Still running, I lifted my wrist and spoke into my holoband. “Maxine: I need my backup piece.”
A metal case shot from the chassis of my ride. I snatched it and slid across Maxine’s hood just as Buckshot’s turret gun whirred. He gave a triumphant shout as the chaff dissipated. Gunfire erupted again, narrowly missing me as I managed to duck behind Maxine for cover. The slugs didn’t do much to her armored alloy, but the stacked junk behind us took some major damage. As the metal carcasses tumbled in a cloud of rust I opened the case and pulled out my backup piece: the Replacement Killer. The seven-shot gyroscopic revolver was mech-modified to fire miniature rocket rounds. I figured it could even the odds against Buckshot’s armor.
“Distraction mode, Maxine.”
Slots in the hood hissed as they ejected crimson flares. As expected, Buckshot paused to glance up and trail the movement. I figured I had around a second to act before he registered them for what they were and turned his attention to spitting metal again. Most people can’t do much in that little amount of time.
I’m not most people.
I moved in time with the flare discharge, raising up and aiming in the same motion. The Replacement Killer bucked in my hand as it fired repeatedly. The impacts rocked Buckshot backward as explosions erupted across his torso and turret arm. He just managed to stay on his feet, but the damage was done. Smoke drifted from his fragmented armor, and the turret gun sparked and jerked with a grinding sound.
I stepped forward, the Killer in hand. “Had enough, big guy? Or you ready for a second helping of Mick’s Trubble Stew? Get it while it’s hot.”
He ripped the soot-covered helmet off, exposing the synthetic eye and wires sprouting from the left side of his shaved head. A sneer twisted his lips. “Might be I had enough. Or it might be you’re outta rounds in that cannon of yours. Might be I’m able to grab my sidearm faster than you can reload that sucker. Whaddya say?” His armored hand drifted toward the heavy pistol strapped to his leg.
I winked. “I’d say look out for the bear.”
A look of confusion flashed across his face. “What are you—?”
Benny roared and seized Buckshot from behind. The two heavy men grappled awkwardly, feet slipping in the gravel as they fought for a superior position. Benny quickly found out the standard chokehold didn’t apply to a cybernetically enhanced opponent. His face was fixed in desperate concentration, his meaty jaw clenched as his suitcoat tore apart at the shoulders from the force of his contracted muscles.
Their awkward stumbling might have been comical if it weren’t for the intensity of the struggle. It wasn’t a battle of punch sequences and attack flurries, but a match of strength and will. They fought almost quietly — shuffling feet, grunts and snarls being the only sounds.
Benny managed to slip his arms under Buckshot’s armpits and over his neck in a full nelson hold. He leaned in, bending Buckshot over despite his heavy thrashing and arm flailing. The imagery of a bear in a pinstriped suit wrestling with a giant metal turtle wasn’t lost on me as I swapped the Replacement Killer’s empty clip for a full one. But by the time the clip snapped into place there was another, louder popping sound.
I stared as Buckshot slumped to the ground with his neck bent at an angle that would have been mighty uncomfortable if he were still alive.
Benny stumbled backward, his face pale and his eye wide. “He’s… dead.”
I strode over for a closer look. “Yeah. You snapped his neck like a piece of kindling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that strong, kid.”
His face turned an unhealthy shade of green. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Never killed a man before?”
He shook his head.
“Staring at him won’t bring him back to life. It was either you or him, Benny. C’mon.” I jerked a thumb at the wrecked depot. “We got a job to finish.”
Benny couldn’t take his eyes away from the fallen cyborg. “I’ve seen men die before. Saw my uncle shove a pistol in a man’s mouth and blow his brains out the back of his head. Thought it was the worst thing I ever saw.”
“Until now?”
He nodded, still staring. “I never thought I could—”
“Benny. This guy is part of a team of people that killed your cousin. He had it coming.” I clapped him on the arm. “You wanted to see this through to the end. That’s what we’re doing.”
He exhaled a shuddering breath. “Ok.”
The depot was a bullet-riddled wreck of busted timber and sparking wires, but that didn’t matter. What I wanted was stashed under the floor. I tapped on the sealed recess with the muzzle of the Replacement Killer. “Knock, knock.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lord Troll’s muffled voice spoke up. “Who’s there?”
“Not your buddy Buckshot. He can’t do a thing for you right now, on account of being dead and all. The way I see it is you got two options: open up and make a deal or stay in there and I punch a few air holes with the explosive rounds loaded in this handy pistol I got here. Your choice.”
The door hissed as it slid open. Lord Troll’s face wasn’t nearly as discourteous as it was earlier. In fact, he appeared downright terrified. Seeing as he basically laid in a ready-built coffin, it was easy to understand why. He lifted his blood-slicked hands.
“Look, mate — maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. This can all come good, right?”
“That depends on how fast you and I become friends. I know you have your data backed up, so trashing this dive didn't matter. You’re gonna allow a friend of mine an all-access pass to everything you’ve got. You do what you’re told and you get to walk away. You try some slick hacker tricks and I let Ben the Bear eat you for breakfast. That’s the deal.”
Lord Troll nearly broke his neck nodding in agreement. “Right. Look, I was just trying to make a quid here, mate. Nothing personal — thought it was just a bit of going off, you know? No gig is worth carking it. I’ve had it with these SS ratbags, anyhow. Just let me outta this box and I’m your best mate.”
I tapped my holoband. “You got that, Ms. Sinn?”
“I heard everything, Mick. I’ll be set up to download his data load when you’re ready.”
I looked at Benny. “You’re up, kid. Get to a safe house and work with Sinn on squeezing cyber boy for all he’s got. If he tries anything, break a few bones.”
Benny tried his best not to look startled, the result being a comical scramble of facial muscles. “You going somewhere, Mick?”
“Yeah. I got a date I can’t miss.”
“You serious? With who?”
“With your cousin Electra.”
Despite everything he’d just been through, Benny’s face still turned pale. “Right. Good luck with that, Mick.”
Chapter 18: The Widow’s Web
Le Chat Noir was a Downtown joint just a few blocks away from the Red Light District. It served as both a hotel and a popular entertainment venue that attracted the artist crowd and patrons that liked to dress up but still have a rowdy evening. I’d read somewhere it was painstakingly constructed by a man named Anthony Salis, who apparently traced his roots back to the famed Rodolphe Salis, who emceed for the original joint in pre-Cataclysm Paris.
The entertainment varied by night with alternations of cabaret, burlesque, and other music hall acts. It wasn’t the smooth jazz club experience I preferred, but you couldn’t find too many joints that compared in sheer excessive celebration of art, music, and utter ridiculousness. The audience hall was comfortably lit, massively spacious with tables of different Victorian styles scattered about. A band of scandalously clad chorus girls kicked up their knickers on the main stage while a fire eater, a contortionist, and a Shakespeare reciter performed from the balconies — all dressed in the skimpiest rags decency would allow.