Shadowrun 01 - Never Deal With A Dragon (46 page)

"Ah, yeah. Six is fine."

"Very good, then. You will see Mr. Enterich."

"But you don't know where I am."

"Mr. Enterich already has the information, sir, and I am sure he can provide a satisfactory response to any complaint you may have. Anything else, sir?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then have a good day, Mr. Verner." She broke the connection before she burst out laughing. She did enjoy it when the marks had no idea what was going on. Controlling her mirth, she opened a line to Lofwyr. The golden-scaled head appeared on the screen, and the Dragon fixed her with a stare. "Verner has reported, Lord. He will meet Mr. Enterich on the Drake matter at six, Seattle time."

The Dragon stayed on only long enough to pronounce the result, "
Satisfactory
."

Crenshaw nodded and Ridley kicked the door. The frame splintered and a section tore away, taking the lock plate, still fiercely resisting, with it. The door swung open to reveal a room screened from the afternoon sun by heavy drapes. Illumination came from a pair of red bulbs sitting baldly in cheap floor lamps supposed to look like candle scones.

Startled, a naked fat man scrambled up from the bed. His companion, a petite Asian woman, stayed where she was, wide-eyed in surprise and just as unclothed. She had no choice; she was tied spread-eagled to the bedposts.

Crenshaw let Ridley and Markowitz precede her into the room. The detective stopped just clear of the door, but the razorguy stalked in, catching the naked man as he lunged for his clothes.

"Now, now, John," Ridley said, grabbing the man by his hair and hauling his head back. The razorguy smiled as the man sagged in his grip, yelling in pain. "You shouldn't leave before we get acquainted."

Ridley pulled the John upright again and pumped two quick punches into his abdomen. The man doubled over, choking and starting to vomit. Ridley twisted the man's hair, forcing the John to spew away from him. When the man had retched himself dry, Ridley shoved him at the door. The man stumbled toward it, arms folded over his middle.

"Want these?" Ridley taunted, holding up the man's abandoned clothes. His laughter echoed in the hall as the man fled. "Oh, yeah. A real man."

"You didn't have to do that," Markowitz said.

"Oh, no?" Ridley gave him an innocent look. "You did the dossier, Marky. You know how tough he gets. With women, anyway. Maybe he'd have tried to take us all on. I mean, he could have hurt A.C. I was just taking a little precautionary measure."

"You're sick, Ridley," Markowitz said.

"Leastways I don't have to tie them down to get a girl. What about you, Marky? Ever manage it without a few straps?"

"Dump it, you two. We're here on business." Crenshaw turned to the woman on the bed. "We came to talk to you, Candy."

Candy stretched her neck, trying to reach the strap release with her teeth, but Crenshaw slapped her cheek and pulled the release out of reach.

"Not just yet, dear."

"I got nothing to say to you." Candy's eyes burned with hate, but she held still. "You guys just cost me 500 nuyen, and if you don't buzz now, Alfie's gonna set his stompers on your tails."

"Let him try, babe." Ridley held up his forearms and cocked his wrists inward. Nine centimeters of chromium steel blade snapped out from imbedded sheaths, glistening in the red light. "I eat stompers for breakfast, then go out for a real meal."

Crenshaw sat on the edge of the bed. "You see, Candy. In his crude way, my associate has expressed a truth. We have no need to fear your friend Alfie's bullies, as we are quite capable of protecting ourselves. You, on the other hand, have no one to protect you from us. You won't need , though, if you'll just tell us what we want to know."

Candy set her jaw and turned her head away.

"We know that you've been seeing a corporate manager by the name of Konrad Hutten."

No reaction.

"We also know you work for Congenial Companions, who arranged your liaisons with Hutten. Who's your boss, Candy?"

"Go check the Hall of Records."

Crenshaw nodded to Ridley. He moved to the side of the bed where Candy could see him. Crouching, he brushed a blade down her cheek. Blood welled up in the shallow furrow it made.

"Reconsider, babe, or you're going to lose something near and dear to you."

"Sit on your spur."

"Bad answer, babe," Ridley's arm flashed down, slicing his spur through the girl's wrist. Her hand fell to the floor and was spattered with the blood pumping from her wrist. She started to scream.

