Acts of Violence (19 page)

‘The hell do I
know? Couriers for whoever Webster’s off-world partners are, I guess. They’d go
into the club. Sit down for a drink and scan the chip while she served ‘em. No
one suspected a thing and no one would think to look inside a living person for
evidence against Webster. Not that anyone would look, period.’

‘I’m looking.’

‘A little fucking
late, Jack Mason.’

Jarvis banged the
mug down on the coffee table so hard I thought the glass would shatter. The
coffee that exploded out of the top was probably not hot enough now to have
burned his hand.

I guessed it was
time for me to leave. I didn’t bother to say goodbye. It wasn’t like I was
leaving a friendly tea party. With Leonne dead, I knew Jarvis wouldn’t last
much longer. I considered leaving him my gun. But I’d need it. Then I
remembered
I
didn’t even have my gun. That damn
bouncer still had it. Shit.

Outside, I leaned
against the wall for a minute or two to think. It felt like a big break in the
case and nothing at all, both at once. I knew what had been cut out of the
girl. That chip could save me. But I didn’t know where I’d find it.

Halfway down the
steps, I saw a sight I’d really hoped I wouldn’t. Sitting on the drive below
was a long, elegant looking green car. A car with wheels. I stopped dead and listened.
No sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs. They’d probably take the elevator.
I wanted to think they were here for Jarvis, but it was too much of a
coincidence. Besides, I was more of a problem to them than an old man.

I didn’t have much
choice but to keep going. As quietly as I could, I descended the stairs until I
reached the balcony around the lobby. From the stairwell, I couldn’t see
anyone. Inch by inch I moved further out, my eyes scouring every shadow for
guns. Eventually, I made it most of the way to the rail. Again, I moved slowly
and carefully as I looked over the edge. The lower I tilted my head, the harder
I could feel my heart thumping in my throat.

The lobby below was
empty.

I breathed a quick
sigh of relief and hurried for the stairs. They’d be upstairs banging on
Jarvis’ door. Once they found him alone, they’d rush back down. I had no time
to look for a back door. If anyone had been left in the car, I’d have to take
my chances with them.

It should probably
have occurred to me sooner that Webster wasn’t stupid. As it was, the thought
didn’t strike until I was halfway across the lobby. Then it was too late. The
glass door ahead slid open.

‘Good evening, Mr.
Mason.’

Cole Webster was
followed through the door by two men. One of them was the guy who’d been
setting up that hook at the lake. The fancy cane clicked with every other step.
A door behind me opened. The door I’d hidden the concierge behind. I thought I
could make out two pairs of footsteps from there. I didn’t bother looking.

‘What a
coincidence. I was just coming to see you. In a roundabout way…’

‘You’ve led my men
on quite the treasure hunt, Mr. Mason.’ Webster wasn’t quite the same man as he
had been earlier. Now he looked more like what he was: old. His hair looked more
grey than silver. His hands more leathery. The bags under his eyes darker. Perhaps
he wasn’t taking the death of his son too well.

‘How’s the family?’
I asked. I knew it was a bad idea. I actually almost felt bad for saying such a
thing to a man who’d just lost his only son. Almost.

Webster tried a
little smile, but failed. Two pairs of hands grabbed my arms from behind. I
struggled about as much as a newborn. I turned my head back from the guy on my
left just in time to see the brass handle of Webster’s cane whip down at me. It
was badly aimed and hit my shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the shoulder I’d
just been shot through.

I tried, but the
cry of pain didn’t want to be contained. Webster managed the smile this time.

‘You can ask him
soon enough,’ he said. ‘So you’ve been chatting to Mr. Jarvis.’

‘Was there a
question in there?’ I felt sick. More sick than I had when I’d actually been
shot. I couldn’t feel any blood running down me though. Van had done a good
job. ‘Or are you just scared that I know how to bring you down now?’

‘You might have a
theory, Mr. Mason, but better men than you have tried. And failed, naturally.’

‘I bet those better
men didn’t have a data chip taken from a pretty little experiment.’ Webster’s
smile faltered a little.

‘So now you do know
what I was looking for. How do you know I haven’t found it now?’

