26 – Hot Water
“…respond so that I may update the status of your welfare.” The voice came to Addie as she ran from the Tenneson building to the Yang-Grey building, where Boxer students received their music lessons. She could hear the synth teacher’s music playing through the speakers, ever-present during passing periods, meant to put the students in the proper mood for his lessons. She liked music class, unlike most of her friends. Mr. Cadena, their teacher, was nice and liked to talk about a song’s place in history. Addie always found the little vignettes entertaining.
“Excuse me, madam, but I must insist on a response, or I’ll be forced to request aid from emergency services.” This time, the voice was louder and clearer, and Addie’s eyes flew wide as she almost violently inhaled, her bleary vision revealing the matte-gray interior of a vehicle.
“Wha-what’s…” She licked her dry lips and straightened, looking around the large, circular interior. Peering through the tinted glass, she thought she saw Mr. Nguyen’s corner store. “What’s going on?”
“Excellent. I’m pleased you found your transit restful, madam. We’ve arrived at your destination.”
Addie’s memories were fighting to reorganize themselves in her mind, straightening into the proper linear patterns. She remembered her dinner with Zane, the weird “test,” her flight from the restaurant, and then getting in the cab. She peered out the window, noting the steam rising from the sewer grates, the empty sidewalk, and the lack of traffic on the street. “What time—” she started to ask but glanced at the clock on her AUI and saw the faint amber numerals: 12:03 AM. “Oh, no!”
“Is something amiss, madam?”
“No. Thanks.” Addie scooted over to the door, touched the open button, and, as soon as it slid to the side, she clambered out. “JJ, do I have messages?”
“I’m currently holding nineteen messages for you.”
“Why didn’t…Oh shit!” Addie had forgotten to turn off her “do not disturb” setting. “Turn off my DND and tell me who they’re from.”
“One from Zane Kovalenko, one from Tony, two from Maisie Larson, and the rest are from your father.”
“Oh shoot, shoot, shoot!” Addie hissed, hurrying to the front door of her father’s store. She punched in the code, it beeped, the lock clicked open, and she pulled the door wide, hurrying inside.
“Addie?” Her father’s weary voice came to her from the direction of the counter, and she peered through the dim space, lit only by the neon signs shining through the windows. He sat on a stool, slumped on the counter, a bulky shadow among other shadows.
“I’m so sorry, dad! I fell asleep!”
“Oh, sweetie, I was so worried!” Her dad stood, pushing the stool back, and hurried around the counter to meet her halfway, crushing her into a warm embrace, the kind of hug that could push all worries out of her mind and make her feel like everything was all right.
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered into his chest as he stroked the back of her head, pressing her close.
“Nothing terrible happened. Just a little lost sleep for your old man. Let’s get ahold of Tony and tell him to stop looking.”
“He’s out looking for me?” Addie pushed her arms against her father’s broad chest, scowling up into his face.
“He’s doing it for me, sweetie.”
Addie felt hot embarrassment warming her neck and cheeks as she blinked at him. “I’m not a little kid—”
“I know, sweetie, but your PAI was offline, and you said you were just going for a bite. Be reasonable.”
Addie nodded, stepping toward the counter, suddenly very thirsty. She opened the mini fridge and pulled out a pouch of fruit-flavored electrolytes. “I’ll message him.” As she tore the tab off the pouch nozzle, she opened her message app and selected Tony’s name, reviewing his last message:
> Tony: Addie. Yo, where are you?
Groaning, again feeling the heat of embarrassment, she mentally typed a response:
> Addie: I’m so sorry, Tony. I fell asleep. You can come home.
Almost immediately, a response appeared:
> HCS Messaging Service: The messaging device you are attempting to contact is no longer online.
“Dad, when was the last time you heard from Tony?”
“I sent him a couple of messages around nine-thirty, letting him know I hadn’t heard anything from the folks in my chat groups.”
“Oh my gosh, Dad! You got the whole neighborhood looking for me?”
“Addie, we were worried! How do you fall asleep ‘going for a bite,’ anyway? Why’d you turn your connections off?”
“Dad…” Addie groaned and shook her head, staring at the messages blinking on her AUI. She waved away the ones from her dad, then opened the one from Zane:
> Zane K: Hey, Addie. Just wanted to be sure you were home and feeling better. Please message me when you can.
Frowning, wondering what Maisie could possibly want, she swiped Zane’s window away and opened those messages:
Maisie: Addie, we need to talk. I did something terrible.
Maisie: Seriously! This is an emergency!
