The Dead Slam: A Tale of Benevolent Assasination (31 page)

P
etey’s eyes
hung heavy in their darkened sockets as he sat shoulder to shoulder with the chestnut-haired girl in the refreshingly feminine version of the shiny hacker get-up. Her pitch for the game designer job hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know, except that she, for an undetermined price, would build him any game he wanted. She was vague and her answers to his questions cautiously ambiguous. She’d been going on and on and in and out of that hatefully infuriating, incomprehensible geek-speak, explaining in extremely general terms how she would design a game for him, in excruciating detail. He was bored and confused but he tried desperately to pay attention.

“Games are made of two things: players and rules. Nothing else,” she droned on. “The rules shape the game, give it a frame, by limiting what the players can and cannot do. Like sheet music tells a musician what notes to play, and not to play. A frame. The goal creates movement within the frame. If you want people to play your game, all you need is to give them an attractive goal.”

She was smug yet coquettish, and famous for being the first woman hacker to have her shiny coat tailored to the female form. For this, she had been named Turnstyle. Turnstyle was brilliant and always looked good.

“Funny handle,” said Petey. “Turnstile?”

She didn’t bother to correct him or hide her contempt. “Funny, ha ha, or funny peculiar?”

He hadn’t meant to offend, but imagining her in a penny-dreadful doorway with a turnstile was lurid and worrisome. Could he trust someone with such poor judgment? “What’s your family name?”

“You will never know my family name.”

“Don’t be ashamed — look how nice you turned out.”

“You will never know my family name, because you and I will never be — familiar.”

Petey crumpled. He was exhausted and now he’d have to deal with this exasperating FemiNazi.

She laughed at his discomfort, staring at him for what seemed an eternity, then a facetious glint sparked in her eye. “I have an old, coin-operated turnstile in my living room. From before the tunnels were flooded. I love that thing.”

He couldn’t tell if she was putting him on or not. “How do you know it’s real?”

“That’s what some guy told me. And that’s what I choose to believe. It’s a matter of faith.”

He didn’t know how to take that, and mumbled, “Not all the tunnels are flooded.”

“How do you know?”

“Some guy told me.”

She was searching for anything that would drag this out until she could make her move. She’d been stalling all along, but that lie about the turnstile had stunned him, he was second-guessing himself. This was starting to be fun.

“Why do you all wear that outfit?”

“It marks us out.”

“Against what?”

“Would you wear this?”

“Hell no.”

She flashed him a stink-eye with an exaggerated carnival queen smile.

He slumped onto the desk. Exasperating . . .

“I’m not the girl you take to the prom. So, let’s drop the niceties and get down to brass tacks.”

“Gladly. As long as we can speak English.”

“First, what do you want to achieve with this game? What’s your personal goal? Not the goal of the game itself, but your intentions for having this game made in the first place.”

“I want the NPF to attack New York.”

“No! That’s the goal of the game. What’s your goal? You want them to attack? Why?”

“Because Tuke doesn’t want them to attack.”

“Nice. And what do you think would make them attack, if they don’t want to?”

“I thought you’d know.”

She gawked at him with deep pity. “I construct games, not conspiracies.”

“I was led to believe you could make a game out of anything.”

“I can gamify anything — doesn’t mean I should. You’ll have to give me a minute. I’ve never done anything this evil before.”

“Did you say prom, or Girl Scout Jamboree?”

She continued in her painfully time-consuming way. “Here’s where you lose me, Petey.” Calling him Petey thrilled her. “It’s how you see this imaginary game of yours. Your vision. You sound like you want a first person shooter. I’m not surprised, but I don’t think a first person shooter, or a capture the flag kind of thing, will work here. Unless you want to destroy the city. Always fun — but really?”

“I don’t want to destroy the city. I just want to slow them down.”

“Who? The NPF?”

“Yes, and no.”

“Well! That clears things up.”

“They gave Tuke forty-eight hours, but I need them to attack as soon as possible. If they attack, whatever he’s bringing in forty-eight hours won’t mean a thing. It will be lost in the chaos.”

“What’s coming in forty-eight hours?”

“I don’t know. But if they attack, there’ll be resistance. We have citizen militias and pay-to-play security everywhere. It’ll take months. I just need a few days.”

“Why don’t you wait out the forty-eight hours? See what happens. Maybe you’re overreacting. I see a reactionary streak in you.”

