Chapter 14: Bustin up the VIP
It was all theater now. Casinos had some of the most invasive surveillance you could buy. If we didn’t stay in character every second, some sharp-eyed Cheater Daemon would pick us out of the crowd and start evaluating. No one wanted that kind of attention. So we stared at everything like we were new; our credit draw could verify that.
The bar area featured a lot of party dressed women on spot lit stools. They chatted or drank from tall glasses and their eyes followed men like a trick painting my father had. These were the escorts, licensed and inspected. Some would be employees, some freelance and paying outrageous rents for the stool. It had the feel of a Cougar bar, but the average age was twenty five.
I got a "Jack in Coke." Rafe stood in front of the bar for a long moment and I noticed his lips moving. Finally he asked for a "Rolling Rock." My guess was that Ogre’s taste in alcohol was poison to Rafe’s. While waiting for my drink, I was flashed several times by seated belladonnas. Those who could fake a little sincerity caught my eye. The protocol here was that they could not speak until spoken to or touch before being touched. Most freelancers would not leave their stool until a contract had been entered.
The barman produced the drinks and we thumbed payment to our new running tabs. Having paid the rent, we propped elbows on the bar and drank. Saint Peter advised us to finish the drinks and re-order to stay in character. Advice like that is not heard often. Even with nano and a gastric inhibitor we would probably be a little drunk, hours from now. I must have subvocalized what I thought, because Tibbett’s voice whispered "El trabajo quiero carnie." Interesting. I didn’t think him old enough to have fought in that one. From the way he mangled "The job wants meat" I figured he was from the Norte side.
I took out my phone and checked the friend finder. A red dot for "UribeS" and another that said "Keno" blinked within the building outline. It looked like they were located behind the bar, but no one stood there. I looked up toward the ceiling. A helmeted camera looked back. I snapped the phone closed and tapped Rafe, "Let’s go check out the VIP." He must have heard something in my voice because he turned around and looked at me.
My eyes flicked left and up. He got the idea where the exposure was without looking. That is hard to do, I know. He backed both elbows to the bar and gave me lackadaisical. "Let’s get us a couple more drinks down here. The pours up there are gonna be way more." I told him "Good thinking" and that’s what we did. We bored our possible watchers by drinking too fast and getting flashed by a room full of hookers. I gave it ten minutes but Rafe talked me into fifteen.
We moved off quickly when I finally tore Rafe away. We had no desire to linger in this field of poppies. At least I didn’t. Maybe that was the number 7 talking. Straight across from the bar was a staircase with a velvet rope. Two men in leather suits stood with hands crossed in front. They wore the GE network glasses and had odd bulges under their suit coats. We waved our Dallas VIP cards at them. The bovine white boy looked at mine. Rafe got the black version with a turtle haircut. Both had rings in their eyebrows, behind the glasses. Much tougher to snatch.
"You gents know the rules in the VIP, right?" Rafe’s guard asked.
"No action unless invited," began Rafe. "Free rubbers!" I injected. It almost got a smile from Rafe’s guard. He had a conversation with his glasses, "Two men up. Yes. OK." He uncoupled the rope and held it aside. "Tonight’s word is Dunbar," said the guard. "Don’t make anybody say it twice."
The stairs rose and turned right, with really short rise steps seen in places that dealt gently with the impaired. I didn’t see any cameras aimed at us, so I checked the phone again. UribeS was at the same place but Keno was now toward the front. I gave Rafe a peek and snapped it closed. We passed through a whining sound baffle and suddenly the decibels went up. There was a band up here.
At the top of the stairs, two more leather suits. These just opened the rope and nodded. To our right, a riot of light and sound, the band smashed through another number. There were three wearing instruments and headsets. A placard called them "RokHed." They may have just been a cover band, but I wasn’t familiar enough with Goth Sex Mosh to know the songs. They favored instrumentals, which was great because the vocals were laughable. Behind them to the right was another guy in a headset, not playing. He was looking at his phone and at us. I caught his eye and pointed a finger at him. He nodded and motioned us over.
"Alex and Ogre," I told him, squatting beside his little table. Rafe stood with his back to the wall and watched the crowd. "Sal," he said, touching a small screen in front of him. He had set something on an audio GUI to auto. "I thought you guys would be here earlier."
