Tek Kill (14 page)

Gomez had the impression that somewhere in the midst of this festivity there was someone who was watching him. Someone who wasn't especially fond of him.

“
Muy loco
,” he advised himself. “Quit giving yourself the heebie-jeebies,
amigo.
”

What he had to concentrate on was his job.

He turned onto the side street he was seeking. There was less light here, less noise, and fewer people.

Just outside the entrance to the Estrella Café stood a battered, chrome-plated robot wearing a dusty Stetson hat. “Spare a few Banx chits for a bot what's fallen from grace, pard?”

“How'd you fall,
pobrecito?
” inquired the curly-haired detective, halting.

“I was once the lead singer in a prominent country and western robot band,” began the forlorn mechanism. “One fateful day—”

“Is O'Rian in there?” Gomez asked, leaning closer.

“Who wants him?”

“Sid Gomez.”

“Hold on a mite, pard.” The robot took off his hat and fiddled with the crown. A faint humming sound commenced in his metal skull and his left eye glowed yellow as he looked Gomez up and down. After thirty seconds, he said, “Go sit in Booth 13, Sid, and consult the astrologer andy there.”

“
Gracias
.” Gomez moved on and entered the Estrella.

The café was long and narrow, and the high-domed ceiling offered a view of a star-filled portion of night sky. There were fifteen booths on each side of the place. Some were devoted exclusively to dining, but more of them offered consultations with robot fortune-tellers and android astrologers.

The android in Booth 13 replicated a plump middle-aged woman. She wore a star-studded black robe and a matching turban. Inhaling sharply as Gomez slid in opposite her, she pressed both hands to her bosom. “Ah, I fear that the stars do not favor you, young man.”

“Could just be heartburn,
señora
. I want to talk to Zodiac O'Rian.”

“Close the booth,” she ordered. “I am Madame Futura.”

“Catchy name.” He touched a toggle on his side of the table and a one-way plastiglass screen slid shut around the booth. “Now, what about O'Rian?”

Madame Futura rested both hands on the tabletop and spread her fingers wide. “You are not especially popular at the moment,” she informed him. “Were Zodiac to meet with you in person it might affect his popularity as well.
¿Sabes?
”

Gomez nodded. “So I'm on the shit list in Texas, too?”

“In spades, kiddo.”

“Who put me on the list?”

The android held up a forefinger. “You can communicate with him—but keep it brief,” she said. Unzipping the front of her robe, she revealed a small viewscreen built into her chest.

A thin, compact man, his face dotted with freckles, scowled at Gomez from out of the screen. “Go back home to Greater LA, pal,” he advised. Then he winced, shifted in his chair, and gasped. “Yow!”

“You look to be suffering, Zodiac,” observed Gomez. “Is it because you're fretting over my newfound unpopularity hereabouts?”

“That, too,” replied the information dealer. “But it's primarily this new spine of mine. I had the old one replaced last month and, I got to tell you, this plyalloy one gives me more aches than the real one did.”

“
Qué triste
. Now let me ask you a few questions about—”

“There'll be a new fee system in effect, Sid.”

“
¿Sí?
”

“Firstly because I got my new spine to pay for. And secondly, certain people are going to be extremely ticked off with me if they ever find out I supplied you with info.”

“How much?”

“A thousand dollars per query answered to your satisfaction.”

“
¡Caramba!
”

“Do we deal?” asked O'Rian from the screen in Madame Futura's bosom.

Gomez nodded without much enthusiasm. “Who is it that you're afraid of, Zodiac?”

“Don't know for dead sure, Sid. But it's a team of people who don't much care for you,” answered the compact informant. “One of the big NorCal Tek cartels figures in this—and, so I am informed, a large pharmaceutical house in GLA.”

“Which cartel?”

O'Rian scratched at the tip of his freckled chin with his thumb knuckle. “It's either the one Zack Excoffon runs out of Marin County—or it might be the Wollter brothers cartel in Frisco. I'm curbing my curiosity in this instance,” he explained. “And I don't know which drug outfit, either.”

Gomez told the image on the screen, “I want to talk to Avram Moyech.”

