Sinthetica (10 page)

17

Molenski wanted to sleep, but Tatiana wouldn’t let him. Her insistent shaking was making him angry.

“Let me sleep bitch!” he grumbled, but she wouldn’t.

The more she shook him, the angrier he got until finally, his eyes snapped open. Molenski was confused. He was on the floor with one of his house guards, Nikolai, kneeling over him.

“Mr. Molenski… Boss, can you hear me?”

His memories of the recent past came flooding back, and he tried to get up too quickly. The Russian swooned and nearly fainted, his neck and the back of his head hurt like a first-time ass fuck.

“Try not to move boss…”

“Fuck that, help me up!”

Despite his swimming vision, Molenski could see that the robot
and
his bodyguard had gone. Then he looked across the bed and saw the naked body of his wife. Rage filled him, wiping the pain in his body away like a wave washing over a word etched in sand.

He lashed out at the bed with his foot, kicking it over and over again as Nikolai retreated a safe distance.

After his violent tantrum, Molenski leaned on the bed, his chest heaving. When he thought it was safe to talk, the guard cleared his throat.

“Boss, the police are here,” the guard said. “What should we do?”

The Russian heard the excitement in the young man’s voice. He turned and placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder.

“Help me dress.”

As quickly as he could, Molenski slipped on a pair of pants and a pullover. He then tucked his Ruger into the back of his pants before heading to the door.

“Where is the fucking cunt, Ivan?” he said, over his shoulder.

“I don’t know Boss; there are bodies downstairs, but he hasn’t been seen since you got back from the airport. Whoever hit us probably got him too.”

Molenski was too furious and in too much pain to explain that the fucking traitor was alive and well. He headed purposefully towards the staircase.

“About CPD Boss, there are lots of them. Shall we fight?” asked the inexperienced Nikolai from behind him.

“No, you fucking idiot.”

Molenski’s mind raced. Ivan and the robot bitch would have to wait for the moment. He needed to deal with the police first. Then he would find the couple and strap Ivan to a chair so he could watch him deconstruct her, first with a knife, then with a fucking baseball bat.

The Russian was nothing, if not patient.

More guards met them at the base of the staircase.

“Where are they?”

“At the front door Sir, we had a standoff, but they didn’t force the issue. They have the warrant to search the house.”

“Good, invite them into the reception room and tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes. He turned to Nikolai and put his hand on the machine pistol, pushing it down to face the floor.

“Our fight is not with the piggies. I shall talk to them, let them look around and then after they’ve gone we will consider what has happened and make our plans. Go back upstairs and put a blanket over my Tatiana, will you.”

18

The men who had abducted Tim Redfern shouted and swore at the monitors. Since the feed had resumed, nothing had gone right for them. The robot hadn’t finished Molenski off. In fact, it hadn’t finished anyone off and on top of that, they had watched in escalating anger the robot run off with the Russian’s bodyguard.

If he wasn’t in so much danger, Redfern might have laughed at the comical situation. He wasn’t stupid though and knew with the escape of the robot, his usefulness to the two men and whoever had orchestrated the attempted hit was pretty much at an end.

His mind worked furiously through scenarios to get himself out of the awful situation he was in.

The buzzing of the big man’s mobile phone gave him the chance he was waiting for. The man snatched up the phone and put a finger in his ear, walking away from the monitors. His pistol remained on the desk. The other man was leaning over the desk, continuing to watch the feed.

A surge of adrenalin, so violent he thought he might faint, went through Redfern’s system. It was now or never. Live or die. He didn’t wait. He burst out of his chair and snatched up the gun, almost fumbling it before raising it and aiming it first at the big guy, then the short guy, then back again.

“Don’t move, either of you.”

The short man began to reach for the gun in his belt.

“Don’t!” screamed Redfern.

“Okay, okay! Chill, man!”

As he put his hands up in the air, Shorty’s eyes flicked in the direction of his partner and Redfern again swung the gun to the big guy but he was on the move, and with the phone still to his ear he fled into the hallway and deeper into the apartment. 

Shit!

It was then, while he was distracted, that the short guy grabbed his gun hand.