“JJ, add timestamps to my messages.”
> 22:04 - Maisie: Addie, we need to talk. I did something terrible.
>
> 23:49 - Maisie: Seriously! This is an emergency!
“What’s going on, Addie?” Her Dad’s voice was full of concern, but a touch of anger edged the words. He was about to bring out the old Bert.
“Tony’s messaging chip is offline. Hang on.” Addie sent Maisie a response:
> 00:17 – Addie: What’s going on?
“Hey, you weren’t kidding. I just got an automated response—”
“Dad, I think something happened to him.” Addie realized her heart was racing as she turned and hurried to the back of the shop.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my backpack!”
“Addie, you can’t go…” The rest of her dad’s words were lost on her as she raced up the stairs to their apartment. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but she felt like she had to do something, and she wanted to have Humpty along. Her message window flashed, and she opened it:
> 00:19 – Maisie: My uncle made me trick Tony. He thinks he’s hiding more tech or that he’s here undercover for some corporation. I’m stuck in our apartment; he’s got one of the Jades watching me. I’m sure he took him to the Den. I’ve been in there a few times. I can send you the layout.
Addie stared at the message for several long seconds, trying to wrap her head around it. The Black Jades had taken Tony? Hadn’t he done them a favor? Wasn’t he friends with Troy and Maisie? It seemed Maisie wanted to make it right, but…could Addie even trust her? Was she trying to lure her into some kind of—No, that was stupid. Maisie and the bangers in the area had known Addie her whole life; if they wanted to hurt her, they’d have done it by now. Maisie’s offer to help might be genuine. Even so, what the heck was she going to do? The “Den” was a Black Jade chapterhouse. There were probably twenty or more of them in there at any given time. She sent a response:
> 00:20 – Addie: What am I supposed to do with this? Can’t you talk your uncle down? Is he going to hurt him?
A response came through immediately, followed by a longer one as Addie read it:
> 00:20 – Maisie: He hasn’t been the same since Peaches died.
>
> 00:20 – Maisie: He’s paranoid and violent, and his lieutenants are trying to push him into grabbing more territory. I don’t know what you can do, but it’s more than I can! They won’t let me leave the apartment, and, no, he won’t listen to me! He dismisses everything I say like I’m a little kid or, worse, a horny, lovesick idiot. I made the mistake of telling him I liked Tony, thinking it would get him to back off.
>
>
> Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Addie mouthed the last sentence, shaking her head, unsure how she felt about Maisie confessing her feelings about Tony. She grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulder, sending a response:
> 00:21 – Addie: Send me everything you have—anything you think might be helpful. Try to stall your uncle somehow.
Addie’s feet pounded on the stairs as she hurried down to the storeroom and out into the shop. Her dad was there, arms folded, scowling. “What are you doing?”
“I have to help Tony. The Black Jades have him.”
“Oh, no!” He moved into the central aisle, blocking the path to the door. “Those guys are nasty business, honey. They make half their money from kidnappings!”
“Dad! They took him while he was out looking for me! I won’t do it alone. I’m going to talk to Beef.”
“Why would Beef…” His words faded away as he stared at her, slowly nodding. “He has a thing for you.”
“Yeah, maybe, and, anyway, the Helldogs don’t exactly love the Black Jades.”
“Did they take him on Helldog turf?”
“I don’t know. I’ll keep you updated.” While she spoke, Addie sidled around him, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I promise.”
“Okay, give me a minute.” He turned and walked over to the locked display case where he kept the guns he had for sale.
Addie watched him limp and sighed heavily. “Dad! You can’t come with; you could barely walk this morning!”
“Nonsense. That was yesterday morning, sweetie, and it hardly hurts anymore.”
“And if you have to run? Or crouch or crawl through a small space? If you have to move quietly? Dad, I love you, but you’re not in shape to sneak into the Den and rescue someone!”
Her dad slammed one of his meaty fists into the counter, bending the plasti-glass inward with the impact. “Dammit, honey! He was out there because he was trying to make me happy.”
“I know, I know.” Addie moved to stand beside him, wrapping her arms around his big belly. “It’s my fault, though. Let me make it right, Daddy. The Helldogs will keep me safe.”
He stroked her hair for several seconds, took a deep breath through his nose, and nodded. “I wish I could tell you to stay home, but I know you’re right to want to help him. Just don’t do anything stupid, sweetie. It won’t make anyone feel better if you get yourself hurt along with him. I mean, assuming they’re going to hurt him.”
