F Paul Wilson - Sims 05 (7 page)

 
          
He
pulled two lengths of chain from the chest, each with a dozen or so road stars
attached, and dropped them out the back.

 
          
Again
Romy watched the Jeep run over them, but nothing happened.

 
          
“They
didn’t work.”

 
          
“Just
give them a few seconds longer. The chains will wrap themselves around an axle,
and drag the stars through the rubber—”

 
          
Romy
saw a puff of dust as the front left tire blew out.

 
          
“—tearing the tire to shreds.”

 
          
The
Jeep swerved on the gravel and then another tire blew. The van left it behind
in the dark, eating dust.

 
          
“Back
to that 78 sign, Patrick,” Zero called, “and please don’t miss it this time.”

 
          
Romy
gazed at Zero and tried to sort through the strange mix of emotions scattering
through her at that moment. They were warm—no, they were hot—and if this wasn’t
love, it should be.

 
          
Luca
thumbed the SEND button on his ringing PCA. It was Stritch.

 
          
“I’m
in the crib now,” he said. “Our buddy Benny here is in charge of forty-two
sims
, and that’s how many I count.”

 
          
“Count
again. You made a mistake.”

 
          
“I’ve
counted three times already. There’s forty-two
sims
here; not forty-three, not forty-one.
Forty-two.”

 
          
“Then
he’s lying about the number.”

 
          
“That’s
what I thought so I made him show me his records. Sure enough: forty-two.”

 
          
Portero
growled and hung up. All
sims
accounted for? Then
where did the sim in the van come from?

 
          
The
PCA rang again.
Snyder this time.
His voice sounded
strange…nasal.

 
          
“Give
me some good news.”

 
          
“We
lost them.”

 
          
Luca’s
car swerved when he heard the words and he didn’t trust himself to drive. He
pulled over and listened to Snyder’s long-winded, jumbled, broken-nosed,
ass-covering version of whatever really happened, blaming it on a guy in a ski
mask or some such shit. When it was over Luca broke the connection and sat with
his forehead resting on the steering wheel. For the first time in his adult
life, Luca Portero wanted to cry.

 
          
NEWARK
,
NJ

 
          
DECEMBER
23

 
          
“All
right,” Zero said, peering through the pre-dawn light at the McDonald’s four
blocks ahead. “Let’s stop here.”

 
          
He
sat with Tome and Kek in the rear of the van. Patrick had the wheel as usual,
Romy at his side.

 
          
Zero
yawned.
Tired.
They all were tired. And they should
be.
A long night that he, Romy, and Patrick had spent
spray-painting the van.
He’d had no way of finding a new one on such
short notice, so now the old one sported a glossy black coat and New Jersey
tags he’d picked from a pile of old plates he’d found in a Staten Island
junkyard.

 
          
He
glanced at his watch: 6:45A .M. and still no sun. Not due to rise for another
half hour.
Newark
hadn’t
risen
yet
either, most of it still asleep on this cold Sunday morning. He’d wrestled all
night with the timing of his approach to Meerm. Assuming he could find her, it
would be safer for all concerned to make contact under cover of darkness. But
he was sure Meerm would be frightened of anyone she couldn’t see. That
necessitated a daylight approach, multiplying the risks of being spotted.

 
          
He
stared at the McDonald’s, Beece’s key landmark. He’d told Tome he’d been able
to see its golden arches over a fence near Meerm’s hiding place. Beece had made
no mention of crossing the avenue, which meant Meerm was hiding someplace
behind the McDonald’s.

 
          
A
detailed aerial reconnaissance photo would have told him all he needed to know,
but since he didn’t have one of those, he’d have to proceed by trial and error.

 
          
“Okay,”
he told Patrick. “Let’s make this first right up here and see if you can
position us a couple of blocks behind the McDonald’s. We’ll work our way back
toward it from there.”

 
          
“Gotcha,”
Patrick said, and put the van in gear.