“
No
!” grunted Redfern, as he struggled for control.

They fell to the floor, and the muzzle of the gun inched its way between their struggling faces. First Redfern gained ascendancy, but finally, Shorty, much stronger than he looked, flipped the technician onto his back. Now able to bring two arms to bear against the abductee’s one, the criminal began to win.

He twisted the gun and slowly lowered it towards Redfern’s face. The thug smiled victoriously…

BANG!

He was still smiling, even after the bullet from his own gun, taken from his pants by his intended victim, blew out the side of his head, spraying the white carpet in a vivid red and gray fan.

Horrified, Redfern pushed the body of the thug off him and scrambled backward. He didn’t stop retreating until his head struck the wall behind him. He began to shake uncontrollably, his ears ringing from the loud gunshot.

He thought briefly about running but just as quickly dismissed it. They knew where he lived. They knew the name of his wife. They knew the name of his kids. There was no way he could leave while the other man was alive.

He got to his feet, still holding the dead man’s gun and took a deep breath as he steeled himself to search the apartment for the other man.

As it was, he didn’t need to.

There was a flash of movement from the doorway of the kitchen to his right and something smashed into the brow of his right eye. Stunned, Redfern fell to his knees, desperately trying to clear his swimming vision. He heard a roar and then saw the formidable albeit fuzzy shape of the big guy barreling at him.

He tried to bring the gun up but didn’t manage to squeeze off a shot before the speeding bus hit him. The technician was propelled backward into the wall, the breath smashed out of his body by the impact and then kept out by the heavy weight of the man on top of him. Strong hands found his throat and began to squeeze.

Redfern had somehow managed to keep a hold of the gun and with a jellylike arm, lifted it slowly until the muzzle was wavering and wobbling under the thug’s chin. The big hands squeezed harder and with more violence, attempting to throttle the life out of him before he could pull the trigger.

As his vision darkened, he made a last, supreme effort to pull the trigger.

19

Twenty minutes after he discarded his phone, Ivan pulled the Dodge into a wrecking yard on Kedzie Avenue. He drove past the small used car lot out front and followed the driveway, weeds poking through its cracks like the hair from an old man’s ears, up to the rundown portable building that served as an office.

To the right, a wall of rusting cars at least ten high muffled the sound of the busy road beyond. They pulled up in front of the building, and Ivan turned to Inga.

“Stay in the car, yes?” he said, placing his hand on the one she had resting in her lap.

It was so warm and soft that he had a hard time reconciling it with the steel he had seen in her open wounds.

“Yes, Myfriend.”

She smiled a smile so humanlike that he couldn’t help but shake his head as he opened the door.

It had been much easier getting into the low-slung car than getting back out, and the big man struggled to do it without looking clumsy. He didn’t quite succeed.

He locked the car and walked to the office. The whole building creaked as he climbed the metal steps and squeezed through the open door. A man of about sixty looked up from behind the counter. His head gleamed under the last vestiges of his hair, which was slicked across his skull as if to hide the baldness which had clearly won its war a long time ago.

As Ivan placed his hands on the counter, the old man took a final drag on the thin cigar hanging from his lip and blew a smoke ring casually into the already hazy air.

“Dolph Lundgren, I presume?”

“What?” Ivan asked, his face serious.

“You look like Dolph Lundgren.”

“Who?” Ivan asked, his face blank.

“Dolph Lundgren – you know – Rocky IV?” Ivan’s face was blank. “Hmmm never mind. A very old movie. What can I help you with, Mister?”

“Where is Pieter?”

“Long gone. I bought the yard from him two years ago.”

“Oh…”

The man stood up and looked over Ivan’s shoulder at the Dodge. Apart from the slight damage to the side, it looked a beauty.

He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Stan, is there something I can help you with?”

Ivan shook the proffered hand.

“I want to sell my car.”

“I see... let’s take a look,” said the old man, his eyes narrowing.

They returned to the office after Stan had taken an in-depth look at the vehicle, not to mention a good look at the beautiful, smiling girl in the passenger seat. He didn’t fail to notice the bruise and scrapes on her face and hoped the big guy wasn’t beating on her. None of his business, though, and he didn’t think she would have looked so happy if he was.

