Synthetic: Dark Beginning (13 page)

“Is there a secret door in here? What do you press to get through?”

“Let me show you my technique for getting these babies open.” Gus stepped up to the shelves and gave the surface a solid whack. The jars rattled and the shelf swung forward to reveal a narrow spiral staircase. He pulled a torch down from one of the sconces and stepped in with Kora behind him. When they reached the bottom, three tunnels spun out in all directions but Gus confidently took the narrowest, darkest one. At one point, the ceiling was so low Kora had to bend down to avoid bumping her head. Once through this backbreaking stretch, Gus stopped before a piece of wood and gave it the signature bang with his fist. The door slid open and Kora saw a familiar corridor. Gus popped his head out and looked around.
“Good, she's not here.”

“Who?”

“Who else,” said Gus, stepping through the panel. “Ruby. We're right across from her office.”

“How many passages are there in this castle?”

“More than I know of. More than Humphrey can remember too, even though he built all of them. Now let's see what that little rascal was hiding.”

Kora carefully unwrapped the paper. “Something’s written on it.” She held it up to the light. It was a crayon drawing of a monster woman in a long robe. Something about it made sweat sprout from every poor of her skin.  “It’s nothing but a child’s drawing.”

Gus slipped behind her and cocked his head to one side as he gazed at it. “It definitely has the look of one of Ruby’s creatures: a cross between a Tolkien Ringwraith and Barbara Streisand.”

Kora wadded the paper up and tossed it at him. “It’s just a piece of trash.”

“What?” Gus bent down to snatch the crumpled paper off the floor. “Obviously it means something.  Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?”

“Caleb just used the toy as a hiding spot for some stupid game. Children do that sort of thing all the time.”

Gus flattened the drawing out and waved it at her. “Caleb isn’t a child.  Not long ago he was a brilliant adult. There are other people in this family with brains besides you.”

Kora felt humbled, but still couldn’t bring herself to look at the drawing.  She wanted to burn it for some reason.

“We at least need to find out who this creature is,” continued Gus. “It can’t be a coincidence that Caleb stuffed her picture into that toy. All of this connects somehow.”

“I don’t think it means anything and I think we should drop it.”

“You’re the one who started this investigation and it’s important that we take every lead seriously.”

Kora had truly created a monster this time. “This isn’t one of your mystery novels, Gus.”

He folded the paper and stuffed it back into his robe pocket.  “I know, but you're underestimating the importance of Caleb's clues, Kora, and I’m going to prove it to you.” 

Chapter 15

Mrs. Rothschild was old.  Alex lay bored on a couch in the back of Randall’s office, but she sat up when she spotted the shriveled neck circled with diamonds that not even he could afford. Randall was old too, but Kora had carefully manicured him over the years so he didn’t look his age.  As the two stood facing each other, Alex couldn’t help but notice how time had given Mrs. Rothschild dignity, while it had whittled Randall down to a squirming embryo of a man. Whenever Alex saw elderly people, she was grateful that she’d never have to deal with sagging tits and a big wattle, but there was something about Mrs. Rothschild’s face that she envied: the woman knew who she was. Even if Alex lived a thousand years (which was likely), she would never have a face like that.

Randall stuck out his hand but Mrs. Rothschild ignored it.  “I’m so happy that you’ve come to my celebration, Lois,” he said.  “I’ve reserved a table up front for you and made a request that the staff attend to your every need.”

“Celebration,” scoffed Mrs. Rothschild in a deep voice.  “It’s just another one of your marketing rallies and if you have what you claim to, Randall, I’m sure you’ll make a bundle.”

“You’ll be so impressed, my dear, that you’ll be first in line to order a new synthetic vessel.  Remember that gorgeous head of yours?”  Randall winked at her.  “We could replicate that one-in-a-million face to perfection.  We’ll make you look twenty-five with the strength and longevity of a goddess.”

“I have no interest in looking twenty-five or living forever.   That’s not why I’m here,” said Mrs. Rothschild, taking a seat across from Randall’s desk.  “I’m here for one reason only.  I want you to tell me where my Morty is.”

The forced smile lost its grip on Randall’s face.  “Now Lois, what makes you think I have any idea where our dear Mortimer is?  He called me the night before he left for Nepal, when was that—thirty years ago?  And that’s the last I heard from him.  We’ve discussed this many times, my dear lady.  Must we go over it again?”

Mrs. Rothschild opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper.  “Morty’s private plane pilot came to see me a few months ago.  He’s dying of cancer and wanted to set his affairs straight and put his mind at peace.  He said that he never took Morty on the plane ride to Nepal and that you’ve paid him millions, all these years, to keep quiet about it.  I have copies of all the checks you wrote him and I think you’ll recognize your signature and bank account number.  Would have been smarter to pay him off in cash, but you were never too bright, were you Randall?  That was Morty’s job.”