‘How do you know I
didn’t have it all along?’

He laughed. There
wasn’t much feeling behind it. He probably wanted to kill me, not talk to me.
But I was sure he didn’t have the data chip yet, and he couldn’t be sure that I
didn’t have it. Or at least know where it was.

‘What are your
off-world partners going to think when you stop passing along your schedule and
drop-off locations? Maybe they’ll wonder if you’ve decided to cut them out.’

‘Or maybe they’ll
use our back up. Halfwit.’ Again, it should probably have occurred to me that
he wasn’t stupid. The data chip wouldn’t be the only way. Not for a big
business like Webster was running. ‘Now, how much do Lawrence and this DeMartino
know?’

‘Oh, they know
everything. They’re probably already over at your “mining” operation, taking it
to pieces.’

He smiled again. ‘So
they know nothing.’

As I was about to
reply, the door slid open behind Webster. Five men walked in. They weren’t tenants.
The matching black trench coats over their cheap suits was the first clue. The fact
that each carried a matching pistol in the front of their waistband was the
second.

‘Webster,’ the
middle guy said. ‘My boss ain’t happy that your interests have changed
direction, old man.’

Webster’s face fell
and he spun. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my complex, in
my
city, and talking to me like that?’

The guys on either
side of me let go. They were ready to reach for their guns.

‘I’m afraid this
ain’t your town no more. You’ve been slipping. Deliveries have been getting
smaller and later. You’re being replaced.’

Webster was visibly
shaking with rage. I only had one idea. It might get me out of the situation,
or it might get me killed. On the plus side, it might get Webster killed, too.

‘Gun!’ I shouted.

The guys on either
side of me reached inside their jackets. So did the newcomers. I made a dash
for the stairs. Went under them. All I could hear now was running footsteps,
shouting and gunfire. In the confines of the lobby, it was deafening.

I peeked my head
out the other side of the stairs, under the balcony. There was a single pillar
between the bottom of the steps and the front wall. I didn’t know if I was
better off going for the front or back door. I decided on the front. I knew
there was at least one car out there I could take. Not only did I not know
where the back door was, but these new guys would probably have more muscle
waiting there.

With a deep breath,
I ran for the pillar. Somehow, I made it without getting shot at. It didn’t
matter that both sides knew I was unarmed. They’d all be shooting at anything
that wasn’t a friend.

On the way across,
I’d seen that the sliding door had been shattered by the hail of bullets from Webster’s
men. In that range, I didn’t know how anyone was still alive. Both sides were
probably too busy running for cover to aim properly. I’d only seen two bodies
on the floor. Neither of them was Webster. The other shooters had made for the
reception desk, the elevators and the stairs. Some were above me now, shooting
down.

Dust and smoke filled
the air. Flying shards of floor tiles and plaster from the walls pelted every
surface. The occasional whiz past my pillar told me that either there was
someone nearby, or I was a target now.

I really wished
that bouncer hadn’t taken my gun. On the other hand, if I’d started shooting,
I’d have been even more of a target. As it was, it seemed only one guy was
shooting at me. Maybe. The whizzes and pounding of bullets on the other side of
the pillar weren’t too frequent. Maybe they were strays.

Either way, I had
to make a run for it. Someone was going to win this shootout, and then I’d be
left with that angry and armed someone. In theory, it should be easy. It was only
about twenty-five feet or so to the door. The glass was gone, so I didn’t have
to worry about it not opening. The door beyond sat wide open. I’d seen that
when the black-coated guys came in. I just had to worry about not getting shot
and not slipping on the broken glass.

I actually
stretched my legs. As though I was about to run a marathon. Caught myself
thinking how I didn’t want to pull a muscle halfway to the door. Ridiculous. I
ran.

There were still
gunshots to my left, but I kept my eyes on the door and on where I was
stepping. I didn’t know how many were left alive. Halfway to the door two
bullets pounded the wall beside it. I still didn’t know if I was getting shot
at or if they were strays. I wasn’t about to turn around and go back, either
way.

