Virtually True (17 page)

“Dead?”

“If only those sad fucks had been so lucky.”

“Where’d you hear this?”

“Grapevine, gossip teleshows—you know, like
Celebrity Stalker
, and there was another piece on
Weekly Global Newsmaker
. You know what shit those raggy shows are. We’ll access the stories when we get back to my apartment. The legit press would have nothing to do with them.”

“They afraid?”

“That—and the story was impossible to substantiate. Run a piece like that without at least double confirmation, you’re not just looking at a mega-lawsuit, you’re looking at corp torpedo hits on your network. Global Fortune boycotts. Even the big media outlets wilt when faced with lost ad rev. Producers undoubtedly asked themselves, Who needs that shit?”

True looks back over. “Who’s the last guy? He looks harmless.”

“Kodera. Came up the hard way. Ex-yakuza.”

“Is there such thing as ex-yakuza?”

“Usually no. In his case: possibly. He was part of the Yamakita gang—started out as a kid money runner, depositing pachinko parlor profits. Apparently he was a natural computer stud. Showed gang members how to steal without leaving their homes. One of the gang’s lieutenants recruited him and they made a play for control of the gang’s finances. When the boss found out, war broke out. But no one could believe a kid could have been the culprit. The lieutenant was never found—Kodera turned him in, then covered his tracks. He covered them so well, the boss rewarded him for his loyalty. Two years later, Kodera wrestled away full control. Been on top ever since. Publicly he leads the political fight against them, too. Most yakuza hate him but can’t touch him. They know if they attack his holdings, he’ll sabotage their computer systems and bankrupt them. He’s done it before.”

“Isn’t he worried about getting blown away here?”

“Not here. Never here. The whole place is rigged for surveillance. It’s an agreed-upon neutral territory. Come near the place armed, you get smoked. They have missile defense systems, anti-aircraft, a force field, lasers, the place is a fucking fortified bunker.”

“A fortified karaoke bar.”

“You’re safer here than practically anywhere else in the country.”

“Unless Rush’s killers are playing mahjongg.”

Reiner pushes a button and the 3-D geisha flickers before them. “Thought we might splurge on the deluxe service. The easy-to-read menu bores me.”

“
Konbanwa
.” The image bows.

True reaches for his wrist-top translator but the virtua-geisha, recognizing English, says, “Good evening, sir. Would you care for a drink? We are proud to present the most extensive bar in Japan.”

“Sake, please. Atsukan.”

“We Japanese have a variety of different types of Japanese traditional rice wines. Perhaps I can recommend a dry, light rice wine. Many of our foreign guests find it most satisfying.”

“You see? That’s not an option with the literacy-impaired menu.” Reiner elbows True with a smile.

“I’ll take your recommendation.”

“Ditto,” Reiner says.

The plug is pulled; the virtua-geisha turns to static.

True pushes his hand into the TV snow. “Why are the holograms cutting out?”

“The yakuza might have access to power when others don’t, but that doesn’t mean everything works. You saw how it is outside.”

“Aren’t you worried about being bugged? If this place is so sophisticated, how can we talk? I mean, I’m so careful I type instead of verbalizing commands to my home computer. You know there’s technology that can pick up conversations from thousands of miles away.”

“There are two results of everyone being equally vulnerable. Prison, or labor camps, for example, where everybody’s belongings are accessible to everybody else. What happens there is that usually the meanest, toughest, ball-breakingest motherfucker wins. On a ship, however, where there’s a modicum of discipline, theft is almost unheard of—and for that same reason. Everyone is equally vulnerable.”

“You’re saying since everyone is equally vulnerable, no one would dream of bugging anyone else?”

“Yup.”

True stays pat at skeptical, reminds himself to watch what he says. He’s about to pick up his sake vial when Reiner stops him. He thinks he feels her thumb trace a light circle on the crook of his thumb. Continents away from the screaming fight on the expressway.

“Now that you’re here and going to stay a while, I hope, it’s time you learned a little about Japanese etiquette.” Pulls her hand away. “Pour your friend’s drink first, then your own. It forces you to be aware of the needs of whomever you’re with.”

“Now you’re concerned with my needs. Before you almost pounded me into roadkill.”

The moment the song ends so do a thousand conversations at once. People look around, don’t want to be the ones to break the spell. Then a virtua-geisha takes an order and the din rolls on. Like there was a glitch, a tear in the psychosocial behavioral matrix.

True swears Reiner’s appearance is changing; she’s softer, warmer. His own feelings toward her are metamorphosing as well. He may have been wrong.

“I fucked up, True. I was expecting an awesome journo. I know what you’ve accomplished in your life. But when I could trace you so easily, I said, ‘Who the fuck is this guy? He’s shit.’ I’m beginning to see I was wrong.”

Something not right, though. True’s guard’s still up.

