Chapter Nineteen
20:40, Hell's Kitchen
"Hey! Irene!" - a familiar voice came at Yelena, as she and Lexi made their way out the backdoor to the Underworld.
Yelena turned, noticing Gilbert and his 'friend', leaning against the wall nearby in an alley, smoking cigaweeds and looking pretty wasted. She could feel Lexi tense-up beside her, no doubt thinking they attracted the attention of some thugs, to which she surreptitiously squeezed her hand in brief reassurance.
"Relax." - under her breath, before she glided over to the two. Her gaze briefly hardened as it passed over the other man, before focusing on him.
"Hello Gil. Sorry about me disappearing on you yesterday! Something came up, y'know." - flashing him a brilliant smile, as she slipped back into her improvised faux-American accent. Behind her, she could almost 'feel' Lexi's frown, and she hoped the other woman wouldn't give the game away.
"Nah it's ok... I was just worried somethin' happened to you!" - the young man's expression made it clear he was a bit off-put by it, but he shook his head, concern in his eyes, continuing, "Couple minutes after you vanished, some cops came in and started sniffing around. They didn't ask about you or anything, but they were deffo lookin' for someone, before they left."
I wonder why...?
Yelena thought darkly, her eyes again flicking to the other man. She decided that Gilbert himself likely had no idea, since his concern seemed sincere. But that other man might become a – problem.
Out loud, she shrugged.
"Guess maybe I shouldn't be seen around the club after all? Maybe those two meatheads at the door saw me?" - throwing out plausible conjecture. But she could see the other man stiffen slightly. He must have noticed her furtive glances at him.
Gilbert grimaced.
"Yeah... maybe. Anyhow, I'm glad you're ok! Who's your friend?" - glancing at the shorter natch woman beside her.
"Hi, the name's Lexi... uh, Irene and I were just catching up." - Lexi didn't seem to miss a beat, even though she hesitated briefly before saying 'Irene'. Then she glanced at Yelena.
"Anyways, have to go... was nice seeing you again!" - waving in goodbye, before she headed out the alley onto the main street, in a direction of the parking lot nearby where she left her car.
"Bye! Catch you tomorrow!" - Yelena waved back, keeping up with the act, before she turned back to the two.
"How come we didn't see you inside last night, Billy?" - she asked the other man, keeping an 'innocent' tone, deciding to put him in the spotlight with Gil, since she remembered clearly how he mentioned he'd be 'getting another drink' inside.
"Eh... I had somewhere to be. What's it to you?" - the man growled, not meeting her eyes. She glanced over at Gil briefly, who was just frowning, clearly not catching on.
Nevermind. He doesn't remember such details.
Yelena thought, giving up. Remembering minutiae was not something most people were good at, and clearly Gilbert entered that category. She was trained to do so, and often she expected the same from others. She could come right out and say she saw his friend outside, talking to that cop, but what would be the point?
Instead, she focused on Gil again, briefly considering an idea. Reaching Battery Park might take a while for her, given the checkpoints, and she would rather not use her appropriated AI van, more then necessary. Especially since she was sure that by now, it would be missed.
"I'm curious, how well do you know the city?" - conversationally, with a smile.
"Spent my whole life here in the Big Apple! A lot of it right here in the Kitchen, but I've been all over the place. Why?" - the pierced young man smiled back.
Yelena glanced briefly at his pack of cigaweeds. They looked – and smelled - like quality stuff, not unlike what Marco provided her, back in Panama. And given that this was the second time she saw him wasted, in two days, it was a safe assumption to make that he went through them like poisoned water.
That kind of habit needs finances to back it up... and he doesn't look rich. Hmm...
She thought, glancing briefly down at his faded jeans and old sneakers.
"How would you like to make some credits, Gil? All you'd have to do, is deliver a package for me." - Yelena asked.
The young man's smile turned into a slightly nervous smirk, eyeing her tall figure. The other man nodded to himself, almost as if the question confirmed an assumption in his mind.
"Uh, I suppose that'd depend what's in the package... and why not use a delivery service for it." - he crossed his arms.
The aquiline woman's gaze narrowed, ever-so-slightly. Despite how taken he was by her, clearly he wasn't born yesterday. Then she reached into one of the pockets on her cargo pants, pulling out an electronic credit voucher, ready to transmit a sum, to his own.