"We were down at the bar," I told him. "Looks like you’re stuck here working anyway." He pulled the headset off and put it on the screen. "I just told these guys I’d tune them for the venue. My band already left. I roll with Woodness." Now his event coordinator job made sense. He didn’t work for the Libertine, he worked for the bands.
"So you’re all done now?"
"It’s locked in. That’s all they get for a few beers." He pushed back from the screen, as though to distance himself. I asked, "So you know how this goes now, right?" He recited a memorized frag order, "Get the van and take two packages to Jacksonville." I handed him the key fob for the van. "That’s right. It’s across the street. Now we’re gonna stay here and enjoy some hospitality while you git gone." I stood up and Rafe pushed off the wall. We gave him tough guy glares and headed toward the front of the VIP.
A text appeared, scrolling on my lens. "WiSpot enabled." Either Saint Peter or one of Etienne’s little packages had hacked the club wireless. There were tricks to be played, once inside. For myself, I ignored the text and let the outside team do the hack. I needed to navigate around a maze of morphic walls and doors that formed tonight’s carnal exhibits. First we passed through tables and couches filled with couples in various stages of dress. A few appeared on a break, others chatted in groups trying to rally a consensus. Some eyed us as though to guess our weight. We gave them glares. Ahead of them we were funneled into a darkened central hall.
A bin and table to our left held various toiletries. Rafe and I grabbed a handful of condoms, to stay in character. The bin liner had tiny biohazard symbols repeated as a pattern. Behind the table was another bin. It held cheap half masks and eyeshades. A plaque said, "One to a Customer." We took a pass on those as they would tangle with our glasses. We walked slowly down the hall, perusing open doorways and holo feeds of the action within. Some doors had red signs proclaiming "Capture in Progress." Those offered keepsake downloads for a reasonable charge. Others split into smaller cubicles within, "First quarter hour free to VIP’s." The holo feeds indicated a lot of sex going on behind these thin panels. Occasionally, crowd sounds overpowered the filters and echoed down the hall on a draft of air.
At the end of the hall a woman appeared, carrying a tray and wearing a round cap with a veil. It was a very retro look, except for the strappy shoes. Those were foamed wedges popular with working girls that had to walk or stand a lot. I checked my phone and saw the Keno girl.
"You gents care to wager?" She moved closer to me and I could see her open phone on the tray, "How about you, Mr. I’ve-Got-a-Headache. I’m sure a winning play would turn your night around." She was even chewing gum like the old movies. It was probable I was looking at an aspiring actress or some other form of trained illusionist. She could breathe lies.
"Sure, I’ll play if your name is as pretty as the rest of you." She almost replied out of habit and then remembered why she was talking to me. "Oh it is. I might even tell you if you’re a big winner." She gave me a dazzling pixie smile, promising all sorts of things I didn’t know I wanted. It must have taken hours of practice. "Here’s a pencil and a form." I randomly jammed nine spots on the Keno form and thumbed the wager to her little tray. "Don’t wander too far now. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to be all kinds of lucky tonight." She wiggled away on those strappy heels, going
back downstairs to finish rounding up the game. The tails of her suit coat were labeled, "Don’t Touch." I assumed it had to do with gaming laws.
"Split tail coat, how appropriate," Rafe said. It sounded like an Ogre translation. I wondered what he meant to say. I shrugged, he shrugged. I led us off to complete our tour down the hall. Signs offered "Consensual Lovin" and "Wild MILFs." The doorways held a rogue’s gallery, leaned against the paneling and watching the action. There was a woman screaming and a male growling cheer at the right door. I listened for a moment, but no one said "Dunbar."
The hall opened into another lounge on the left. There was a tiny bar at the back manned by an androgynous fellow with a lot of lip rings. A large Gorila leaned on the wall, watching his network glasses and listening to feeds. He blocked a door labeled "Staff only." Panning our feed to the right, we saw another Gorila with unlikely upper body development, a fighting Skin. He also had his attention on feeds. These two would be the hall monitors.
Another room on the right, this had an arched entry with gold leaf lettering, "The Grotto." The interior was dim, but water reflections played on the walls. Rafe said, "I’m going to the bar." I told him, "Go on then; I’m going to check out this Grotto."