Addie nodded. “That’s why I’m going to talk to Beef.” She squeezed him one more time, then hurried to the door and out, breaking into a run as soon as her foot hit the sidewalk. She didn’t look back.
***
The guy gripping his arm, guiding him along, jerked him to the left, and propelled Tony into a warmer, echoey space that smelled like machine oil, chem-sticks, and fast food. He heard a rolling bay door being cranked up or down—down, he decided, as it crashed against the ground and the sounds of the city grew muffled. “This where you take all your dates?” Humor was his go-to when he was nervous, outgunned, or dealing with someone who thought they were the king shit. At the moment, all three applied.
“Keep walking,” the goon growled, yanking his arm again, painfully twisting his wrist against the shrink-cord they’d used to bind his hands behind his back. Tony was irritated about that—mostly because he hadn’t put up any sort of fight with Troy, figuring the guy just wanted a little lip service about respect and maybe a promise to work for him. He hadn’t expected them to yank his comm chip, bind his hands, and throw a hood over his head. Then there was the whole Maisie thing.
It made sense that they’d known where to set up their ambush because of her. He tried to put himself in her shoes, tried to reason why she’d do something like that, and then he remembered the tears in her eyes and the weird distortion on her filter. Troy had slapped her around. She’d tricked him under duress—it was the only thing that made sense. Well, he mentally corrected himself, not the only thing; she could be a lot more cold-blooded than he’d figured. She could have been playing him from the start. She was the one who told her uncle about his fighting, right?
His escort shoved him roughly, and something like plastic curtains slapped against him, tangling with his arms for a moment as he passed through into a much colder space. He could hear the whir of fans and the hum of machinery. Combined with the frigid temp, he guessed he was in a walk-in fridge. So, a food processing facility? A shipping transit station? A warehouse? The cold muzzle of a large-bore pistol pressed under his chin pushed all other thoughts from his mind.
“Hold still while we change your cords.”
Tony didn’t want to nod—who knew if this idiot had his meaty finger on the trigger? Instead, he said, through clenched teeth, “Okay.” Someone sprayed something cold on the shrink-cords. Tony felt them loosen as a chemical tang that made his eyes water wafted up. A couple of seconds later, they fell away, clattering on the ground.
“Put your hands in front of you,” the pistol wielder grunted. Tony complied, and new cords were looped over his wrists and activated, contracting to squeeze his flesh and hold his hands tight together. A moment later, someone grasped the cords, yanked his arms up over his head, and hooked them onto something. Someone else pressed a button, and Tony was hoisted up until he had to stand on his tiptoes. He hated that, but he was happy to feel the guy pull the gun away from his chin.
The sounds of several pairs of boots stomping away told Tony he’d been left alone, or, if not alone, then with a much smaller entourage. “Anyone there?” he asked, grunting as he tried to lower his heels and found the pull of the shrink-cord on his flesh-and-blood wrist too painful.
He wondered if he could snap that shrink-cord with his cybernetic arm. He’d have to pull against whatever they’d hooked it to, and shrink-cords were rated for something like a thousand pounds of resistance. No, if he pulled that hard with his cybernetic arm, assuming it could generate enough force without separating from his upper arm, it would probably rip his other hand off in the process.
He hung there for a long time, but something told him not to make any kind of move. He had to constantly fight the urge to pull himself up so he could get a feel for his restraints, but he held off. Something in his gut told him he wasn’t alone. Someone was watching him, waiting to pounce and teach him a lesson. Something like a half hour went by, and Tony began to believe he might really be alone, but then boots on concrete approached, the curtains flapped, and a voice behind him said, “He didn’t move. Think he might be out.”
Tony felt the newcomer's presence as he moved to stand before him. He was a heavy breather, his exhalations hissing out of his nostrils. “Uncomfortable?” The voice was easy to recognize, gravelly and thick, spoken from a deep chest—Maisie’s uncle.
“Troy, this is a shitty way to say thanks for helping you make some quick bits betting on fights.”
“See? That’s it, right there. You’re too damn cool, Tony. Is that your real name?”
“Yeah, Tony’s my name, short for Anthony. Can you lower this thing a little? I’m happy to answer your questions from a chair or, hell, even just standing on my entire feet. Also, this hood—it’s getting stuffy.”
“Stuffy, huh? You’re in some hot water, boyo.”
