Sinthetica (7 page)

11

Garcia had just grasped the door handle when the robot spoke in a soft voice.

“Accepting new programming…”

The sentence was followed by two distinctly machine like beeps and a low humming sound that quickly faded. The thug then made the mistake of turning around. The robot was walking towards him.

“What are you doing? Get back in your corner.”

She continued towards him, smiling like an idiot, and it horrified him. He turned back to the door handle, his sweaty fingers slipping as he desperately tried to release the latch he had locked earlier.

Finally, he did it and turned the handle, ripping the door open. He had barely taken a step when her hand grabbed him by the thick black hair he was so proud of. He screamed and scrabbled at the doorframe as the robot effortlessly dragged him back into the room. The last thing he saw was her pretty face, still smiling, as her hands gripped his head and twisted sharply. His body dropped to the floor.

The abrupt scream was enough to alert the men in the guard's room, and the robot heard raised voices and running footsteps, followed by their door bursting open.

The beautiful but now deadly robot lightly stepped over Garcia’s body and grabbed the gun hand of the first man as he came through the door of the Red Room. It was Marco, the new guy, who had sped to the aid of Garcia, keen to impress his work buddies.

Inga slammed the heavy red door against his shoulder twice, then pulled the arm back at an unnatural angle. The weapon dropped from numb fingers and his bloodcurdling scream spooked the others. They began shooting ineffectually at the metal door. The robot, still smiling, began to slam the door over and over again, pulverizing the unfortunate Marco’s shoulder and upper arm. He passed out just before she wrenched his limb from the mangled mess of his shoulder. He fell to the floor in front of his horrified co-workers as the door closed with a heavy thud.

“Jesus! What the fuck!? Hold your fire!” yelled a chubby guard named Ray, who also happened to be Danny Garcia’s best friend.

He bent over Marco and then began to drag him away from the door. The gravely injured man was unconscious, with blood pumping from his ruined shoulder at an alarming rate. 

“Milos, go and get a towel! And call the boss or Andre or someone!” Ray screamed.

Milos ran back to the guard's room.

“Was it Danny? Has he fucking lost it?” Ray asked as he tried vainly to staunch the flow of blood with his bare hand.

“I don’t think it was Danny…” said the other guard, Charlie.

Ray took his hand away and stood up, looking at the other man in disbelief.

“What… the girl? Bullshit!”

“I’m pretty sure the hand that grabbed Marco had painted nails…”

Ray stood up and charged at the door, hammering on it with his blood soaked hand. 

“Danny, come on out! What the fuck…”

The door was snatched open, and Ray found himself face to face with the beautiful girl they were lusting over earlier. Her white, polka dot dress was now marred by a large blood spatter. On the floor behind her lay his friend Danny, his head turned at an unnatural angle, his lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling, a look of permanent surprise on his face.

Confused, he looked back at the petite girl. That was when he saw she was holding Marco’s severed arm, swinging it slowly back and forth like a batter warming up as he approaches the home plate.   

Finally realizing the danger he was in, Ray began to bring his gun up. He was too slow. Inga swung the arm, clubbing him on the side of the head. The heavy blow poleaxed him, and he fell face first into the floor, his gun clattering onto the concrete.

The man behind Ray, a 24-year-old called Charlie, looked at her, stunned at what he had just witnessed. As her eyes fell on him, he took a step back, realizing with terror that he had left his gun behind when they had run out to see what the commotion was.

Never mind. He pulled the switchblade knife out of his belt and flicked it open.

“Come on bitch!” he said, baring his teeth.

He was still not quite willing to believe that the slender girl had been anything other than lucky. She had simply taken the others by surprise. Well, ole Charlie was ready for her. He crouched and began to wave the blade back and forth in front of him.

Surprising him completely, she turned away and still holding the severed arm in her left hand, bent over and picked up Ray’s gun, placed the muzzle against his temple and pulled the trigger.

“Fuck!” yelled Charlie, the concussion of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.

The girl looked up and stepped over Ray’s body. Charlie decided it was time to get the fuck out of there. He turned and ran, weaving as he went, waiting at any moment for a bullet in the back. Again she ignored him and walked over to the gravely wounded Marco. She bent over him and also shot him through the temple.

A quarter of the way to the stairs that led up to the house, Charlie squealed and ducked, almost tripping. Inga turned away from the body of Marco and stood up, raising her gun to aim at the fleeing, Charlie.

