Interlude
Jack-Cat was back at his observation post after snacking on a slow but tasty field mouse. His house was still burning, in fact the flames were even higher. He could feel the heat even from across the spacious back yard. He heard sirens in the distance. The sound worried him so he scooted backwards a little further under the logs and deep shadows. Trucks pulled up to the house, one even drove around on the yard to the side of the house. A multitude of strange two-legs jumped off the trucks and started running around in a way that Jack-Cat found confusing and frightening. It started to rain on the house, and then the flames slowly, very slowly, started to die down a little.
An insect beetled incautiously in front of Jack-Cat: he trapped it with his right paw. After sniffing it thoroughly he swallowed it whole. The little legs tickled as it went down his throat. He cleaned his fur for a few minutes. Then he sighed without contentment and rested his head on his front legs for a short but nervous catnap.
-- --
Chapter Five
Whatever is not nailed down is mine.
Whatever I can pry loose is not nailed down.
– Collis P. Huntington (1821 – 1900)
February 17, 2020
I rode with Max on her Ninja back to the Fisher's house. Alec faded into the background, I assumed he would act as perimeter security. Max drove without lights as if the hounds of hell were chasing us—man that was fun! But all too soon we arrived at the house. Apparently they heard us pull into the drive because Denise opened the door as we walked up the sidewalk. The whole family, as well as the tied up home invaders, stared at Max and me with some apprehension. But then Denise broke the silence with a slightly crazed laugh and she exclaimed, "THIS is your help? You go out into the night and drag back a beautiful girl?" She laughed some more, in a way that left me more than a little worried.
"Please Denise, you're not helping much. This is Max, she is also a product of the same government experiment that produced me. I assure you, she is not merely as good as me, she is better."
Max walked over to one of the tied prisoners and squatted down by his side. She leaned over and lifted his head and asked him, "Who hired you for this job." He mumbled something unintelligible and Max twisted his neck. The audible crack made everyone (except me) jump, especially the only live prisoner left, who had become the very picture of wild-eyed terror. I mentally recorded that expression for a painting I would do someday. A very dark and unsettling painting I think.
Max walked over and just looked at him. "Frank Branson," he blurted frantically.
"And who the hell is that?" she asked venomously.
"He's the guy I work for! I get my assignments from him, and then go do it. Then he pays me and I pay the other guys! I don't know anything about his clients!" He was babbling frantically and included a lot of irrelevancies.
Max smiled and said, "OK, for now you can live, until I catch you in a lie. While you're lying here, contemplating your possible short future, I want you to think about your previous victims. I want you to imagine everything that you have done to others—done to you." As Max stood up the prisoner's expression was a study in fright. More grist for my artistic mill.
Max walked across the foyer into the living room where she couldn't help but notice the horrified expressions from most of the family, along with the cook and butler who both looked like they would just as soon be elsewhere. Except for Grandmother Fisher, she stood out from the others with her expression of glee.
Max said to the assembled crowd, "Geez, you'd think I murdered the Pope or something the way you all are lookin' at me. If it makes you feel any better, he was already dead, I did the mumbling for him and just broke his lifeless neck."
Everyone did look a little better, although most were still obviously upset by this whole business.
"Ah hell," said Grandma, "you would have killed him if he wasn't already dead, right?" except in her back country accent it was more like: "youdda kilt 'im ifin he waren't ded, woun't cha?"
"Well, yeah," replied Max, "but I'm glad I didn't have to. She signaled everyone to gather around and said, "Our working theory is that the biotech firm is the origination of the bad guys, working through your boss, Mrs. Fisher. Do you know who this Frank Branson is?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
"He's probably just a low-life contractor, a go-between. We'll do a little investigating and see if we can locate him," Max said, then she turned to me and said, "go interrogate your prisoner – find out how he makes contact with Branson. Mrs. Fisher, I need to see all the information you have concerning this biotech firm, what's their name for one?"