The room had swirling hot tubs in fake rock formations. A bank of entertainment simulators stood apart to the left. Feeds from the sex rooms played on high mounted screens. Occupancy was low at the moment, just two older men entertained by a group of young girls. It had an intimate feel and the old gents turned unfriendly eyes on my entrance. Three of the girls began caressing each other and the old men lost interest in me. I walked over to the simulator banks. The sims advertised "Best of the Libertine" and "Coeds of LSU." Some of the selections were live links to real time immersions. These simulators had outside connections and quantum bridging. I was sure Saint Peter would appreciate the extra bandwidth. Looking over the list of rules next to the thumbplate gave me cover to squeeze one of Etienne’s black boxes around the cable. I gave it a minute to get into the line and thumbed the payment plate. The sim lid hissed open.
Rafe entered the Grotto, "They don’t serve up here. All they had was a bunch of smart drinks." I could have told him, Norte Americano clubs were funny about mixing nudity and alcohol. Mexicans and the French were less restrictive. "Did you make a big deal about it?" I asked. Rafe said, "Nah, I got these two pecker shooters." He held up shot glasses with foil tops. A reddish liquid floated within, "Supposed to turn Mr. Happy into a stun stick."
He put them down into the open sim bed, "What are you doing here? We got the real damn thing moaning on the other side of this wall." I placed one of Etienne’s black box repeaters into the bed with a party popper, just in case. "I’m not even sure what this attachment is," I said, to cover the action. Rafe lent his bulk to mine and obscured any views. I closed the lid. "When you’re right, you’re right." I bought an hour’s time. It would stay out of service until all was billed.
"Let’s get some more of those pecker rods," I told him as we exited the Grotto. We would wait for our Keno girl at the minibar. Rafe introduced me to "Develin, he’s the club’s Spirit Guide." Develin was the androgynous bartender with the lip full of rings. He had a high voice with a Cuban accent, "You tell me what you want and I make the right spirit for you." His penciled eyebrows gave him a perpetually surprised expression. But his eyes were hard.
"Tell you what, Develin," I said. "Just give me a menu and I’ll puzzle out what I might want." This answer did not sit well with Develin, who flipped a pamphlet on the counter. I grabbed it and moved off to an open table, Rafe behind me. Develin called, "You know where to find me."
I scanned the drinks for ingredients. There were a lot of herbs, but I bet he synthesized them. This could be a source for Major Wilson’s date rape drugs. I pointed at the word "Get" on the menu and asked Rafe, "What do you think about this?" In quick succession I pointed at "Shot, of, Drugs." I didn’t know if he understood until he pulled back his chair and said, "Let’s order then."
I got Horny Goat capsules and a tube of Sustain. Rafe ordered two Tiger Teas. We also panned every container and machine in the minibar. It could be handy later. I palmed the capsules and just sipped the tea. Stepping out of the dark hall, the Keno girl approached.
"There you are, gents," she said, parking her tray on our table and handing me a Keno ticket. I looked at the Keno results ticker above the minibar. It looked like I only hit three spots. She picked up her tray and walked to the staff only door, "Better luck next time." The big Gorila stepped to one side with a smile. Where her tray had rested was a card in a sleeve. I threw an arm over it and inspected the contents. Pressing my thumb to the card a few times showed a balance of four hundred thousand, a year’s good wages for two people. The card was embossed with the trademark of Augenhohlen Handelsgesellschaft, one of the orbital banks that provided anonymized cash cards. It was keyed to my sleeved thumb, but payment was from a numbered account in common. I would be one of millions, even with a warrant. My problem was this wasn’t how Keno paid out. I should have had to redeem a play card at the payout window downstairs. All I had was a slick drop by an employee and a certified losing play.
Now I needed some bandwidth and privacy. We were empty handed inside. All we could do was grab the employee for questioning. There wasn’t anything we could prove on the club. I needed to see what the outside team had and readjust. "I’m going back to the sim."
Rafe looked lost in thought, "Waste not, I guess. Let me know if it’s any good."