O'Rian's freckled face took on another pained expression. “That's going to be tricky.”

“
Sí
, which is why I'm paying you these outrageous fees, Zodiac.”

“Avram, so I hear, is working on a very delicate assignment in these parts,” said the informant. “But, let us hope, I may be able to arrange a conversation between you two. It's going to cost you probably $3,000 at least.”

“How soon?”

“You're staying at the Sweetwater Ritz, right? I'll contact you there tomorrow morning.”

The screen went blank and Madame Futura closed her robe.

THE TALL BLOND ANDROID in the spotless pale yellow suit smiled. “My name is Emlyn. That's spelled E-m-1-y-n.”

“You told me your name was Alyn,” said Susan Grossman. “Spelled A-l-y-n.”

The android chuckled. “Lots of people make that mistake, Susie. Alyn and I look quite a bit alike.”

“My name is Susan,” she corrected. “Spelled S-u-s-a-n.”

“I find Susie more befitting.”

After a few seconds the thin, dark-haired girl replied, “You can call me whatever you want, Emlyn. It really doesn't matter.”

Her room, a different one from the room she occupied on her last stay at Dr. Stolzer's establishment, was on the highest of the five floors, and the one-way plastiglass ceiling showed a patch of rainy night sky. This room was larger, too, and the walls were a very pale yellow. But not exactly the same shade as Emlyn's spotless suit.

Susan was sitting on the edge of her metal-frame bed, bare feet dangling, wearing a loose-fitting green hospital gown that they'd put on her while she was unconscious.

There were three neowood chairs in the room and the handsome android was sitting in one of them, which he'd pulled over near her bed. “It might be helpful, Susie, if you tell me why you're here.”

She answered, “Because that bitch wants to get rid of me.”

“Which bitch would this be?”

“The one who had me committed to this shithole.”

The android said, “I think you're mistaken about Mrs. Stackpoole's motives,” he told her. “She has your best interests at heart, as does your father and—”

“You have the same exact voice as Alyn, too,” she pointed out, shaking her head. “Production-line andies. You'd expect a quack like Stolzer to buy top-of-the-line equipment. Considering the prices he charges.”

“You're a very hostile young lady.”

“Being kidnapped brings out the worst in me.”

“You were admitted here at the request of your father.”

“And against my will.”

Emlyn told her, “That's standard procedure with anyone who's incompetent to make her own rational decisions.”

“I want to leave this place now, Emlyn. Will you please allow me to contact my attorney and—”

“You have to
earn
phone privileges, Susie.” The blond android crossed his legs, studying her for a few seconds. “Let's talk about some of these delusions you've been suffering from lately.”

“I haven't.”

“I refer to your strange notion that you saw your late brother being killed.”

Susan swung her legs up on the bed and then moved to its other side. “How do you know anything about that?”

Emlyn chuckled again. “The important thing, Susie, is what
you
know,” he said. “Will you tell me, please?”

“No, it's no concern of yours or the doctor. I'm not going to tell you a damned thing.”

He left his chair, lunged, and reached across the bed. He caught her bare arm and his touch was chill. “On the contrary,” he assured her.

24

HALTING in the doorway of Bascom's bedroom and clearing his throat, the android valet said, “There seems to be a young woman outside who has our house staked out. She's been there for near to a quarter hour.”

The Cosmos chief was just finishing packing the one suitcase he was taking. “And you're just telling me now, Ambrose?”

Rubbing at his temple, the android said, “I'm not one to complain, but I must admit that since my return from the repair shop my mental prowess doesn't seem as tiptop as formerly.”

“I'll go take a look. Where is she?” Bascom flipped the case shut.

Ambrose pointed to his left. “On the beach, sitting on a plyoblanket.”

Handing the mechanical valet his suitcase, Bascom said, “Stow that in the car. We've got to leave for Skyport by ten A.M.”

He slid his stungun out of his shoulder holster and headed downstairs.

From behind the one-way viewindow in the living room he studied the hazy morning beach. “Christ in concrete,” he observed, recognizing the slender blond young woman.

