Yes, I'm still alive and I'm still working on this fanfiction. Surprised?
Although I have to admit that this is more like chapter 9 part 1, since I realised how much more I'd have to write to finish it where I originally planned. It's a bit shorter than previous chapters (something like the 3rd one) and not much is happening, but it still feels like a whole, so after some consideration and my friend's advice, I decided to publish it. Enjoy.
"Shoulda known that by not meetin' Hayward you meant breakin' in," groaned Kerry when V parked the car at a certain distance, but close enough to be able to observe the Haywards' mansion. Kerry almost pressed his nose against the glass. The big house emerging from behind the high wall looked exactly the same as yesterday – expensive and modern, but completely tasteless.
"Do you mind?"
"Heh, 'course not. Blowin' up a truck's like a child's play compared to that."
"Kerry…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," started Kerry, slightly annoyed by V's tone of voice. He wasn't in the mood for any lecture. "This ain't a game. Serious business. And stuff. What we gonna do? Break in in broad daylight?"
"Want the easy or the hard way?"
"Man, I'm a fuckin' rockstar, not a sneakthief. I play on easy mode."
"I hoped you'd say that." V nodded. He made a short pause before he added: "We need to lure out Hayward first. Somehow."
"Somehow?" asked Kerry, a little clueless. "Thought you already had it all planned. What kind of merc are ya, V?"
"The best in this damn city," replied V. "But even the best of the best need some help from their sidekicks," he uttered the last word with, undeniably, much more emphasis than it needed. Ouch. Kerry's question must've stung a little. "Or rather, from their sidekicks' managers."
It took a few solid seconds for Kerry to process what V had just said.
"From whom?" he asked, hoping that the merc meant someone else.
"Kovachek," said V and his face glowed with pure innocence.
Oh fuck.
"No. You did not say it, man." Kerry blinked in disbelief. "Kovachek ain't exist in my ideal world anymore. I fired that scum yesterday!"
V didn't say anything, he only stared at Kerry blankly but after a couple of seconds – which honestly felt like minutes – he nodded.
"Alright, then," he started and opened the car door. "Wait for me here. Might take some time, though."
That guy. That damn guy.
Kerry rolled his eyes at V and spread his hands theatrically.
"Fine. FINE! What d'ya need that motherfucker to do?"
"Oh, nothin' he couldn't do with his manager's superpowers." V closed the door with a loud slam and Kerry was almost sure a satisfied smirk appeared on the merc's face for a fraction of second. He was falling for V's cheap tricks definitely too easily... Or it wasn't falling for the tricks only. "Tell him that we need Hayward as far as possible. That there's a huge contract in Japan and has to be signed today, I dunno. Kovachek knows the market better than me."
Still pissed off – both at V and at himself – Kerry dialed his ex-manager's number. Beep. The mere thought of hearing Kovachek's voice again was making him feel sick. Kerry was an artist and he was experiencing everything way more intensely than the common folk, so there were a few people he despised with a passion for disturbing his peace. None of them came anywhere near that lying rat, though. Not even the cleaning lady who decided to wipe off some of the blood from the neck of his custom-built Lancaster, and thus irreversibly destroyed something which was basically a holy artifact to every guitarist (and every billionaire art collector). Not even the barber who cut Kerry's hair one inch too short and – since he couldn't show himself to people like that, obviously – the rest of that season's concert had to be cancelled.
No, that was nothing. Kovachek… That man evoke a whole new level of hatred, one that Kerry didn't even know it existed.
Beep.
Shit, Kerry really wanted to be useful and to help V but it would be a blatant lie if he said he was hoping that Kovachek would answer. Maybe he was too busy to pick up the phone. Or maybe…
"H-hello…? Kerry?"
Kerry swallowed hard.
"Hey," he said dryly, hoping it sounded like I fucking hate you for what you have done and I'd love to paint a huge dick on your helipad as an act of sweet revenge.
"Kerry!" The high-pitched, almost squeaky voice became very excited. "Dear friend! I'm delighted you're calling! How are you?"
A little snort on the left told Kerry that V not only could hear everything, but he was also having fun. Kerry gave him a glare and took a deep breath.
"Fine," he said to the phone. A videocall would probably have a greater effect, but Kerry wasn't sure if that wouldn't end up in throwing the phone out of the car window. "I'm fine."
"Oh, absolutely! In Kerry Eurodyne's world, everything is always perfect." Kovachek let out a forced laughter. If Kerry didn't know him, he would think the last remark was ironic, but he spent with his manager too much time to be aware that the guy was desperately trying to find a good starting point now. The truth was, Kovachek knew nothing about his employer… besides the list of Kerry's dressing room demands. And the amount of money in his bank account, of course. "Is there anything I can do for you? You know that nothing is impossible for L. B. Kovachek!"
His former manager laughed again and Kerry could feel how the strong coffee he had on the way to the Haywards' house was coming up in his throat.
"Yeah, there actually is somethin' you could do for me. Dunno if you can help, though."
"Kerry, dear Kerry, remember how I got your favourite mint ice cream in the middle of nowhere, before that concert in the Nevada desert?" Kerry did remember – it was half melted and didn't even taste like mint so he almost cancelled the concert, but he decided to pass over that. "I can do everything! Just say a word."