I went back to the Grotto. There was only one of the old men and one girl left in the spa. The old man had his eyes closed and a smile on, his girlfriend watched me through wet bangs. I checked the sim for time, still most of the hour. There was a splash behind me. I turned and saw a new girl on the other side of the old man. The first girl had gone fishing. I guess that’s what it took to make the old grump smile. Ignoring the new girl, I went into the robe room. Room may have been generous. It was more of a closet with wings. Towels, robes and lockbins. To get into the sim, I was supposed to strip down and lube up, then grab a robe. Since taking my coat off would be enough to show the Skins, that wasn’t going to happen. What I wanted was a bench out of direct sight where I could conference.
Bandwidth was coming in pretty well. Saint Peter probably had the keys to this club now. I brought up the tactical map. All teams were shown as blue icons, four green dots were in the back of the Swat van. Etienne was there, so I switched to his feed. He was looking at Sal, now covered with dirt and cuffed to the bench. Next to him was Kurt the Valet, showing a lot of eye white. Lalo sat ahead in the passenger seat with a shotgun. Etienne must have been alerted that I was online. He panned to two more men on the other bench. I didn’t recognize them. Then his image got jerky as he moved forward into the driver’s seat for privacy. In seconds, he was fully in. "We have them in hand. Copies are up." I let him know we had no joy in the club, but there was an angle I wanted pursued. I wanted Saint Peter to ask the prisoners about Develin and drugs.
The question was put to copies running at high speed. We had them for high crimes, so Saint Peter was not gentle. It would still take a while, so I reduced the Battlenet to a single lens and reviewed outside feeds. My other lens showed I was still alone. I waited maybe ten more minutes before Saint Peter sent his finding.
The two men I didn’t know were club security, moonlighting for Sal. They knew when Ms. Weathers wanted someone drugged, she told Develin to make a "Hook Shot." It wasn’t on the menu. "Makes people crazy for the action. Sometimes guys would ask for the Hook Shot. They liked the rush." Nobody knew what was in it but Develin.
I sent the message, "Getting sample, will call." The Battlenet folded away to a pixel. I walked quickly out of the robe room. The two girls were helping the old guy out of the spa. I caught a view of a butt like a raisin before they tossed a robe on him. Time to send grandpa home. He would have to move a little faster than that to make it out.
Rafe turned th
at Ogre scowl toward me as I approached. I was acutely aware of the two hall monitor guards with their network glasses and Skins. The staff door and hall afforded easy reinforcement. I should light touch this approach or be prepared to fight hard.
"So how was it?" asked Rafe. I cupped the back of his head and whispered, "The net is up." He laughed like I was witty and said, "Alright then. Hey, I got to piss after this Tiger Sweat tea. You be OK for a minute or you want to go, too?" I told him, "Go ahead, I want to try one of these shots."
Rafe went down the dark hall to the toilets near the band lounge. I went back to the minibar. "Hey Develin, a lady told me I could get a shot over here that would give me another reason to live. Is that right?" Develin pulled out a shot glass and said, "Just name it and you can judge." I smiled and asked for a "Hook Shot."
Develin froze and looked at the staff door guard. They stayed staring for a moment until the guard nodded. Develin swept the shot glass away and put up a special shot glass. One of those cup in a cup double shots. I got two different potions from unmarked bottles poured into it, like binary explosive. Develin pushed it toward me and waited. "Make another for mi amigo and we’ll take ‘em when he gets back." I scooped up the shot and went back to the table. When I sat down, I caught a glimpse of the guard and Develin in some kind of staring match. Walking around with controlled drugs was probably not how things worked here. But they could still see me and I was going to dose my friend, so they let it slide.
My coat and bulk provided blind spots at the table. This hid me opening a condom wrapper and unrolling a few inches. Into that, I poured the shot. A quick knot sealed it and a push got it in my catheter slit. I hadn’t tubed up tonight, so the pouch should be sterile and water tight. I grabbed a sip from my Tiger Tea and sloshed a little into the shot glass. Develin seemed to be stalling with the other shot. But it didn’t matter anymore. I sent the "Come and get it" command to the Battlenet. Rafe sent back, "Be right there."
I pulled up the tactical map feed. Our walkthrough had been processed to greatly improve the interior layout. Blue icons were closing on the club, to engage a lot of red dots. I resized the map to give me better vision of the Real. We needed to secure those two bottles Develin had in the minibar. Otherwise, this was going to be a legal fiasco. I picked at a plan to first take, then defend the Alamo.
