“I hear you,” Romy said. “But no, er, ‘crisp’ sims?”
“Not yet anyways. Don’t expect to find none either.”
“But Lieutenant Milancewich mentioned sims.”
“Right. We have a witness who saw armed men herding a bunch of sims and some humans into a couple of vans just before the place lit up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what sort of incendiary devices they used, but they musta been beauts. Place went up like it was made of paper.”
“But therecould be dead sims in there,” Romy persisted.
Yarger crooked a finger and started moving away. “C’mere. I’ll show you why there won’t be.”
Patrick and Romy followed him to a taped-off area near the corner. Yarger stopped and pointed to the sidewalk.
“That’s why.”
Red spray-painted letters spread across the pavement.
FREE THE SIMS!
DEATH TO SIM OPPRESSORS!
SLA
“SLA?” Patrick said with a glance at Romy.
Her face was troubled when she met his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. “But no. Impossible. He’d never.”
“The Symbionese Liberation Army?” Patrick raised his voice to cover hers. “Didn’t they kidnap Patty Hearst?”
“Different group,” Yarger said. “These assholes are the ‘SimLiberation Army.’ Don’t that beat all.”
“How do you know?” Romy said.
“That’s what they called themselves in the note they left.”
“What else did it say?”
“Buncha sim-hugger garbage. The usual stuff. You know the rap.”
“May I see it?”
Yarger gave Romy a you-gotta-be-kidding look. “Forensics got it.” He turned as someone called his name. “Yeah. Be right there.” Then back to Romy. “Look, you wanna leave me your card, we’ll call you if we think we need help. But don’t wait up for it. And for the time being, stay on the other side of the tape, okay?”
Patrick expected Romy to press him further, but she simply nodded. Patrick lifted the tape for her and she ducked under. She pulled out a compact camera and began snapping pictures.
“For your scrapbook?”
“For Zero. He’ll want to see.”
“Speaking of Zero,” he said, leaning close and whispering. “Did you call him about this?
“You don’t call Zero. You leave a message.”
“Could he be behind this?”
She lowered her camera. Her look was fierce. “I told you—”
“Does he consult you on everything he does? Of course not. So how do you know?”
She started snapping pictures again. “I just do. He lets me take care of the brothels and places like this. That’smy job.”
“Well just what sort of place is it—or I guess I should say,was it?”
“A globulin farm.”
“A what?”
“I thought I explained that when—wait. Did you see that Asian man?”
“No. Where?”
“He was in that knot of people over there. I just pointed the camera in his direction and he ducked away. Where did he go?”
She rose on tiptoe to scan the area, then quickly ducked back.
“Oh, hell!” She spun, turning her back to Patrick as she started moving toward the corner. “Don’t look around, just follow me.”
“Why?”
“Just do it. I don’t want to—”
“Well, well!” said a man’s voice behind him. “If it isn’t Ms. Romy Cadman of OPRR. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Shit!” Romy hissed; it sounded more like escaping steam than a word.
As she turned, so did Patrick. He saw a swarthy, broad-shouldered man in a gray overcoat swaggering toward them. Patrick took an instant dislike to his smug expression. But his cold, dark eyes were his most arresting feature. Patrick felt like a mouse being scrutinized by a rattlesnake. But then the man’s gaze flicked away. Patrick had been demoted from lunch to background scenery.
“Mr. Portero,” Romy said in a deep-freeze voice. “What a surprise.”
“I don’t see why it should be. Sims were reported on the scene, and SimGen has a vital interest in the welfare of all sims.”
“Sure it does,” Romy said, drawing out the first word. “But to send its chief of security?”
“‘Free the sims’ is not a phrase SimGen takes lightly, especially when it involves murder. I decided to look into this myself.”
“You should introduce yourself to that sergeant over there,” Romy said. “His name’s Yarger and he’s anxious for all the help he can get.”
“I’m sure he is.” Portero jerked a thumb toward the smoking ruin. “What do you think? Globulin farm?”
“That’s my guess.”
Patrick remembered now. “That’s where they infect sims with viruses and such and then drain off and sell their immune globulins, right?”
The man turned his glittering stare on Patrick. “And you are…?
“This is a friend,” Romy said. “Patrick Sullivan. Patrick, meet Mr. Portero, security chief at SimGen.”
“Oh, yes,” Portero said. “I believe I’ve heard of you. Some sort of lawyer, right?”
Patrick noticed that Portero had clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. A handshake seemed out of the question.
“Some sort, yes,” Patrick said. “But about this globulin farm…?”
“A small operation from what I can gather,” Portero said.
Patrick glanced at the blackened ruins. “Not any kind of operation now.”
“Thanks to this so-called SLA,” Portero said. He stared at Romy. “Ever hear of them, Romy?”
Patrick felt his insides clench at the sound of her first name on Portero’s lizard lips, but said nothing.
Romy regarded him coolly. “Not till this morning.”
“I don’t understand their methods,” Portero said, rubbing his jaw as he looked around. “I can see them making off with the sims, to free them later. But why fire the building? What if they’d missed a few sims in their raid? They’d have been cooked just like that corpse.” He turned to Romy. “Did your sergeant friend mention finding any sim bodies?”
“No, thank God.”
“Yes…Thank God.” Portero’s eyes became distant; he seemed to recede for a moment, then gathered himself. “But why did these terrorists make off with the humans as well?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Romy said.
Portero smiled as he shook his head. “Oh, I doubt that, Romy. I doubt that very much.”
And then he swaggered away.
“Something about this has got him worried,” Romy said. “He’s putting on a good show, but something’s bothering him.”
“Is that why he never blinks?”
“He doesn’t have to; he has nictitating membranes.”
“That figures. And his tiny reptile heart is set on you.”
Romy’s lips twisted. “Yeah, I know.”
“But I’m taller.”
She smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. “You know, sometimes I’m glad you’re around.”
“Only sometimes?”
She hooked her arm through his and started walking. “Let’s go grab some breakfast and wait for Zero to get back to me.”
“Excellent idea, but in a better neighborhood, if you please.”
As they moved away he glanced back at Portero, intending to give him a look-what-I’ve-got wink, but thought better of it when he saw the fierce look in those icy dark eyes.
4
MANHATTAN
They were just finishing a leisurely breakfast at an East Seventies café when Romy’s PCA went off. She checked the readout:
GARAGE 10AMØ
She was glad for the change from the Worth Street basement. Use one place too often and eventually the wrong person was going to make the right connection. She and Patrick hopped a cab to the West Side.