He looked me up and down, a hint of a smile on his clean-shaven, lined face. “You move well, Mr. Cates,” he said cheerfully, “but you have a bad habit of assuming that if you can’t see something-say, anything behind you-it can’t hurt you.”
I studied his face-he was the oldest man to ever hold a gun on me, that was for sure. I didn’t recognize it. “I don’t know you, do I?”
His smiled widened subtly. “Of course you do, Mr. Cates. I’ve been Gunning since before you were born. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I admit I’ve been lying low for the last few years, but I’d like to think the good work I did for the cause in Ireland is still spoken of.”
I shook my head. “You’re telling me you’re Canny Orel?”
The old man just raised a snowy eyebrow.
Gatz grunted with sudden, unexpected animation. “Can’t be. Canny Orel’d have to be like fifty years old. He’s dead.”
I hesitated, because in a way it made sense. Canny Orel was a man who had killed upward of three hundred people, never been tapped by the System Pigs once, who’d founded the Dъnmharъ, and who had retired rich and healthy. I knew I wasn’t in that class, but I’d lived to a ripe old age myself, on the streets of New York, and it took skill to sneak up on me in broad fucking daylight.
And… I wanted to believe it. Here was someone who’d survived, who’d spent his life just like me, crawling from one emergency to another, who’d killed people-but better than me, because Canny Orel had always killed people for a reason, for a cause. Not just for money. Whatever he’d done before Unification, Orel had killed for Saoirse in the cause of Irish independence. When that had ultimately failed in the face of the newly constituted SSF, he’d formed the Dъnmharъ, an organization of Gunners that, while profit-motivated, had only taken jobs assassinating System officials or SSF officers. As far as I knew, Orel was the only person who’d killed SSF officers and lived to tell the tale… until me. So far. Canny Orel had been the best, and he’d done it for a reason. I wanted him to be standing here in front of me.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his smile disappearing. “You can call me Mr. Orel. Now, enough of the fanboy bullshit, eh? There’s business to attend to.”
Sudden panic rippled through me. This was no fucking coincidence, I thought-the man had been hired, sent after me. I shut my eyes. I didn’t know if it was Moje or the Electric Church or who, but someone had gone out and spent top dollar for the best there was to cut me down. At least I knew when they spoke of me back in Pickering’s, I’d be the guy cut down by the legend. I’d be legend. Whoever had found him and hired him, I’d at least have that.
And I thought longingly of the Monks and their nuclear batteries. I thought of Brother West, going mad, but alive, always alive, forever. I was suddenly and inexplicably sure that I was about to die.
I eyed his gun, trying to figure a way past it, an angle. I didn’t see one. Heart pounding, I nodded. “Okay.” I wasn’t going to beg him. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself. I wanted Canny Orel to go away thinking I was the hardest ass he’d ever encountered.
“Good show, Mr. Cates.” He racked a shell into the chamber. “Now tell me: Where in fuck is that little slimy bastard Ty Kieth?”
XXI
THE MOST LIKELY OUTCOME OF THIS LITTLE ADVENTURE
“I’ve heard of you, you know.”
We walked through London, Gatz in the lead with his sunglasses on despite the rain. South to the crumbling bridge with cracks wide enough to require a few heart-rattling jumps, past the sprawling monument to broken glass and twisted steel railings of what had been Waterloo Station-whatever the fuck that was-and finally into the maze of twisty little streets, all the same. I’d thought I’d cleaned up pretty well, but both Gatz and I were unkempt, unshaven, and unsavory-looking compared to our new friends. Marilyn Harper walked with us, Pushed to follow Gatz and keep her mouth shut. Then me, starting to feel a little under the weather, still unarmed, and with some asshole named Jerry Materiel holding twenty of my yen, gone.
And then, shining like a new penny, Canny Orel, the most famous Gunner in history. Or at least of the last twenty years, which was pretty much the same thing.
He looked famous. He looked rich, fat, and sleek, although he still moved with astonishing speed. His skin was dry and papery, with a pink cast. His hair was white, but expensively cut. His hands were so quick he didn’t bother to hold the gun on me as we walked, and I still didn’t dare fuck with him. There was a lush, sick scent of success hanging around Canny Orel.
“You have?” I said.
“Indeed, mate. Heard a few tidbits. Always sounded to me like you were more lucky than talented. Looks like you stepped in it this time, eh?”
His voice was deep and melodious. It sounded like he was subtly singing everything.
“So, just out of professional courtesy, why are you after my Techie?” I asked.
“Out of professional courtesy, mind your own fucking business,” he said flatly, as if he said it five times a day.
As usual, the city felt deserted. Gatz was smart enough to meander a little, buy some time. I didn’t know what I was going to do, since I was convinced I couldn’t deal with Orel-not without a gun, certainly, and even if I’d been packing something more than my sharp wit I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tackle him.
“Your fucking Techie, Mr. Cates, robbed me blind. I’ve been seeking him out for months,” Orel finally growled. “That little piglet can disappear. Say, I could give you a taste of the recovered yen, maybe, for leading me to him. A finder’s fee, we could call it.”
Honor among thieves, I thought. Orel felt bad about making me give up my own man for execution, and he was trying to smooth my feathers. It made me think maybe I had some small currency with the old man.
“He gave me the impression he was hiding from the SSF.” I kept walking.
Orel snorted derisively. “We’re all hiding from the System Pigs, Cates. Mr. Kieth is hiding from me especially.”
I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice steady, deciding to take a calculated risk. “I don’t think he’s got any money, Orel.”
There were a few steps in silence, rain pattering softly against my face. Then: “Well, he’s your man, Cates. Perhaps you have some money-”
A thrill went through me as a plan began to coalesce.
“-or maybe I’ll just gut the thieving bastard and sleep better at night. Who’s the twist?”
I looked at Marilyn Harper’s back, my thrill of hope fading a bit. “Vid reporter. Recognized me from someplace.”
“Fucking dilettante,” he spat. “They own fucking everything, but they’re bored. Don’t hire someone who needs a fucking job, just play at it until you move on to something else.” I felt him staring at my back for a few steps. “Awful quiet and cooperative, thanks to your friend there,” he said quietly. “But she’ll have to go.”
I frowned. “We can handle her.” I had no affection for rich girls playing reporter while my friends swam through shit every day trying to feed themselves either, but there was something savage about just shooting someone who got in your way. Something primitive.
“Really? How?”
I kept my eyes on the back of Gatz’s head. “We made her see things our way. Didn’t we, Marilyn?”
After a moment, she nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
“She’s going to film my exploits,” I said brightly. “I’m going to be famous.”
Orel grunted behind me. “It doesn’t look like your man can keep her under his thumb for long, the way he’s sweating. Let’s cut the crap and get to your base, so I can resume negotiations with dear old Ty as soon as possible.”