Rafe came out of the dark hall and rejoined me, passing the old man and his escorts on the way out. Grandpa was clearly not going to make it. Develin called out in his Cuban tenor, "Come get your shots, gentlemens." Rafe looked at me and I answered by taking the watered double shot on our table. "That tastes nasty. What the hell is that?" We both got up and closed with the minibar. Under my breath, I said "Dunbar."
It was the only good trick I could suggest to the battle plan. When I said Dunbar, Saint Peter introduced the cry to the sound feed from several rooms. He had a variety of voices. I heard footsteps as the big shouldered gorila moved quickly down the hall. The staff entrance gorila moved his hand up to his glasses and froze in place. He didn’t want to leave his post, but watched the network feeds too intently to see the Real.
I turned toward him and grasped his loose hands. The charge coursed from hand to hand, electrifying his nervous system. I hit him twice while building potential. The house lights blinked until I let him drop. Rafe had pulled Develin, shrieking, over the minibar in this time, cuffing his hands behind him. The shrieking stopped abruptly. Rafe pulled him the rest of the way out of the minibar to fall on the floor.
I stood and jogged to the dark hall entrance. Standing just back from the corner, my electric field extended my eyes. Big shoulders would be coming. Behind me, Rafe propped Develin against the staff door and pulled the Skin’s clavicle collar over the guard’s head. Peeling the Skins to the waist, he would cuff them there to immobilize him. The network glasses, he crushed underfoot. Most likely Saint Peter owned their Security net, but Rafe liked to be thorough.
Big shoulders must have heard something, because he came trotting out of the dark hall and almost ran into me. My bioelectric sense gave me a bare second’s warning to get my hands up and pivot, touching his arm as he passed. That arm shot straight out and bounced me off the wall panel. I got disoriented and tripped on a chair. Rafe jumped a nearby table, the black coat fluttering like wings, and I felt his charged field go by. There were sounds of a fight and the field faded suddenly.
I scrambled upright, using the furnishings. My equilibrium was a little off, but I left that to my Nano and went to see Rafe. He was struggling with the Skins, trying to shock them insensate and getting beaten by the galvanic attack response. Big shoulders had pinned Rafe before going limp. I got leverage on an arm and twisted the guard off. The two of us were able to put his Skins to sleep, but it was a real fight. We burned a lot of charge.
Our phones gave an odd buzz, probably realizing they no longer had signal. We were busy dragging and cuffing Big shoulders. Three prisoners piled up on the staff door would give us a moment to adjust if someone came through there. Rafe dragged chairs and tables over to the dark hall. He improvised a barricade with the furniture and plasticuffs. I helped him at the end and we draped our coats over the mess to hide detail.
We tore off our shirts to reveal the Templar paint job on our Skins. Hopefully, no Garda raiders would shoot us. It did have an immediate effect on patrons exiting the sex rooms. They came out singly, fooling with their phones. When they saw the barricade with two Templars, most just ran. A few yelled back in the rooms and then ran. In seconds, we had a mob of half dressed sheep running from us wolves.
The noise level in the club jumped way up, like the filters failed. The band hit a few bad chords and stopped playing. No doubt the gorilas at the top and bottom of the stairs were getting news of our appearance but would be unable to buck the tide of patrons leaving, at least for a little bit. I assembled my air pistol while Rafe rolled party poppers down the hallway. They were small, but command detonated. I gave him some of mine, and he extended coverage by the staff door. I covered us while he assembled his derringer.
The airguns used powder puff ceramic rounds to eliminate ricochets. They were lethal capable, but good armor would turn them to dust on impact. And we couldn’t pack very many shots. I checked the Battlenet to see where the cavalry was.
The APC’s and drone cars were just turning in from Clyde Fant parkway. The valets would see them in a second. The paddle boat was coming downriver with our marines. Red dots on the tactical map were fuzzy, indicating old information or lost contacts. It would sharpen up once Major Wilson engaged. Inside, Saint Peter was using the club network to mark security. I saw two red dots approaching the dark hall. Two more were coming up the stairway behind them.