“Is it hot?”

“Yes,” Ivan said. He didn’t see any point in lying.

“Okay,” said Stan, nodding. “As long as you’re up front with me, I’ll be up front with you. I’ll give you five G for it.”

“Okay, sold,” said Ivan.

Stan was taken aback, he had been willing to go as high as ten, and the ease with which the other guy caved bothered him. Either he was an idiot or the vehicle was
really
hot. Stan’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. He had the nagging feeling he should reject the offer, but greed won out. The guys at the chop shop would easily pay him three times that amount, and make double again by rebirthing it. Greed won out. 

“You have yourself a deal, Mister…?”

“Just call me Dolph,” said Ivan, deadpan. They shook hands and a few minutes later, Lewinski accompanied ‘Dolph’ out to the car and watched appreciatively as the girl stepped out.

What a pair of legs! He might even have whistled if the big guy hadn’t been within arm’s reach.

Ivan handed Stan the keys to the Dodge and scanned the used car lot in front of the wrecking yard. His eyes settled on a brown hatchback.

“How much for the Hyundai?”

Stan looked at him. He liked to think of himself as a good judge of character and decided he’d made enough dough off him for one day.

“Five hundred oughtta do it.”

Ivan counted out five hundred dollar bills into the old man’s open palm.

“I’ll get you the keys.”

Five minutes later they were headed to Chicago’s Croatian quarter, the Village.

20

“Ivan! It’s been too long!”

Mateo Babic, a big bear of a man, came barreling around from behind the bar of his restaurant. He embraced Ivan, thumping him heavily on the back before straightening his arms to take a good look at him.

“My God, you are even bigger than the last time I saw you. You’ve fully recovered from the… the accident then?”

“Da. I don’t remember much, but physically I feel better than ever.”

“Great! And who is this?” Babic asked.

“This is Inga.”

“What has happened?” Mateo asked, his curious gaze resting on Inga’s face.

“We’re in some trouble,” said Ivan. “Serious trouble. I came here to ask for help.”

“Of course, of course,” said Babic, bustling past Ivan and taking Inga’s hand.

“Come young one, sit. Can I get you some water?”

“I cannot drink water,” said Inga, looking at Ivan as she resisted Babic’s insistent tugging.

He nodded.

“Sit, Inga.”

She allowed Babic to pull her to a chair and sat down.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked again.

“No, she’s fine Mateo.”

The older man looked at him; one eyebrow raised and then back to the girl. He stood up straight and shrugged.

“All right my friend, tell me what has happened and what can a poor restaurant owner do for you?”

Ivan smiled. Mateo Babic was once the most powerful man in West Chicago. He had started and built up a thriving, mainly underground business, in the early 2000s.

When Molenski arrived and began building the foundations of his empire, he saw immediately that the Croatian syndicate was going to be his main opposition. While expansion wasn’t a driving factor for them, they were powerful and dominated the drug trade in the West Side. They were much too strong to take on in a direct war, so against his normal modus operandi, he had extended an olive branch to the Croatian – much better to avoid carnage that would leave both of them weak enough for someone else to pick off.

In the years following the Russian’s arrival, they’d had dealings that had been mutually beneficial, in fact, Ivan had been a part of their first handshake agreement very early on. The size of the silent, young man had impressed Babic, and he had requested him as sugar on the deal which slightly favored the Russian.

Ivan had been horrified when Molenski let him go without an argument, but as it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened to Ivan. Babic was no Molenski. While he was ruthless with those who did him wrong, he was never cruel and took a real shine to Ivan that was returned by the apprentice bodyguard.

Over time, Ivan came to see him as a father figure rather than a boss and, after a year, would have would have done anything for him. Ivan became a valued lieutenant of the Croatian syndicate and a very effective stand over man. His intimidation factor usually worked without the need for physical force, but when required he was extremely capable of handling himself and honed his skills at fight clubs.

