"Sorry, kid," he muttered, stepping sideways out thedoor and keeping his gun out of her sight. He glanced at the vidscreen."Thanks."
Her eyes registered nothing. But they watched him as he moved intothe hallway. They knew he was there. He was real, but he didn't belong. Shereached up to tap the pad beside the doorframe, and the door slid shut.
Muldoon coughed involuntarily. The smell of feces and rottenfoodstuffs had coalesced into a haunting stench that churned his stomachagainst his will. Just another example of why this part of town was known asHell.
He couldn't allow his mind to wander. He had to focus. Couldn't doanything stupid like trying to rescue another kid, no matter how much sheneeded it. He'd already done enough rescuing for one night.
The boy's father was alive. And somehow he was able to make himself...invisible?
That's some trick.
Muldoon replayed the image in his mind as he returned to his unit,his footsteps echoing alone in the vacant hallway. That flicker of light as theold man had turned away. A flame? And what was with the air changing its shape,its substance?
He wished the video had been clearer. He might have had betterluck running the father's face through a citizen search.
The sensor grate at his unit glowed through his fingernails. Thedoor clicked and slid open. He helped it on its way and allowed it to swishshut behind him as he headed toward the couch.
The kid was gone.
He charged into the bathroom. Empty. He slammed through thebedroom, the closets. Nothing. He returned to the front room and stared at thecouch.
The laundry hadn't been touched. It looked as if the kid had neverbeen there.
Maybe he never was.
Muldoon collapsed onto the black cushions. He held his head in hishands, let it fall back and rest on a pile of half-folded cotton shirts. Hestared up at the ceiling and squeezed his temples. Then he shut his eyes asconflicting memories whirled like a tornado within the confines of his skull.
There had been a boy.There had been no boy.
There had been a murdered man. There had not been a murderedman.
Cause and effect? Cause or effect? Effect without cause? No cause,no effect? A loop with no beginning and no end and no way to make it stop shortof a lethal round to the brainpan.
It's happening again...
He cursed andleaned forward, his elbows landing hard on his knees.He shook his head, cradled between his palms, moaning against the cold fearswelling within him, the darkness threatening to suffocate him.
He didn't have the strength to fight through it. Not tonight. Notafter what he'd seen. What he thought he'd seen. What he couldn't possibly haveseen.
Not again.
THREE
The downpour was torrential, white in the sparse light from asingle streetlamp high above the alley. Sheets of rain pounded the slick pavement and exploded in black oblong puddlesthat had been collecting for hours. Streams rushed along the bricks on bothsides and carried scraps of trash out toward the street where taxicabs splashedagainst the curb to release passengers destined to dance the night away.
Sheltered by the doorway, Gavin Lennox adjusted his tuxedo jacket with one hand andgripped a black umbrella down at his side. The warmth of the BigBand musicbehind him was chilled slightly by the thunderoutside. His eyes blinked once, focused. There was someone in this alley heneeded to see. The rain would not stop him. He was not hesitating; it was notin his nature to delay the inevitable. He merely sized-up the situation. And ittook him no more than a moment to do so. Satisfied, he thrust the umbrella outagainst the pressure of the precipitation and ejected the canopy, steppingbeneath its protection as he entered the alleyway.
The eyes of the looming mandroids glowed, directed toward him ashe invaded the periphery of their vision. Two automatons, each dressed in anextra-large tuxedo similar to his own. He made sure they dressed well. Theyseemed less obtrusive that way, despite their unnerving size and reputation asrefurbished killing machines from the war. They were as human-like as possible.
Now the mandroids stood over a sodden undesirable, their oversized hands grippinghis stooped shoulders and holding him in place between them. He had no coat,and he stood drenched to the skin like a soggy old dog. His grizzled face hadseen its share of sorrow, perhaps more thanthe standard allotment. His grey clothing wastattered, his shoes showing the wear that came from not owning more than onepair, nor an auto, and from not having the credit to pay a cab's fare.
In stark contrast, Lennox stood with pristine blackshoes shining in the white light, his suit andcoat purchased for him the previous day, especially for tonight. A new suitevery night The Pearl opened. Even hisumbrella was new. Only the best for GavinLennox, proud purveyor of all things enjoyable in the real world. It was whatNewCity expected of him and of his popular nightclub—for most, the only one intown that mattered.
What brought these two men together? The haggard vagrant, lookinglost and frightened but trying to force a brave face, blinking his eyes againstthe rain and squinting up at the mandroids restraining him. The well-dressednightclub owner without a wet spot on him, his grip on the umbrella steady, hisdark eyes set with a determined ease. What could these men possibly have todiscuss in this foul-smelling alley?
"You left without saying goodbye, Mr. Horton." Lennoxsmiled a dazzling set of perfect teeth, his tanned, clean-shaven face creasingat the sides. "Not the most polite thing to do after I was so kindto welcome you into my club."
"I'm sorry, I—" Horton still had the courage to tugagainst the mandroids' hold on him. A gutsy if futile endeavor. "I don't know why I came.I—"
"That's a lie." Lennox released a well-crafted chuckle,one designed to confirm his control of the situation. "You told me: something about...the BackTracker?"He watched the old man frown and shake his head. "I can show you thevidfeed, if it will refresh your memory."
Horton's