"Company coming," Rafe told me. "I’ll work the hall if you‘ll watch the door." He was back to his normal voice. It sounded odd coming out of Ogre’s mouth.
"Good enough, compadre." I went over to the minibar and used it for cover on the doorway. Rafe shouted down the hall, "This is a raid. We’re Garda. Do not resist." The four red dots bunched up on the tactical map. They convened like a jury for a couple minutes. The verdict was not good. Two red dots disappeared, probably into the staff area. The other two took up positions on both sides of the hall.
"Bullshit," one said, "Garda don’t raid from the inside out. Let’s see badges."
Rafe wasn’t going to let them get that close, "Just wait a minute and you can see a whole lot of badges coming up the stairs."
Then things got busy. The hall guards tried a bounding overwatch, to get down the hall one doorway at a time. Flash bangs along the walls drove back that attempt. A shot came over the barricade and put a hole in the wall, covering fire for their withdrawal. Then the staff door opened inward and our two gorila prisoners fell backward into the opening. A flash bang stuck to the door face exploded and I popped up from behind the minibar, seeking targets.
I saw the black guard with the turtle cut hair behind the doorway. He had a pistol,
but was disoriented by the party popper. My shot hit his pistol, releasing a cloud of powder around his head. He cursed and backpedaled away from the door. Another shot to the door sent powder following him back to the staff area. I grabbed another party popper, thumbed the trigger and flipped it in the doorway. Rafe detonated some more poppers in the hall as his gorilas were trying to force entry while the others attacked me. The open staff door had his exposed back, so I followed my own thrown munitions to the doorway. The flash bang went off, echoing loudly and throwing bright light on the door. It was deafening and made me squint, so the guys inside were probably stunned. I got a hand on the frame, leaning over our pile of prisoners and peeked into a hall with an alcove workstation. Turtle hair was pushing his pistol out, but backing up toward another open door. He was blinking rapidly and working his jaw in textbook recovery reflex from the flash bangs.
I jumped in the doorway, got a foot on the open door and launched after him. My shoulder slid under his gun hand and into his stomach. Classic Norte Americano football tackle. The pistol went off above me and clattered to the floor. Turtle hair flew air express into the door way behind him, his elbow breaking with a loud pop.
I swung my air gun around the hall, looking for the second gorila. There had been no sign of him since the red dots split up. My ears were still ringing, but my eyes saw movement back at the staff door. Was one of the prisoners trying to get up? Then I saw the pistol, poking out from behind the open door. He had gotten trapped by the prisoners lying in the doorway. I leaped and delivered a flying kick to the door as shots rang out.
I swear I hit the door hard enough to leave an embossed footprint on the other side. Rebounding, I stepped on a prisoner and went down. Big shoulders opened his eyes and started thrashing around. I showed him the muzzle of my air pistol and he stopped moving. Looking past him I could see the other Gorila and Develin also had their eyes open. Both were blinking and working their jaws. They probably couldn’t see or hear me. Behind the door, the big white boy from downstairs leaned sideways around the edge. He had a pained expression and a pistol. I snapped two shots off and threw a shoulder into the door. He was so big and the door distributed blows so well that I couldn’t drop him through it. My charge was mostly gone and recharge would take hours. My pistol had one shot left and I really didn’t want to have to kill him.
But then again, he was the one trapped behind a steel door with no friends. I brought up what charge I could and applied it to the door. "Give it up Cochino. I really am a Templar and I will fry your dumb ass with this steel door if you don’t toss the gun." He responded much better to the reasonable approach. The pistol flipped out and landed on the floor. I retrieved it and looked back toward Turtle hair.
He had pulled himself back toward his dropped gun, crawling on the floor, equilibrium being screwed from two flash bangs and a flying tackle. His eyes locked with mine and he stopped moving. I walked over and got the pistol.
"Sit up, Tortuga. Give me your good arm." I took his arm and dragged him over to the far door. Cuffing his good hand to the door knob, I left him blocking the entry.
"Just sit there and we’ll get you an ambulance."
Back at the staff door, I pulled Big shoulders into the hall to clear the doorway a little. "Go ahead and slowly push the door Cochino. You should be able to squeeze out." He slid the other bound gorila across the doorway until he could step out from behind the door. I showed him both pistols. "Come over here and kneel down so I can get you safely arrested."
