Crash Deluxe (3 page)

Teece swivelled right off his stool to gape.

‘Shut it,’ I growled before he could say anything.

He didn’t. His tongue was too busy sweeping wetly across the floor. In fact, the whole of Hein’s bar assumed a kind of bewildered silence.

For a tough-arsed drinking establishment that boasted holocaust decor and a sticky excess of backroom smut, it was more than vaguely unsettling. Even the phlegmatic proprietor, Larry Hein, retired behind his cred-comm partition to sniff something calming.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea - trying out a new look on the locals. Parrish Plessis, warlord and all-round-tough femme had transformed into a legs-and-hair princess . . . and the sky
had
fallen.

One silver of grrl consolation. Tingle Honeybee - Teece’s girl - looked like she might faint.

I stared along the bar at Ibis. He was back again, drinking. Shot glasses littered the space between us. He propped his head up with his hands and looked me over in slack-mouthed awe. ‘Freaking miracles.’

My face flamed. If I’d been an average sort I’d have wished for the ground to open up and swallow me - instead, I wished them all a new kind of plague.

I took a seat next to Ibis, annoyed that I had to fiddle around and tuck the skirt underneath my thighs.

‘You know, the pishtol gives you away a bit,’ he slurred.

I looked down at my holster - only one instead of two - my concession to the whole grrlie thing.

‘Trial run,’ I croaked in my own defence. ‘Larry, where’s my drink?’

I wet my throat and tried to ignore the prickle of confusion around me.

Teece was the worst. His stare didn’t prickle - it burned. But he didn’t come to me with news, despite his promise. Instead, he stamped over to a Res-booth and began smashing a set of gloves around, leaving Honey by herself at the bar.

I sighed and turned back to Ibis. Now what?

‘So you got your way with Teece,’ said Ibis.

‘I usually do.’ I noticed his mottled skin. ‘How are
you
?’

Ibis had arrived in The Tert enthusiastic and cheeky. Now he was drained, discontent and more than a lot wasted. I felt pretty guilty about that. He was my mate and I hadn’t looked after him too well.

He cleared his throat and puffed his cheeks in a way that told me he had something to get off his chest. I swallowed my tequila while he worked up to it.

‘I knew it would be rough here, Parrish. I knew I wouldn’t like the filth and the poverty. But I was naive enough to think it wouldn’t touch me. Well, it has.’ He sighed. ‘People shouldn’t have to live the way they do in this place. And the trouble is, now I
can’t
go back and forget. The smell, the dirt, the abuses - they won’t go away.’

I kept my expression neutral. I’d never heard Ibis impassioned about anything before. That was usually my corner of the ring. Where had my flirtatious, frivolous friend gone?

Alcohol had turned his mood maudlin and I needed to shake him out of it. The Tert was all the things he said and more, but you couldn’t let it get to you - bleed your heart.

‘People make choices, Ibis. Most of them wouldn’t change things if they could. Face it - they’re content living on the limits.’

‘If you believe that then why are you helping the children?’

I thought about the ferals. ‘Kids are different. They need to know they can change if they want.’

‘I think you’re wrong. Not about the children, but about the rest. I think they all want something better than this.’

‘You’re being romantic,’ I argued flatly.

‘Better romantic than indifferent,’ Ibis retorted.

I shifted irritably on the tactile stool. It jigged a bit and muttered a breathy complaint. I thumped on its sensor pad.

‘I’m not indifferent. I wish I was,’ I said.

Instead of any further argument he sighed in resignation. ‘I know.’ He shrugged and downed another shot. ‘You’ll get killed this time, you know.’

Ibis’s warning, delivered so matter-of-factly, sent an involuntary tremor through my body.

Two large, silent tears squeezed from his eyes. Pity for me? Or for himself? I didn’t get a chance to ask ’cos he slumped forward onto the bar and fell into a noisy doze.

I made a cut-throat signal at Larry Hein. No more booze.

Larry nodded and gave me Ibis’s beer as a chaser.

I watched Larry smoothing his lacy apron. Underneath it he wore a latex jumpsuit - like he might have a hot date after closing. The idea of Larry even having a libido distracted me momentarily from my gloom that Teece wasn’t keeping his promise. Men were always yanking my chain.

