hands of disgruntled and disturbed women," Joe suggested.
"That's very possible, too," Frank said. "But most of the time, women hire someone to do the work for them, and a hired blade would have ripped the neural cubes out to begin with, not sneak down to the morgue to swipe them and then remember to take the cubes. Oh year, and the killer wised up: last night's victim had it's neural cube ripped out."
"Did Burnstead ever figure that out, where the cubes went?"
"He ruled out everyone who could have done it who had easy access to the morgue. The techs knew absolutely nothing about it and the few others who went in and out didn't know how to unlock a dead Mecha's faceplate."
"Which leads him—and us, really, back to square one," Cecie said. She looked at Joe, "You have anything thoughts on this?"
"Alas, I do not; would that I could help enlighten your minds," Joe said.
They ascended to the Upper Deck in thoughtful silence, bracing themselves for the chill wind which blew down the shaft to them, echoing off the sides in low moans. Cecie gripped Joe's arm, feeling foolishly like a kid at a horror flick. Joe caressed her hand with his warm fingers.
Main Plaza lay all but deserted, except for a few lonely souls flitting along, heads bent, glancing up over turned up collars, looking for something likely, or the Mechas passing by offering them the shelter of a warm pair of arms. Few needed further coaxing out of the reach of the cold.
The jazz and the grinding rock music from the clubs had died down to a low roar almost low enough for the wind to drown out and distort. The hawkers' cries echoed dim and distant, mere tonal jetsam on the wash of the wind.
Frank took Cecie's free arm as they crossed the plaza, but he held it loosely, respectfully.
"Don't want anyone, including me, to get any wrong ideas," he said.
"So where are we going precisely?" Joe asked.
"First stop is the Do as You Like Hotel, see where and if Hal McGeever goes out. If so, we're following him wherever he goes," Frank said.
They walked in the light for as long as they could along the main streets and by ways. Joe knew a shortcut to the Hotel, so he led the way for several dozen yards.
"Should we really be down this way?" Frank said, beginning to hesitate.
"Aw, don't get chicken now, HeroicReporter," Cecie teased.
"There are three of us: few lone assailants would wish to deal with this many of us at once," Joe said.
They reached the hotel a few moments later and hid themselves in the doorway of an adult bookstore.
"Come on, Hal, don't you have an appointment with someone or something?" Frank murmured. "What about the source that's giving you the alternate takes?"
As if in answer, the door of the hotel opened and Hal emerged onto the stoop. He paused and patted his pockets, then stepped down to the street, heading deeper into the Zone.
"Not there, if Phila knew where we were, she'd skin me alive," Frank murmured.
"Don't tell me you actually care what she thinks of where this mission takes us," Cecie said.
"No," Frank admitted, resetting his mind.
Keeping to the shadows, they walked as quietly and quickly as they could, keeping Hal in sight. Their path turned down and alleyway, plunging into the very depths of the Red Zone, the same neighborhood where Cecie had spotted the stranger the night before. The memory still hovered at the surface of her recall; Cecie's hand clung to Joe's hand for comfort, for strength.
They walked single file, keeping Hal in sight, but not so close that he would hear them, Joe, walking before Cecie, her hand in his, walked the most silently of all: she couldn't hear his footsteps; aside from an occasional rustle of his coat, he hardly let out a sound to give his presence away. The night and the wind drowned out every other sound from his person.
They flitted down the streets, heading deep into the Red Zone, close to the freight elevators.
Hal stopped near an alley between a convenience store and an empty building. He paced slowly back and forth, whistling "In the Hall of the Mountain King". He turned the collar of his coat up, then flipped it down.
They watched where they could see and not be seen from the recessed doorway of an empty storefront. They looked toward the freight elevator hub, watching for movement.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom. A klieg light sputtered on, back-lighting the figure as it strode toward them.
Hal's whistling got louder, as if he were giving a signal, or trying to reassure himself.
Cecie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise in alertness. She tightened her hand on Joe's arm.
"Don't move," Frank warned, just above the level of audibility. Joe held her close to him.
A long shadow fell along the sickly-lit pavement, down the middle of the street, a shadow that sifted and moved slowly toward them, unfolding itself.
