Cold Hard Truths 1: Vices (8 page)

T8 was strung out, worn, even though I’d read that he was barely thirty-five. He was wearing a cheap bulletproof vest over some old, ratty T-shirt and blue jeans covered in white powder, dirt, and other stains that I didn’t want to know about. He had dark, bloodshot eyes, curly hair, and too much scraggly facial hair. His tanned face had craters in it, letting the world know that he was a used man, weathered far before his time.

My teammates climbed the stairs, guns poised, and motioned for one another to move forward, signaling with hand motions and looks. They readied themselves on either side of the door of T8’s room, where his men were waiting, crouched down. The door was nudged open barely a few inches, and suddenly guns started firing. A smoke bomb went off, and I cursed out loud. They had a better chance using the smoke bomb and eliminating my sight as well as the other men’s for a minute. I knew that, but it was still difficult to sit by and watch. I was useless up here, waiting for the smoke to clear, watching the small screen at the top of my visor count down from one minute.

There were more bright flashes of light, shots fired, but I couldn’t hear or see anything. I pressed firmly against the trigger, ready to pull it the second the smoke cleared. I wished in that moment I was in there with them instead of lying up on the roof. I knew I’d been useful up here, but the waiting always got to me.

The smoke in the room started to clear, and I could begin to make out vague faces. A few more seconds passed as I swiveled the crosshairs of my scope from one side of the room to the other.

What I saw made my breath catch. I felt like I was choking.

Two men down on the ground, bleeding, motionless. Both were T8’s men. Seno had another man by the throat, squeezing him with his giant hand, holding a gun to the man’s temple. Bruno was on the ground, blood slathered across his left arm. Two men were holding Carver on his knees, one man with his dirt-covered hands in Carver’s hair and around his neck; the other man had a gun to the side of Carver’s bloody face and his arm wrenched up behind his back. Carver was bleeding badly from a split lip, from his temple, from his forehead and hairline, and from numerous spots on his body that the two men next to him mostly covered.

T8 was standing in front of Carver, only a few feet away, swinging the laser machete in Carver’s direction, waving his arms and ranting like a madman. He walked up to Carver, held the machete a few inches from his face, and started screaming something at him.

I couldn’t breathe. I could barely focus my eyes on what I was witnessing, and I felt like I was about to throw up. Sometimes people say that it takes your brain a moment to comprehend what you’re seeing, but that wasn’t the case laid out in front of me.

He wouldn’t make it out of this—I knew that the second the smoke cleared. Carver was going to have his beautiful neck split open by a drug-peddling psychopath while I was forced to watch, frozen in something far past fear and straight on to horror.

My throat was sore, my mouth dry, my eyes almost unblinking.

“J, hold your position.” Bruno’s voice sounded like barely a whisper in my ear. No one in the room was paying attention to him. All eyes were on Carver and T8.

“I don’t like the way T8 is waving that machete in front of Carver’s face,” I replied in a low, shaky voice.

“It wasn’t a request, Jones. Hold your damn position. If you think you can get a clear shot on one of the men holding Carver, then take it, but don’t let a single bullet fly anywhere near T8,” he snapped. I knew he had the authority to make the call. If Carver was ever compromised, Ko was in charge. If Ko wasn’t around, Bruno was next in line. I knew he was making the right call, the only call we could make to save the mission. I wasn’t supposed to harm a hair on T8’s head, even if he was prepared to run Carver through. The chances of me getting in a clean shot to one of the men holding Carver were less than 17 percent. I couldn’t make myself take that chance.

My hands shook. T8 kept screaming at Carver, that machete so close to Carver’s blank face. He was so strong, so accepting. He knew the call that Bruno was going to make; he was going to give the order to try to restrain T8, even at the cost of Carver’s life. After all, bringing T8 back alive was our mission objective, and that was more important than the life of any ENAD soldier.

I took a deep breath. For a moment I allowed myself to remember the feeling of Carver’s lips on the backs of my shoulders, the impossibly sexy noises he made when I lifted my body into his. I remembered the calluses on the tips of his fingers as they roamed over my body, touching me in ways that made my mind fly. I remembered the look on his face the last time he’d spent the night with me.