Right at that moment, Milos ran out of the guard's room, gun in one hand and towel in the other. He saw the gun and the fan of blood and brains around Marco’s head and immediately squeezed off a panicked shot at her.

It missed completely. Inga turned, bringing her gun around towards this new threat. His second shot grazed her shoulder. He didn’t get a third. Inga’s shot took him in the chest, throwing him onto his back. 

Milos groaned and put a hand over the wound, hoping to stem the blood. His whole body felt numb, and he could hear his breath whistling with every ragged breath. He could only watch as the beautiful young woman walked over to him. He held up his hands in surrender as she aimed at his forehead.

“Please…”

She squeezed off two shots, then bent over and felt for a pulse. Satisfied, she stood up again and scanned the basement for the target who had run away.

She spotted him in the distance, now three-quarters of the way to the other end of the sub-basement.

“Target acquired,” Inga said, to no one in particular and jogged after him.

Looking back over his shoulder, Charlie saw the smiling girl begin to run after him. She still had the severed arm in one hand, and a smoking pistol in the other. Out of breath, he whimpered in fright and somehow found a way to run faster. 

“Yes, yes, yes…” he panted as he closed the gap to the open doors that led up into the boss’s home.

He almost made it.

Slowing as he approached the opening, the murderous robot dropped the severed arm onto the basement floor with a meaty plop and skidded to a stop, raising her gun and steadying it with one hand as she aimed at the center of the fleeing man’s back.

Luckily, or unluckily, for Charlie, pistols don’t allow for expert marksmanship at a distance. He was five feet from the door when her shot took him high on the right buttock. The force of it sent him skidding face first into the polished concrete, coming to rest right on the threshold of the doorway. With a supreme effort and moaning at the burning agony in his buttock, he crawled through.

Over the sounds of his struggle he could distinctly hear the sound of her bare feet padding on the concrete as she began to run again.  

Adrenalin gave him a new burst of energy, and he dragged himself to his feet, bleeding from the ass, but alive. He began to pull the heavy double doors shut. If he could just get them locked and then make it up the stairs…

12

Much to Ivan’s disgust, the reunited lovers spent the majority of the drive home tonguing each other’s mouths while he pretended to study the wet Chicago streets through the tinted window. Back in the Arrivals lounge of O’Hare, the couple had reunited with an ostentatious but somehow hollow display of affection that had drawn furtive glances from other travelers. Tatiana Molenski had barely acknowledged Ivan.

That suited him fine. He wasn’t fond of her either. She was the Russian equivalent of white trash, a girl from the slums of Moscow who had won the lottery by hooking up Molenski on one of his frequent trips home. Not only that, she wore too much makeup and was loud and obnoxious. He couldn’t deny, though; she was a beautiful woman under all of the shit she plastered on her face. Unfortunately, her beauty was only skin deep, and definitely not in Inga’s league.

His mind turned back to Inga.

Interestingly, Molenski hadn’t mentioned his new toy to his wife. As a general rule, they shared the same carnal tastes, whether it be girls or drugs, and Ivan often had to bear silent witness. Clearly, Molenski wanted to enjoy this particular ‘item’ all by himself. 

Not soon enough for Ivan, they arrived back at the estate. They were waved through the gate by the sentry and the driver carefully negotiated the long drive up to the front of the house. Ivan got out and held the door open for the boss and his wife. He was about to follow them in when Molenski turned and held up his hand, leaning in close.

“Go down to the basement with the car and check on my package, will you?” His lipstick smeared lips curled into a smile. “Tatiana and I will be busy for a while, so don’t hurry back.”

Ivan nodded and returned to the car. As he settled into the front passenger seat he had a small, happy smile on his face. What a break! He would avoid having to watch the Molenski’s go at it like rabbits,
and
he would get to see Inga.

He watched until the guards at the front door had ushered the couple through and then shut the door.

“Let’s go.”

The driver followed the winding driveway around the ostentatious fountain in front of the mansion and then headed towards the ramp that led down into the sub-basement.

Molenski had told him not to hurry, and Ivan decided he would push that boundary to the limit. He felt like an excited schoolboy at the prospect of spending more time with Inga. Again his mind turned to the fantasy of taking her and escaping before the bastard got his hands on her again. 

At the bottom of the ramp, the driver swung the car right, heading towards the Limousine’s parking space. Ivan looked towards the Red Room but the basement was too dark, and his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted from the daylight.

Why were the florescent lights in the ceiling off? 

The driver switched on the headlights, illuminating the floor ahead of them. They both saw the pale shape on the floor at the same time.

