Hillside Apartments was an eight story concrete tenement on the lower west side of the Renton district. The boiler didn't work half the time, the elevator was permanently stuck on the seventh floor, and for some reason the fifth floor hallway absolutely stank of curry. The apartment itself only had four rooms—a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom, all of which were shabbily furnished. It was old and out of date, and if the rumors were true, slated for demolition by the city housing authority, but for now it suited our needs just fine.
At the moment, I sat on the couch in front of the trideo, straining to hear the news program over the Pakistani couple arguing next door. Sugar and I had been up all night waiting in a twenty-four hour ask-no-questions emergency clinic, but even as the sun peeked over the the city's steel spires, I still couldn't sleep. The people at the clinic had stiched up the wounds on my face pretty well, but the pain killer they gave me had worn off by that time, and my face was stinging like a fire ant bite from hell. What's more, my body just plain hurt. After three years out of the game, it wasn't used to running, dodging, and tumbling all over the ground like it used to. The night's escapades had taken a toll on me—I was getting old.
What's more, I just couldn't relax. All I could think about were the rapid-paced events of the last twenty-four hours. My mind was still awash with questions that I just couldn't answer—who was behind it all, and why? I could think of plenty of people I had slotted off in the course of my life, but none that would go to the time and effort to have me tracked down and killed three years after the fact. None of it made any sense, and the more I wondered about it, the more confused I got.
A noise in the kitchen stirred me from my musings—probably Sugar returning to her meat. She had spent the past two hours in the matrix—the virtual reality system that connected civization together—searching for any clues about Mantis or anything the slitch had been involved with, and I fervently hoped she had finally hit pay data. I stood and moved over to the kitchen.
As I rounded the corner, she sat up at the table and yanked the cord out of her jack. She looked at me sleepily, blinking as if she'd just awoken from a nap.
"Find anything?" I asked.
She shook her head, "Nothing that would actually help. I found a few references to the name, but like I said, not real information. I did get a message though. It's from Jesus." She hit a key on the cyberdeck and the printer spit out a sheet of paper. She handed it to me.
The message consisted of one line: "Buena Vista Apartments, Appt. #213."
"Looks like Jesus came through for us," she said lightly.
"You wanna check it out?"
"Aren't you tired?" she asked with a frown.
"Nah, I had a nap," I lied. "I'm good."
"Alright, then let's go."
We headed for the door.
I gently slowed the van to a stop at the curb and threw it into park. The whole street was full of run-down apartment buildings and abandoned store fronts. Trash and debris littered the sidewalks, and half the vehicles on the road were propped up on cinder blocks. In front of a four-story brick building, a faded wooded sign read "Buena Vista Apartments."
In the days when the Redmond district was full of hope and promise, the building had been painted a lively sky blue, but as the years rolled by and the dreams died, that hopeful blue faded to soot-stained white. I knew that faded optimism far too well. After all, I'd grown up here.
A quartet of leather-clad teenagers all with bright green mohawks lounged on the stoop, admiring the bikes parked nearby and talking amongst themselves. I let my gaze linger on one of the motorcycles—a Harley Scorpion. Back in the days of my misspent youth, I'd had a bike nearly identical to that one. Actually, my days were spent in activities much like the kids on those steps. Hell, that was me fifteen years ago. But things had changed since then. Now there was a lot more at stake.
"Gangers?" Sugar asked from the passenger seat.
"Have to be, with that get-up."
She snorted derisively, "Buena Vista my ass."
"Well, it's Redmond," I retorted. "What do you expect? Anyway, just be glad it's Touristville. Otherwise we'd be peeling the squatters off the sides of the van."
She grunted a grudging acknowledgement.
"Alright, guess it's time to get this show on the road."
"You got the pocket comp with you?"
I patted my jacket pocket, "Yup."
"And your cell?"
"That too. Oh, that reminds me."
I reached under driver's side seat, grabbing the weapon that I had squirreled away there a while back. Sugar frowned as I pulled out the Uzi III submachine and handed it to her.
"Damn, where did you get this?"
"I keep it for emergencies. Now, you sit tight, alright? Don't use that thing unless you have to."
She nodded and slipped the weapon down on the floorboard between her legs. "Don't worry about me. You just be careful."
I gave her a wink and leaned over for a quick kiss, then popped the door open and stepped out onto the street.
Outside, the morning air was heavy with the scent of pollution and rain. Thick gray clouds stretched out over the city, but the looming rain hadn't begun to fall yet. I shoved my hands in my pockets, feeling the familiar bulge of the warhawk against my side as I headed toward the apartments.
The gangers quieted as I approached, stiffening visibly. I stepped up onto the stoop, threading through their little throng up to the door. The one with the bull-ring through his nose started to move, but a glance from one of the others quieted him. I tried not to notice. I could feel their eyes on my back, watching me as I opened the door and slipped into the apartment lobby.
Inside only a pair of bare light bulbs lit the dingy foyer—probably a good thing, too, because if I knew what kind of grime layered the linoleum flooring beneath my feet, I might have had second thoughts about entering. A row of mail boxes, half of which yawned open unattended, sat against left wall while an elevator with a large "out of order" sign stood to the right. Further back lay a doorway with the word "STA RS" above it. I headed over to it and went through.
The stairwell beyond was even darker than the lobby, but I managed to make my way to the landing without stepping in anything nasty. Except for the occasional mound of trash, the second floor was empty as I opened the stairwell door and stepped out. I found apartment 213 shortly there after. Like all the other apartments, the door was composed of shoddy synthwood and an even flimsier maglock, so when my booted heel slammed into its wooden face, the door popped open nicely.
I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me, but the lock wouldn't catch. Mantis definitely wasn't going to mind, so I left the door slightly ajar and moved further into the tenement.
The place looked lived in, but at the same time it didn't. It had all the normal amenities and furnishings, but the place was spotless—a direct contrast to the grime coating the rest of the building. It might have surprised me, but lots of people in the shadows were like that—obsessive to the point of compulsion. They wanted to plan for every nuance and control every aspect of their homes because in the chaotic world around them, that was really the only thing they could control. It didn't worry me too much, but it still made me wonder. Whatever the reason for it, I pushed my misgivings away and moved further into the apartment, poking through the kitchen and den then finally entering the bedroom.
The room was furnished with a bed, night stand, and dresser—all of the normal things you would find in a bedroom. What's more, a desk sat before the room's lone window with a desktop computer perched atop it. Finally I'd hit pay data. I moved over to the desk and booted up the computer. As soon as it was up, I jacked the pocket computer Sugar had given me into the desk top and hit the button to start the download function.
Just then my cell phone rang. I jumped involuntarily at the electronic chime, but calmed myself and snatched it off my belt, holding it to my ear. "Yeah?"
"Peaches." It was Sugar. "I think we've got trouble."
"What's that?"
"A few minutes after you went inside, those punks in front got up and followed you inside."
I looked down to see that the comp was done with its download. "How d'you know they're after me?" I asked as I unhooked the computer and stuffed it back into my jacket. I headed back into living room.
"I don't know. It's just the way they acted. Something doesn't feel right. Peaches, you need to get out of there."
She was right, and I was starting to feel it too—something definitely seemed wrong. I was about to tell her as much when the floorboards creaked outside. All other sound stopped, and the only thing I could hear was the beating of my own heart. I dialed up my hearing amplification, listening intently for any tell-tale sign. And then I heard it—the soft snick of a weapon being cocked.