Chapter 19

Blitz and I hit the street at a brisk walk, anxious to put some distance between us and the flop house before the Razors changed their minds. At least, that's what Blitz wanted. I was too furious to be worried. The Warhawk was heavy against my side, like some interminable weight reminding me of my idiocy. Iwanted to snatch it out of its holster and unload at the next person I saw.

"So what does this mean?" Blitz asked.

I resisted the urge to shout the reply. "It means Jesus was in on it. He sent the hit men after us; he sent the Razors to guard that apartment. Remember how I wanted to know why he was the one supplying us with the gear we got from Michelson? It was because the two of them were in on it the whole time! He and Michelson have been playing us from the beginning."

"What do we do now?"

"We find a cab," I said through clenched teeth.

"To go back and tell the others?" He said it with an air of fleeting hope, but the look in his eyes told me he already knew the answer.

"No," I said evenly. "They don't need to be involved in this."

"Shouldn't we at least tell them where we're going?"

"If we don't move fast, word might get to Jesus. Diana and Sugar are down for now. We can't afford to wait for them to get healthy."

Blitz didn't say anything. He knew there was no reasoning with me. Instead he just nodded complacently and followed me as I headed down the street in search of transportation.

I knew I was being stupid. I knew, but I didn't care. The only thing I could think of was wrapping my hands around that scrawny little gimp's throat and choking the life out of him. The realization that one of my closest contacts—the man upon whom I had leaned for nearly my entire life as a shadowrunner—had stabbed me in the back sent my mind into a whirlwind of mind-numbing fury. What made it worse was not that he had pulled the wool over my eyes, but that I had read the false clues written on the inside of the blindfold and believed them. In the process I slotted up things for Rei, creating an even bigger mess and playing right into their hands. The knowledge of that betrayal and the shame of my own inability to see the truth closed my mind to everything except one all-consuming thought: revenge. As quickly and as expediently as possible, I was going to get my vengeance, come hell or high water.

The cab door slammed behind me. Tires screeched on pavement as the automated cab sped away, leaving Blitz and me standing before the Downtown warehouse. The district hadn't changed since the day before; rusted and crumbling warehouses spread out around the derelict district, but there were a smattering of workers milling about on their way to their morning shifts. The wind picked up, bringing with it the smell of industry—smog, burnt plastic, and chemical waste.

Ignoring the permeating smell, I turned my attention toward the decrepit building before us. Unlike the rest of the area, the only movement around that derelict building was the wind-borne trash skittering along its sides. Its garage door loomed before us, a steel maw barring entrance into our own little Garden of Gethsemane.

"Come on," I said gruffly, motioning Blitz after me.

We headed across the street, stopping in front of the garage door. I gestured to the keypad. "You still remember?"

"Remember what?" he asked with a blank look.

I wanted to slap him. "The key code, numbnuts."

"Oh, yeah. 58823."

"Are you sure?"

He gave me a look. "Do you have another number in mind?"

I sighed and input the code. A moment later the garage door began to groan open. I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding and gave Blitz a nod of thanks. Then I drew the Warhawk and moved into the darkened warehouse.

Inside there were several stacks of crates—more than there had been when we were there before, but definitely not enough to fill up the cavernous chamber. The only light came from several miniscule holes in the building's roof, making the interior look like a night sky pierced by beams of artificial starlight.

After a quick look around, I made a bee-line for the side door. The hallway beyond was paneled with wood, but not the good stuff—it was that synth material, like poster board with a wood grain veneer. I made a motion for Blitz to be quiet and padded down the hallway.

We stopped in front of the first door we came across. I listened, dialing up my hearing amplification. I caught the sound of jingling metal and a strange hissing noise. I couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it meant that someone was definitely inside. I gestured to Blitz, indicating for him to be ready. He looked doubtful but nodded anyway, holding his machine pistol aloft. Slowly, I tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked. I twisted the knob and thrust my shoulder into the door. It flew open as I burst through with the Warhawk held before me like the sword of an avenging angel.

The room inside was some kind of workshop. Tools, metal parts, and circuitry hung on the walls and lay in large bins on the floor. A pair of work benches inhabited one corner, and on a stool in front of one of them sat an old friend—Boris. The dwarf had a spot welding torch in one had—the hissing sound I'd heard earlier. He froze for a second, splitting his surprised gaze between me and the pistol that lay on the workbench in front of him.

"Make a wrong move and you're dead," I growled.

He smiled nervously, raising his hands above his head. "Sure Peaches, null sheen."

I motioned Blitz forward. He moved across the room, snatching up the pistol and switching off the torch. He stepped back once he was finished, training his weapon on the Dwarf once again.

"Wh-what can I do for you?" Boris stammered, obviously scared shitless.

I stalked forward and grabbed him up by the scruff of his neck. His eyes widened as I shoved the barrel of my gun into his temple. "You can take me to that fragger, Jesus."

He laughed nervously. "What do you need him for?"

"Shut up," I roared, digging the Warhawk into his scalp. He yelped like a scared dog as I jerked him off of his stool and shoved him toward the door. "You just keep your mouth shut and take us to Jesus."

He opened his mouth to respond but thought better of it. Instead he nodded and motioned for us to follow him. I went after him out the door, finger still poised on the trigger in case he tried any funny stuff. Fortunately, he wasn't as stupid as I thought. He led us straight down to the door at the end of the hall.

