F Paul Wilson - Sims 05 (8 page)

 
          
“He’s
not. He’ll go with the best idea, no matter who comes up with it. But he wasn’t
budging on this.”

 
          
“Must have his reasons.”

 
          
“I’m
sure he does. And after last night, I’m more than willing to defer to his judgment.”
She caught Patrick rolling his eyes. “What?”

 
          
“Nothing.”

 
          
“No,
tell me.”

 
          
“I
thought you were going to start gushing again.”

 
          
“Gush?”
She felt a sting of embarrassment, knew what he was
talking about, but couldn’t bring
herself
to admit it.
“About what?
I don’t gush about anything.”

 
          
“You
do about Zero. You haven’t been able to stop yakking about last night.”

 
          
Was
it that obvious? She’d been so taken by Zero’s aplomb in handling their
pursuers—was still impressed, couldn’t stop thinking about it. He could have
got those two cars off their tail by pulling out a bazooka and blowing them
both to smithereens.
Effective but…lacking something.
Instead he’d operated like a skilled surgeon, not cutting too deep or too long,
inflicting no more damage than necessary to get the job done. And she loved
that.

 
          
Now
more than ever she felt she had to know who Zero was. She needed to see the
face, look into the eyes of this man who did what he did, not just last night,
but every day of his life. That was the man for her.

 
          
She
looked at Patrick. Another good man, who managed to surprise her time and
again
. But he wasn’t Zero. There was no one else in the
world like Zero.

 
          
“Sorry
if I’ve been boring you,” she said. “But if you could have seen—”

 
          
A growl from Kek, squatting in the darkness behind them.
Patrick held up his hand for silence and cocked his head toward the van’s
oversized side view mirror.

 
          
“Oh,
shit. We’ve got trouble!”

 
          
Romy
tensed and reached into her bag for her pistol. “Like what?”

 
          
“Like
a late model Impala coming this way, looking like it’s got no particular place
to go.”

 
          
She
looked down the alley. No sign of Zero and Tome returning yet. Good.

 
          
“Duck
down. Maybe they’ll just drive by if it looks empty.”

 
          
“Too late.
I’m sure they spotted me in my side mirror.”

 
          
“All
right then,” she said, her thoughts accelerating. “Let’s pretend we’re having a
fight.” She raised her voice and gestured angrily.
“You
worthless lump of protoplasm!
What good are you? Tell me that! What good
are you?”

 
          
“Protoplasm?”
Patrick said.

 
          
“The
window’s closed,” she told him. “Doesn’t matter what we say; they won’t be able
to make out the words anyway, but we’ve got to look like we’re going at it.”

 
          
“Yeah?”
Patrick cried, getting into it. “Is that what you
think of me?
Protoplasm?
Hey, you’re nothing but a…a…”
He lowered his voice. “What’s lower than protoplasm?”

 
          
“I
don’t know,” she whispered as she shrugged. “Try mitochondria.”

 
          
“Right!”
he shouted, shaking his fist in the air between them. “That’s what you are!
A mitochondria
!
Just a lousy, no-good,
two-bit mitochondria!”

 
          
The
Impala slowed as it passed, and Romy saw the passenger’s pale face turned their
way, his flat gray eyes staring into the van’s cab, past Patrick’s turned back,
at her face. She hoped she looked angry enough.

 
          
Romy
slammed the dashboard with her fist.
“Isn’t that typical!
You don’t even know the word! The singular is
mitochondrion ,
you moron!”

 
          
The
Chevy pulled ahead and looked like it was moving on, but then it stopped.

 
          
Kek
let out another growl. Romy glanced back and noticed the mandrilla’s snout had
turned a bright red.

 
          
“Easy,
Kek,” Romy cooed. “Just stay put.”

 
          
But
as the Impala’s passenger door swung open, so did one of the van’s rear doors.

 
          
“Stay,
Kek!” Patrick said. “I can talk us out of—” The rear door closed softly.
“What’s he going to do?”

 
          
“Nothing!”
Romy shouted, motioning to him to keep up the
faux fight. “Not unless he has to! And if we play this right, he won’t have
to!”

 
          
Patrick
matched her volume.
“How, goddamnit?”

 
          
The
passenger, a fortyish redhead wearing a wrinkled green sport coat and a wary
expression, was almost to Patrick’s door.

 
          
Romy
cried, “When he comes to the window—which will be in about two seconds—act
pissed. We’re having a private argument here and he’s butting in. Can you get
into that?”

 
          
“Yeah!”
Patrick gritted his teeth and leaned closer. “I can
get into that! I can get into it better’n you, you worthless
mito
—” He jumped at the tap on the driver
window, turned, and rolled it down an inch. “Who the hell are you?”