“Wait forty-eight hours!? See what happens? That, I fear more than an attack. An attack is nothing. But I know a real threat when I see it.”

“Threat? From?”

“Levi Tuke.”

She instantly gathered her belongings and headed straight for the door.

Petey dogged her every step. “Please. Hear me out. I’ll pay anything you want.”

She turned and pointed a harsh finger at him. “I don’t give a shit what you do. But I won’t take on Tuke.”

“If you’re worried about Tuke . . .”

“It’s not Tuke. He’s the godfather of all hackers. I love Tuke. It’s his players. His protectors. The Big Brains. The KNim. They would destroy me. How much is that worth?”

“Put a number on it.”

She paused a beat too long. “It would take a lot.”

He had her! She was adding it up. “I got a lot,” he said. “I’m really rich. Really rich.”

She stared into the near distance.

He studied her hopefully, as everything hung on her next move, but she seemed to be stalling. “What would it take to totally reinvent yourself? Somewhere else. Somewhere nice.”

“What if . . .” Her phone rang. “I have to take this.” She turned away and covered her mouth. “It’s me.”

Petey waited with a slight smile creeping across his face; she was already spending the money.
If she tells a friend about this, it’s all over.

“Yeah, OK. Um hum.” She hung up.

Petey aimed two questioning eyes at her.

She tucked her phone into her pocket and stared straight at him. “I’ll do it for a hundred and twenty million.”

Petey recoiled. “Dollars!?” He was less concerned about the money than getting beaten by a girl.

“Of course! But you do not have to pay until I send you confirmation of an imminent attack. I guarantee it.”

“You don’t even know what the game is yet.”

She aimed her most venomous smile yet at him, and sneered, “For that much money, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

T
he quiet of
the Quaker Meeting House had given way to small clusters of men and women jabbering amongst themselves. In his office overlooking the garden, Nick Jaquay spoke in an agitated voice. “Something’s happening. Every geek in town is going crazy.”

Lily had never imagined such a fine house. It was in the oldest and most prosperous part of Pittsburgh, near the Frick Manson. She was enchanted. Max loved the aura of discovery on her face, but he couldn’t stop worrying about the Peregrine. For the first time since landing in the city, he felt its menace. This was strange territory in strange circumstances, and the Peregrine was their lifeline.

MacIan wasn’t worried about the Peregrine. It was able to protect itself, and them. But he couldn’t stop watching Max and Lily; they were so damn cute together.

“I do not know what the Tuke are up to,” said Jaquay, a fearful quaver in his throat. “No one does. Not a soul. It’s way too heady for me. But I can’t help getting the feeling that something is about to explode. Tessyier and Klevens were of this Meeting. There are other members of Tuke’s development team here right now. Out there.”

Lily looked to Max with an uneasy grin.

“Are we safe here?” asked Max.

His first use of the word ‘we’ was not lost on Lily.

“I sure as hell hope so,” said Jaquay. He startled as the Peregrine sounded its alarm.

Max sprang to his feet.

MacIan ran to the window.

Jaquay froze.

All four of them were suddenly suspended in a percussive poof!

Ears ringing.

Eyes burning.

Throats on fire.

Max tackled Lily and dove into a roll, cushioning both in the big red coat.

All the air in the room caught fire.

Max and Lily were blown under the table, crashing into a forest of chair legs. They watched the fireball vaporize Nick Jaquay and blow MacIan head over heels out the window, his clothes in flames. Max burst through the charred confetti and smoke, Lily pushing him from behind, to the window. Fiery chunks of shrapnel dangled from his red coat, now dotted with smoldering holes spewing tiny white feathers. They poked their heads out the window, gasping for air, a lick of blue-hot flame venting only a few feet above them. They couldn’t see beyond an arm’s length. Max jumped out the window, into a row of burning shrubs, and flopped onto the ground in a cloud of smoke and feathers. He struggled to his feet and tore off the red coat just as it burst into flame.

MacIan lay beneath a jumble of smoldering debris, impaled on a splintered two-by-four. Max looked back to the window. Lily was OK. MacIan was not. He looked toward the Peregrine.

Lily screamed, “Go!” pointing toward the Peregrine.

Max took off running. As he broke into the alley he could see people scrambling out of the Meeting House, stumbling across the front lawn, and being shot by Black Hearts lining up to execute them — howling at the sport of it.

