Shell spoke in a singsong voice. He was in a frighteningly good mood. Shell was a man who was climbing the Mardock—the Stairway to Heaven—out of the slums and right to the top.
“But do you think I’m going to settle for that? If that’s all I achieve then how am I different from a high-class maid cleaning the toilets of the rich? Maids clean dirty toilets and take care of the beds. I clean dirty money and take care of the bets. No real difference. So I’m making a deal. To make me one of them. I’m able to abandon everything. I can throw everything away, completely, and become a new person. They should know that—I’ve shown it to them many times over, haven’t I? And then when they remembered all the things that I cleaned for them, they started to take me seriously. Do you think that I’ve been pointlessly discarding my memories up till now? You must be joking. They’re safely recorded and stored in a safe place that only I know. That’s my game. And it’s your game too. That’s right, isn’t it, Boiled?”
Boiled slowly nodded his head.
“I’m happy being an empty shell. The contents are still to come. A container to be filled with glory—that’s what I am.”
At this point Shell finally calmed down. Such was the madness of Shell. Who could understand the feelings of a man who sold the memories of his own past piece by piece?
“I think that I’m going to work extremely well having you as my employer.”
Boiled spoke softly. Then, quietly, he took a newspaper cutting from the inner pocket of his jacket and placed it on top of the counter.
“A Mardock Scramble 09 has been proclaimed.”
Shell read the article in silence. He ordered a second gin, then looked at the article again. Not read—looked.
“Who is she? This girl?”
“Rune-Balot. A girl from your dreams who should have died.”
“Dreams? Ah, so, the raw material for a Blue Diamond that the cops in our pay were going to collect for us—it’s still alive and kicking, is that it?” Shell murmured in a voice devoid of any emotion and drank his gin. He drank away his possible past along with the lime juice and Heroic Pills. Shell’s next move came quickly.
“Since when has the case been under someone’s charge?”
“The preliminary courtroom business was concluded a few days ago. The girl gave the Broilerhouse some sort of information and filed charges of status fraud and attempted murder,” said Boiled.
“The Life Preservation Program’s in effect. Proof that Trustees—dirty little PIs—are involved. Have you looked into them?”
“I’ve made inquiries.”
Shell floated a laugh and nodded. The man in front of him wasn’t the sort to commit an oversight. Boiled was much tougher and smarter than any bodyguard Shell had ever hired, and because of his effectiveness and broad remit his salary was also in a different league than his predecessors’.
During the war Boiled had been part of the elite Airborne Division and had participated in the invasion of the enemy’s land across the sea as part of the Commonwealth’s front line of troops. Whereas Shell had avoided conscription due to his mental disorder and had no experience of war. So Shell was extremely pleased with Boiled’s past as a former soldier. Boiled was able to wipe away Shell’s inferiority complex at not having been able to take part in the war and for this reason was seen by Shell as a most distinguished, talented man.
But at this point Boiled’s face revealed a strange expression. An expression Shell had not yet seen. You could have even called it a troubled expression. Face the same, he spoke the PI’s name:
“Oeufcoque-Penteano.”
“An unusual name. Is he from the Continent? Did he defect over here during the war?”
“No, well—it’s likely that the person who gave him his name did. But you couldn’t really say that he’s from anywhere.”
“You know him, do you, this PI?”
“We were on the same team, a while ago.”
Shell’s expression turned to one of astonishment. But Boiled would go into no further detail.
“He can obtain legal clearance for all territories within a day. He’s going to be exploiting his authority as a Trustee to the absolute fullest, gathering information on us. He may even have already sniffed out the details of this deal that you’re working on.”
“Or, equally, he may have taken an interest in this girl’s case just so that he could get to me, right?” Shell said.
“A distinct possibility. I’m worried about the fact that this chatterbox of a mouse is suddenly so silent.”
“Huh, calling your old partner a mouse. The partnership must have really ended badly.”
Shell seemed somewhat amused. Boiled shook his head slowly and said, “No, he’s a very professional mouse.”
His face was serious.
Shell shrugged his shoulders. “I see.”
He ordered a third glass of gin and murmured jackpot before taking a sip.
“This is my game. I won’t let anyone interfere. A Life Preservation Program, you say? Well, if the program isn’t adopted then I’m guessing the PIs will lose their jurisdiction to interfere?”
“Indeed. If the person concerned were to die or otherwise disappear, the case would close unresolved; that would be quickest,” Boiled informed him blandly, and Shell smiled a satisfied smile at him before draining his gin.
“I’m relying on you. And it’s fairly certain that the doctors in question aren’t keen on the possibility that there are people other than me involved in the jackpot. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Sure.”
“You’re the ace in my sleeve, Boiled.”
Shell smiled a thin smile and rose from his seat. He moved with such composure that you would never know he had a PI on his heels. His eyes hid an air of decisiveness as he stared into the air.
Then Boiled said to Shell, with emphasis, “I need to hire. I need money.”
“Can’t you manage on your own? We’re talking about a girl who’s been cooked through and is now at death’s door in an ICU somewhere, right?”
Boiled shook his head at a surprised Shell. As if he were gently pacifying him.
“I need someone disposable. Like your past. Each time you discard your past you become sharper, like a razor. This is the same. I want to be absolutely sure.”
Shell made a broad gesture.
“Use one of our nest eggs. I’ll give you the key code later. I’ll be looking forward to receiving good news.”
And then, out of nowhere…
“It’s strange.”
Shell became serious and looked at one of his hands.
“When I was looking at the article, one of my fingers started throbbing—even though I couldn’t remember the girl. I must have been planning on wearing the girl on it. A new Blue Diamond. And yet…”
He rubbed the ring finger on his left hand,
“Was she really such a special girl that I was planning on wearing her on this finger? So special that I wanted to turn her into an engagement ring? Or was it just a passing fancy with no particular reason behind it?” he asked himself in a low voice. Boiled couldn’t answer. It wasn’t a question that anyone could answer.
“The memory of a woman—that’s always the first thing to go. It’s always the thing that stresses me out the most,” Shell said. “Women try to destroy my mind. Why’s that? They’re just women, right?”
Shell laughed as he spoke. A self-mocking laugh.
“All it takes is a twenty-gram bullet and a person will die,” Boiled whispered in a low voice.