T8 hastily looked at each one of the soldiers in the room with him and his men. He gestured toward each of them, screaming something I couldn’t hear. No one moved, so T8 stopped screaming. He walked directly in front of Carver and stopped, the laser machete glowing eerily in his filthy hand. He lifted it up high, just above Carver’s head.

The moment I saw T8’s fingers holding that machete twitch, I pressed my cheek hard against the rest and repositioned the scope. I found my target, zeroed in, and squeezed the trigger without a moment’s hesitation.

Everyone in the room paused, most of them completely stunned. We all watched as T8’s body dropped to its knees, blood spewing out of the hole going through the side of his neck. Everything felt surreal while we all stared as T8’s dying body fell to the ground in a pool of blood, with his eyes wide open, staring at the wall in the apartment. The laser machete fell uselessly to the ground beside him.

The only person who wasn’t stunned was Carver. He swept out one of his legs, taking the man with his hands in Carver’s hair down, Carver on top of him. With his legs in the right position, he kicked the gun out of the other man’s hand and then kneed him in the side. The man stumbled away from him, just in range for Bruno to put a bullet through his chest.

Seno shot his hostage at roughly the same time Carver rolled and hauled out a knife from his sleeve. It slipped out like a magic trick, and within no time at all, the man Carver had directed that knife at was lying on the ground with his throat open.

They all stood in silence as I watched through my scope. Each man peered around at the death we’d caused, all for nothing.

Bruno stood up and went over to check on T8, who gurgled blood for a few moments before his head fell to the side. He remained motionless, his eyes still open.

Carver gazed up at me through the dirty window, his eyes meeting mine straight on. I knew from where I was located on the roof that he likely couldn’t even see me, but I felt it, that cold, dark stare of his. He then turned and talked to the other men, signaling for them to follow him back down the flight of stairs and out of the building through the fire escape on the level below. I couldn’t hear him, which meant he’d turned off the microphone on his helmet or it was damaged. Likely the former.

I rolled onto my back and gazed up at the sky, my hands behind my head. Most of my view was covered in wires, metal tubes, old electric train tracks, glowing lights from pretty nude girls on billboards, and taller surrounding buildings. The sky wasn’t blue anymore; at least I didn’t think it was, not that I’d ever heard of. It was gray, just like everything else.

My check-in was about thirty blocks from where I lay on the roof. We each had a separate check-in with confidantes who would report to ENAD. We always kept our telecommunication offline after a job for security. I sat up and began taking apart my sniper rifle piece by piece and placing it back into my bag. I stood up, brushed myself off, and then stared into the distance. I had a few more moments before I had to leave for my check-in, and I’d decided to spend it reminding myself all about the parts of me that still made me a moral man.

Chapter Five

“Oh, Jones, you’re in for a world of hurt,” Amdia cooed at me.

I sat in a small room that felt more like a closet than a place anyone could sleep. The bed I was seated on had been made with navy-blue satin sheets that felt like liquid against my rough hands. There were no windows in this room; this room didn’t even exist on blueprints. Minimal electronics: just a tablet in the shadowed corner, some old model I didn’t think was manufactured anymore, and cables running behind the bed and on the floor. The only thing that didn’t fit were the beaded curtains dangling in the doorway, shining and sparkling anytime someone walked through.

“I know,” I replied with my head down. I’d shucked off most of my gear except for the standard black tank top and underwear.

“I don’t think you know what I mean,” Amdia continued to lecture me, walking back and both in front of me. “I can see it in your eyes, plain as the sun.”

“When’s the last time you’ve seen the sun, Amdia?” I grinned up at her.

“Don’t give me none of that smart-ass attitude of yours. You’re hurting; I can see that. You have to be feeling it, Jones, right in here.” She reached out and poked the flesh on my chest over my heart.