"Lawyer-client privilege young lady! You may not look at any of my documents! That would be unethical!" Wow, talk about getting on a high horse!
Max rolled her eyes and said, "OK Lowman, we're outta here," she turned to Mrs. Fisher and continued, "what kind of flowers would you like for your daughter's funeral? Her closed casket funeral. I won't be sending any flowers to your funeral."
She gave a kind of half moan half scream in disgust and said, "All right, all right, you've made your point, but I'll certainly deserve to be disbarred for this," as she turned to go down the hall, waving us to follow her into her office.
"I won't be making any complaints to the Bar Association, you Lowman?" said Max.
"Uh no, I wouldn't think so," I agreed, wondering what the hell these women were on about.
Mrs. Fisher's home office was quite the room. She had obviously spent a great deal of money here, a hell of a lot more money than I spent on my studio. Max glanced at the impressive rug and whispered to me, "I could get twelve, maybe thirteen thousand for that rug from a fence I know, without half trying."
I nodded conspiratorially at Max, not really knowing what I could reply to that surprising little comment. I think Max was telling me a lot more about her life than she realized, unless it was on purpose. Hmmm, have to think about that. Max and I sat down in front of the custom made maple and ebony-trimmed desk. It was very modern, moderately large, and yet was ethereal and feminine. I drifted off while studying the swoop of the curves and I was trying to understand how the woodworker had accomplished his effects when Max jammed her elbow into my side to get my attention. She was starting to understand me faster than I would have liked.
Mrs. Fisher was typing commands at her computer, and after a final punch, her printer started spewing forth paper. "This is merely a summation, even though it's more than a hundred pages. It should give you an adequate overview. I've also downloaded some of the more interesting company files, which should give you an idea of where to start." She handed Max a freshly burned DVD.
"Ah," asked Max, "you didn't log into your company server did you?"
"Why yes, why do ask?"
"Now there will be a record; in fact, if this Winston of yours is on the ball, he's probably getting an emergency message from the IT department right about now. It would be wise for this whole household to scram in the next five minutes. Can you set your security to the highest level that fast?" Max stood up, making urgent shooing motions with her hands, ready to physically shove everyone out of the house.
Mrs. Fisher was fluttering again. "Oh goodness, I wouldn't think so, that would be against company policy, I mean, surely not, that kind of thing..." Mercifully she trailed off as she finally started to get her brains in gear. She was a lawyer after all, she should be used to thinking on her feet.
Max grabbed the last of the paper from the printer and shoved it all into a handy legal-sized envelope, along with the DVD. I shot out of my chair and headed downstairs to get Denise and my prisoner.
"Hey Mr. Fisher," I yelled as I blurred my way down the staircase, "We need a place to store the bodies. We take the prisoner with us, unless you want me to execute him first? No? OK, toss him in the trunk!"
-- --
Seven minutes later we were hightailing it out of the development. Denise and I were in Mr. Fisher's truck with her parents. I was driving. He owned a Hummer of all things. The civilian version of the ubiquitous Army trucks that I got sick of seeing and hearing before I was eight. Although this one was a hell of a lot more civilized than the last one I rode in—it had leather seats, AC, and an impressive sound system. I had made the error of referring to it as an SUV to Mr. Fisher. He archly informed me that it was a 'Class III truck, not an SUV', because this was the old H1 series, not the fake H4, 3 or 2. It was even turbocharged, Lydecker's Humvee's weren't, so maybe I could outrun him if he found us. Ha, I thought, who was I kidding? I couldn't outrun his radio, could I?
Max zoomed around us on her Ninja 650, she signaled me to follow her. With a certain amount of disgust I realized that I still remembered all those stupid hand signals they taught us, practically before we could walk or talk.
Max skidded to a halt next to a pay-phone. She signaled me to stop around the corner, which I did. The Fisher's were all asking me what's going on and why this and why that ... damned civilians, why wouldn't they shut up? "Shut up and wait," I ordered. I ignored their collective shocked demeanor.