Take Loyl-me-Daac. When did he ever tell me the truth? I so
wanted
him but I couldn’t cop the personality disorder that came with the package. He and I were like an old-fashioned coin - two sides of the same creation. Permanently connected but from a different angle.

He wanted a better world for his chosen few. I wanted a better world for anyone that wanted a better world. Believe it or not, there’s a big difference.

I hadn’t seen him now for a week or so and I ached for it already.

I reminded myself that I hated Daac at the moment.

‘M-Ms P-Plessis. May I speak with you?’

Ms Plessis?
Teece’s girl, Honey, was sweet and feminine and polite. The sort of girl that guys wanted to crush tenderly to their chest while they put their other hand up her skirt.

I was jealous about her and Teece, but I cogged it as well. I’d given Teece nothing but grief and aggravation. He ran my business, loved me too well despite my shortcomings. Now he’d found someone who could love him back and who might be alive tomorrow.

‘It’s Parrish. And make it quick.’ I fingered the pistol and plucked irritably at the bar mat with my other hand.

She bit her pretty pink lip and her eyes grew large and nervous.

Crap
. I hated that.

‘T-teece said you were looking for a bio-hack. I m-might be able to help.’

Ah.
I glanced over at Teece. He’d had the vreal-gloves on but he wasn’t punching any more.

I understood what he’d just gifted me. I had to get inside Jinberra and he’d maybe found a way for me - at the risk of involving his new grrl.

My gaze met his with gratitude. His slid away in pain and guilt.

‘Where does this bio-hack live?’

‘Inner gyro.’

Viva
. I’d figured Honey for a city grrl. For one thing she kept her fingernails clean.

She took a deep breath. ‘If I tell you about him . . . they mustn’t find out . . . about me . . .’ She slipped her thumb in her mouth like a kid.

It reminded me of Mei Sheong, the crazy pink-haired chino-shaman who drove me nuts. The Loyl-me-Daac addict.

My curiosity stirred. ‘Who?’

Thumb out. A nervous swallow. ‘Delly. He o-owns a pleasure club called Luxoria on Brightbeach. His clients are top-tier. Media, royals, athletes.’

‘Why is he after you?’

‘He doesn’t like his employees vanishing. Teece said if I explained that, you’d be sure to look after me,’ she said.

My fingers spasmed so hard on my holster that I nearly shot my high-heeled toes off. ‘Sure. What about the hack?’

‘There’s a guy who works for him called Merv. He’s the bio-hack. A-a genius, in my opinion.’

‘How so?’

‘He can crack anything.’ Honey lowered her voice. ‘Whatever you want to find out, he’s the one.’

‘Lots of people say that,’ I said dryly.

‘He cracked Militia to get me out of Viva.’

My interest increased. Militia had as much ice as Prisons. ‘I’m impressed.’

Her thumb went in and out several times, nervous again. ‘One thing you should know about him . . . he’s got a thing . . . he thinks shadows are taking over the world. He’s fighting a war against them. Sees them when he’s jacked in.’

Brain-fry.
Most bio-hacks got it. It wasn’t the popular, glamorous pastime it had once been. The attrition rate was high - it messed with your brain’s electrical impulses after a while. Most hacks still preferred to work off voice and touch-pad and to avoid vreal. Slow but safe. I squashed a sigh.
At least it isn’t parasitic aliens.

She hurried on. ‘He used to work for the media. Then something happened. Brain-fry is my guess. Most of the best hacks end up with it. Delly found him DJ-ing the screens at a Meathouse and offered him a job. He’s harmless, just weird. If you can convince him to help you . . .’

What are the chances of that?
‘Let’s talk more,’ I said, as sweetly as I could.

Turned out that Honey’s ex-boss Delly was a prominent flesh operator in the Inner Gyro. She said he had some rules that she didn’t go for, like insisting that all his people should mainline
rough
. So she got out.

According to her he was a grudge-bearer, didn’t like his employees doing runners, He sent bounty after her. Teece had ‘disposed’ of them.

Honey showed me her stent. It was an exxy number: fine polymer tubes flush with the surface of her skin in the pattern of a star.
Très chic.

‘The star shape was Merv’s idea. It’s a protective charm. He’s big on superstition, says it’s the twin of intuition. He says we don’t give the psychic thing enough cred.’