After 25 years Babic decided he was ready for retirement, so when the upstart Russian, now dominating the greater Chicago crime scene, made him a monetary offer too good to refuse, the old Croat, without an obvious heir, decided it would be the perfect transition to retirement plan.

The only part of his business he didn’t sell to Molenski was the restaurant they stood in now.

Ivan’s return to the Russian’s employ had been a part of the deal of course. Initially, Ivan had been reluctant, but Babic had persuaded him.

“He’s a psycho bastard, but you should take the job, a couple of years you will be able to retire a wealthy young man.”

Molenski didn’t need another stand over man, so he made Ivan his personal bodyguard.

Now in front of his old mentor again, Ivan looked at him steadily.

“I need help.” 

“Come, let’s have a drink while you tell me,” Babic said, leading Ivan behind the bar, where he poured them a whiskey.

They clinked glasses, but Ivan put his down untouched.

“Molenski?”

Ivan nodded.

“What has he done?”

In a low voice, Ivan began to tell Babic of what had happened that day.

“No!” Mateo exclaimed at one point, looking at Inga with wide eyes.

After Ivan had finished his tale, Mateo Babic put his hand over his.

“You will need to take your friend to see Dr. Vlad tonight, but you’re right. Molenski has a wide reach, Ivan. You will need to flee the country – tomorrow, at the latest. I can organize fake passports with a few calls; I will just need to take a picture of you both. Then we can book your flights. ”

“Passports would be great, but we can’t fly…”

“What, why?”

He simply nodded at Inga. The old man slapped himself on the forehead.

“Da, da! Of course! A ship then… from Philadelphia! My brother Uri has a private charter company. I’ll organize him to fly you there early tomorrow morning; then you’ll just have to find a way to smuggle her onboard a cruise ship.”

“Thanks. That will be less of a problem than a plane.”

The old man clapped his hands.

“Excellent, it is settled. You should call Dr. Vlad now. I will keep Inga company.”

“Thank you, old friend,” said Ivan, standing up. “Inga, I will be in the next room making a phone call, wait here with Mr. Babic.”

“Yes, Myfriend.”

Ivan disappeared through the door that led to Babic’s office and the old Croat smiled at Inga. She met his gaze flatly. He shrugged and poured himself a shot of whiskey before emerging from behind the bar and pulling up a chair in front of her.

She looked at him, unblinking, as he pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and looked curiously at her face, particularly the scratch marks on her cheek, which had crusted over.

“So Inga, you are a robot?” he asked as if he didn’t quite believe it.

“Yes, Mr. Babic. I am a synthetic human form robot produced by Genitix, the world leader in human form robotics. I am a Sinthetica Model 676 with special features including Genitix RealFlesh and Genitix PhysSens- patent pending.”

“Amazing
.
So realistic!” Mateo shook his head and took off his glasses before downing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. “Tell me Sinthetica Model 676, do you like birds?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“
Birds
. Warm-blooded egg-laying vertebrate animals distinguished by the possession of feathers, wings, a beak, and typically by being able to fly. I am not programmed to ‘like’…”

“But you like Ivan –
Myfriend
, as you call him, don’t you?”

Inga didn’t answer immediately. Her face was blank, her mouth poised to answer but it appeared his question had stumped her.

“Come! You think too much,” he said, holding out his hand. “You need to
feel
.”

“Myfriend instructed me to wait here.”

“I know, but I want to show you my birds. Come, they are just through that doorway. He said to wait
with
me didn’t he?”

Again she froze momentarily, processing the logic of the request, and after a few seconds took his hand and stood up, allowing him to lead her through a large doorway into the dining area of his restaurant. It was a grand room considering the bland exterior of the building, with rich furnishings and a spacious feel.

“Here they are!” he said.

He led her to a large wire cage in the front corner of the room under a curtained window. 

The cage was home to two peach faced Lovebirds, their colors vibrant even in the filtered afternoon light. They began to tweet and sing as Mateo and Inga approached. The Croatian gestured to them.

“This is Max, and this is Maxine,” he said, introducing the birds one at a time.