 
          
“Everyone
keep an eye out for Portero’s people.”

 
          
“If
you see a green Taurus,” Romy said, grinning at Zero over her shoulder, “it
won’t be them.”

 
          
Patrick
laughed.
“Right!
I’ll bet it’ll be next week before
anyone can see through that windshield again.”

 
          
Zero
grinned beneath his ski mask. Fortunately no shots had been traded. Romy’s
pistol last night had unsettled him. Their pursuers undoubtedly had seen Tome
get into the van—why else would they have followed?—and so Zero guessed they’d
want the sim alive as a lead to Meerm. He’d figured—hoped was more like it—that
they wouldn’t fire unless fired upon. He was glad he’d brought along some
alternative weaponry.

 
          
However,
if they ran into any of Portero’s men today, they’d be edgy, might shoot first
and worry later about who they hit. That was why he’d brought Kek along. He
glanced back at the gorilla-mandrill hybrid crouched by the rear door. He wore
black coveralls cinched with the belt that held his Special Forces knife. His
snout was a cool blue and he seemed relaxed, but Zero knew if provoked he could
explode into violence in the blink of an eye.

 
          
As
Zero turned forward again, he caught Romy staring at him, her eyes almost
luminous in the dimness. She’d been doing that a lot since their time together
in the rear of the van last night. He sensed it was more than
combat
bonding, feared it might be infatuation. That sort of
look from Romy should have made him giddy, but instead it weighed on Zero. A
look was the limit, the most he could ever hope for.

 
          
After
zigzagging through the narrow streets, Patrick stopped the van by the mouth of
an alley running between a rundown tenement and an abandoned brick building
that might have been a factory once. Pigeons clustered in its broken window
frames, cooing and watching.

 
          
“Unless
my sense of direction is completely out of whack,” Patrick said, pointing down
the alley, “the McDonald’s is two blocks that-a-way.”

 
          
“All
right then, Tome,” Zero said. “It’s up to you and me now. Let’s go find Meerm.”

 
          
The
old sim looked at Patrick and Zero could sense the bond between them. Patrick
nodded. “Go ahead, Tome. You can do it.”

 
          
“Yes,
Mist Sulliman. Tome
try
best.”

 
          
Patrick
rolled down his window and checked the street.
“All clear.”

 
          
Zero
pushed open a rear door and hopped down. As soon as Tome was out he started to
push it closed and found Romy staring at him again.

 
          
“Be
careful,” she said.

 
          
Zero
could only nod.

 
          
He
hurried Tome off the sidewalk and into the narrow alley. As they moved through
the litter and the rubble, their breath steaming in the frigid air, Zero
glanced up and was surprised to see a number of clotheslines stretching above
them; one sported a bra and a very large set of white panties. Apparently the
tenement wasn’t as deserted as it looked.

 
          
“If
you were Meerm,” Zero said to Tome, keeping his voice low, “and you were in
here and frightened, and looking for a place to hide, which way would you go?”

 
          
“Tome not Meerm.”

 
          
“Yes,
but imagine you were.”

 
          
“What is ’magine?”

 
          
How
to explain that? Maybe Tome wasn’t capable of imagining. But he’d imagined
starting a sim union, hadn’t he. Imagining a solution to a problem, though,
wasn’t the same as pretending to be someone else.

 
          
But
if I can do it, why can’t Tome?

 
          
“We
can talk about imagining later,” Zero told him. “Right now we need to find a
spot where we can see the golden arches over a fence, isn’t that what Beece
said?”

 
          
“Yes.
Say Meerm in metal door with red write.”

 
          
A
metal door with red writing…that was their best clue. If they had a big search
party, and unlimited time, and could comb the area openly without fear of being
attacked, Zero had no doubt they’d find Meerm before the morning was out.
But with just him and Tome…

 
          
They
arrived in a small quadrangular courtyard that once must have served as a dump
for the surrounding buildings. No fence, no McDonald’s
arches,
no metal door with red writing.