"A thousand credits. Half in advance, half when you return. It's an ordinary envelope, what's inside is nothing that you need to worry about. I'd like it delivered to Battery Park, tonight before midnight, at a bench closest to Castle Clinton entrance. Just leave it there, on the bench, someone will be along to pick it up." - trying very hard to keep her faux-accent going, for a long sentence. She could feel it began slipping slightly near the end, but she hoped it would still pass.
"You a dealer or somethin'?" - the other man finally spoke, grimacing.
"Does it matter?" - Yelena countered evenly with a shrug, eyes on both now, leaning casually against the wall. Frankly, she didn't mind if they saw her that way, especially the second man. He looked very much like a thug, so the assumption clearly appealed to his expectations.
Gilbert's face looked pinched, as he eyed the voucher in her hand. Then he looked up at her.
"I mean... that's a lotta money... and all I need to do is leave it there? I don't need to meet nobody?" - he asked, trying to hide the nervousness. Yelena nodded.
"Exactly. Just leave it there, before midnight, ideally about fifteen-twenty minutes earlier, then come back and report. Also, if you stick around and observe, to see if a regal-looking woman comes along to pick it up, then tell me about it, you'll get extra two hundred when you return. I'd like a confirmation that my – client – made the pickup." - glancing briefly at the other man, using the term for his benefit.
"Umm... regal-looking? Whatchu' mean?" - Gil asked, frowning.
Yelena briefly recalled the description of Aria Rand, provided to her by Lexi.
"Redhead, tall, natch, will likely be in designer clothes. She will look – rich." - she gave a vague description, with a languid wave of her hand, preferring not to be too detailed.
The other man smirked.
"Y'know the type, probably some frontin' bitch lookin' to get nose-deep in white!" - with a shrug. Most of that sentence went right over Yelena's head, but the man's casual manner was reassuring. As was Gilbert's chuckle in response.
"Right... um, well... sure! I can do that." - he finally smiled at her, pulling out his own voucher out of his jeans pocket.
Yelena transmitted the 500 credits, then reached into the inside of her wide, baggy hoodie, careful not to reveal any of her weapons, to retrieve the envelope itself, handing it to Gilbert. It was a standard envelope, as she said, with an irregular-looking object inside, tightly sealed.
"Remember, before midnight." - she emphasised.
"Right... and where you gonna be to meet up when I get back?" - Gil asked.
"Don't worry, I will find you when you get back. Good luck!" - Yelena assured him with a sultry smile.
As he left, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other man glance furtively towards the eastern end of the alley, then saw his hand move almost imperceptibly towards a slight bulge under his leather jacket, near the right side of his chest. Her expression hardened.
What does he have under there? And what is his problem with me? Now that we're alone... time to find out.
As Gilbert vanished down the main street, the other man, Billy, turned to leave in the other direction, giving her a briefest nod of goodbye, not meeting her eyes. But Yelena stepped in front of him.
"Did you have a nice chat with that officer yesterday, Billy?" - she asked bluntly.
"The fuck you talkin' about, hanzer?" - he rebutted defensively, his eyes flicking downward towards the right side of his jacket again, before he tried to go around her. Yelena grimaced, blocking him again.
Bugged?
"And what do you have under there?" - pointing at the right side of his chest.
"Under where?! Look, I'm in hurry, so if you don't fuckin' mind-" - as Yelena interrupted him.
"I do." - tripping him up, to stumble against the wall, where she twisted his arm semi-hard, pinning him in a leverage, and slid one hand hand under his jacket. He jerked hard, trying to slither out, unsuccessfully. Trying only hurt his twisted arm more.
"HEY...! What the f-" - before the cyborg woman's hand twisting his arm, slid higher, into a tight chokehold.
"Silence." - her fake accent momentarily breaking, as she cut his breath off, her probing hand finding a vaguely oval object, which she pulled out.
A wireless transmitter... strongly resembling a police-issue radio unit. No markings on it, but a casual probe with her Uplink confirmed it. Police band.
