Mardock Scramble

“A proper airhead,” he said, and sat down on the sofa. “Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Octavia, aka Ms. Eyes Wide Shut—the hidden shame of a famous family. She’s the daughter of one of OctoberCorp’s directors, but she’s not quite up to the task… In other words, she’s defective goods and won’t ever find a buyer. Her existence was supposed to have been top secret, but I discovered her and let the cat out of the bag, and now I get to keep her.”

The girl shouted something through her laughter. It could have been the name of a TV show, or some snacks that she wanted, or even a person’s name—neither Shell nor Boiled had any idea what she had just said or what she wanted.

“She’s the physical embodiment of my business plan. I borrowed her for about half an hour so that you could see her face. My glorious wife!”

“When’s the ceremony?” asked Boiled.

“We sign contracts at the end of the month. It would have been earlier too, if it hadn’t been for that pesky trial.”

Then Shell’s tone of voice changed, just as when a comedian suddenly turned to a serious part of his set. “By the way, Boiled—on another matter, I seem to remember I’d asked you to take care of a little business for me.”

Eyes still fixed on the girl, Boiled answered softly. “There was more to it than I imagined.”

“More than you imagined? How?” asked Shell.

“They’re using every trick up their sleeve to obstruct us. They’ve fortified their client; she’s battle-ready. We should now think of her as another member of the opposition, not just as a civilian.”

“What does all that mean?”

“She’s now a competent adversary,” said Boiled.

“You make it sound like you’ve been in a war!”

“Not that far off, actually.”

Boiled turned from the girl to Shell. Shell’s expression had changed completely.

“Well, then, let’s have some battlefield reports from the mighty Mr. Boiled!” Shell’s eyes were tinged with a harsh light.

“I wounded an opposition PI. I know where he’s being treated. I’ll be heading there shortly.”

“Marvelous. You’ll be the nuclear warhead that blasts them to pieces. And you’ll also tidy up the mushroom cloud and the black rain that falls afterwards, right?”

“Except there’s one thing that’s somewhat unusual.”

“Unusual? Give it a break,” Shell waved his hand dismissively, but behind his angry face there was a glimpse of a different emotion peeking through. “Everything’s unusual these days. The girl that should have died in my dreams is alive, accusing me of crimes that I can’t even remember committing. I’m in the middle of a huge deal and I’m being held back. And? Has the girl decided to leave me alone in order to run for office, because she needs to focus on her campaign for president of the Commonwealth or something?”

“There was an unusual petition filed at the Broilerhouse.”

“Ach, there’s always something unusual down there in the amazing world of the Broilerhouse. Unusual petitions are probably more common than usual ones down there.”

“Blank sheets of paper have been submitted as the indictment sheets for the next trial,” said Boiled.

“Their usual trick of not publishing the charges until the last minute in order to throw us off, right?” asked Shell.

“If it’s just a bluff then all’s well and good. But there’s a possibility that they’re in the middle of a new investigation now, even as we speak.”

Shell stopped in his tracks, and his expression was wiped off his face.

“I don’t know how they’re managing it exactly, but it’s not impossible that the opposition is looking for the key to your impending big deal,” Boiled informed him in a whisper.

Shell’s eyes started shining even more fiercely.

“So, Mr. Shell, where exactly is the key?” asked Boiled.

“You don’t need to know that.” Shell’s expression was grim, but there was a wobble in his voice.

Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill shriek of pleasure. The girl seemed to be delighted by Shell’s fear.

“Shut up!” Shell cried. But the girl wouldn’t stop laughing.

“I…I can turn into a new person whenever I want. That’s my big deal. My past is just…” Shell glared at the woman on the bed, suppressing his own agitation. “I’ve already forgotten what the girl’s face looked like even.”

Slowly, he turned around to look at Boiled. His eyes were bloodshot and shone abnormally bright.

“Such a little girl—why can’t you just wring her neck, then snap it off for me in the bargain? Haven’t I given you enough money? Are you trying to muscle in on my deal that I have lined up? Is that it?”

“You’re talking nonsense, Mr. Shell. Try and calm down.”

“Kill her!” Shell was screaming now, just as shrill as the girl on the bed. “Kill that bitch who dares to try and pursue me!”

His words tailed off into a shriek, and he collapsed onto a sofa, shaking his head and trying to calm himself down.

“You know what you need to do, right? It’s simple enough. Right? You need to take that gun in your pocket and pump its contents right into the girl.”

Boiled nodded, silent.

“Why should I have to…that girl…always… Why…why am scared? What am I scared of? What is there about that girl that should frighten me so?” Shell was mumbling to himself now, half delirious.

Boiled didn’t know either. The memories that held the answer to these questions had been sucked cleanly out of Shell’s mind and hidden in a secret location.

Boiled looked at the woman on the bed again. There’s something I want to show you, he had said. In other words, Shell was frightened. Frightened of nothing more than a woman.

“A woman, again…” Boiled murmured in a voice too quiet for Shell to hear. There was always a woman involved behind the scenes of all Shell’s transactions. And now, this woman that was right in front of their eyes seemed to know what Shell was running from and how far he was likely to fall as a result.

The woman continued to laugh. She was enjoying herself.

?

Boiled left Shell’s room and headed straight for the parking lot in the hotel basement.

He headed for a blue gasoline-fueled car. The windows were tinted, stopping outsiders from seeing in. He opened the door to the driver’s seat and heard a click. The trigger of a gun being pulled back. But it was more of a courtesy action than anything else.

Not even bothering to look at the passenger seat, Boiled sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door behind him.

“How’s it going, boss?” Medium asked in a hoarse voice as he returned the firing hammer back into place.

“Fine.” Boiled stuck his keys in the ignition as he answered. Medium’s face was covered in creases.

“How’s your condition?”

“Fine and dandy, thanks for asking, boss.”

Two red lights flickered in Medium’s eyes, visible behind his sunglasses.

His face was covered in patches of slightly different colors. His hair was neatly shaved, and his shining head also revealed the odd patch of unusual coloring. One side of his head still had stitches in and was covered with layer upon layer of translucent antibacterial tape.

“What happened to your injured fingers?”