 
          
They
moved on into another alley, misaligned with the one they’d just left. They
were halfway to the next street when Zero noticed a low passage, five feet high
at most, cutting away through the wall of the building to their left. He
stooped and saw daylight at the far end.

 
          
“Did
Beece mention anything about a tunnel?”

 
          
Tome
shook his head. “No, Mist Zero.”

 
          
“Okay,
then.” He was about to turn away when it occurred to him to check it out. They
were here.
Foolish not to take a look.

 
          
“Tome,
we should see what’s on the other end of that tunnel. Since you’re smaller,
you’re elected. Hurry though and take a quick look. If you see anything that
might be what we’re looking for, I’ll follow you.”

 
          
The
old sim nodded and ducked into the tunnel. Zero watched his silhouette dwindle
toward the far end until he stepped into the light. He moved away from the
opening, leaving Zero staring at an empty square of light, and then suddenly he
was there again, hurrying back.

 
          
“Mist
Zero!” Tome cried, his voice squeaking with excitement.
“Is
here!
Metal door and fence and red write!”

 
          
Zero
didn’t wait to hear if the McDonald’s arches were visible.

 
          
“Let’s
go!”

 
          
Bent
in a deep crouch, he splashed through the wet tunnel in Tome’s wake and emerged
into a small vacant lot. A fenced vacant lot, with the McDonald’s arches
visible between the buildings across the street. And directly across the lot,
an abandoned brick warehouse with a rusty metal door embedded in its flank, a
door labeled with a warning in faded red letters. At the rear of the lot was
the open end of an alley, probably how Beece had arrived.

 
          
They’d
found it. Now they had to hope she hadn’t moved to a new hiding place. Please,
let her still be there.

 
          
“All
right, Tome. Remember: We have to be calm, we have to speak softly. You’ll do
the talking as we planned, okay?”

 
          
Tome
nodded. “Tome
talk
good.”

 
          
Zero
approached the door with measured steps, making enough noise so that anyone on
the other side would hear their approach and not be taken completely by
surprise when the door opened. He stopped outside it, waited a heartbeat or
two, then gripped the door’s upper corner and pulled.

 
          
The
hinges squealed horribly as it swung open. Inside
lay
a pool of night, untouched by the dawn. Zero listened but heard no movement
within.

 
          
As
rehearsed, Tome leaned inside and said, “Meerm?
This Tome.
Friend sim.
Friend Beece.
Tome
bring
friend help Meerm.”

 
          
Silence.

 
          
She’s
gone, Zero thought.

 
          
And
then, echoing from within, a soft whimper.

 
          
“Do
you think they’re all right?” Romy said as she sat in the passenger seat and
stared down the alley.

 
          
“They’ve
only been gone a few minutes,” Patrick replied.

 
          
Romy
knew that, but couldn’t quell her dark sense of foreboding.

 
          
“I
should have gone with them.”

 
          
“No,
you shouldn’t have. And you know why.”

 
          
Romy
glanced at Patrick. He seemed testy this morning.
Lack of
sleep, maybe.
But she knew what he meant: They’d all agreed that a group
of humans would spook Meerm.

 
          
“Well,
then, I should have gone with Tome instead of Zero. I’m female. If Tome can’t
talk her out, I think a female human would be a lot less threatening than a
male.”

 
          
Patrick
looked at her. “You could be right. In fact, that makes sense—a hell of a lot
more sense than sending a guy in a ski mask. I must be overtired. I should have
thought of that myself. Hell, why didn’t you bring this up before?”

 
          
“I
did. But Zero was dead set on going himself.
Wouldn’t
consider anyone else.”

 
          
“Doesn’t make sense.
You’ve known him longer than I have,
but he doesn’t strike me as
the my
-way-or-the-highway
sort.”