At the door, I forced
myself to slow. If I slipped on all that shattered glass and went down, I’d
soon find out if they were shooting at me. The glass crunched under my shoes.
Slid about like little pieces of ice. It only took a couple of seconds and I was
in the porch. I could still get a bullet in my back at any second. I had to get
outside. Preferably outside and away in Webster’s fancy car. The newcomers had other
ideas.

As I was about to step
into freedom and safety, half of a black-coated man appeared from the side of
the outer doorway. A rain-covered pistol glinted in the light pouring out from
the lobby. He was raising the gun when I slammed into him. I only hit his
shoulder, so we landed in the soggy grass a few feet apart. I rolled once. Hit
my knee on the concrete edging and scraped my hand on the driveway. Didn’t
really feel either.

I threw myself up
onto one knee and one foot. The off-worlder was scrabbling about in the sodden
grass for the gun. I glanced around but couldn’t see it. Couldn’t take the
chance that he’d find it any second and shoot me in the back. I dived at him.
My foot slipped. I landed on him, but not quite as violently as I’d intended.

The guy threw his
elbow backwards. It caught me in the shoulder. Again, the same damn shoulder
I’d been shot in. There was more adrenaline flowing through me this time and it
didn’t hurt so much. I repaid the favour with my own elbow. I didn’t know
exactly where I was aiming for, but it hit him in the shoulder, too.

After a
disappointingly short cry of pain, he rolled. Tried to get on top of me. I used
my legs to try to throw him back down. But he was on me and I didn’t have
enough room to kick or knee him. I punched him in the eye. Then the throat. That
second punch put him out of action. He slumped to the side, gasping and coughing.

I realised that
he’d been lying on his gun. Now it was beside him, so I grabbed it. Flicked the
safety on. Then slammed the butt into his temple.

He lay still. The
aching from my shoulder seeped into my consciousness. The pulsing in my knee.
The stinging across my palm. I sat beside him for a minute. The gunfire inside
continued. I knew I had to go, but I’d used up most of my adrenaline in that
short fight.

A car horn sounded.
Then two more short blasts. I turned, reaching my thumb for the pistol’s safety
again.

I didn’t know
whether I should be relieved or not. The car whined to a stop just behind
Webster’s.

‘Get in, Mason,’
DeMartino called through the open window.

TWELVE
| DRIED UP

As DeMartino accelerated past the
front door, I looked in. I saw at least one more dead body in the lobby. One
guy was running for the door and firing up at the balcony. In the second it
took to pass, I couldn’t see if it was one of Webster’s or one of the
newcomers.

‘So I heard about
this shootout in a tunnel in the middle of the city,’ DeMartino said, flicking
his cigar ash out the window. ‘Involved Cole Webster’s men, I heard. So I
thought to myself: “Nathaniel, who would Cole Webster’s men be shooting at in a
tunnel in the middle of the city?” And would you like to guess whose face
popped into my head?’ I opened my mouth. ‘No, not my mother’s. “Jack Mason,” I
thought. “That’s who they’d be shooting at.” So I paid you a little visit at
home.’

I looked at the
time on the dash. Two minutes past eleven. My clever bedside lamp trick hadn’t
even had its chance to work yet.

‘You didn’t answer
the door, so I thought you must be having a nap. Surely, I thought, you
wouldn’t have snuck out of the apartment and past the cops. Not after giving
your word that you’d stay put.’

‘I don’t remember
that.’

‘So imagine my
surprise when I see, just a couple of blocks along from the very same tunnel,
Jack Mason all slouched down in the back of a cab.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure it
was quite a shock. Do you want to know what I found out or not?’

DeMartino
hesitated. ‘So now you want to talk?’

‘Perhaps. Depends
what you’ll give me in return.’

‘An open ear?’

‘How about not
sending me off to Anshan?’

‘Oh, well, that
would depend on what you have to say, Mr. Mason. I like you. I’d rather not put
you on a train to the execution block, or whatever they use here. But unless
you have something good for me…’ He shrugged.

‘How about a data
chip that shows exactly what Cole Webster’s been doing down there in his so-called
mining operation? That details the girls he sells off, when and to who.’

DeMartino glanced
over at me. As though he was trying to see if I was kidding. He stared in
silence at the road ahead for about a minute. Then looked at me again. ‘Whom.’