‘So how do I get close to Merv?’

She tongued the bow of her top lip. ‘That’s the hard thing. Delly keeps him close so nobody poaches him. Merv’s job is to watch over the girls and keep the hackers out of the club’s system. He doesn’t go out much. Doesn’t like people.’

Honey’s face fell into an arrangement of pretty thought-creases. I got the feeling the process was hard for her. I’d give her about seventy per cent lucidity; the rest was probably mulch.

‘Once a week Delly trolls the lobby of the Globe for new clients. It’s the one regular time he leaves the club. Maybe, if you were there, somehow you could convince him to hire you. He’d rather buy the opposition than have any.’

I followed the threads of her idea.

‘How would I do that?’

Honey set her feet and crossed her arms as though she’d suddenly got comfortable. ‘The pleasure industry’s different in Viva than it is here. It’s illegal for anyone in the ’burbs to procure
Amoratos
or pay for physical pleasure. The law says they have to use NS if they don’t have a partner. Delly said the laws changed when the media took over from politicians. Part of the safe-city campaigns. I think they just wanted to keep the whole thing exclusive.’

I flashed on to Irene. There was no doubt where my mum got her bliss, and it wasn’t from my stepdad Kevin.

‘So this guy - Delly - his flesh business is only for the wealthy: media and bankers and such?’ I asked.

‘Yes. His workers are called
Amoratos
and are trained to give pleasure.’

‘And?’ I could feel the impatience coming back.

‘
Amoratos
have to be working for someone like Delly - otherwise they are breaking the law.’

I digested that for a moment or two. I could see a crack in the door I wanted so desperately to open. ‘So, if he thought I was an
Amorato
he might want to hire me? That way I could get to meet your friend?’

Honey’s eyes glazed with remembered fear. ‘Yes. Delly loves anyone exotic. He loves new blood. But he’s smart, too. If he found out you weren’t who you said you were . . .’

‘Too dangerous, Parrish.’ Ibis had woken up and his eyes were red-ringed with sadness and alcohol immersion. ‘I’ve heard of him. He expects his people to do . . . unhealthy things.’

I ignored him.

‘You say his clientele is the Media?’

Honey nodded. ‘He’s obsessed with them. Especially the ones he hasn’t been able to attract as clients.’

I pinned her with a stare. ‘Like who?’

‘James Monk is one,’ she whispered.

‘Monk owns the sport Media,’ Ibis piped up again. ‘His sports stream takes a huge chunk out of the ratings pie.’

The Big Country was crazed over sport so Monk had to be a big fish. I knew nothing about the Media power-divisions in Viva. Maybe it was time I did.

‘Delly wants James Monk as a client, desperately. He’s obsessed by him.’

I tucked that info somewhere tight. ‘Tell me more about Merv the bio-hack and this place, the Luxoria. Who works there?’

‘It’s in a big-rise on Brightbeach called Cone Central. One of the best on Liberty Crescent.’ I heard the tiny sigh in Honey’s voice, as if she missed it. ‘All the rises along Liberty are connected by the Glass Bridge.’

The Glass Bridge - a spectacular glass esplanade, running from the middle of one building to the next and on like a see-through belt. ‘I know it.’

Who didn’t? The exxiest piece of architectural whimsy in the Southern Hem.

‘The Luxoria is on the 149
^th
floor, just one storey below the bridge. Delly’s people pretty much live between the club and the Bridge.’ Her voice quivered. ‘He won’t let them go anywhere else.’ She flushed up both sides of her neck. ‘Merv got me a job as a bar hostess. But I got to help him out as well. We met when I worked for Heads Up.’ The flush worsened.

Heads Up was a liveware company.

‘What did you do there?’

She looked away from me, embarrassed. ‘I was a pig.’

I understood the flush now and her often-vacant expression. Guinea pigs made a lot of cred and spent it mostly on their health.

‘It was OK for a while, until Delly started pushing me to work with clients.’ Her voice changed, catching in her throat. ‘I got scared. Merv helped me get out.’

Grudgingly, my opinion of Honey shifted. Coming to The Tert must have been a last resort.

‘An
Amorato
.’ Ibis smirked. ‘You couldn’t do that, Parrish. You’d likely garrotte the first person who put their pinkies on you.’