Activating the sliding door, Bascom stepped out onto the patio. He kept his gun in his hand but at his side, as he stepped onto the yellow sand. Overhead, high up, gulls circled and squawked.

“I know how you feel.” He scowled up into the morning.

“How are you?” asked Kacey, standing up.

“As well as can be expected,” answered her father. “Why are you squatting out here?”

“Oh, just keeping an eye on things,” she said. “And I was going to pay you a visit eventually.”

After he thrust his stungun away, he touched her arm. “I appreciate your concern, Kacey, but I don't need a bodyguard.”

“Oh, so? Seems to me that on your own you've managed to get into a substantial mess. If people like me don't take an—”

“Weren't you supposed to be annoying—I mean, working with Jake Cardigan?”

She gave an annoyed head shake. “He seems to have ditched me.”

“I'm sure he wouldn't do that, no. He told me he was content with having you as a part-time partner and that—”

“Jake Cardigan has never been content about anything in his whole and entire damned life,” said Bascom's daughter. “And having me annoying him and, in his pigheaded opinion, futzing up his investigation isn't likely to cheer him up. Still, I didn't think he'd run out on me completely.”

“Oh, he's probably just following up a lead and forgot to let you know.” He patted his daughter on the arm.

“And what are you up to, Father? You look, by the way, awfully dejected and downcast.”

“Being arrested for murder can have that effect,” he explained. “I'm going up to Frisco to nose around.”

“Taking your skycar?”

“Nope, using a skyshuttle. Fact is, Ambrose is going to fly me over to the Skyport any minute now. Otherwise, Kacey, I'd enjoy standing out here knee deep in sand and discussing the whole—”

“I'll fly you up to NorCal,” she offered. “I happen to be, as I tried to persuade Jake, a damn good investigator. I'd like very much to work with you—and I can look after you, too, so that—”

“No, that wouldn't be fair, Kacey,” he cut in as he started back toward his house. “Jake would never forgive me if I split you two up.”

“But,” she reminded, following him, “I can't locate him.”

Bascom stopped and gazed thoughtfully out at the calm morning Pacific. “Maybe I can help you locate him,” he said.

FROM HIS IMMENSE top-floor office in the NewTown Pharmaceutical Corporation Building Rowland Burdon could see almost all of NewTown. He found its uniformity depressing this morning and turned away from the viewindow.

“Well?” he said to his computer terminal.

“Still no luck,” replied the voxbox.

Rowland crossed to his desk and picked up one of the working models of NPC's newest MoodGun. Rolling up his coat sleeve and then his shirt sleeve, he touched the barrel to his tanned flesh.

The computer said, “Is that wise? After all, Mr. Burdon, that's only a rough approximation of the final product and there are possibly still some bugs in—”

“Shut the hell up,” suggested Rowland, “and concentrate on locating my goddamn wayward sister.”

“Very well. I was merely—”

“Shut up. Don't say a frigging word until you have some news about Rebecca's whereabouts.”

“As you wish.”

Rowland studied the mood-choice dial on the gun's stock. “Happiness, joy, euphoria,” he muttered, reading the list. “I don't think I can handle euphoria today. No, we'll settle for just plain happy.”

After setting the dial, he touched the tip of the barrel to his arm again and squeezed the trigger. A tiny needle came jabbing out. It dug into his flesh and delivered a shot of mood-altering drug into his system. The spot where the needle entered felt cold for nearly a minute.

Rowland replaced the MoodGun on his desktop. “Well, where the hell is Becky?”

“She's not at home, or—”

“Hey, I don't give a shit where she
isn't
. Tell me where she
is
.”

The computer replied, “Thus far I've been unable to locate her.”

“What about those tailing bugs I had planted in all her skycars and landcars?”

“None are operating. Obviously they've all been disabled.”

Rowland rubbed at the needle mark, then rolled down his sleeves. “She must be sneaking off someplace,” he said. “Did she take anything with her? Luggage, clothes and the like?”

“I'll check with the household computers,” said the computer. “Yes, your sister seems to have taken two small sinleather bags from the bedroom of her beach house in the Laguna Sector. Plus—let me double-check this. Yes, three light summer outfits.”