She shoved the papers toward Randall who glanced down at them with an expression of disgust.  “Mortimer’s plane pilot was blackmailing me for another reason.  He kept asking for more and more money.  It has nothing to do with your husband’s disappearance.”

A tiny smile turned up the corners of Mrs. Rothschild’s angular face.  “What was it about, then?”

“A woman I wasn’t supposed to be involved with.  Mortimer lent me his plane for a trip to Maui, and the pilot proved a scoundrel when we returned.”

Alex was afraid to breathe.  She had a feeling Randall had forgotten she was in the back of the room and didn’t want to get kicked out just when things were getting juicy.

Mrs. Rothschild was now the one laughing.  “When have you ever hidden your women? I seem to recall that the more forbidden a woman was, the more you flaunted her.  What a ridiculous story.”  She pointed a jewel-encrusted finger at him.  “I know you sent Morty to one of your prisons, and if you take me to him now, I won’t completely obliterate you.  I’ll let you survive, at least.”

Randall dropped his mask of politeness.  “You’ll destroy me?  I’d like to see you try.  I know, from years of experience, that it’ll be the other way around.”

Mrs. Rothschild stood up and snapped her purse closed, leaving the papers on the table.  “I’m one the richest women in the world, Randall. You may rule this ugly pit you’ve dug in California, but your power is nothing compared to mine.  As soon as I find Morty, I will cover you like magma and burn that tight little face of yours clean off your skull.  Good day, Mr. Williams.”

The moment the doors closed behind Mrs. Rothschild, Alex started clapping.  “It’s not often you meet your match, huh Randy?”

Randall spun around, his eyes wild when they landed on her.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

Alex knew that look.  She hadn’t seen it in a while, but it inevitable popped up on Randall’s face when she least expected it.  Often when she hadn’t even done anything.  “I was just back here when she came in.  I’m—”

She didn’t get to finish, or get her hands in front of her face before he drove a fist into her jaw.  She screamed, the pain searing through her as he dragged her off the couch by her neck and smashed her head into the wall.  She sank to the floor, crying for him to stop when he started kicking her in the chest, harder and harder, all the while hollering that she was a spy and he would have her dismantled.

When Randall finally got tired, he took several steps back, breathing heavily.  Alex lay on the floor, careful not to move.  She’d learned, over the years, that if she got up too fast he descended on her again.  So she lay there, waiting.  When he sat down on a couch and poured himself a drink, she knew it was all over.  She pulled herself up the wall and scurried to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.  She braced her arms against the counter and stared into the mirror.  The cuts and bruises were already healing.  In another minute, there would be no physical trace that anything happened. 

She threw water on her face.  When she opened the bathroom door, Randall was holding out a whisky.  She wanted it, but forced her arms to stay at her sides.  “I’m so sorry, Alex.  That goddamn woman just pissed me off.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” said Alex. 

Randall took her hand and pressed it to his lips.  “You look as beautiful as always.”

He always said that.  She wished she wouldn’t heal so he could see what he did to her, time and time again.  “I’m going out.”

“Where, darling?”

She jerked on her leather coat.  “What do you care?”

“Alex, I wish more than anything you could defend yourself when I lose my temper.  I wish you could knock me across the room so I’ll stop, but Kora—”

“I know, I know.  Kora wanted it this way.” 

“She wanted you weak.  The chip was her idea, not mine.”  Randall pulled Alex into his arms.  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  Please be careful out there.  You do crazy, dangerous things sometimes.”

“Staying here with you is the most dangerous thing I do,” said Alex before slamming the door.

The Mirafield elevators were the best thing about the miserable place; private ships well stocked with whisky that took her wherever she wanted to go across campus.  Except to the Executive Village, of course. Alex wasn't authorized to go there which was fine with her. Synthetics sent to
pleasure land
became sex slaves, or so she'd heard from a girl who'd escaped. The girl, who was in the unfortunate position of having six breasts, told Alex about an unused elevator on the prison floor of the main tower. If Alex was ever sent to the Executive Village, she could use the same escape route—if it was still there.

She pressed a series of buttons and the doors opened just as she finished her third shot.  Alex's favorite exit stood directly across from her.  It was hardly ever used, except by those like her who craved getting lost in the madness of life beyond the walls. She stepped onto Ocean Boulevard and was instantly caught up in a stream of unwashed bodies heading toward the pier.  A man with a gray beard walked beside her.  He was dressed in rubber boots and carried a load of croakers he’d caught up the beach. He smiled at her and nodded his chin.  Not the leering smile she got at Mirafield, but friendly.  She bought his fish sometimes and he was hoping she’d stop by his stall and buy some more.  Unlike humans, synthetics could eat even the most polluted fish.  All that mattered to Alex was flavor and in many ways, she preferred the pier’s toxic fish to the imported delicacies of Mirafield.  But it wasn’t just the fish, Alex preferred pretty much everything outside the walls.
Out here, she was never beaten or harassed.  Every human who saw her knew how vulnerable she was, but they never touched her.  Working people had better things to do than dream up new tortures, and many who labored on the pier also worked the endless parties and banquets at Mirafield where they saw synthetics abused.  If some punk ever felt her up as she walked the crowded Santa Monica streets, there was always a scowling shop woman nearby to tell him off.  She was safer among the poor but if things went right, by the end of the day, she’d finally be safe among the rich as well.