A pair of black-shod feet trailed the shadow; Cecie's eye swung up the newcomer: the black pants of coarse material over legs as shapely as Joe's; the black frock coat, likewise of the same coarse cloth, of a familiar cut, the white shirt, strangely spotless.
The face lifted and turned toward them, so like Joe's face, and yet so alien: the same finely molded features like the face of a Greek statue, and yet so animal—no, lower than an animal; the face of a beautiful creature moved by an unhinged mind. The eyes all but lacked any color except the palest shade of gray-blue.
Someone had torn a hank of hair from his scalp, leaving a bald patch at the hairline. His last victim? A woman he had assaulted?
He flared his nostrils and sucked in the air. They were so close, they could hear the indraft.
"Hey, Jay, whaddya say?" Hal asked.
The figure lifted on his toes and turned toward Ha. For the first time, Cecie noticed a real similarity between Joe and this other.
"What do you want of me tonight?" Jay replied. The voice was Joe's husky tenor, but devoid of accent, even a flat American accent. "What do you have for me tonight?"
"I've got a heartbeat simulator with your name on it, but it's still beating right now," Hal said. He reached inside his coat and took out a photo. "It's name is Florent, another European job, Swiss-made, I think. Might give you some trouble, but not like the last one."
Jay studied the photo in silence, scanning the image up and down. He opened the neck of his shirt and put the picture inside.
Cecie could see no trace of the license tag that should have been implanted on Jay's chest, unless he had it elsewhere. But she realized there was a deep, wide gash in his dermis, baring the fibers and metallic viscerae, as if the tag had been removed.
"And so, where do I find this Florent?" Jay asked.
"You'll find him up by the Milk-White Arms, just off Courtesan Square."
"Alas, those milk-white arms will soon be stained dun and scarlet."
"Go to it, Jay and don't forget: the cube, boy, the cube." He kneaded Jay's shoulder with one hand; the Mecha started to lean down to him, but Hal pushed him back. "Nope, nope, not time for that yet. Not till you've done your night's work, boy."
"Then do not lead me into temptation."
"I'm the one who can get tempted, remember?"
"You are not the only one, Halloran."
"Oh, get going before I decide who can get tempted and who can't. I'm the boss Orga, remember? I'm the one on top."
"You remind me often enough," Jay said.
"Meet you at the Do as You Like in, say, an hour and a half?"
"I shall be there."
Jay turned and walked away, up the street, his shadow preceding him as he vanished into the gloom.
Hal reached into his breast pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, then fumbled in his pocket again. he reached into another, coming up empty-handed.
"Damn, I thought I had a light." he stuffed the cigarette back into the pack and headed off in the same direction Jay had gone.
"Guess we found our Mecha-killer, or is he a Mecha killer?" Frank said.
"Now what do we do?" Cecie asked.
"I'll call Inspector Burnstead," Frank said. "Then I'll try to catch up with Hal and call him off."
"He's rigging the news," Cecie said.
"That's not half as bad as destroying those Mechas in the first place, or getting a Mecha to help you with the destructions. The whole cocktail shaken together is downright criminal," Frank said. "You got your cellphone, Cecie?"
"Check," Cecie replied, feeling it in her coat pocket.
"Okay, you keep an eye on Cecie, Joe. Get her out of her if anyone or anything shows up," Frank said. "Make sure she gets back home in one piece."
"I shall protect her with every fiber of my being," Joe promised.
"I'll meet you back at the Langiers," Frank said. "If you have any trouble, page me.'
"We will. We'll be there," Cecie said.
They parted company, walking quickly, but not in a hurry, walking as if a brisk pace were their normal speed.
Joe led her out onto a street half-tamed by fizzling klieg lights. A few vagrants and pushers tried to approach them, but Joe sent them away with a snappy reply and led Cecie on toward the safety of the zone around Main Plaza.
"Funny I should meet the likes of you two around here," said a grating voice alongside them.
They both turned: Hal had fallen in step with them, grinning and showing his splintered teeth.
"You out going slumming?"
"I was merely leading Cecie home to her apartment," Joe replied icily.
"I was out here looking for a little atmosphere for one of my latest works in progress," Cecie said. "I just got a little more than I wanted."