A few seconds later I heard Max's motorcycle start up, she stopped by my window and gave me an address. I followed as she zoomed off.
-- --
"This is a safe house," Max announced to all, "All of you will stay here until one of us comes back." She handed Mr. Fisher a cell phone and continued, "this is untraceable, my number is two on the speed dial—don't call me unless you have to. Don't put yourself in a position where you have to call me." Then she turned to Grandma Fisher and said, "Here is a weapon. Don't use it."
"Hah!" she said, "A Navy Colt, I know these well." And she put it in her voluminous side pocket while she studiously ignored her daughter-in-law's lawyerly expression.
I said, "I expect we'll be back tomorrow or the next day. We'll call once a day."
Max and I took her Ninja, I must admit I sure liked it better than the truck. We got to the lawyer's office building and after finding a hiding place for the Ninja we looked up at the building.
"The twelfth floor has a setback, how convenient," I said, "even though it is a modern building, the architect provided plenty of handholds."
Max handed me a canvas bag full of climbing rope and equipment and checked her watch, "Three-oh-five AM, chilly and damp. A good night for an invigorating vertical climb." I admired her athletic female form in the moonlight for a moment, then I followed her up the side of the building.
"So Lowman," asked Max as we made our way past the fourth floor, "how are you after killing someone tonight? Can I count on you to watch my back?"
"I know it's been awhile, but it's like falling off a bike, once you learn how you don't forget."
"Falling...? Oh yeah. But you didn't before, I mean, I thought this was your first time?"
"No Max, when I was about twelve, still at Manticore, you remember some terrorists back in 2015 when those recruits were murdered at an Army Base? And a Coast Guard Cutter was sunk? But you never heard what happened to the terrorist group afterwards? Even though the government suddenly shut up about it?"
"Yes, the press found out about it before anyone could muzzle them, even I saw those stories, usually on TV's in store windows. But not even Eyes-Only ever found the conclusion."
"Well, those terrorists somehow found out about Manticore Base, and apparently believed the cover story about it being a Veteran's Hospital, and they attacked us, obviously expecting a soft target."
Max chuckled cynically as she reached for another hold.
"It was a night when most of us were out on a training exercise. There were sixty of them, they split into two groups. One group took off to the west side and met an X-5 group, they all died within seconds. Me and my buddy Tallgirl jumped into the middle of the other group, while a couple of my friends, YoungestKid and BigGuy tackled their rear. I killed three of them in six seconds, the rest were killed or taken down by the others. The leader and four followers were left still alive when Lydecker caught up with us. He asked the leader who sent them. When he spit at the Colonel, he signaled me to hurt the prisoner that I was holding – I severely twisted his arm – broke it in four places, a surprising amount of shattered bone was exposed. I had to gag him to stop his screams. He passed out and the leader started babbling. Then Lydecker took them all to one of the labs, I don't know what happened then, but I have a good guess."
"Tallgirl? Lowman? BigGuy? YoungestKid? Your group didn't have much imagination did they?"
"No, Lydecker made sure of that."
"That's when you decided to leave, isn't it?" Max's tone of voice was unusually gentle, it was nicely contrasted with her powerful grip on a stainless steel extrusion.
"I had already decided several years previously, but that's what galvanized me into action. I murdered one more man after that, an innocent hiker who's only crime was to get lost in the woods, and that's when I promised myself, never again. Although I have always allowed myself an out: killing in self defense is acceptable."
"Yeah, you can't wash out ALL of Manticore, can you? Although really, you shouldn't feel too bad about the terrorists."
"Oh, I don't, it's the institutionalized cruelty afterwards that got to me. Lydecker's casual disrespect of life is caustic, and I have always been an Artist, never a Soldier. I had to get out to keep my sanity. And now, I paint pictures, some are so dark they appear to be a window into hell, but a few have a lot of light."