She continues. “I know I can be a real solid platinum circuit-buster sometimes. I’m sorry. OK? Happy? So let me help. Tell me what you know of Rush’s death.”

“What do you get?”

“To be on the inside of a fucking juicy story.”

True picks up his sake. “Ouch!” He drops the vial on the table, dribbles a few drops.

“Traditional sake cups. And tradition can be a real killer.”

True sticks his thumb in his mouth. Cools the sting. “Not much to tell. I went to Rush’s apartment, cut my hand, then left. Then the place blew.”

“So
you
were the target.”

True doesn’t think it necessary to tell Reiner about the blood hologram, a vision he’d just as soon forget. “The missile must have keyed in on the DNA in my blood. Rush got in the way.”

“Why’d you cut your hand?”

“You make it sound like it wasn’t an accident.”

“Rush dying instead of you is an accident. Unless you purposely left your DNA lying around.”

“Why would I do that? Because he was sending me back to New York and I was pissed off? I didn’t even know before I got there.”

“What a coincidence.”

“You said you don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Why were you axed?”

“For doing my job.”

“Knowing Rush, if you really were doing your job, he would be anxious to get rid of you. He was not one to thrive on trouble.”

“Unlike you.”

“Unlike us. What were you on to?”

True shrugs. Uneasiness.

She clones his shrug. “Who’s Aslam Aziz?”

The sake coats True’s throat in dazzling lights. Aslam’s murder made it on the local newscast, so he’s not surprised. “What do you know about Aslam?”

“That he was killed and that you were with him when it happened. I know it was a genetic-coded missile that did him in. Coincidently—there’s that word again—the same kind of weapon that nuked our boy Rush.”

“You talked to Rush.”

“A couple hours before he died.”

“You saw Bong Bong’s interview?”

“Rush ran it for me.”

“And…?”

“…and said you couldn’t be trusted.”

“He told me you’d rather I came over here to work with you.”

“He felt threatened by you. And here you are.”

True glimpses Reiner holding her hands in a teepee. Out of the corner of his eye: the bass player, charred wood skin and haloing afro, answering her.

Back to Reiner, who’s sipping sake. “I’m going to order a beer chaser—you want one?”

“Sure.”

She pulls up the virtua-geisha and orders. “All I want is the chance to help, True. I want to get in on the scoop. We split the glory. You need me.”

“I
don’t
need you.”

“You
do
need me. And you know what? I should be the one who’s bug-eyed and shit. Your last partner ended up Jackson Pollocking a condo wall. Your friend, Mr. Aziz, fell apart after meeting with you. So, like, what’s your fucking problem?”

True weighs what he knows, accesses his intuition, but gets no read. “Let me think about it. If I think we can biz, I’ll fill you in. On an NTK basis.”

“On a need-to-know basis. Agreed.”

The band breaks. The bass player is making his way toward True’s table, with Sato at the mahjongg table tracking his strides. When Sato notices True, he turns away. The bassist becomes more familiar, and a few meters away, True places him.

Reiner doesn’t stand. Instead she yawns and stretches in her chair. “I have someone for you to meet. He’ll be working closely with us. His name’s Odessa. My hacker.”

Odessa pulls a lanky, insolent leg over a chair and squats. “What the fuck? I know you.” Odessa grasps True’s thumb with his hand, saws back and forth. “Finally get to hang in real-time. Last time I saw you, you were doing time in some cracker’s bullshit.”

“You’ve met?” Reiner’s turn to be surprised.

“Not officially.” True wonders why he didn’t recognize Odessa immediately. “Awesome spell you pulled.”

Reiner brushes hair from her eyes. “Another coincidence? You encounter a lot of them, True.”

“It’s a talent.”

“Yo, sorry about that. It was fucking immature. Though that shit was funny, watching you varoom around inside that corrupt pol’s speeches. But I found out it’s better to keep a low profile in this biz.”

The beer arrives, in a frosty mug gilded with liquid crystal ads.
Taste The Rising Sun
, it says. Odessa slides it away from Reiner, toward himself. Sculls a half-mug’s worth, which leaves a hops and barley moustache. Reiner shrugs. Orders another.

“What’s he here for?” Odessa asks Reiner.

“Same as you.”

“Saint Fu, man!”

Slang new to True. “What?”

“Means shut the fuck up. Who you running from?”

True’s eyebrows move almost imperceptibly.

“She-e-et. The world’s best hacker and a fucking idiot savant cyberoid both end up in this glitter hell. If the shit wasn’t so tragic, it’d be fucking funny.” Odessa lowers his voice. “I hacked the wrong motherfuckers. Leave it at that. You?”

“Similar.” Odessa could be a major asset. True hopes when it comes time to go data shoplifting—and that time, he knows, fast approaches—Odessa will be the one to go. A game of one-upsmanship True’s happy to lose.

“Safe here for a while, until computer systems are back on line. Then trouble may come in many forms.”