"Ridley!" Markowitz leaped forward, only to be stopped short by a bloody blade whose point was less than a centimeter from his right eye.

"It's biz, chummer. You want your own taste?" Ridley said through clenched teeth.

Crenshaw ignored them and spoke to the girl. "You're going to bleed to death unless you tell me what I want to know. Now, who do you work for?"

"You won't let me die?" Candy's voice quavered. She was already going into shock.

"Of course not, dear. Who do you work for?"

"Help me first," she pleaded.

"No, dear. You have to talk first."

Candy began to cry, her breathing irregular and ragged. "The Elf bitch," she moaned. "Calls herself Hart."

"Now that's a name I have heard before. You should have spoken up sooner, Candy. There was no need for you to get hurt." Crenshaw stood up. "Markowitz, tie off her arm, then call a Doc Wagon."

Markowitz gave Ridley one last glare and stepped around the razorguy to reach the bed. With swift motions, he freed the vacant restraining strap and applied it to Candy's arm as a tourniquet. By the time he was done, she had fainted.

"You didn't have to maim her," he said.

"Null the static, Marky." Ridley tapped the flat of one spur against his chrome arm. "Her kind's always got credit socked away. She can buy the tech. They can make her faster, stronger, better!"

Ridley's wild laughter made Crenshaw's stomach go sour. The man was over the edge and would have to be watched. If it came to it, she could send him against Hart. He probably couldn't take the Elf, but it would get him out of Crenshaw's hair for good.

The street corner was like a hundred others in the metroplex this time of day. Hurrying by were corporate daywagers, salarymen, and office ladies, all trying to make it home before the city's nightlife took over the streets. Or else heading that way to ready themselves to join it. Already the first wave of night breeds was out. Chippers, chemguzzlers, and jackheads were panhandling for their next fixes while rockerfans, glitzqueens, and underage wannabees hustled off to the next scene-or-be-scene. The only thing that made this corner unique was the ebony Mitsubishi Nightsky rolling slowly to a stop by the curb.

The doors on the curbside of the limousine opened. A burly Ork rolled out of one to stand stern and vigilant sentry. The gray livery she wore was tailored to enhance her already considerable presence. Through the open door, Sam could see that the driver wore a similar uniform; he was also an Ork.

The back door gaped on a cool, dark interior. A woman who he recognized as Lofwyr's secretary sat in a bucket jumpseat that backed against the partition separating the sybaritic rear compartment from the control center of the front. Across from her sat a man whose face was unfamiliar. The man, so relaxed he could only be the rightful owner of the vehicle, was slim and well-dressed. Fiftyish and distinguished, he wore his gray hair trimmed in a slightly old-fashioned cut. When he smiled, a glint of gold showed among his teeth.

"Please get in, Mr. Verner," the man said. "The sidewalk is no place to transact business."

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, a signal to Ghost that the contact had arrived. He heard the sound of the Indian's motorcycle starting, but the noise of traffic quickly swallowed the sound. Ghost was ready to follow him, for they'd anticipated the possibility. "I guess that will be all right."

Sam ducked his head and slid into the Nightsky, then sank into the luxurious leather seat. Without a touch, the door closed silently, and the view outside the window began to move. Sam had not felt the Ork return to her seat or the car begin to roll. He turned to his host. "You are Mr. . . ."

"Enterich." He held out a hand.

Sam started to extend his own, then froze, staring at the silver ring the man wore. It was sculpted in the form of a Dragon. Haesslich had worn a silver Dragon ring when appearing as Mr. Drake.

"You are admiring my ring. An exquisite piece of work, is it not? It is a family heirloom that dates, I believe, from the fourteenth century. The image is something of a pun. You see, I had rather ambitious forebears. They thought the image of a firedrake was a better insignia for an up-and-coming family than a feathered pond paddler."

"I don't get it."

"A drake, Mr. Verner." Sam must still have looked perplexed, for his host added, "The firedrake was sometimes called simply a drake. In German, Enterich means drake . . . as in a male duck."

Sam gave a nervous chuckle.

"Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Verner?"

"Never used to."

"Which implies that you do now."

Sam wasn't really sure anymore, but what was it to this fellow? "Why do you ask?"