"Undercover cop?" - she hissed viciously in his ear, trying to keep up the accent, as she let off the chokehold just enough for him to reply, while she entwined her steely-strong, artificial legs around his, pinning him solidly in place, now having both hands available to snap his neck if needed.
"N...ggh... no! Just a – a... informant..." - he wheezed.
"What did you report?! TALK!" - she growled in his ear.
"N-n...nothin'! I swear! Was gonna do it when I'm outta sight, but n-nothin' yet!" - he hastened to assure her.
"What about last night?!" - Yelena growled.
"Nothin'! Wasn't sure about you yet... and I didn't have the radio on me back then! I SWEAR!"
For a long moment, the cyborg woman debated his honesty – but the fact was, if he had reported anything last night, chances are this entire neighbourhood would be swarming with SWAT response teams, hours ago. Or worse, depending if Rand's own Inter-Guarda cronies got involved.
Her expression softened, slightly.
"Sure about me? Who do you suppose I am?" - Yelena's voice turning soft, her fake accent again slipping slightly. She scowled at herself, but it couldn't be helped. Without constant focus on it, she was bound to revert to her normal speech pattern. Even with all the self-training she did, over five months, faking accents was not her strong suit.
The man shrugged.
"A dealer... right? They'll wanna know about any new playas in this hood, so that's what I was gonna report. Plus this is Jaxers' turf. I don't care how badass you think you are, hanzer, if the Jaxers crew catch you pushin' here, they gonna skin you alive. Only ones putting shit on the street are they, and they don't like freelancers in the Kitchen."
"Noted. I'm surprised to hear about any gangs, in a classy neighbourhood like this." - Yelena hid a smirk, relaxing slightly as she released him and stepped back. He may as well keep believing his impression of her, and street gangs really didn't concern her much. At least not if they were anything like the undisciplined, small-time rabble like the Ballers or Bangers from Detroit.
Billy's expression hardened, as he straightened-up his clothes.
"Yeah, that's another thing. Don't call 'em a gang. Free advice. They OWN the Kitchen. Legal-like. Property investors, business owners, hell, they run the Underworld, and got a big share in the Hilton, from what I heard, and half the shops and businesses in the hood. And somethin' extra – they got a few cops on the payroll, too, walkin' the beat every day. And you're a hanzer, and a newbie... wouldn't be too hard for 'em to make you disappear." - darkly.
This made Yelena purse her lips.
Alright. So not the rabble-kind of gang. More organised, like the Bratva. That might complicate things.
The two walked out the eastern end, now coming within sight of the subway entrance and the street leading up to the Osgood warehouse.
"Let me guess. They use the businesses to launder their drug money?" - the cyborg woman inquired, looking around, "...but I have not seen anyone so far, that looked involved in a gang. Just a couple of people down near that playground, yesterday." - she pointed discreetly across the street, to a fenced-in basketball court.
Billy grimaced.
"Small fries. Runners and street-cats hangin' out. You're not gonna see the big fish 'till they wanna see you. And you DON'T want 'em to see you. Got it?" - under his breath.
She noticed his gaze flicking over to the entrance to the Hilton, up the street, and one of the doormen there. That man glanced briefly back at him, and his gaze paused briefly on her, clearly giving her a once-over.
The cyborg woman bit her lip softly. As a matter of fact...
"I might, actually. Assuming I want to... establish... my business here, I will have to... negotiate... an arrangement with them, correct?" - she asked.
If I am to draw attention, I might as well make the first move, before they complicate things for me. And assuming I can build any kind of relationship with this Jaxers – not-gang – they might be useful in running interference against the authorities, if it comes to it. It would not be the first time I had to trade favours for... protection. And I don't know how long will I have to stay in New York, and arrange the hostage-trade.
She thought, remembering her time in Gorelovo, Sankt Peterburg, and her early relationship with the Bratva chapter there. Ideally, she would like to avoid having to become a fixer for another criminal outfit, but... she might need to cultivate some indigenous contacts. At least temporarily.
Billy shrugged.
"If you're serious about it, yeah. That's the way it works, Irene. I can make it happen... for a price."
Yelena's lips twitched into a microscopic smirk.
"You will get your own separate cut, of any deals I make. After you arrange for me to meet these... Jaxers." - in a no-nonsense tone, her dark, hollow gaze boring through him.