We had reached the balcony at the twelfth floor, Max casually reach up to the guard rail and flipped herself up and over. I followed, landing beside her with a very soft thump. We stood in companionable silence and looked around for a few minutes. We weren't goofing off, this was protocol. We were checking for anyone who might have noticed a couple of people, up to no good no doubt, scaling the building. We carefully scanned at low, medium, then high resolution every building around us, trying to see into windows, checking rooftops and balconies. Once we were as satisfied as possible that we were unobserved, Max turned to the nearest door and got out her little burglars-r-us toolkit and had that door open in less than a minute, while I took the climbing lines we had with us and tied them off to some good anchor points so as to facilitate a quick escape, should that prove necessary. The ropes stopped two floors short of reaching the sidewalk, close enough for us to drop, but far enough up so any busybody pedestrians wouldn't notice.
It was typical of high-rise buildings. There was no electronic alarm system at the twelfth floor balcony, because after all, who expected genetically engineered soldiers? Still, we were careful in the offices because these were lawyer's, they probably didn't trust anyone, certainly not each other, so we expected to find alarms on individual offices. Nor were we disappointed. The senior partner's office was easy to find—we just walked down the most magnificent corridor and there it was, along with what someone no doubt thought of as a sophisticated alarm system. Max had it disarmed in twenty seconds and we entered.
As I looked around this office, I ran out of adjectives. It was, in a word, overdone. I wouldn't call it classy as much as grandiose, cosmically pompous instead of quietly superb, over the top ostentation won out over exquisite beauty. Max said, "You look like you've been stunned with a two-by-four!"
I said, "This place is causing me great aesthetic pain. You think this guy has an ego, or what?"
"Well, I don't know aesthetics from assholes. But holy shit," she said, "we're gonna make some cash tonight. I haven't burgled anything in quite awhile, but it'll be a favor to humanity to relieve this butthead of some of his possessions!"
"I dunno Max, don't you think it'd be better to find out what we need and then leave quietly?"
"No, he knows the Fishers know what he knows what they know. You know? We need to figure out what he prizes above all in this bordello, and take it. We need to do some destruction too. This will put him off guard, and with luck enrage him. That's how we want him—out of control and making mistakes. Do you see a computer anywhere?"
There was an antique wood cupboard around the corner and towards the back that didn't have the right proportions for a genuine antique. I walked over, almost tripping on the ugliest rag rug I'd ever seen, and looked behind it for wires. I nodded at Max. We both got out our various electronic gizmos and started searching around. Eventually, we figured out the key and opened the doors without setting off any alarms. Max spotted a password taped to the inside of the door and started to turn on the computer. I stopped her, "Max, rather than try to figure any of this out here, let's just take the hard drives." Max nodded OK and I started to disassemble the machine, spotting another list of passwords taped under a shelf. I took everything that looked useful, hard drives, DVD's, a handful of USB memory cards, notes, taped passwords, everything that would fit in my pack.
Max meanwhile, was examining various artwork and statues. She'd found some scissors and cut up some fabric hangings, and that horrible rug. She piled a couple of small statues on a table, ready for easy removal on our way out.
I had a sudden wild thought and went towards the front door and turned my back to Max. I unzipped my pants and started pissing on the only nice rug in the office.
"Ewww, whisper-shouted Max, "I wanted that rug!"
"This will piss him off more then anything I can imagine," I said over my shoulder.
"Yeah, right up until they do a DNA analysis. Then what?"
"Hah, anyone who tries to trace my DNA will get a surprise visit from Lydecker." Then I clamped myself shut and stopped. That would lead Lydecker right here, wouldn't it? "Shit! You're right, I'll go find a janitor's closet, some bleach out to take care of this. Come to think, some bleach will make a mess of a lot of stuff."
"No, wait a minute, maybe that's not such a bad idea. No matter how bad this guy thinks he is, he's a wuss compared to the Colonel. He'd go through this place like a buzz saw if he thought it'd get him closer to us."
