Mardock Scramble

“What on earth was it that made me want to kill that girl?” He was speaking to himself now, between gasps. Behind his sunglasses his eyes were bloodshot. Alongside the scotch he downed a large handful of the Heroic Pills that he’d bought cheaply at insider rates.

He stared pointedly at Boiled with his eyes that were now bright red and inflamed. “Tell me now, when exactly did you say this girl was going to disappear forever from the face of this earth?”

“Soon enough…” Boiled spoke quietly, and this was all he would say. He controlled the steering wheel without the slightest hint of wavering and directed the AirCar toward the foot of the high-class Senorita district in the east.

Shell’s lips suddenly twisted into a crooked smile, and he laughed an unsteady laugh. “That man who was at the trial today—he seemed very flaky for a former partner of yours.”

“That was the maintenance staff.”

“What?”

“In other words, that one’s a tricky enough customer all right, but he’s not the one we really need to worry about.”

“He’s not this Oeufcoque you keep talking about, then?” Shell’s lips were again distorted. He was frantically trying to conquer his gnawing fear, turn it into hatred and murderous intent.

“No, Oeufcoque never shows himself in public. He’s always teamed up with someone else.” Boiled spoke in a low voice, cold and machinelike.

“But you’ve got his number, right? You know his MO, his special skills,” Shell insisted, staring unblinkingly at Boiled from behind his lead-colored sunglasses.

“And the same goes for him. He knows me well—my MO, and my special skills.”

“In short…” Shell started. Silence reigned, then eventually he found the words to continue. “He’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”

Boiled nodded.

“But who are you saying he’s partnered with? That lanky guy we saw today? What’s he hoping to achieve by standing behind someone like that?”

“Perhaps it’s not that man,” said Boiled.

“Then who?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out. That’s why I need to hire some people. Starting tonight—from a place that you don’t know about.”

“Well, feel free to use the hidden stash of money as you need. Do as you please. Just be thorough and show no mercy,” said Shell.

“As you say.”

“I’m…terrified. Even though I’ve never once been frightened gambling at a Show, even with hundreds of thousands of dollars at stake. No job is supposed to faze me. And yet…” Shell’s teeth had suddenly begun chattering, and his limbs were shaking.

The truth was that Shell was wavering. From a place so deep within himself that even he didn’t know what was happening right at that moment. Accordingly he was panicking about all sorts of things.

“Flashbacks!” Shell spat the word out under his breath. Then he shook his head stubbornly. “That’s absurd. There’s no way I could be having such things. How can my past be coming back to haunt me… ”

He trailed off into a faint moan—this man who was always wiping his mind’s slate clean—and then he leaned over toward the driver’s seat.

“So, what are we talking about? What sort of people are you planning on using, for example?” Shell asked like a rabid dog, drooling and baring his teeth.

“The sort of person who works not just for the money but also for the satisfaction they get out of their target.” Boiled’s voice was low and calm. “I’m talking about the type who enjoy treating people like objects, slicing them to pieces and using their remains as ornaments.”

The meaning of these words gradually dawned on Shell.

Behind his sunglasses his eyes narrowed before gradually widening.

“That’s…fine,” he said with a smile. A gruesome smile that twisted across his face. “That’s excellent. And while you’re doing that, I’ll continue with my business. My deal, a huge deal, a deal for my benefit. That’s what I’m going to use to run farther up the stairway. The stairway to heaven—Mardock. I’ll run far enough, high enough, higher, higher still, that my past will never be able to reach me. Far enough that my past will vanish forever.”

Shell continued his feverish mutterings as if he were speaking in a nightmare.

Boiled dropped Shell off at his luxury apartment and sped off in another direction.

He headed toward the riverbank, stopping at a car park in a mall along the way.

There he switched cars. From the AirCar to a normal gasoline-powered car. A car that he had left there beforehand.

Before setting off again he opened the trunk of the new car. There were two attache cases within.

He checked their contents, first one, then the other. Then he got into the car and headed straight for the harbor.

The evening sun was painting the sea a bright scarlet as he reached the gates that marked the checkpoint to the harbor.

Boiled handed over his ID card at the gatehouse.

The security guard, a young man, stuck the card into his machine to confirm that Boiled’s jurisdiction was active and asked with a whistle, “An incident at the harbor, eh?”

Boiled took the card as it was returned to him, shaking his head. “Not a big one.”

The young security guard was clearly thrilled as he opened the gate. “Call me if it looks like anything’s about to go down. I train every day at the shooting range, you know.”

“Guns won’t be needed.” Boiled cut him down instantly, but this only impressed the young security guard even more.

“Just as I thought—a true PI.” He nodded in agreement.

The car entered the harbor, where heavy machinery was lined up all around. He drove past a giant mechanical crane that looked like a mutant crab, which was unloading a multicolored convoy. He passed the part of the convoy that had been stripped of its load before turning around and returning, skeletal now, via the overland route from which it had come.

Boiled parked his car in the car park where the trailers were lined up, took the attache cases from the trunk, and carried one in either hand as he walked toward the boats. He soon spotted the crane that he was looking for.

BANDERSNATCH: ANIMAL HUSBANDRY EXPORT AND IMPORT

The billboard was written in large letters above the crane house. Boiled looked up at the person in the cockpit. He slowly approached the workplace videophone and pressed the call button.

–Whassup?

A crude-sounding voice answered. Then an image. A man in fatigues.

He had a broad face partially hidden under a mass of dread-locks. His skin was brown like a scorpion.

“Where’s the company?”

–You gotta say which company you talkin’ about.

The man maneuvered his body uncomfortably in the tight cockpit so that his ear was on the earpiece.

“I’m bringing payment. For the company that’s said to be involved in animal husbandry import and export,” Boiled informed him, and in return received a shrill laugh from the video phone.

–What’s your name?

“Dimsdale-Boiled.”

–Heard aboutcha from the boss. That’s us. Import and export of livestock. Wait a sec, I’ll just get everythin’ sorted. Come on to the weir. Yeah, come inside the white line.

Boiled did as he was told. Before long a giant shipping container was lowered down from the sky. A rectangular box big enough to fit a whole house. It was an impressive sight to behold as it hit the ground with a