"But of course, Little Miss St. Mary's of the Lace Curtain Ladies' Finishing School," Hal sneered. He followed them, trailing their very steps. "He helping you with your…research?"
"I am merely acting as her guard," Joe said.
"Oh, I see," Hal drawled. "You two ever do a little more intimate research?"
"We have not," Joe replied.
"That bad, eh? She the only woman you couldn't get to hear screaming in yer arms, Joe?"
"Do not speak of her so, it is not your place."
"Oh, really bad. Hey, Cecie, is it true? You that frigid, even in this thing's arms?"
"It's none of your business, McGeever," Cecie replied, as icy-toned as Joe.
Hal stepped in front of them blocking their path.
"Maybe it means yer tired of imitation flesh," Hal said, his head tilted back at an angle to minimize the fact that he had to look up at her. "How about you get yerself a nice bit o' man flesh for a change, eh?" He reached up to her shoulder. "Nice and well-seasoned, a little tough, but you'll get used to it." He dragged his hand down her front, down to her breast.
"Take your hand from her person, Mr. McGeever," Joe said.
Cecie slid out from under Hal's hand. "Sorry, Hal, I don't do Orgas," she said. "Especially ugly ones."
"So you're gone on this thing, eh?" Hal snarled, trying to reach down past her waist.
She knocked his hand aside and kneed him in the groin. This hardly deterred him; he went at her again. She stomped on his foot, which made him lose his grip.
"I asked you to take your hands from her," Joe insisted, his voice rising. He pulled Cecie away from Hal. She grabbed Joe around the neck and crushed her face against his, kissing him so hard their teeth clacked against each other. Joe leaned his shoulder against the wall beside them.
Ignoring Hal's obscene insults, Cecie hung onto Joe, pulling herself up on tiptoe. She twined one leg around his hip, trying to pull herself up. Joe's hands slid down the small of her back to her buttocks and, supporting her this way, hoisted her up, helping her get the other leg around him, which was awkward to say the least, on account of her long skirt. Cecie leaned her weight back, pulling Joe away from the wall; Joe countered the gravity by kneeling as they dropped to the ground, breaking the fall slightly. He landed on top of her, covering her completely, pinning her to the pavement.
"Oh well, maybe I can join in," Hal said, leaning over them. "AAaauuGGHhh!"
In an almost knee-jerk reaction, Joe's foot horse-kicked up and back; Cecie heard the unmistakable plock of Joe's heel hitting Hall in the groin.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Hal groaned, clutching at his crotch and staggering away. "It's on you if I'm damaged." He hobbled away into the shadows.
Joe had slipped his hand down toward the hem of her skirt, trying to finger it. Cecie pushed his hand away and tried to push him off.
He got up, lifting her to her feet.
"You were toying with me," he said.
"I was only trying to blow Hal off."
"You could not have chosen a more frank or explicit way to tell him so…unless you had let me take you here and now."
"That's not going to happen," she said.
"Then it was as you intended when you kept me away from Bernadette in Westhillston," he said. "I have been used for pleasure, but this for which you have used me…this has no name. It is not even abuse. It is nothing! Do I mean nothing to you? I can show you the stars and I have seen you reach for them, but you have yet to do so for your own needs."
"At least you can't say I'm selfish," she said.
"There is no name for what you are doing," he said. He gave her his arm, but when she took it, the flesh had gone cold.
They took Broad Way to Main Plaza, walking in silence, none of the usual bantering or joking. They may as well have been walking on opposite sides of the street.
They arrived at the Langiers' door a half an hour later. Even Phila could sense, unspokenly, that something was not right between Cecie and Joe.
"Where's Frank?" asked Kip.
"Where did he go?" Bernie asked, eyes clouding with concern.
"He got caught up covering a breaking story," Cecie said. "He should be back soon."
The phone rang. Bernie jumped to get it. "Hello…Frank! Thank God you're okay…another one?"
"We came not soon enough," Joe murmured, understanding.
"How many does that make…six? …Goodness. Did you get anything on who's doing it? …Inspector Burnstead's there…I'm sorry if I'm asking too many questions: your work habits are rubbing off on me. …I'll tell the others. …Bye, I love you."
She set down the phone slowly. "That was Frank. There's been another Mecha destroyed."
