By ten-thirty they’d been able to select the most likely target after all the additional data had been downloaded and analyzed by Francesca’s program. Gemini closed down the screens one by one.
“Well, Abbey Wood it is. Mary Nicola Kelly. The telecom trick was a nice touch. Fran. Well done”
“I'm surprised it was so easy to sell her the idea that shed won a random lottery prize.”
“Oh, but the way you told her to gather family or friends around was brilliant. She was obviously delighted. but they’ll get a very different visit from the one they’re expecting. I think we should bring them some champagne.”
The telecom beeped, bringing the call that would change everything.
Paying off the last of her Fenchurch Street contacts. Rani had gotten luckier than she could ever have believed possible. With all the excitement of the last few days, and especially the visit to Wales, she’d almost forgotten about him, but there he was, ducking away into New London Street.
Of all people. Pershinkin.
She trailed him cautiously to the derelict house. A pair of orks emerged soon afterward, smiling and stuffing wads of money into their pockets. Another pair of dupes, huh? This time, my friend, she promised herself, it’s going to be very different.
He was alone, she was determined, and he didn’t hear her until she had her knife around his throat from behind, He was kneeling, just about to finish packing his case. and he made the cardinal mistake of having his back to the doorway.
By God, man, over-confidence is a real failing. Rani thought grimly. And one you’re going to pay for dearly.
“Hello, scumbag.” she said. You spammed my family. My rakking family, you wanker.”
Pershinkin froze as he felt the cold metal cutting into his skin, hardly daring to breathe while his eyes flashed from side to side trying to get a glimpse of the woman hissing death into his right ear.
“The run out to Cambridge, remember? Poor lmran? 'Just get some suckers,’ wasn’t it? Well, looks to me like you’re the sucker now. Prepare to die, sleazeball.” Revenge was sweet but Rani had already waited so long for this moment that she wanted him to beg for his life first.
He obliged her. “Look, I didn’t know! I didn’t know! It wasn’t me! It was the people who hired me, I’m only the man in the middle,” he whined. “You gotta believe me.” He was scared now, very scared indeed.
“Won’t do you any good, ratface. You’re going to die anyway. Better say your prayers.”
“No! Wait!” he whimpered. “Look, the men who gave me the Job. I’ve got a meeting with them tomorrow night. I swear it. It’s true, it’s true! If I tell you where we’re to meet, you can show up instead. Was them who hired your family to get killed. What have I got against you? Why would I harm you?”
She hadn’t expected that. “Tell me where and when, you stinking slime. Now!”
He was too afraid to negotiate, his wits too scrambled to realize he couldn’t just give it all away. He stammered out the place and the time of the meeting in a voice wracked with sobs.
Then Rani tightened her grip on the knot of straggly hair at the back of his head and drew the blade in an arc across his throat from ear to ear. She didn’t give herself time to regret what she was doing. When she finally released her hold, the body slumped forward onto the grimy floor like a heavy sack of laundry.
She wouldn’t tell the others about this one. Not yet. It was family honor. She’d tell them after she’d dealt with Smith and Jones.
It was well past ten o’clock when Rani got back to the men. She’d found her Mary Kellys at last, and a complete waste of time they’d been, too.
Once in the musty-smelling upstairs room she dumped herself into the vacant chair next to Mohinder. The men were becoming restless now. Yes, they’d been paid well, whether or not they had to work this weekend or not, but the adrenaline was pumping. And a few other good chemicals, Rani judged, from the stimulant patches and broken vials she saw lying among the pizza boxes and burger bags littering the room.
“You look tired, little sister.” Mohinder grinned at her, knocking back another of an endless series of coffees. “Have a burger,” he said, handing her one. ‘Regal Burgers’ very best, with the chili and black bean sauce. Lovely grub.”
She declined the offer with a shudder. “Thanks anyway.”
“What you been up to?”
Rani sighed in apparent fatigue. “Hunting for someone called Mary Kelly. She’s the person we think is going to be killed, a prostitute. I been running around trying to find anyone who fits the picture.” She made herself Sound laconic and weary, not wanting to mention anything about Pershinkin. Mohinder might not be at all pleased about that.
“You don’t say?” Mohinder’s expression changed totally. “And you couldn’t find her?”
“Between me and my friends we’ve found scores of Mary Kellys, but they’re all dead ends. No one fits the bill.”
The samurai twisted in his chair and called to the men.
“Hey, Scirea! You know Typhoid?”
Scirea grinned. “Sure do. Crazy blooming decker. Bit of a trancer, head full of drek with too many rags she shot up and some of that tanking stuff. She used to work for me. Wasn’t bad when she was younger. Used to take payment in kind sometimes.”
The men around him sniggered unpleasantly. Rani realized they were talking about one of the women Scirea’s family pimped for. She was disgusted by them as they laughed again.
Meanwhile, though, Mohinder was tapping a number into his telecom. A vacant-faced girl appeared on the screen. She had hair dyed black, mascara that looked like she’d put it on with a spoon, black lipgloss, and an expression somewhere between hopelessness and complete despair.
Rani’s mind triggered a memory: the Toadslab restaurant. After she’d sold Mohinder the Predator. Her.
“Yeah” The woman’s voice was virtually robotic.
“Typhoid? What you doing right now?” Mohinder was grinning like a crocodile.
“Mohinder? Hey, guy, thanks for the little loan, y’know. Pay you back soon as I can.” Her expression, and all of her vacant hand-waving, did nothing to suggest that it would be too soon.
“Typhoid, baby, tell me something simple. What’s your real name? I mean, we all call you Typhoid Mary, but what’s the real thing?”
She was suspicious. Panda eyes narrowed sharply through her chemically assisted fog. “What you want to know for? You freelancing for the poll-tax hunters?”
“Come on, honey, you know me better than that. Tell you what, we’ll forget those few nuyen. Just speak your name to Mohinder.”
That persuaded her like nothing else ever could. She spoke the words slowly, in a childlike voice, as if remembering what she’d been called in a dim and distant past when someone actually cared about her.
“Kelly,” said Typhoid Mary. “Mary Jane Kelly.”
Geraint whooped in delight. “My God, even the second name is right. Mary Jane Kelly, a young hooker in Whitechapel. This is it! This is bloody it!”
Serrin and Francesca grinned back at him. All the tension of the day evaporated from the room like a puddle on a sunny day.
She isn’t in any register because of the tax evasion, and if she’s a decker she can make enough to stay out of sight and pay people to lie about her. This has to be the one. No time to run the analysis programs and we don’t have the additional data, but we’re ready now. They’re on their way to protect her, Rani says. Greatorex Street, Whitechapel. If they plan to kill her tomorrow, we’ll be there almost an hour in advance. Come on, people, this is it. At last.”
32
The Saab screeched into Greatorex Street at eleven minutes past the hour. They’d been delayed by a random police patrol, in which a pair of blase officers had tested the alcohol levels of Geraint’s breath. To everyone’s fury, they’d had to sit for more than ten minutes behind a line of five other cars stopped for the same reason. The only good thing about the delay was that it gave them time to pay the samurai in the car.