Alex wove down the crowded ramp to the pier’s thick planks.  The shops lining the edges of the heavy structure were once used for carnival games and if she looked closely, she could see the remnants of signs painted over—clowns that once advertised a shooting range replaced with somber price lists for vegetables. The buildings had grown so high, it was difficult to see the ocean until the very end of the pier, but she could smell the salt in the air.  Alex paused in front of her favorite tavern.  It was one of the tallest buildings and she liked to buy four bottles of whisky and climb to the top where she could watch the sunset alone as she drank.  The stink of spilt beer hit her as a laughing couple burst through the swinging doors and she was tempted to go in, but forced herself onward.

Halfway down the pier, Alex cut through a crowd of women selling jewelry made from trash they’d scavenged from Mirafield’s bins.  Alex stopped to buy a necklace.  She loved the idea of wearing Mirafield’s garbage.  Today she picked out a necklace constructed from the muselet that once covered a bottle of Dom Pérignon.  She’d uncorked many bottles of Dom for Randall, so she loved the idea of it coming back to her in this clever necklace.  Alex inspected her new purchase in the mirror before handing over triple the amount on the price tag.  “I’m looking for a man who removes the chips from synthetics.”

Fear flashed over the woman’s face as she took Alex’s money.  She was about to say something, but looked around nervously and instead she pressed something into her hand.  “Down those stairs and keep going right.  It’s at the back of the building.”

When Alex reached the base of the stairs, she opened her palm.  The woman had given her a ring made from a bottle cap, skillfully painted blood red with a black raven sitting on the skeletal branch of a tree.  She tossed the ring into the waves and continued down a narrow corridor littered with cigarette butts and rank with the smell of piss.  A wooden door stood at the end that looked as if it had been kicked in a few times and fixed with random planks, the nails heavily rusted.  Alex raised her hand to knock when she heard a sound behind her.  It wasn’t often that someone managed to sneak up on her.  She turned, ready to fight, but relaxed when she saw a small, elderly Asian woman.  “Dr. Kimura, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I should be the one asking that question,” said Dr. Kimura.

“It’s none your business.  And I don’t like being followed.  Did Randall send you?”

“Randall?” Dr. Kimura giggled.  “Of course not, dear.  I’m no one’s henchman, at least not anymore.  There’s a teashop close to here where I get my sencha.  The owner is a close friend of mine from the old days, and there’s no place in Santa Barbara that matches it.  Perhaps you would like to come along and have a pot with me?”

“I’m busy.  And I drink whisky, not tea.”

“Oh my,” said Dr. Kimura, raising her thin eyebrows.  “But I suppose if I had your life—and liver—I'd be drinking whisky as well.”

Alex had always liked Dr. Kimura, but she wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat. Even if it was amusing. “What do you want from me?”
she asked in a less commanding voice.

Dr. Kimura looked past Alex to the battered wooden door.  “That man will gouge deep into your flesh and find the chip—it’s not hard to locate—but he won’t be able to remove it.  You will be in utter agony and it will all be for nothing.  As flawless as you are, Alex, you never completely heal from these torturous episodes, do you?”

Alex slumped against the wall.  She was so relieved when she discovered a way out of her misery.  For weeks she’d been building up the nerve to go and today, Randall had given her the final push. “But I need the damn thing out.”

“I know,” said Dr. Kimura.  “But only Kora Lazar can do it safely.”

“
She’s
the reason I want it out,” hissed Alex.  “So I can break her fucking neck for putting it in me in the first place.”

“Ah—revenge.”  Dr. Kimura took Alex’s arm and led her away from the door.  Her touch was firm but gentle, not painful like Randall’s.  “That’s what this about?”

“What else would it be?”  Alex stopped at the railing and yanked her arm away.  She knew if Dr. Kimura wanted, she could hold onto Alex against her will, but the old woman let her go.  “If I can’t kill her, then I’ll have to find a way to ruin her.   Forever.”

“I see.”  Dr. Kimura gazed out at the ocean stretched before them.  “Revenge can be as pointless as that butcher you just narrowly escaped.  Are you sure that would solve everything?”

Alex felt like a small, angry child beside this woman.  She knew revenge was what she wanted, but what could she possibly dig up that would make Randall turn on his golden goose?  It would have to be big.  “All my problems would be gone.”