"You seemed to react so strongly to my ring. Perhaps you might have taken my ring or name as a sign. Many people have such beliefs these days. Part of the revival of things magical, I suppose."

"No," Sam said. "I didn't take it as a sign of anything."
Except that you might be a Dragon yourself
.

"Ah, then it's a pleasure to deal with a rational man. I'm sure that will make everything so much easier. Now, perhaps we can discuss your complaint regarding Lofwyr?"

"Before we get down to that, will you permit me to phone my associates to let them know all is well?. They weren't expecting me to be picked up."

"I understand, Mr. Verner. Karen, place a call for our guest."

"Ah, I've got my own, thanks," Sam said, tapping his head.

Enterich seemed amused. "I see. Karen, lower the communications barrier, please. Mr. Verner will make his own call."

Sam settled back, rocking his head forward onto his chest, the position he had seen regular head-phone users adopt. He closed his eyes as though concentrating on sending the commands to dial. Instead, he focused on breaking through to astral space.

The transition came quickly, and he opened his astral eyes to look at Mr. Enterich, who surprised Sam by still appearing as a man. When Sam turned to Karen, he saw the furry being whom he had known as Jacqueline the Sasquatch. So his vision hadn't failed, and he could still pierce illusions. As a precaution, he checked the Orks in the front seat. They were just Orks, though heavily implanted with cyberware. Abandoning his pose of making a call, he returned to the mundane. "All taken care of," he said.

His host's smile was warm. "Fine. Now, back to your concern about Lofwyr's dealings with you?"

"You've already expressed some of it."

It was Enterich's turn to look puzzled. "Which is?"

"That Lofwyr knew Drake was Haesslich. You've said as much, and
I
never told you."

"That was not intended as duplicity, Mr. Verner. Lofwyr did suggest that all was not as it seemed with Mr. Drake. Allowing you to discover that fact for yourself and to demonstrate continued determination to proceed assured the Dragon that your effort was worthy of his support."

"Then what does he plan to do?"

"Lofwyr leaves the planning to you. His own involvement in this matter is not politic."

"So he expects me to tackle Haesslich on my own?" Sam was incredulous. What did a Dragon think a Human could do if the Dragon himself was afraid to get involved?

"No need for distress, Mr. Verner. I can safely say that Lofwyr does not expect you to tackle Haesslich directly or without support. When you have made your plans, contact me. If your scheme shows a reasonable chance of success, we can arrange certain resources to aid in the effort. Discreetly, of course."

"What kind of resources?"

"Supplies, equipment, and cash are the easiest to obtain, as long as your needs are within reasonable bounds. Additional, nonspecialist personnel might also be arranged. In the meantime, please accept the services of my aide Karen Montejac as a liaison and advisor."

Sam looked at the woman he knew to be a Sasquatch and a magician. Did she know that he knew? "Mind if I call you Jaq?"

"I'd find it charming," she said, smiling cheerfully.

"Jenny?"

"Right here, boss." The decker's response came from Hart's terminal.

"Any word on Candy?"

"Nothing new. She's still sedated and we haven't yet matched anybody to the descriptions of her assailants. Good thing she's got replacement coverage on her insurance policy."

"I wouldn't send any couriers to that thing without it after what it did to the first girl. Candy will be fine in a couple months."

"Hey, boss, you think they hit her because she was a courier?"

"That's been worrying me. She's the only one who's been to the arcology twice."

"She was a busy girl before you took her on," Jenny said. "Maybe it was something personal."

"Let's hope so. Keep looking."

"Affirmative."

Hart went back to studying the files Major Fuhito had supplied on known runners. They offered slim hope, but she kept looking for any clue that would lead her to Verner through his associates. No one walked the shadows alone; but how could there be so little on the one name they had? This Dodger was almost like a shadow, but any decker as good as his file indicated would be elusive. She had just finished reading it for the tenth time when Jenny interrupted.

"Boss, I don't think the attack on Candy was personal. Alfie's got company downstairs."

"What kind of company?"

"Woman calling herself Alice Crenshaw insists on seeing you."

"Crenshaw? Renraku security?"

"How many can there be?"

"And she wants to see the owner, right?"

"Not like that, boss. She asked for you by name."