“I don’t expect you to admit it, Fontaine. I understand that you and the truth are not on speaking terms. You were authorized to bring fish and fish only into Rapture. Unauthorized contact with the outside world is dangerous! We will put a stop to it— within the laws of Rapture…”
Fontaine looked at Ryan almost pityingly. “You guys are imagining things. The only outside world I’m in touch with are a lot of fish. You can’t call ’em close-mouthed, but they’re not telling tales about Rapture to anyone. I’m the one with a bone to pick, Ryan. I’ve heard rumors you’re planning to ban plasmids. They’re Rapture’s most sought-after product. The people won’t tolerate being deprived…”
“Deprived of their
Fontaine shrugged. “Power is addictive. What do you know about that, Ryan?”
Ryan felt his hands clenching, blood rushing to his face. Then he forced himself to relax and lean back. He shook his head and chuckled. Fontaine was smart. He’d hit a nerve. “We’re not going to ban all plasmids. But there are some I won’t tolerate…”
“Such as?”
“Such as Teleport.”
“Too hard to keep people in Rapture? They can’t teleport that far!”
“Maybe just to a passing ship… and if Rapture is invaded—you’ll lose all your assets. You know they’ll find some excuse to seize everything.”
“Now there you’ve got a point, Ryan.” Fontaine lowered his voice and looked at Ryan earnestly. “I’m not risking Rapture—just know that much. I’m not letting anyone know we’re here. I’m making a living. So I don’t have to lean on plasmids too much…”
He said it like he was making an offer. Ryan figured Fontaine was indirectly telling him:
That was a deal Ryan wasn’t making. Ryan wondered if this was the moment to deal with Fontaine another way entirely—maybe it wasn’t in line with Rapture philosophy to simply have Karlosky shoot him dead. But it’d save a damn lot of trouble. He was tempted. Still—there was the risk of what Reggie might do if Fontaine went down. And Fontaine’s other men. He settled for an implied ultimatum. “No smuggling, Fontaine—and no Teleport.”
Fontaine’s smile went crooked on his face. “I’m finding Teleport problematic too. People who use it get extra crazy—they’re giving me problems. I’ve got my own security issues…”
“Security issues? You act as if you have your own little fiefdom here in Rapture.”
“If I do—you gave it to me, Ryan. By deceiving people about what they’d find in your pretty undersea ‘utopia.’ By not providing for them once they got here.”
“Everyone has a chance to earn their way,” Ryan snapped back. “Only parasites and slaves remain in their little dilemmas.”
“Is that right?”
Their gazes locked.
“What exactly are you up to, in that Little Sisters Orphanage, Fontaine?” Ryan asked. “You barely take care of the boys in the other wing of the orphanage. It all seems to be about the girls. If you’re using them for your personal little playthings…”
Fontaine’s eyes flashed. “What do you take me for? I’m like you. I like full-grown women. As for the orphanage,” Fontaine went on blandly, “we’re just trying to give back to the community.”
He managed to say it with a straight face.
Ryan snorted. “I’ll figure it out eventually. One thing I’m sure of—you’re using that ‘food for the poor’ charity to recruit people into your little syndicate. I’ve known mobsters to do the same thing.”
“Mobsters?” Fontaine took a step toward the desk. “I don’t have to stand for that.”
Ryan moved near the security-alert button on the edge of his desk. Maybe this was the moment after all…
“What I’m here for really,” Fontaine said sharply, “is to tell you that if you leave me alone—I’ll leave you alone. All that recruiting you’re guessing about won’t come and bite you in the ass. If. You back. The fuck.
Fontaine beckoned to Reggie and they stalked out of the room.
They walked under the dimming-glowing-dimming lights of the cellblock, Sullivan following Redgrave and Cavendish, their footsteps reverberating. Constable Redgrave was a medium-sized, wiry black man with a Southern accent. He was vain of his white linen suit. Cavendish spun a police truncheon on a thong as he walked along.
The overhead lights spat a few sparks and guttered again. Water dripped down. There were shallow puddles in the metal hallway.
“We’re gonna get fucking electrocuted in here,” Sullivan said.
“Always a possibility,” Cavendish said. “Tell your friend McDonagh. Got a lot of leaks now. Can’t afford to lose any more men.”
Sullivan grunted to himself. “Lot of our best men transferred over to keep order in Persephone. I hear that Lamb woman is still up to some rabble-rousing… how she does it from jail, we don’t know.”
“Subversion’s easier to deal with than getting electrocuted…”
A splicer just ahead of Cavendish reached out from the barred windows of his cell, screeching, “Electrocuted? Did I hear ya say you want to be
Electricity flickered along the splicer’s arm—and sputtered out.
“Don’t worry about that one,” Cavendish said. “He’s got no EVE left in him. Can’t do anything with his ADAM…” And Cavendish cracked the splicer’s elbow hard with his truncheon. The impact made an ugly crunching sound, and the man jerked his arm back in, shrieking in pain.
“You broke it!”
“You deserved it,” Cavendish said, yawning, as they passed onward. “Ah, there it is. Number twenty- nine.”
As they strode up to the door, Sullivan hoped the denizen of cell number 29 was ready to talk. Herve Manuela wasn’t a splicer—he was quite sane. They’d caught him carrying a large box of contraband. He’d worked closely with Fontaine’s man Peach Wilkins at the fisheries. He was finally ready to make a plea deal, but he was still scared of crossing Fontaine.
“Hey, Manuela!” Sullivan called as Cavendish unlocked the door. Redgrave was standing to one side, using his white handkerchief to polish his chrome-plated revolver, whistling to himself.
As they stepped through the open door, Sullivan could smell the putrefied blood…
Herve Manuela was lying facedown in blood-splashed prison blues. He was missing most of his head. Strands of dark hair were glued to the wall by dried blood. It looked to Sullivan—his stomach lurching as he contemplated the mess—as if someone had grabbed Manuela and smashed his head so hard against the wall it had simply exploded. Only splicers had the strength to do that.
“Son of a bitch,” Cavendish said. “Hey, Redgrave, look at this shit!”
Redgrave looked through the door and made a gagging face. “Lord, that’s one bad mess, sure is! Who done that, boss?”
Sullivan turned away in disgust. “