He knocked. "Jesus?"

It was a moment before he responded. "What?" He sounded annoyed.

"Someone's here to see you."

"Tell them to come back later. I'm busy."

"You might want to talk to them. It's really—"

I was tired of the lip service. Before Boris could finish his sentence, I had planted my foot into the door's wooden face.

The lock splintered and the door swung open. Inside, Jesus sat behind a large synth-wood desk while another two chairs lay before it. A suit-clad man with a shell of plastic blonde hair inhabited one of them. The other was empty. I thought I recognized the suit, but in the state of rage I was in, I wasn't interested in puzzling it out.

Jesus plastered an oily smile on his face, fixing his dark reflective gaze upon me. "Peaches," he said in that pseudo-mystical tone, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

His little routine wasn't going to work on me today. I looked to where Blondie was still sitting. "Get up and get out. This doesn't concern you."

He paused a moment as if considering the situation. Then he rose form his chair, nodding politely to Jesus before slipping out the door. Blitz closed it behind him.

"Alright, you bastard," I said, turning to face Jesus. I wanted to say something profound, something to voice all the anger and turmoil I felt deep within my soul. But I was too angry. My body was so tense and my emotions so roiling, that the words wouldn't come out. Instead, I said the only thing that would come to mind.

"What the fuck?"

"I'm sorry Peaches, I've no idea what you're talking about." He reached out toward the small computer on his desk as if he were about to simply dismiss me and go back to work, but he wasn't going to get rid of me that easily.

I grabbed the edge of the desk and heaved, flinging the furniture halfway across the room in a flurry of paper and electronics. "No!" I roared. "You know, you sorry asshole. You know! You were in with Michelson all along. You set us up!"

The smile didn't leave his face.

"Blitz," I barked, "look at his computer."

The young rigger made as he stooped to pick up the keyboard-sized unit off the floor. "As long as you didn't break the damn thing," he mumbled, sitting down on one of the chairs before he booted up the computer and began typing out commands. "What am I looking for?"

"Anything that connects him to Ayanami."

"I—"

I whirled on Boris before he could complete the thought. "You sit down and shut up, halfer." I glanced at Jesus. "That goes for you too."

Jesus chuckled, unphased by my threat. "I'm afraid you're going to find a lot of Ayanami material in there. I've been doing business with the company for years."

"Not another word from you," I said, gesturing at him with the gun. "Just shut your face."

"Uh, Peaches?" said Blitz tentatively.

"What?" I asked angrily.

"You might want to look at this." He turned the computer's roll-out screen around to face me. The color drained from my face as I realized that it was the Ayanami memo that had started it all.

"When did he get it?" I asked.

Blitz turned the screen back around and typed out a few more commands. "It wasn't transferred onto the computer… it… it looks like it was drafted here."

I knew whatever we found, it was going to be bad, but I couldn't fathom how bad it truly was. That knot of anxiety that had been twisting and fermenting in the pit of my stomach ever since we left the Barrens suddenly came unraveled in a fit of rage. I whirled on Jesus. "You fragging bastard!"

The fixer spread his hands plaintively. "Sorry Peaches. Don't take it personally."

"Take it personally? You asshole, I trusted you. How many years have I been working with you? Eight? Nine? And you go and stab me in the back like that?"

"You have to understand, Peaches, you were out of the game. You weren't contributing anything anymore. When Michelson came to me with his little idea, I didn't have any reason to turn him down."

"You betrayed me," I said through clenched teeth.

"Don't take it personally," he said with that infuriating smile. "It was just biz."

"Just biz?" I repeated, my voice rising to a roar.

He just smiled.

That's when I lost it. At that moment—staring down at that mocking smile—I simply snapped. With a feral yell, I leapt forward, bodily throwing myself into the man before me. He was tougher and more sinewy than I would have expected, but I didn't think about it at the time. I was single-mindedly focused on bringing as much pain to that little cripple as he had brought to me—to show him that this was more than "just biz." I brought the butt of my pistol down, smiling with maniacal satisfaction as the weapon cracked off of his skull. His ever-present sunglasses fell away from his eyes, revealing the naked steel beneath for the first time. Black, pitiless metal stared out from where flesh and blood should have been, looking up at me emotionlessly even as the rest of that face was contorted in pain. But that just made me angrier—just another lie coming to light.

I screamed again, pistol falling from my grip as my hands went to his throat. I wanted to feel the life slowly drained out of his body, wanted to see the look on his face as he realized that it was me, the one person he thought would never be able to figure out his little plan, who would be the maker of his death.

Suddenly Blitz gurgled behind me. I twisted around to see him slumped in his chair, the door behind him open. In the doorway stood the blonde suite I had dismissed minutes before, his hand outstretched toward me. I suddenly realized where I'd seen him before. He was the spell-slinger Michelson brought with him that first night at the Red Tomato.

I turned, trying to bring my cyber pistol around toward him, but I was too late. He uttered a word of power and extended his hand toward me.

Suddenly it felt like someone had shoved his hands through my eye sockets and into my brain. My vision blanked out as I vainly struggled against the magic, but it was all for naught. The last thing I remembered was thinking to myself, This is one hell of a way to die.