Amdia was a cybernetic organism, but I barely noticed anymore. She was a tall, exotic-looking woman with slanted cat’s eyes who always wore flimsy pastel-colored flowing dresses that just grazed the floor. The gowns left little to the imagination, which I’m assuming was good for business. Her long, pink, bone-straight hair was a wig; I’d found out by accidentally rushing by her and snagging it on my gear, but her caring eyes were nothing but real. Her lipstick was bright pink smeared across her lips almost impeccably, and her jewelry was the expensive kind I’d seen in shop windows. The robotic parts of her—her right leg, all the way up to the joint at her hip, and her right arm, which was the color of shined chrome—added to her allure.

She’d been a co-owner of the brothel she’d been living and working in for years, since I’d met her. It was in the slums, but she made good money from men and women in all walks of life. Her brothel was, by far, not the only one in town, but it was one of the more decent ones that wasn’t cruel to its prostitutes. When I first met her as a child, she had been so overbearing and so full of life; I’d thought I might’ve been in love with her. She was so beautiful and unique, talking to me like I was precious. It wasn’t until years later I learned that she just had a bigger heart than most.

ENAD employed the confidantes and kept them up-to-date with most of the basics of the missions that we partook in. They weren’t given details, but they knew approximate times we’d be coming and going, and they knew to keep tabs on us and report everything significant back to Corp.

ENAD confidantes were kept throughout the life of the soldier, whether or not that soldier was on duty, so I’d seen Amdia a handful of times in the past few years. Sometimes I’d come to her after certain missions when I needed a place to lie low; sometimes I’d come to her when I was too strung out on Corx to stand up straight. She always had a place for me, and it was the closest thing to real affection I’d ever felt.

“Corp was telling me you got yourself in some trouble out there,” she said, taking the seat next to me on the bed.

“Yeah, a bit.” I gave her a small smile.

“I know you can’t tell me about it, and that’s just as well, but I know you’re a good, strong man, Jones, and you’ll pull out of this situation cleaner than you were before. I can feel it, and you know I’ve always had a knack for these kinds of things.”

I knew she was just saying those things to comfort me; we both knew what I had in store in two days’ time. I’d be exiled, if I was lucky.

“Oh yeah?” I asked her, half-jokingly. “You think I’ll walk outta this unscathed?”

She nodded. “Matters of the heart are never resolved without a few battle scars. You made a difficult decision today. I can see it written all over your face. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it has something to do with someone special.”

I laughed. “Someone special? I don’t think special is a word we’re allowed to use since they passed Proposition 856 and cloning became legal.”

Amdia reached out and smacked me on the arm. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Suddenly, I felt completely worn out. “There’s no one special, Amdia.”

“Want me to send one of the boys up here to keep you company? One of those blond-haired ones you like?” She placed her hand on my shoulder, and I started to laugh. I knew she was serious about sending one of the boys up to me, but I’d never taken her up on that offer. The most I’d done was look. I couldn’t stomach the thought of having almost been one of those prostitutes myself.

When I’d been searching for work after ENAD sent us packing seven years ago, Amdia was the first one to suggest prostitution as a job. It was a good job in this city, with decent pay, the closest thing you could get to health benefits, and a warm place to sleep. I’d laughed at her then too, wondering why she’d even suggest a man like me could work selling his body for a living. She’d told me I was a mountain lion even though I assured her I was a beagle. There was a market, apparently, for tall, very muscular prostitutes, and they were a rare commodity, so they could make a good living. She assured me that I had a handsome face with green eyes, white teeth, just enough freckles on my face and shoulders to be endearing, and enough scars to make me look like I’d single-handedly fought and won a war. I had more scars than most corpses, and my nose was about as straight as I was, thanks to having been broken one too many times in my life. I’d never considered myself handsome, or particularly good-looking, even though Amdia liked to assure me that I was.

“Listen to me, Jones,” she said, taking my hands in hers. “A storm is brewing. I can tell. You’re going to be caught up in the middle for all the wrong reasons, and you aren’t going to know if you should stick your head in the sand or take a stand. Let me tell you something that no one was ever kind enough to tell me. You run, okay? You run away and trust your head, not your heart, because it won’t do you any good.”

A sad expression dawned across Amdia’s gentle face, her painted lips glowing in the near darkness. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then stood up and left the room.