 
          
The
man’s lips turned up at the corners in a poor imitation of a friendly smile.
“Hi, we’re a neighborhood patrol, just keeping an eye out for trouble and—”

 
          
“Yeah,
well so what?” Romy said, leaning over Patrick’s shoulder and projecting Raging
Romy-scale belligerence. “Who needs you? Go patrol some other neighborhood.
This one’s fine!”

 
          
She
noticed how the man’s eyes were fixed on Patrick, barely flicking her way
during her outburst.

 
          
“Yeah!”
Patrick said. “This one’s fine!”

 
          
Suddenly
the guy’s hand darted into his coat and came out with a big pistol, a cousin to
the HK in Romy’s bag, which she didn’t dare reach for now.

 
          
“Hold
it!” he said, grinning at Patrick. His Adam’s apple was bobbing wildly. “I know
you. You’re that sim lawyer. We’ve been looking for you. Turn off the engine.”

 
          
His
expression tight, grave, Patrick glanced at Romy and obeyed.

 
          
“Hold
real still now.” Without turning his head the man called to the Impala.
“Yo, Snyder!
Come see what we hooked!”

 
          
The
Chevy’s driver door opened and a taller, beefier man stepped out. He had a
small white bandage taped across his swollen nose.

 
          
“Well,
well,” he said as he reached the van and looked inside.
“If
it isn’t Sullivan and Cadman.”

 
          
Romy
knew she shouldn’t be surprised that he knew her name, but the way he said it,
the sound of it on his lips, jolted her.

 
          
“
What’s in the back there, folks
?” Snyder said, grinning. “A
ski mask, maybe?
And a supply of paint balloons?
Mind
if we take a—”

 
          
What
happened next was a blur: Two furry hands
appeared,
one to the left of Snyder’s head, one to the right of the redhead’s, and then
those heads slammed together with a sickening crunch! Both men’s mouths dropped
into shocked ovals as their eyes rolled up under their lids.

 
          
“Jesus!”
Patrick said.

 
          
Then
the furry hands smashed the heads together again, and this time the sound was
wetter, softer. Blood spurted from the redhead’s nose, splattering Patrick’s
window.

 
          
“Christ,
Romy! Make him stop! He’s going to kill them!”

 
          
“Too
late for that,” she said, feeling the cold touch of Raging Romy’s secret
delight.
“Kek!
Put them back in the car. Quick!”

 
          
“I
know that sound,” Patrick said dully. “I heard it the night we were run off the
Saw Mill. I—”

 
          
She
grabbed Patrick’s arm. “We’ve got to move! They may have a call-in schedule,
and if they miss it—”

 
          
“Yeah,
yeah,” he said, looking dazed and maybe a little sick.
“Got
to move, but…Jesus.”

 
          
She
noticed Kek dragging the two bodies back to the car and tossing them through
the open driver door like sacks of wheat. She rolled down her window and leaned
out.

 
          
“Kek!
No, sit them up! Sit
themup !”

 
          
The
mandrilla looked at her, then nodded and followed her instructions.

 
          
She
turned back to Patrick. “We’ve got to find Zero and get out of here!”

 
          
“Don’t
forget Tome.” Patrick seemed to be recovering from his shock.
“And what about Meerm?”

 
          
“I
don’t know about Meerm. She might not even be in
Newark
any longer. But I know what these people
will do to Zero if they find him.”

 
          
Patrick
nodded.
“Right.”

 
          
Romy
heard the van’s rear door slam, looked around and saw Kek returning to his
standby squat. She glanced at the Chevy and saw two upright silhouettes in its
front seat.

 
          
“Stay
here, Kek,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

 
          
The
mandrilla made no sign that he’d heard, but she knew he had.

 
          
“We’ll
be right back,” Patrick said. He cut her off as she opened her mouth to tell
him she’d go alone. “We do this together.”

 
          
Romy
sensed arguing wasn’t going to work so she nodded and motioned him to follow
her. She moved off at a trot, heard his sloshing footsteps close behind.

 
          
Down the alley…nothing.
Into the
courtyard…nothing.
Down a second alley…noth—

 
          
Wait.
Voices to her left.
Where?
From that
opening.
Tome’s voice.
Without hesitation she
ducked and entered in a crouch. She heard Patrick puffing behind her. Ahead she
could see that the tunnel opened into a vacant lot. And there, across the lot,
Zero and Tome crouched before an open metal door, talking to no one, or at
least no one she could see.

 
          
“Wait,”
Patrick whispered. “Don’t go out there.
Looks like they found
her.
Two more humans will only spook her.”

 
          
“She’ll
be spooked a lot worse if more of Portero’s goons show up. They’d better talk
her out of there soon or all this will be for nothing. We’ll give them a couple
more minutes,
then
we’ve got to get out of here.”