"Yeah," I said, "that's the problem. I've been completely off his radar for more than five years. This would be his first confirmed sighting of me since I escaped, I think. I'd better bleach the hell out this."
I found the janitor's closet but had second thoughts about being able to completely neutralize my liquid indiscretion. I found some plastic sheeting, sighed heavily, rolled up the damp rug and packed it in the plastic, then I poured bleach on the wooden floor. It did a nice job of staining the varnish. Then I looked around and behind paintings, wall hangings etc., and found a safe. I cranked up my hearing a bit and had that sucker open faster than the owner, probably. "Hah!" I said quietly to Max, "written records, a laptop computer, and a pile of cash."
"Take it all," said Max with satisfaction in her voice. I looked at her and noticed she had found three files hidden behind the credenza (an ugly thing – red stained zebrawood with gargoyles carved into the oversize legs). Apparently he had a special little pocket constructed behind it – never considering that years of pushing files in would leave scars on the wall. Of course, maybe norms couldn't see those scratches, but X-5 and 6 enhanced vision sure as hell could. Max looked like a contented cat as she skimmed the files.
She walked over and looked at the cash I'd found. She picked it up and swiftly split into two piles, handing one to me she said, "It sure was nice of Winston to leave his mad money here. Our money now."
-- --
It hadn't been necessary to turn on any lights because there was more than enough starlight and moonlight for our feline enhanced night vision. So, an hour or so later when we heard a couple of security guards walking down the hall we weren't particularly concerned. Max signaled me to take up a position on the hinge side of the door, while she leaped up to the ceiling and braced herself between two fake wood beams that were especially poorly proportioned and stained a totally inappropriate color. While we waited on the guards slow progress I amused myself by mentally composing a formal criticism of the interior of this suite. It practically wrote itself since I had already upchucked a veritable torrent of pithy phrases while I was stealing anything that looked valuable. The footsteps stopped in front of the door, we heard the doorknob turn.
"Hey, it's not locked!"
"Well that's funny, it was locked when I checked it earlier." The sound of guns being pulled from leather holsters was unmistakable to our ears. Then we heard the click of a radio and, "Front desk, this is Sam. Did anyone come up to Winston, Herzog, Jones and Company in the last two hours?"
'Crackle, crackle, "Nope, in fact no one has been on that whole floor for at least five hours," crackle crackle, "shall I send backup?" Damn, we would get competent security.
"Yes!"
I could feel Max glaring angrily at me, even though I wasn't looking at her. She had locked the door behind her when we entered, but I unlocked it when I went to find the janitor's closet. Sigh. I could see this would be a hard one to live down—me and my juvenile impulses.
I heard a faint cracking noise and looked up, the damn beam was deforming. Stupid things weren't real—they were getting ready to pop off the ceiling from Max's pressure on them. So Max dropped lightly to the floor and quickly, but silently, turned the knob on the lock, slowly so it wouldn't make a snicking noise as the bolt slid home.
She signaled me to follow. She'd found another door when she was exploring a storage closet earlier. We went through as silent as smoke and found ourselves in a secretaries nook, behind the guards. Much to my surprise Max signaled me to attack to the right. I was so unprepared that I missed my cue by a couple of seconds. Well, of all the X-6s I always was always the slowest off the mark. But even with my woefully slow reflexes, our surprise was complete, we knocked both of them out in seconds. They didn't even see us.
"Why did we attack?" I asked.
"I wasn't about to leave our rightfully stolen goods in that office," she told me angrily as she took out a lifted spare key and unlocked the door. I mentally rolled my eyes as we picked up our canvas bags of carefully selected swag and retraced our steps to the balcony, hurrying this time, as we could hear the elevators nearing our floor. We tossed the lines over and with the bags slung over our shoulders zipped down using descenders. It took about thirty seconds to reach the sidewalk. Leaving the lines in place, we split.
-- --