Another thought occurred. Depending on how long she would have to keep hold of Owen Rand before the hostage-trade would be arranged, she might have to procure more – permanent – accomodations for him, then that water treatment plant. Automated or not, someone no doubt administered it, and it was only a matter of time before they would discover him. And she herself – she couldn't keep living in that warehouse's basement. As secluded as it was, the same risk applied.
And of course – it was far from comfortable. Not that Yelena needed creature comforts, but... she wouldn't mind not living in a rat-infested basement.
Billy looked ready to argue the point, but the look in those eyes, and the latent pain in his arm from when it got twisted back in the alley, convinced him otherwise.
"Fine. I'll put the word out. Might take until tomorrow... but you're not really from Portland, are ya?" - he crossed his arms.
"Not relevant to you. Just get it done. And I will hold onto this, until you do." - Yelena countered, pocketing the radio she took from him, still trying to keep some semblance of an American accent, but half-heartedly. Clearly, they've talked for long enough for the man to see through it. No big surprise.
21:30, a small hostel near Point Pleasant beach
Pulling over in a nearly-vacant parking lot, Lexi tried to tamp down on her simmering paranoia and feeling she was being watched, as she exited the car and headed for the hostel entrance. Approaching the receptionist in the none-too-clean lobby, she took a deep breath.
"I'm here to see Nick Bekrios. He was supposed to have checked-in earlier today? I'm his sister." - she spoke without preamble.
"Yeah, go on in. Room 17, upstairs on the left." - the chubby woman waved her in the direction of a worn-out stairwell, barely even glancing at her, her attention on the TV.
Masking her sigh of relief, she nodded in thanks, heading upstairs.
"Holy shit I thought you wouldn't make it... I've had two calls from AugReg in the past hour! Like you said, I didn't pick up, but... L, what the fuck is goin' on?" - her younger brother barraged her with questions, the moment the room's doors opened.
"What's going on is that we're gettin' out of the country. Relax...! Relax, I'll explain everything. Just tell me there's coffee... I'mma jump outta my skin if I don't get some caffeine in my system after everything that's happened today." - she held up a hand, then pushed beside him into the room.
"Yeah, help yourself," - he pointed, "...and you can start by tellin' me where the fuck were you going for the past two days, at night... ?" - he growled, worry for his sister radiating from his gaze.
Not answering for a moment, Lexi poured herself a cup and exed it out, before she took a deep breath, and began.
22:15, Staten Island, Inter-Guarda outpost...
For the first time in the past four days, Jamella felt somewhat... at ease. They've put her into one of the administrative quarters, complete with it's own bathroom, and for the past hour, the girl had hardly left the bathtub, and the steaming-hot bubble-bath she set up for herself, emptying half the liquid soap she found.
Washing off all the grime, sweat, blood, and... fluids... that accumulated on her, during her captivity. And trying to wash off the feeling of – violation – that continued to pulse within.
Unsuccessfully.
Outside the locked doors of the bathroom, she heard them leaving a meal, and calling her out to eat. She ignored them. She ignored everything, with a single, vehement 'leave me the fuck alone', shouted through the door.
Trying to establish a wireless uplink to the local network, met with failure. No dampening field this time, just... a firewall. A strong one, completely negating remote access. They were clearly ready for her to try that. If she wanted any kind of access, she would have to find a terminal and patch-in directly – an unlikely possibility, given how closely she was being watched.
Not that I'd risk it... I don't want that – cyber-pet – of his, thinking I'm going against him. She's like a guard dog or something. Sick.
The young hacker thought, mentally shaking her head. The not-Yelena had certainly left an impression. Enough of one that Jamella couldn't help but wonder who would come out on top, if Yelena and this – clone or whatever – ended up confronting one-another. From what she'd seen of her back there, the outcome might not be clear cut.
And I get the feeling it'll come to that sooner or later – I bet she's Rand's final failsafe. I don't think Yelena will get anywhere near him, without going through her. That's gonna get ugly. If only I could warn her somehow... but I probably won't get a chance, until I'm traded for his kid or whatever. God I hate being this helpless... but at least I'm out of that cold stinking cell!
Trying to put it all out of her mind, Jamella sank deeper into the warm water, closing her one human eye.