“Actually, it’s cold as hell in here.” Tony regretted the quip as soon as it slipped out of his mouth. Something warned him that a punch was incoming—maybe a waft of air or the soft grunt of the puncher. Whatever it was, he tensed his abdomen just in time as a fist crunched into him below his left ribs. It hurt, but not terribly, but Tony knew better than to act unfazed. He blew out his breath and grunted in pain, putting on a show for Troy and whoever else might be watching.
“Stop being a smartass,” Troy growled. “Who are you working for?”
“Bert. I’m doing odd jobs at his—” This time, Tony failed to tense up his core before the punch hit home and he really did gasp, cough, and struggle to get his breath back. The guy had hit him right in the solar plexus, and though Tony had been hit like that a thousand times, it still sent a jolt of panic through his brainstem when he tried to breathe, and nothing happened for several long, painful seconds.
Troy’s boots squeaked on the concrete as he moved behind him and leaned close, his breath hot on Tony’s neck. “You better start getting smart, Tony, or I’m going to have Stevie, here, get out his tools.”
“I’m not lying, man. If you want to know who I used to work for, go ahead and look up Cross Corporation. They’re in New Manhattan, and I bet you can find me on some archived corporate pages under contributing consultants or listed as an independent contractor. I handled private security operations—risk assessments, asset protection, executive coverage, and, yeah, some off-the-books stuff that got pretty dirty.”
“So? What? They just ripped your gear and dumped you down here?”
“Yeah. Internal politics. I, uh, offended the CEO.” Tony groaned and let himself hang from his wrists to give his calves a rest. “I’m serious, man. I’m not hiding shit. Take me down, and I’ll tell you whatever.”
“I dunno. I think you’re hiding something pretty decent. You got a thing or two under the hood that your old buddies didn’t rip, don’t you? Some kind of neural mesh, maybe? A fightlink? Warware? Adreno-booster? You got some wired-up reflexes? You sure seemed to heal fast from that tenderizing you took at Golden’s—got some medical nanites? No need to answer. Foxy’s gonna be here soon with a proper scanner. Meantime, I’ll check out your story.”
The sounds of two sets of boots on concrete told Tony he was probably alone unless there was another silent witness in the cold room. He wasn’t an idiot; he was sure they had cameras on him, but that didn’t stop his mind from spinning down a hundred different avenues, trying to think of a way out of his mess. Any progress he made was cut short by his self-criticism. He’d gotten sloppy. He’d gotten arrogant. What was he thinking—walking around in the dark in the worst district in the metroplex?
Sure, he’d met plenty of nice folks in the Blast, but he’d also been attacked multiple times. Was he just rusty? Was he coasting, waiting for some random banger to finish the job Eric started? With a growl and a grimace of pain, he pulled himself up until the top of his head touched his hands, then he gripped the hood’s material with his cybernetic fingers and let himself down, slipping the hood off his head.
He'd been right to think he was in some kind of cooler. Stainless steel walls met his gaze, and a plastic curtain flapped in the faint breeze of the blower. Tony glanced left and right and saw blood-stained refrigerated cases stacked along the left wall and, on the right, a stainless steel table with a dozen implements for cutting flesh lining the wall above it. His situation suddenly snapped into crystal-clear focus; these assholes were body harvesters, collecting organs, limbs, and cybernetics, and, no doubt, Dust-tech.
A camera sat in the corner near the exit, its little red light a reminder that he had minutes or maybe only seconds to do something. He looked up at his hands and saw that his shrink-cord had been secured to a chain with a latch hook. It wasn’t locked, but it would be hard for someone to slip off with that spring-loaded latch. Tony pulled with his arms and flexed his calves, sending himself up a quarter-meter or so.
He grabbed the chain with his cybernetic hand, gripping it with everything he had. Then, with his other hand, he depressed the hook’s latch and wriggled his wrist until the shrink-cord slipped through the opening. He let go and fell to his feet. Two seconds later, he was over at the table with all the cutting tools, but he didn’t grab one. He snatched up the spray bottle of FlexiSolve—a common brand name for a chemical catalyst that would reverse the tightening of the activated shrink-cords.
He'd just pointed it at his left wrist when a red light began to flash outside the cooler, and an alarm sounded. They’d noticed he was down. With cold anger icing his veins, Tony sprayed the shrink-cords and let them fall to the ground, then he looked at the wall of cutting implements. Nodding and smiling grimly, he snatched down a curved, serrated vibroblade meant for cutting bone. Gripping it firmly, he stalked over and reached up, twisting the camera to the ceiling. Then, he moved to the opposite corner of the cooler, between the flapping curtain and the wall, and waited.