myself. The narrow street outside had a row of motorcycles hugging a brick wall under an overpass where everything was covered in graffiti. Heat rose from a metal grate next to the curb, and a patch of fog drifted across a broken sidewalk littered with cigarette butts.
The results of my dig on Concrete Falls came up as I crossed the street. The miner found a lot of media noise about the bombing, but most of it was commentary. The limited footage of bomber didn’t provide a positive identification. That fact alone suggested he’d known where the security cameras were. There were only a few seconds of footage, and even taken from different angles, they could show only so much. The bomber was male. He had dark skin. He appeared to be between thirty and forty. No thermal images or X-rays were taken. It could have been a revivor.
Whoever he was, he’d moved past the recruitment stations and through a door that led into the back offices. When this was noticed, two guards moved to follow, but never reached him.
Given his movements, it was thought that the bomber had specifically targeted the offices where the Heinlein reps were set up. If Sean was right, though, and Fawkes was actually behind the attack, then it wasn’t just to make some political point or to hurt Heinlein. It wasn’t easy for Fawkes to make a move like that, and it put him at huge risk of being discovered. There had to be a reason for it.
The first time I met Calliope Flax was in a parking garage after a revivor tried to kill her. The last time I’d seen her was after her interrogation, banged up and fuzzy from the dope. She was third tier, a heartbeat away from living on the street. The reward I sent her way for the tip she provided didn’t even cover her medical bills, and I knew that without help she was going under. I suggested the service.
Later she disappeared. When I finally tracked her down, I found out she was stationed in Yambio.
I could hear the beat from outside as I approached the front of the place. Pushing through the heavy door, I walked into a dark room full of loud music. It was packed full of tough-looking customers. A few guys looked at me, noting the reflection from the JZI. Word started spreading that a cop just walked in.
I looked around but I didn’t see her. Between the darkness, the smoke, and the bodies it was hard to spot anyone.
A set of stairs led to a basement floor where a second bar was set up in front of a bank of video screens. Sitting alone near the top of the steps was a woman who looked out of place. She was well dressed, with a plain wool cap that didn’t match the outfit. The only thing she had in common with the other patrons was her tattoo: a snake that ringed her neck, then swallowed its tail. She was sitting at a table without a drink in front of her. She looked bored.
When I started to move past her, she looked up with bright blue eyes and waved for me to come closer. I held up my hand to indicate I was meeting someone else and couldn’t stop, and she reached out and took it. The second her cold fingers touched my hand, she zeroed in on a pressure point and sent a jolt up my forearm. She smiled faintly when she saw my surprise, and pulled me gently toward her table.
“I’m Penny,” she shouted over the music.
“Can I have my hand back?” She let go and I flexed my fingers.
“You’re kind of cute,” she said, reaching toward my face. I went to stop her, and she brushed my hand away casually. She touched my cheek, then ran her fingers through my hair.
“Are you always this forward?”
“What’s the matter? Are you not used to being touched by a woman?”
The truth was that I wasn’t. Not anymore. She seemed satisfied by my lack of an answer, taking her hand away.
“So you’re him, huh?”
“Him who?”
Her pupils widened, and I felt dizzy for a second. It passed almost immediately, and her eyes went back to normal.
“You are him. You’re Nico Wachalowski,” she shouted.
“Okay, you got my attention. Who are you?”
She leaned closer, putting her lips to my ear.
“Someone wants to meet with you,” she said.
“You don’t say.”
“I do say.”
“And who would that be?”
“Motoko Ai.”
I remembered Sean’s words scrawled on the bathroom mirror:
“Should I know that name?” I asked.
“She has information you’ll be interested in.”
“What kind of information?”
“Information about Samuel Fawkes.”
If she didn’t have my attention before, she had it then. She leaned back, looking satisfied. Her big eyes looked me up and down.
“I guess I can see why she’s into you,” she said.
“What?”
“Not Ai. She’s not interested in stuff like that. I mean Zoe.”
“Are you a friend of Zoe’s?”
“Sort of. Tell me; are you just completely clueless?”
“What?”
“Because if you are, then open your eyes, and if you aren’t, then stop being careless with her.”
The whole thing caught me off guard. Before I could answer, she changed the subject again.
“Will you meet with Ai?”
“Where?”
“We’ll set it up through Zoe.”
“Zoe?”
“She’s coming too. Will you come?”
“Yes.”
“The events of two years ago were nothing, Mr. Wachalowski. Please be there.”
Before I could answer, she hopped off her stool and gave me a wave as she moved off into the crowd.
I made my way downstairs and found her standing against the far wall with a big guy on either side of her. She looked like I remembered, with the same cropped hair and the same crooked nose. Somewhere inside me, tension let go; she was in one piece. She was talking to a black man with a cauliflower ear when she noticed me and waved. When she smiled, I saw she never replaced the missing tooth.
I got the bartender’s attention and let him scan my card. With a glass in each hand, I made my way over to her. The two guys were gone before I got there.
“Friends of yours?” I asked, handing one over.
“Fight buddies,” she said. She took it and drank half without blinking.
“You get set up okay?”
“Yeah. Guy named Buckster from that group Second Chance picked me up. They set me up with a place.”