23:05, Battery Park
"Well, as far as meeting places go, whoever this guy is, they've got a taste in 'em. This time of night, nobody in their right mind would walk around here. Just asking to get jumped..." - Brent Radford growled, as he pulled over.
Faintly illuminated by the spillage of a few streetlights, Castle Clinton loomed some distance away, surrounded by protective fences, with only the entrance readily accessible – locked of course. The area around it was a well-maintained park, replete with benches. However, despite Radford's observation, there were a few people around, including a couple on one of the benches, making out.
Aria Rand said nothing for a long moment, looking around, before she followed Radford out of the car.
"We're early." - trying to mask the unease in her voice.
"With reason. I wanna see who's gonna be coming to the park, over the next hour. Call it a hunch... but I don't think this is gonna be a simple meeting. I wanna see if anyone's gonna be casing the place, lookin' around, that kind of thing... might give me an idea how many perps we're dealing with." - the man muttered, checking the holstered Diamondback under his trench coat.
As he opened it, Aria could see a solid metal plate covering his belly area, which seemed to wrap all around his trunk, to the back. As far as augmentations went, that one seemed very specific, and likely the result of a genuine injury, rather then arbitrary decision to enhance oneself.
"There must be a story behind that." - she pointed, discreetly. The middle-aged man scowled.
"Yep. Happened back in Detroit. A little reminder of what happens when I stick my nose too deep in other people's business." - with a humourless smirk.
"Ironic, huh, given what I do these days? But I've also got a nasty habit of never learning my lessons, and leaving well enough alone! And a vindictive streak." - self-deprecatingly.
The stately, elegant woman nodded slowly, as the two walked towards the end of the lot, and an all-night diner there. The place was vacant, aside from the two of them, and an attendant.
"Late night out? What'll it be?" - the short, stocky man asked, rubbing his hands into the apron.
"Coffee with cream, and..." - Radford looked questioningly at the woman next to him, "...hot chocolate with cinnamon." - Aria finished, but the attendant shook his head.
"Sorry mam, nothin' fancy like cinnamon here. You can have it with cream too, or plain." - to which she made a face, but nodded.
"Plain, then."
As the two picked a table nearest to the windows overlooking the park, giving Radford a good view of the entire area, she looked at the detective.
"There seems to be a lot of that going around, in this day and age. Although my husband doesn't tell me much about his work, and... beyond it... I can't help but feel Owen might have been abducted by... someone with a personal stake. The message... it almost sounds like something only Volkard would know, and be – I don't know – reminded of. If that makes sense. Also that it was in Russian... that has to be on purpose." - she theorised, rubbing her chin.
Radford nodded.
"Shadows flow beyond triaxis... definitely vague yet specific in meaning. I've been doing some digging through my files back home, plus making a few calls, and the only thing I did find, was a four year old report about an abandoned medical research facility in Belgium, being repurposed as a chemical storage depot. Apparently when they cleared it out, they came across references to a 'triaxis project', among heavily corrupted files in what was left of it's computer database."
Aria frowned.
"I've never heard Volkard mentioning anything like that. And he's never been to Belgium, as far as I know."
The detective bit his lip.
"Has he ever mentioned what he used to do, before his time in VersaLife, and as head of the Rand corporation?" - tentatively.
"I didn't know him that long, Brent... when we got married, he was already the head of VersaLife New York. And we've established a rule early on – he doesn't ask me about my past, I don't ask him about his. Frankly, it worked well for our marriage so far." - the woman replied with somewhat strained patience.
"So... am I to understand that Owen isn't really his son, then? Given the boy's age?" - Radford persisted, in some surprise.
Aria glared for a moment, then sighed. Just then, the attendant brought them their drinks, and she took a long sip, before replying.
"As far as Owen is concerned, he is. His real father... let's just say that man never deserved a son, and is where he belongs now – in prison. But Volkard took him for his own, and, having never had children, embraced him fully, as a one-day heir to the Rand name." - she grimaced, "Or at least as... fully... as he ever embraces anything or anyone." - a slight hiss in her tone.
Radford could read between the lines there, and get a sense that their marriage was not exactly a happy one, but decided not to press further, as he looked out at the park.
