"Just got beat up, you know, an incredible job," the guy said. He was short and wiry, bouncing around on his stool like a metal spring. His pointed nose twitched as he spoke. "I never seen nothing like it, he was one big bruise and had a few cracked ribs and fingers, but he was still alive, you see, that's the whole point, he was still alive, conscious even, and he felt every bit of the beating, that's the whole thing, he could feel the pain on every inch of his body. It was like art, that's what I'm telling you, this job was so perfect, it should be in a museum somewhere, except, you know, bruises fade, so it'd be tough to preserve. Maybe take a trid of the guy, but I don't know if that would do the whole experience justice." The guy shook his head. "Simply amazing."
X-Prime noticed that the guy had stopped talking. He tried to focus on his face, but his eyes would only squint, and the only thing he could see clearly was the glass in front of him and the thick, greasy black hair of the man across from him. He thought about trying to remember his name, but that was far too difficult. So he said something and hoped it made sense.
"I'll bet it really hurt."
"Yeah. Yeah. You got that right, chummer. You know what it was? You know what did it? It was the mercury."
"Mercury?"
"Yeah. In the arm. The guy that did the beating, see, he's got an implant. Cyberarm, Yamatetsu, top-of-the-line drek. It's got some of the usual equipment – you know, gun holster, shock pad, all that – but they also put in this hollow tube inside and put a glob of mercury at one end. So what happens, see, is he takes his arm back" – the guy made a fist and cocked his arm at his waist – "and some suction pumps pull the whole glob to his shoulder, then he swings" – the guy moved his arm toward X-Prime's chin in an uppercut – "and the mercury shoots forward, and if he times it right – and let me tell you, this guy always times it right – the mercury comes into his fist right when his fist hits your chin, so you get the punch and it's backed by a pellet of metal moving way faster than the guy's hand. Can you believe this drek? It just lays you out! And it works on other swings, like a hatchet motion, coming down on you, whomp, I'll bet that's how the ribs got broken, the sap was lying on the ground and the Yak comes up with a hatchet swing and the mercury flies forward and pow! Guy's lucky his lungs weren't crushed!"
This was penetrating the haze in X-Prime's mind. He tried to say several things at once, but only three words came out. "Burt the Toad."
The guy slapped his knee three times, his small pupils dancing in the middle of his wide-circle eyes. "That's the guy! That's him! Works for Kawasaga, right? You've heard of him?"
X-Prime tried to smile slyly. In truth, it looked like a corner of his mouth somehow drooped upward. "Yeah. You could say that."
The guy's eyes narrowed. "You know something. Yeah, yeah, I seen that look. You know something! What?"
"Nothing," X-Prime said airly. "Nothing much, really." He paused, milking it, savoring it. "Well, maybe a little."
"Oh, you've gotta tell me. What do you know about this Toad guy? Come on, come on, you're killing me here, killing me. What's happening?"
X-Prime looked one way, then the other, then leaned forward. "The Toad won't be hopping for long." He found that unaccountably funny and started giggling. The guy politely waited for him to finish.
"What are you saying?" the guy finally asked.
"That arm?" X-Prime said. "The one with the mercury and all that? Between you and me, it's coming off."
"Get out of here!"
"No. Really."
"Coming off?"
"Coming off."
"Wow." The guy puffed his cheeks and whooshed out some air. "Wow. Cutting off Burt the Toad's arm. Who's putting you up to it? Triads?"
"I don't know."
"Mafia?"
"I don't know, I said."
"Wait, wait, I've got it. Kawasaga himself. He knows the Toad is out of control, and he's reining him in. That's it, right? Right?"
"I don't know. Really, I don't. They don't tell me that sort of things. I just got a job to do."
"You're going to do it? I'm talking to the man who's gonna cut off Burt the Toad's arm? Unbelievable!" The guy was bouncing on his stool. "How're you gonna do it?"
X-Prime shrugged, assuming a cool, controlled look. "Cleanly. That's all I can say. It'll come off real clean. Still in working order."
The guy threw his head back and whooped. "You're gonna take the arm off in working order? That's great. That's great! It's gotta be Kawasaga, then. Probably wants it back so his investment isn't an entire loss. Get control of the Toad, get some money from the arm, cut his losses as much as possible. That's the only thing that makes sense."
"I don't know. I swear."
"Yeah, yeah, of course you don't. Kawasaga wouldn't want to let that out. Couldn't have people know he was cutting the arm off of one of his own guys. Doesn't look good."
X-Prime suddenly felt troubled. The guy sounded too knowledgeable about all this. Too interested. Had he said too much? Maybe it was time to go home.
"I gotta go home," he said.
"You do? Aw, it's only 2:30. Night's still young. Come on, stay awhile."
"No. I'd – better not." X-Prime stumbled to his feet. "I'd really better get out of here."
The guy accepted this. "Okay, all right. Good chatting with you. Don't always meet good talkers here."
X-Prime nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He shambled away.
The guy watched him go, running his finger around the rim of his glass, then licking a drop of scotch off his nail. He smiled, grabbed his glass, and raised it in a silent toast. To alcohol, he thought. The greatest tongue-loosener ever invented.
Wednesday, 11:47 pm
The next night, X-Prime was Alex again. The cockiness, the swagger, the attitude had all last been seen at Crusher 495.
Cayman's little speech to the group earlier hadn't helped any.
"A good team's like a body," he'd told them. They nodded. They'd heard this before, plenty of times. "We have to be completely together, working in sync, balancing each other. No part of the body survives alone. You need a brain – that's me, and no smart remarks. Savini's the eyes, Spindle's the legs, Leadhead's the fists. We all work as a whole."
"What am I" Alex asked.
Cayman flicked a scowl. "I dunno," he said. "The appendix, maybe."
The day had gone downhill from there. The night was humid, they'd been on surveillance so long he hadn't had any real food to eat for half a day, and the long coat he was wearing was hot and unbalanced, tilting him to the left where the cutter was sheathed.
The cutter. Every time he thought about it he wanted to pull it out for another look, but simply carrying the thing was enough to get him arrested.
The cutter was two Cougar fineblades mounted on three-foot long handles with bolt cutter action. The blades would open slightly wider than a thick shoulder. If Alex placed them just outside the shoulder joint and pulled them closed with enough force, they would pass through the arm like a falcon cutting through air.
But he couldn't take them out now. He was on the clock.
A few squatters scurried from one abandoned warehouse to another, but other than that the streets were empty. You live in the Barrens long enough, you develop a sense that tells you when to stay inside. You don't develop that sense, you don't live long. Alex was the only person loitering on the street, sitting hunched on a scooter like he was drunk or hung over. He didn't have to do much acting.
Savini's resonant voice came in the headset, sounding like a sportscaster. "He's working the upper body now. Boy is he working it."
"Any signs that he's tiring?" Cayman asked.
"Naw, naw. He's having fun. He may be getting stronger."
"Drek."
Alex half-hoped Cayman would abort, but nothing further came through the transceiver. He reached into his inside pocket and rubbed the grips of the cutters.