"We were expecting that. We overheard two men on the street talking about it," Cecie said.
"There's something going on you're not talking about," Phila said.
Cecie looked at Joe, who avoided her eyes. "It shall be told in due time," Joe said.
"All this stuff going on has us shaken," Cecie said, not wholly truthful, but keeping her tone even.
"Are you staying for supper?" Phila asked.
"No, I've had too many upsets lately, plus we met Hal out there and he tried feeling me up," Cecie said.
"Uh oh, no wonder you don't look good," Kip said. "Joe, you take her home and see she gets some hot tea into her and she gets some rest."
"I was about to suggest something similar to her myself," Joe replied. "If she would heed my suggestion."
"I suppose I've been burning the candle at both ends too much lately," Cecie said.
But back outside, Joe kept a cold distance from her, even as she let him take her arm.
"Joe, it isn't that I don't care for you or that I couldn't use your capabilities if I wanted to," Cecie began.
"I ask only for sincerity," he said. "I have been used before by clients who could not or would not value my nature."
"I'll bet you have, but I didn't do what I did for the same reason."
"Then why do you start to lap at the sweetness I offer, only to withdraw from it?"
"I've told you: it's not that I couldn't use what you have to offer. I could have hiked up my skirts back there and let you have your way right then and there. But I can't. My conscience and my principles tell me otherwise."
"In that case, either abide by these principles or avoid me at all cost," Joe said.
"Or," and his innocent suggestiveness returned, "Turn away from your principles and turn to me."
"You dangerous imp," she teased, poking his arm. He nudged her back.
She let him come into her room as she hadn't in days. She went into the bathroom to tidy herself up; she came back to find he had started her tea for her.
"Gee, thanks Joe," she said.
He merely shrugged as he leaned against the kitchen doorway. She let him linger as she drank her first cup. When his pager trilled—a rarity for a Sunday night—the regret she felt nearly brought the tears to her eyes.
"Will I see you at the Danse Macabre tomorrow night?" he asked, without most of the usual warmth.
"I'll be there," she said, trying to smile.
He did not stoop to kiss her good night, even when she lifted her face to his.
When he had gone, she put her head down on the table to cry.
They'd had a lovers' quarrel.
Frank wasn't surprised that Hal wasn't on the spot right away. He must have had an nasty altercation with someone—Jay?--along the way over: he was walking as if someone had stomped him in the groin.
"You okay, Hal?" he asked, as Hal snapped photos of the damaged Mecha.
"Hell, no, I just got kicked in the balls by a lover Mecha that was trying to protect a dark lady from my advances, aaggghhhh!!!"
"This lover Mecha wouldn't happen to look like me, would he?"
"How'd you guess?"
"Oh, Cecie told me you took a shine to Joe."
"Letting out all my secrets, eh?" Hal grumbled. "Figures."
He had everything he needed now…
To be continued…
Literary Easter Eggs:
"something satanic about Halloween?"—It often seems that just because I love Halloween, I'm a magnet for the kind of nervous religious nut cases (will all due respect to the genuinely holy people) who think that just because you have a jack o' lantern in your window it means you're holding a black mass in the basement. And if I got it wrong about the Celtic New Year, forgive me, I knew not what I did.
"Need coffee"—Based this on a cartoon on a coffee mug.
"don't get chicken…"—a nod to something that happened at the Livingston Street Terror; two girls came running out screaming in abject terror just seconds after they went in (It was scary, yes, but not that scary!). So a couple people, including me started twitting their retreating shadows.
Hal whistling "In the Hall of the Mountain King"—Ripped this from Fritz Lang's classic suspense film M (yes, that is the title!), which deals with a murderer whose only identifying mark is that he whistles "In the Hall of the Mountain King".
Jay's eyes—modeled after Ralph Fiennes's eyes, which have been called the eyes of either "a poet or a murderer"; ever since I saw him in Schindler's List as the terrifying Nazi labor camp commandant, I have not quite gotten over those eyes (I can say the same thing about Jude Law in a totally different way, but I digress…).
"dun and scarlet"—the colors of some kinds of hydraulic fluid. I was shoveling snow once on our driveway when I found what I thought was blood in the snow, but which turned out to be fluid that leaked from the transmission of one of my dad's cars.