"Was wonderin' if you could arrange a meeting with Angelo Hayward."
"Angelo?" asked Kovachek, with a hint of surprise in his voice. "What do you want from him?"
"Thought it's high time I released a Kerry Eurodyne braindance, man," said Kerry, as carelessly as he could. "Hayward is a big name in the BD world, right? If there's anyone who can do it, that would be the guy."
The answer from the other end of the call was silence.
Fuckin' knew it. No way he'd buy that.
Actually, there was something else that Kovachek knew about Kerry, but it didn't really count since his hatred for braindances was common knowledge, present in the trivia section on every fan website. Kerry couldn't remember how many times he was persuaded by his manager to record a BD, at least a very short one because fans would buy everything labeled "Kerry Eurodyne" anyway – even a footage of him brushing teeth or cutting toenails, like Kovachek said. Kerry, however, always declined the offer, less and less politely with every try. He loved civilisation, loved modern inventions, didn't hesitate to get cyberware but had never been able to understand the phenomenon of braindances. What was the purpose of watching someone else's experience, when the whole world was out there?
Recording BDs, especially for commercial purposes, seemed even more bizarre to Kerry. The whole concept of saving your five senses nonchalantly onto a tiny chip (and worse – selling it!) contradicted everything he knew about art. And art, as Kerry liked to say, was not what you can see, but what you make others see. The music he was making always had its origins in Kerry's own personal experience, even if the audience wasn't aware of the background story. The most fascinating part for him, however, was to hear about people's interpretations, how different their impressions were, what feelings did the song evoke in them.
At the other extreme were braindances, which felt like serving an experience on a plastic platter. Like getting undressed in front of everyone and showing every inch of your body.
Now he had to convince Kovachek that he changed his mind.
"Think 'bout the eddies we could make," tried Kerry.
He heard something that could've been a gasp. Or a vacuum cleaner. It was hard to tell, but definitely sounded as if Kovachek took the bait. Greedy bastard. It seemed Kerry won that round of a trivia competition.
"Kerry, my genius friend! It's a brilliant idea!" yelled Kovachek. Kerry, even after having known his former manager for years, had no idea he was able to produce such honeyed tone. "Leave everything to me, I'll arrange the meeting! What would you say to… Hometown Deli? Near the Reconciliation Park? They serve exquisite wine there and nobody should bother us."
Kerry glanced at V, who nodded with appreciation. Not bad, said V's expression. Not bad, Ker.
"Sure. Sounds good. I'm in the area, we can meet even now."
"Brilliant! I'll call Angelo, he'll be-"
They never learned what Hayward would be, as Kerry hung up without even saying goodbye. He felt an irrational urge to clean his ears.
"What're you going to do when Kovachek finds out you set him up?"
"Same thing as always." Kerry shrugged. "Call my lawyers and let them work."
V was right when he said the previous day that he would be able to hack into the Haywards' security system. As soon as they saw Hayward leaving his mansion in a rush – Kovachek could be insanely persuasive when he needed to be – V didn't waste any time and sprang into action.
"Huh. Strange," he mumbled to himself and frowned. V's eyes were still glowing blue, which meant he was scanning the mansion, but there was something in his voice that worried Kerry.
"Strange?"
"Yeah." V's eyes returned to the usual red. "Remember how I told you that this place was a fortress?"
"Mhm. What 'bout that?"
"Well, it's not." V shook his head. "But I'd swear that yesterday… Eh, fuck it. I hacked into the dashboard and did a quick scan of this place. Its security system seems to be even worse than the one you have."
For the second time, Kerry decided to ignore V's words, but he promised to himself that he would invest in better security bots and alarms. To think what could happen if a netrunner fan decided to break in…
"See that… Eh, forgot you don't have the optics. True, there are lotsa mics and cameras and stuff, but…" V pointed at the entrance gate. "There's nothing that'd actually stop you if you decided to break into. No bots, no guns, no traps."
"There should be security."
"Nothing," repeated V. "Can't see anyone inside."
"So, what's gonna happen once we invite ourselves?"
"We?" Nothing." V shrugged. "Gonna hack the system and turn it off completely, there's not gonna be a red carpet and spotlights. No one's gonna know we've been there. But if that was a newbie kleptopunk… They'd get recorded, scanned and identified. And, if the system detected them as intruders, reported to the NCPD."
"An' they'd enter anyway."
"If they were fast enough, before the police would come, then yeah, guess so." V nodded. His eyes lit up again and the pupils started to move rapidly. Kerry knew what that meant – V was breaking into the security system. He had seen that many times before, whenever Samurai wanted to party in the most inaccessible places. Nancy, who had not only brains but also the best cyberware, was their pass to the elite's villas or trendy clubs. As long as they knew when to evacuate, everything was fine. Good, old times. "Done," said V suddenly, but he didn't sound very happy.
"Oh. That was pretty fast."
"I take it back. This house actually has some good security. Some modules are just…" V stopped for a second. He seemed as if he didn't know what to say. "Well, turned off. Just like that. Everything 'cept the cameras and mics."
"Turned off? Why? But Hayward's just… What does it mean?" asked Kerry, pretty confused at that point. Why would Hayward do that?
"Don't know, Kerry." V's voice was very serious. "And, bein' completely honest, I fear the answer."