The Peregrine was shrouded in smoke. Max ran up to it and put his hand on the wind-dome. Nothing happened. He said, “Max, ah, Maximillian.” Nothing! Then a bloodcurdling scream seized him — Lily!

Max bolted for the window, right past MacIan, head swirling. He leapt at the wall, feet pounding up the side, and sprang onto the huge windowsill, teetering on the broken glass with both hands. To his horror, he saw an ugly man in Black Heart fatigues pressing Lily to the wall by her neck. He launched himself into the room, and right into the hands of the monstrous Roy Wils himself. The ugly man slammed Lily onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, chuckling, “Trow in a hero and we’ll have us a tragedy, Brother Wils.”

Max struggled against the ironclad choke-hold Wils had on him.

“Naw. Ez’s come to see da’ fun. Pervy little fuck,” howled Wils.

All the wind had been knocked out of Lily. She flopped about and appeared to be drowning.

Max was drifting into unconsciousness.

The ugly man climbed on top of Lily.

Max went raving mad. Wils had to adjust his hold, which gave Max a sip of air.

The ugly man rubbed his stubbly cheek on Lily’s and smiled lasciviously at Max.

Roy Wils howled again.

Suddenly, the ugly man was screaming and thrashing about with his head stuck at an odd angle, legs churning ineffectively. Wils laughed even harder. Lily had the ugly man’s cheek in her teeth and she wasn’t letting go. The ugly man was kneeling on her hands. All she could do was hang on as he pummeled her head with his fists.

Max would have killed him, but he was no match for Roy Wils.

The ugly man got to his feet and kicked Lily’s head into the marble fireplace. She slumped onto the hearth. Max twisted and jerked erratically with all his strength, but to no avail. Wils hoisted him above his head and body-slammed him into the fireplace. Max crumpled to the floor next to Lily. The ugly man could now feel the full brunt of Lily’s assault. A chunk of his cheek was dangling by a bloody thread, and only now had his blood started to flow. He slumped to one knee, quaking in agony.

Roy Wils laughed with mocking sympathy. “Let’s just skull-fuck the two of ’em — and call it even.”

The ugly man made a feeble attempt to laugh. Wils kicked Max onto his back, put one foot on either side of the boy’s ribcage and sat on his chest.

Wils unzipped his zipper, looking to see if Lily was watching. She appeared to be out cold. Disappointed, he smacked Max on the forehead. “Wakey wakey!”

Lily made her move, rolling away and slipping free, but Wils grabbed her hair at the last instant. “Don’t worry love. I’m savin’ the prize for you.”

Max came to, staring into Roy Wil’s crotch.

Lily surrendered. But Wils gangster-slapped her twice, and her head lolled across the floor.

Max flailed about as violently as he could, but Wils was not only a hundred pounds heavier, he was a hundred times meaner. The ugly man mopped the blood from his cheeks with a balled-up desk blotter, aiming his volcanic hate at Lily.

Lily stayed dead still, scanning the room with feline stealth. A reflection glinting off the ceiling caught her eye. She tried to track it, but the sparkling reflection slashed in eccentric arcs, then disappeared. There it was again, slashing against the wall in rhythm with some motion she could feel. Max! She searched for the reflection as Max bucked. She found it and traced its source. Strapped to Max’s ankle — the shiny little Beretta 9mm.

Knowing how much spring she’d need this time, she pushed off Wils’ boot with both hands and dove beyond his grasp. He lurched for her, but missed and fell off balance. Max felt him lift and bucked with his last ounce of strength. Wils went over on one leg, with an elbow on the floor.

Lily dove for Max’s ankle as Wils threw a thunderous back-handed fist into her shoulder — a split second too late. Its force knocked her clear across the floor. His face blackened as he saw the Beretta in her hand and lunged for it.

She emptied three rounds into his face, watched his head explode, then emptied the clip into the ugly man.

Max pushed Wils’ hulking corpse away and rushed to the window. MacIan lay dead still on the frozen lawn, in a puddle of sooty blood. The young lovers’ faces filled with despair, just as a whirring sound came from the alley. The Peregrine rose up and over the garden wall and hovered next to MacIan. They jumped from the window and ran to the Peregrine. “What now?” yelled Max. The Peregrine’s wind-dome opened and the triage shelf slid out. They lifted MacIan onto it and jumped in.

Max poked Destination > South Side Hospital. The Peregrine rocketed into the air, far faster than he had expected — and not in the direction of South Side Hospital.