After that, I just basked in the adoring glares of my captive fan club and waited for my hearing to return. Rafe’s feed showed a clear hallway. The tactical map showed two red dots still in the lounge at the end of the dark hall. Blue icons were in the club, but I couldn’t hear anything except a loud tone in my ears. I watched the far door, with Tortuga tied to the knob and waited.
The blue team arrived, in the form of soldiers and Supersheps. The two red dots still on our floor turned to green. I heard Rafe yell, "Templar over here. All clear."
I put the pistols on the alcove work station and shouted down the staff hall, "Templars over here. All clear." A Super Shepherd sniffed Tortuga through the open doorway, causing a panic attack. "Get that thing away from me," he cried, twisting at his bonds.
Supersheps have enlarged craniums, featuring a wide toothy mouth. If you had never worked with one, they look very ferocious. They were actually less likely to bite someone by mistake than any natural breed. You could also have a conversation with one, if you were willing to learn the language. The one I met, through his handler, loved his sausage rare with a little Worcestershire and playing on the nature channel. They made great companion dogs. Most were Transfers of previously modified working dogs, bred for intelligence. Given time and unrestricted tampering, Supersheps would probably become a new intelligent race. I still wasn't sure how I felt about that, but the AI's called it a human creative act. They would know, I guess.
I told Tortuga the truth. "That is a Garda officer and you are less likely to be hurt by him than by me." The Shep sneezed clear snot on Tortuga and backed away out of sight. He was replaced with a soldier cradling a stripped down carbine. "The Marshal’s exactly right. Now that I’m here, there are two of us who would like to hurt you. So scoot your big ass over and hold this door open."
It was Sergeant Jones, the dog handler. He came in with two privates and three dogs. The hall got crowded with bound and armed men. "Sergeant Jones, I presume. Let’s get these prisoners back in the room behind me. Make a little space for us."
Jones grabbed the pistols from the alcove, "Roger that. Benson, Devi police this shit into the next room."
He pointed at one of the Sheps and said, "Kia’i huli hup." The dog trotted past me and jumped over my prisoners to get into the minibar lounge. I walked out of the staff door and grabbed a prisoner’s feet, dragging him into the room. Rafe was disassembling his barricade with three more soldiers. While the soldiers cleaned up, I leaned over the minibar and found the two bottles used for the Hook Shot.
"They don’t have no damn tequila back there." I straightened up and looked behind to see Major Wilson strolling out of the dark hall with his Aide. "I’m out there kicking butt and you’re up here rearranging deck chairs and making drinks."
He gave me that cocky smirk, smacking his little riding crop in a huge palm.
"Well, you took long enough to get here," I said. "I was going to start working crosswords soon."
"You know, you just can’t spoil this for me," he grinned. "That Ms. Weathers was trying to get on a little skiff down at the dock and leave. Don’t you know she fell in the river when our marine assault went in."
He gave me a big smile, "I must be Nostra-damn-damus."
I grinned with him and he leaned carefully on the bar to look at the Hook Shot bottles. "If you would have told me this place was under that railroad bridge, I might have asked for an aerial envelopment." I slapped at his chest salad, "Could have got you another merit badge."
He looked surprised and said, "Shit, I didn’t even think about that. Maybe when this place opens again I can get some paratrooper fun."
We got down to business and assessed results. Fourteen arrested, all staff with the club. About fifty patrons detained. Nobody dead. We had drugs and data to sift through, but resisting charges would hold everybody until we could get that checked out. Ms. Weathers, once her hair dried, appeared to be the Keno girl in different clothes. Shows you what a Performing Arts degree was worth lately.
We uploaded our criminals and let the Barksdale boys sort out the mess. I needed to get some rest, like a snake after a big meal. Etienne helped pick up my slack and Rafe’s for that matter. We were both feeling strange from the drinks and adrenaline. Nano and meds could only block so much of the effects. My cousins brought the Swat van into the tiny parking lot and turned over their prisoners. Rafe and I stumbled into the van and peeled off the face masks and Skins. Etienne came in with the gray van and to
ld Memo to run us over to an off-strip motel. "Tuck them in and watch over them while they sleep. The rest of us will be along later." The drive and check in were a blur.
****