“What is that?” asked the driver, leaning over the wheel. “Trash?”

“Stop the car,” Ivan ordered.

Inga fired again as the car containing Ivan was beginning its descent down the ramp. The bullet struck the door Charlie was closing just inches from his face. A splinter of hot wood flew into his eye.

“Fuck!” He clapped a hand over his wounded eye and turned, forgetting about the door, and scrambled up the stairs as fast as his wounded body would carry him.

In hunter mode, Inga heard the sound of the car engine coming down the ramp but ignored it. She crossed the last thirty yards purposefully then kicked the heavy double doors open with a crash and walked through.

Charlie, with his strength fading, had managed to struggle to the first landing but had fallen to his knees and was crawling across the marble as fast as his injury would allow. He had just placed his hand on the first step of the second flight when he heard her sweet voice.

“Target reacquired.”

Charlie sobbed.

He didn’t hear her feet upon the stairs but could sense death approaching nonetheless. He laid down and rested his cheek against the cold marble and waited. Perhaps she would think he was dead and pass by?

She didn’t pass him by. From his vantage point, he saw her come to a standstill next to him, her pale elfin like feet inches from his face. A single drop of blood stood out starkly on the top of one of them.

“Do it…” he croaked and closed his eyes as he waited for the bullet that would end his life. 

A second passed. Then another. He was still alive. He opened his eyes and barely had time to register that one of her feet had disappeared from his view, when he felt it’s soft, warm sole come to rest on the nape of his neck.

It was when she began to apply pressure that he felt her enormous strength. His life ended with a whimper and a gruesome cracking sound.

The human form robot looked down at him for a moment, then bent over and closed his eyes before continuing up the stairs into the quiet house.

Ivan didn’t waste any time. He got out and walked straight across to the object. When he saw what it was, he stopped dead in his tracks, reached into his jacket and pulled out his Beretta. He crouched and immediately began to make his way back to the car, scanning the darkened expanse of the basement as he kept the car between himself and the guards quarters.

“What is it?” called the driver, inching the car forward for a better look.

Ivan made a slashing movement across his throat, but the driver didn’t see him. He was too busy staring in horror at the severed arm, the chunky gold ring on one of its stiffened fingers glinting in the headlights.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Turn the fucking lights off!” Ivan whispered, as he reached the driver’s side window.

The driver did just that, thankful when darkness fell like a shroud over the gory sight. 

“Stay in the car. When I’m clear, drive over to the internal staircase and wait with the engine running, we may have to evacuate the boss.”

The pale driver nodded. Ivan eyed him a bit longer as though to make sure he wasn’t going to flee, then ducked again as he made his way to the wall. Keeping in the shadows, he began to move along it towards the southern end of the basement and the Red Room.

Even in the poor light, he could see that the door was open and that there was at least one shape on the floor in front of it.

So focused was he, that he didn’t even hear the driver put the car into drive and begin to move it slowly to the opposite end of the basement as he had been instructed.

Truth be told, right then, Ivan was more worried about Inga than Molenski. If they were under attack, the boss had many guards in the house, but Inga, well she had been left all alone in the Red Room and if any fucker had hurt her he would… well, he didn’t know what he would do, but the thought of someone touching her, let alone hurting her, drove him wild. 

When he was close enough, he left the wall and, with weapon in hand, jogged to the last pillar in front of the guard's room. There were three bodies that he could see; all appeared to be men.

He paused, gauging the situation and ensuring there was no movement in either of the open doorways. When he was satisfied, he rounded the pillar and headed for the open door of the guard's room.

He passed the first body. Milos. There was no need to check for a pulse. He quickly glanced into the guard’s quarters and confirmed it was empty before sidling along the wall and carefully stepping over Ray’s body.

He stopped beside the open door of the Red Room. A smeared trail of blood led from the doorway to the bloody, one-armed corpse of the new guy, whose name he couldn’t recall.

He cocked his head to peer into the Red Room. He could see nothing. There was no point delaying. Whatever had happened was now over, and he had to know what happened to Inga.

With a roar, he charged through, his gun at the ready. One shoe slipped in the blood on the floor, but he managed to keep his balance as he swung the weapon this way and that. Inga was nowhere to be seen. The sole occupant of the room was the lifeless Danny Garcia.

“What the fuck did you do?” he asked the corpse, as he lowered the gun.  

It was then he heard the muffled sound of semi-automatic gunfire. It was coming from inside the house. He ran out of the room and sprinted for the Northern end.