The smattering of people was still milling around, and that couple at one of the benches was still very much – involved with each other. But there was another individual, walking furtively along the Castle's wall, looking around as if worried that someone might be watching him. A young, punkish-looking man in a leather jacket and faded blue jeans, with a pierced lip and both ears.
"Hello, who do we have here... ?" - the middle-aged man murmured, reaching into his trenchcoat's inner pocket, for a pair of compact binoculars.
"You see someone suspicious?" - Aria leaned in, squinting.
"That punk over there... near the Castle wall." - he pointed, handing her the binocs. She brought them to her eyes.
"He seems to be looking for someone..." - handing them back.
"Or making sure someone's not after him." - Radford muttered, following the new arrival's path. It seemed to lead towards the row of benches nearest to the Castle entrance.
"Where did you say the meeting was supposed to be? The bench closest to the entrance?" - he asked.
"Yes... is he heading towards it?" - the woman hissed.
"Uh-huh... sure looks that way. Stay here, Aria." - the detective growled, about to rise, but she yanked on his sleeve.
"Hold on! If he is the one, won't he be expecting to meet me? If he sees you, he might just turn around and run. Or worse, harm Owen?!" - hissing urgently.
"Yeah, but it could also be a setup to snatch you, too! That guy don't look too tough, himself, but any one of these other folks could be in on it. I don't want you out in the open!" - Radford growled, suddenly indecisive. True, the meeting was supposed to be with her...
"So let's see what he does, first! It's still early... fifteen minutes to midnight. He will probably wait, right?" - the woman persisted.
Reluctantly, Radford sat back down.
What the fuck are you doin' out here in the middle of the night?! You meet some snazzy auged-up babe a day ago, and suddenly you're runnin' errands for her...? C'mon Gil, the money ain't that good... oh who am I kidding?! A grand plus two hundred – more then I'll see in the next month, cleaning rooms in the 'Ton for the uncle. Cheap son of a bitch. Just cuz I'm family, he won't give me a full contract... asshole.
Gilbert Renton thought to himself with a nervous grimace, as he entered Battery Park, and headed down the path towards the row of benches nearest to the Castle.
Knowing he wasn't being exactly fair, but not caring. In his mind, having free food and board in the Hilton, and no qualifications, didn't quite make up for the fact he was being paid less then half, of what all the other hotel staff was making a month.
Come on. Just drop the thing off, see who picks it up, then get the fuck outta here! Easy-peasy.
He reminded himself, looking at his watch. Fifteen minutes before midnight. Looking around, he could see a couple, making out on one of the distant benches, one homeless digging through a trash can, near the parking lot, and a few more, seemingly going about their business, near the pier to the west. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention in his direction. And certainly nobody was a 'regal-looking' woman.
Keeping his pace as casual as he could, he reached the indicated bench – the one nearest to the Castle entrance. Looking around one more time, he pulled the envelope out of his pocket, and set it down on the bench.
O...kay. That's that. So... now what? Do I wait for the woman? Or just find a good place to watch if she comes to pick it up...? Damn it I wish Irene was more specific... - he rubbed his hands in understated nervousness.
No. She specifically said that he didn't need to meet the contact. Just confirm that the package was picked up. Which meant he didn't have to stay here. Trying to stay casual, he walked off, back the way he came, but only as far as the line of stone pillars to one side, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedge. Taking cover behind one, in the shadows, he settled-in to watch.
Minutes passed. Five, then ten. Finally, less then five minutes before midnight, a tall, statuesque, early middle-aged, crimson-haired woman came into view, roughly from the direction of the parking lot. Dressed in designer clothes, and with an elegant, almost haughty gait, she approached the bench. Even from this distance, the curvature of her bountiful bust was apparent.
"Daaamn... Talk about a rich milf! Maybe I shoulda stayed around... introduced myself." - Gil muttered under his breath, watching her.
Suddenly, he felt a pressure of a hard object, at his side.
"You'll get that chance, kid. No sudden moves. Let's take a little walk." - a man's deep voice in his ear. He didn't even hear him approach. The tone was calm, yet with a steely edge to it.
As he was marched out into the open, within sight of the woman, Gilbert again considered that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't have taken the job.
What the hell did I get mixed-up in... ?