Inga bent over for a better look, her forehead bumping the cage gently, causing it to rock back and forth. She reeled back in surprise when the startled birds took flight and fluttered around the cage.

“Shhh, shhh,” soothed a laughing Babic.

Inga watched intently as the birds found their way back to the perch.

“What do you think of my babies?”

“Babies?”

“Birds, I mean what do you think of my birds?”

“They are… nice.”

The old man chortled.

“So you do like them?”

“
Like
. To regard with favor; have a kindly or friendly feeling for; to find attractive…” she looked at him, her eyes wide. “Yes, I like your birds.”

“Here,” said Mateo, reaching for the door of the cage.

Inga watched, fascinated, as he reached into the cage and began making a making a soft clicking noise with his tongue. One of the birds immediately fluttered to his finger, and he carefully extracted his arm and held out the bird to her.

Inga reached out to grab it.

“No!” said Mateo, and her hand froze inches from the bird.

“Don’t grab him. Just hold out your finger as I am. They’re very delicate.”

She obeyed him and held out her finger. Her eyes widened as the bird hopped from the old man’s finger to her own.

“Pretty boy wants a kiss,” said Mateo.

“A kiss?” she asked. “
Kiss.
A touch or caress with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, or greeting… but the pretty boy has no lips.”

Again the old man laughed delightedly.

“That’s alright, just do this with your lips.” The old man demonstrated how to purse lips. “You do that and let him peck you.”

Neither of them noticed Ivan in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as he watched the strange interaction. Inga raised her hand slowly until the bird was just an inch or two from her pursed lips. The bird hopped to the end of her finger and began to gently nibble her lower lip.

“Ha-ha!” she cried in delighted surprise. The startled bird took flight. It had flown barely four inches before Inga’s hand snatched it out of the air, a single peach colored feather floating on eddies of air stirred by her quick movement was the only evidence it had been there a second before.

“What have you done?!” Mateo cried, attempting to grab Inga’s arm. She snatched his wrist with her free hand as quickly as she had snatched the bird. She pulled him forward as she reached into the cage again.

“No!” called Babic, assuming she would grab the other bird.

“Inga!” said Ivan from behind them, crossing the room quickly.

The robot ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. The old man struggled futilely against her iron-like grip, only ceasing his struggles when Inga opened her hand, and the unharmed Max flew to his perch, rejoining Maxine and preening himself as though nothing had happened.

Inga released the Croat’s wrist and turned to look at the two men. The restaurant owner’s face was pale. Ivan was frowning.

“I like birds,” she said simply and smiled.

Mateo, rubbing his wrist, smiled back uncertainly.

“Are you all right?” Ivan asked him.

“Yes, I’m fine – she just took me by surprise… did you see how fast she is? Amazing.”

“Yes – I saw, sorry if she gave you a fright. Dr. Vlad said I could take her to him in an hour. Will you order the passports?”

“Yes, I’ll call now. Did you tell the doctor that she is…” he paused, aware the girl was watching him.

“Yes, apparently he has worked on them before. He sounded excited. Are we able to stay here the night when we’re done?”

“Yes, of course, you can stay upstairs. It is only me at the moment. Viktoria is in Croatia visiting family. Chef is already preparing in back, and after I make the call to the documents man, I will bring you both something to eat. Then I will take your pictures.”

Ivan looked at him, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. Mateo looked puzzled for a second and then slapped himself on the forehead again.

“I mean, I’ll bring
you
something to eat. Sorry, my slow old mind just cannot process that
she
is an
it
!”

He led them out through the kitchen, Mateo briefly introducing them to the chef as his friends before leading them outside and then up the external stairs to the small apartment he shared with his wife. It was much as Ivan remembered it from his years in Babic’s employ. Clean but dated.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a bed to offer you tonight Ivan, but you’ll find the sofa comfortable.”

“The sofa will be fine.”

“What about…?” the old man nodded to Inga.

“She has sleep mode.”

“Yes, I will stand in the corner. May I go into standby mode and run a diagnostic scan?”

“You won’t restart?”

“No Myfriend, a diagnostic scan is similar to a virus scan on a computer, it is not necessary to shut down.”