"I have no idea if the Conglomeration has anything even remotely resembling a digestive tract," I said, "but one way or another, I'll bet it's in for a serious case of heartburn after that."
Devona smiled at me and I took her hand. To Lazlo, I said, "Can your cab make it to Nosferatomes or should we get out and walk?"
Lazlo patted the dash. "What do you say, sweetie? Can you do a few more blocks before taking a rest?"
The vehicle gave a weak bleat on its horn in response.
"That's my girl!" Lazlo said.
I almost felt like patting the back seat in thanks, but I resisted. After all, I have a reputation as a tough guy to maintain.
As soon as he could Lazlo turned off onto a side street to get away from the Conglomeration and we continued on our way, the cab driving slowly but steadily toward Nosferatomes.
We had Lazlo drop us off a block away from the bookstore, just in case anyone was lying in wait for us outside. Lazlo wanted to stay but once Devona and I were out of the cab we could see how extensive the damage caused by Carnage was. The cab's chassis was riddled with bullet holes that leaked an oily brown ichor as if the vehicle was bleeding. I supposed in a sense it was. The engine was still running but it sounded weak and it knocked and pinged in a way that suggested it was on the verge of collapse.
"Better get her to a mechanic," I told Lazlo. "Devona and I will be fine on our own." I knew no such thing, of course, but I couldn't allow Lazlo to continue helping us, not if it was going to cost his cab whatever version of life it possessed.
Lazlo was torn and it took a bit more convincing on my part, but in the end he agreed.
"Well, if you say so. She is sounding kind of punky. You two take care of yourselves, all right?"
We promised we would and Lazlo put his cab in gear and drove slowly down the street, the engine protesting all the way. When he was gone we approached the bookstore on foot. After encountering both Crossbreed and Carnage in such a short span of time I was seriously paranoid but none of the pedestrians we passed paid any attention to us and by the time we reached Nosferatomes I was relatively confident there were no bounty hunters in the immediate vicinity, but I didn't allow myself to fully relax. In Nekropolis the moment you let your guard down is the moment you risk becoming someone's snack.
Nosferatomes was housed in a nondescript two storey building constructed of gray brick with black roof tiles and shutters. A wooden sign hung above the door displaying the shop's name in stylized gothic letters. Aside from its name it could've been any used bookstore on Earth. A pair of other businesses flanked the shop: on the right, a Hemlocks, and on the left a restaurant called Matango. Hemlocks was a chain of coffee houses with locations spread throughout all five Dominions, though the majority of them are located in the Sprawl. They don't just serve regular coffee anymore than their earthly counterparts did. Blood clottes, marrowchinos and spinal fluid smoothees are only a few of their nauseating offerings. Every time I walk past one it makes me grateful that my taste buds are as dead as the rest of me.
I'd never been to Matango before. It was a Japanese restaurant of a sort that specialized in mushroom dishes, a fact advertised by the various types of the fungi growing on the restaurant's stone walls. Supposedly the food there is so good it's addictive, but frequent diners need to be careful lest they find their skin taking on strange colors and textures. After all, there's a reason Matango's slogan is You are what you eat.
As we drew near the bookstore, a woman carrying a tray loaded with tiny cardboard cups came walking toward us. Devona and I instantly tensed in case this was yet another bounty hunter, but Devona quickly relaxed.
I sense no hostility from her, Devona thought to me. In fact, I don't sense much of anything going on inside her.
Why that was became apparent once the woman reached us. She had long straight black hair that fell to her waist, a prominent scar line circling her neck just below a pair of metal electrodes. She wore a black polo shirt and black slacks, along with a white apron with the stylized H of the Hemlocks logo stitched onto the fabric. She was another of Victor Baron's creations – Baristastein, I supposed.
"Would you like a free sample of our latest offering?" she asked, tone flat and face expressionless. I wondered if there was something wrong with her brain or if Baron had simply had trouble correctly hooking up her voice box and facial muscles. "It's espresso with a shot of bile. We call it a Sprawlicano."
I eyed the brackish liquid in the cup with more than a little suspicion. "More like spewicano," I said. "No thanks."
The woman took no offense at my comment, but then my words didn't seem to register with her at all. She simply moved on to accost another pedestrian. But a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk outside Hemlocks to sip their drinks and chat in the open air. Some of them had overheard what I said and they chuckled in agreement. But one – a large minotaur with muscles on his muscles who wore a T-shirt bearing the intellectually provocative phrase Horny is as horny does came stomping over to us on hoofed feet.
"You disrespecting my girlfriend?" he said in a gruff, bestial voice.
"Not at all," I replied. "I was disrespecting the crap she tried to serve me."
The minotaur snorted angrily and grabbed hold of my jacket with both hands and lifted me onto my tiptoes.
"Think you're funny, huh?"
"I'm curious what you two see in each other." I glanced in Baristastein's direction and saw she was still trying to push her samples onto passersby without any sign she was aware of her boyfriend's confrontation with me. "Is it a case of opposites attract? I mean, she's the coldest of cold fishes and you've obviously got some anger management issues…"
Ferdinand roared in my face then and I just looked calmly back at him. I can be a pretty cold fish myself when I need to be.
I reached into one of my pockets and wrapped my fingers around one of the magic objects Shrike had brought me: a flea bomb. Judging by how thick the minotaur's fur was his coat would be a perfect home for a few thousand bloodthirsty insects. But before I could withdraw the bomb, I heard Devona's thoughtvoice, the tone slightly frantic.
He's three times your size, Matt! If you were alive, you'd be afraid of him. That's what he's used to and what he's looking for – for you to show some fear!
Not my style, I thought back as I stared into the minotaur's eyes. I gripped the flea bomb tighter.
That's the whole point, Devona thought to me. Yo u're supposed to be pretending to be someone else, remember?
Oh, right. The whole fugitive-in-disguise thing… I released my hold on the flea bomb and prepared to put on a show.
It had been a long time since I'd felt physically threatened and I wasn't sure if I remembered how to do it. I started by turning my head to the side as if I was afraid Ferdinand was going to haul off and punch me any second. Then I lowered my gaze so I wasn't looking directly into his eyes. The minotaur didn't release me but his breathing eased a bit and I knew my act was working.
"You know what you're gonna do now?" he asked. "You're gonna apologize to Sandy." He paused and then his bovine face broke into a grin. "Wait – I got a better idea!"
He called for Baristastein to join us and she walked over, face still devoid of expression. The minotaur let go of me with one hand but kept hold of me with the other. He then reached out and took one of the sample cups from his girlfriend's tray and his grin took on a nasty edge.
"You're gonna try one of these and then you're gonna tell Sandy how much you like it." He looked at me expectantly and I realized he was hoping that the prospect of being forced to down the swill would provoke some kind of response in me.