In retrospect, I probably could've skipped the word broads.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the dames pricked and prodded me until I couldn’t tell where the next love tap was coming from. Someone grabbed hold of the waistband of my boxers and started to pull. Normally I appreciate an aggressive woman, but this time I knew they weren’t exactly there for my legendary bed action.
"Wait — wait, damn it! What are you dames thinking? What the hell?"
I heard the macabre sound of the… thing vibrate again.
Poddar shut his eyes. "I–I can't watch."
I screamed and thrashed like a hophead in rehab. For two reasons. First, I was scared out of both halves of my mind.
Second, I'm the type of guy who likes to be prepared. For anything. So it’s only natural I’d have a backup plan. That came in the form of an emergency kit strapped to the chassis of my ride. Inside was a first aid kit, a few choice explosives, and what I like to call the Replacement Killer.
Modified gyroscopic handgun, which meant it had power and a bad attitude to boot. You would too if you shot miniature rockets instead of standard slugs. The customization was the addition of mech parts to increase its power and durability. There aren’t supposed to be any models that survived the Cataclysm, but I knew at least one existed because I owned it.
As I writhed like a madman, I opened the latch to the kit and spilled the contents on the ground. As soon as the Killer touched my fingers I twisted over and pointed it at whoever was closest. In that case, the muzzle rested against Christina's perfectly formed thigh.
"I may not have the heart to kill you, but I damn sure can make you limp." My free hand was gripped tightly on the waistband of my boxers. She didn't smile that time.
I guess because she recognized the type of heater the Killer was, and guessed what it would do to her lovely leg at close range. But dammit, I wasn't about to let those Gutter Girls roast my nuts.
I heard the growl right before a hairy blur struck me. Hard. The Replacement Killer clattered on the ground.
When I looked up, a large gray dog snarled in my face. As my vision cleared, I realized it actually wasn’t a dog. It was a wolf. And he looked a helluva lot bigger than those in the museum.
I slowly reached for the Killer. The wolf growled like a locomotive, causing me to think better of it.
"A wise decision, Troubleshooter."
A door opened on the wheeler. Stiletto heels clicked over to where I lay with a hoary paw on my chest. I looked up at the new dame.
She was a frosted blonde with skin the color of fresh cream, emerald eyes, and full rosebud lips. Her slender frame was draped with a red silk kimono ornamented with herons and lotus petals. She wasn’t Japanese, so I figured she was one of those types that enjoyed sampling cultures. Some folks get a kick outta that stuff.
But what flipped my lid was wondering how much room that wheeler had in it. And what kind of dame rode with leather-clad Gutter Girls and wolves. Had to be cloned, because no one could possibly own a real one. Far as I knew, they went extinct long before the entire world went down the drain.
"Enkidu is old but his teeth are still strong, and he is quite protective of me. And my girls. He absolutely hates guns. I'm sorry to have you treated like this, but you aren't a man that takes to being prodded gently, are you? You needn’t worry about your manliness. They were only softening you up for me."
"I'm sorry, but have we met?” I tried as hard as I could to be dignified while lying on cold concrete with a tight hold on my boxers.
Her cherry lips curved.
“Perhaps we have. Amilyen az adjonisten, olyan a fogadjisten, as they say in my homeland. ‘As one greets, so will one's greeting be returned’ is the literal translation, but it can be taken to mean ‘give as good as one gets.’
She raised an amused eyebrow. As you can see, my girls translate it in the latter sense. I am Selene. Do your self-esteem a favor and put your pants back on. You and I have much to discuss, and little time to do so.”
Chapter 6: Selene
I knew something was up when I stepped into the dame’s wheeler. The first thing that hit me was how big the interior was. I had thought somehow the wolf, three psychotic Gutter Girls and Selene had been crammed up inside. But when I got in, the interior was as spacious as an extra stretch limo. Which made me wanna get right back out, because that just didn't make sense. I mean, it would take some seriously expensive tech to create such a convincing outward illusion…
"Don't bother, Troubleshooter.” Selene's voice was coolly amused. Her wolf sat beside her and stared with reflective amber eyes. "Appearances are deceiving. You just have to accept some things are the way they are."
Kelly cranked the ride as Poddar and I sat on the cushioned leather. Jen rode shotgun while Christina lounged beside Selene and the wolf. She had an amused smile on her delicate face. Me, I didn’t really want to think about the Gutter Girls, or my close encounter experience with the nefarious Bitchmaker.
It was fully dark by then. Downtown was glimmering jewel of winking phosphorus. The ride floated over the road so smoothly it felt like a skimmer. Maybe it was. Like the dame said: appearances were deceiving.
I felt a little better when Christina poured some darb vodka into a couple of heavily ornamented glasses. You can always tell the grade of liquor by the glasses a body uses to pour into. Obviously Selene was used to the very best, and nothing salves damaged pride like a few shots of quality feel-good in a bottle. It would've been better if her wolf didn’t stare at me like his next meal, but you can’t have it all. As I slipped slowly, I thought about what I knew about this particular dame.
I'd heard stories, of course. Everyone with half an egg in New Haven knows about the Wolf Mistress. Like most of the more notorious residents, she was rumored to be on the downside of major pressure from the Secret Service. Tired of being hounded in every major Haven, she and a few others like her decided to lift stakes and take their business to a place where the brass couldn’t touch them. Like Vegas of old, New Haven was born of that alliance.
Sure, the bureaucrats and highbinders were in place to acquire the necessary funding and licenses, but anyone who’s been in New Haven long enough knows who really runs the show. An elite, highly secretive guild of former exiles and rogue agents known as the Gestalt. A few familiar names were rumored to be in that highly exclusive club. One of them was Selene.
Supposedly she ran an empire funded by black market energy vending, since the major problem in New Haven is not enough energy to go around. The Commerce Bureau is supposed to run things, but every sap knows they gotta fork over like everyone else.
Selene commanded an army of dangerous dames who infiltrated the entire framework of New Haven. Housewives, secretaries, nurses — any dame with a pulse could be secretly affiliated with the Gutter Girls. Not much happened that Selene didn’t have her fingers dipped in. She was kinda like Tommy Tsunami in a way. Made me wonder how the two of them were tied together.
As if reading my mind, she cast her jade irises over her glass. "Where is Tommy keeping the leg?” There was a glitter in her gaze and a sheathed dagger in her voice, waiting to bare its edge. Poddar cleared his throat and nudged me with a hard elbow.
Not that it was necessary. Without the Mean Ol' Broad or the Replacement Killer, I felt pretty naked and out of my element.
And there's only so far even I'm willing to push my luck.