This is heading towards an unpleasant confrontation. If only people could just get along...
Six
I stared at him, focused but conscious of the sudden gap in the crowd around us. One of the barmen eased into view; the Australian, carrying a baseball bat. He was a big lad, red hair, freckles, wearing a good-humoured smile that didn’t stretch as far as his eyes.
Vaughn, or the thing that looked like Vaughn, smiled at me. “Sit down, Duncan, or you’ll get put down by our friend here. You’ve nothing to lose by just talking to me.”
I hesitated, but chummy with the club looked like he didn’t mind busting up a tourist, so I placed my broken glass on the table and slid back into my damp chair. Vaughn fished out his wallet and held out a wad of local currency to the barman.
“Sorry about all the commotion, just a misunderstanding between old friends. Is that enough to cover your trouble, and a new round?”
The Aussie twirled his bat and bounced it off one forearm, plucking it deftly from mid-air and bringing it smartly to a ‘parade rest’ stance. This impromptu juggling broke the tension and drew a smattering of applause from the other patrons. The condon sanitaire around us began to shrink as the barman relieved Vaughn of his money and disappeared into the throng.
I flicked a shard of glass at him. “Care to tell me how any of this is possible? You’ve got about two minutes before she gets back… “. I motioned towards Miss Harry. “…and hits the roof .”
Vaughn took her hand and kissed it. “Debs, wonderful to see you again. It seems like ages.”
The non-player-character version smiled. “And you, Vaughn. Been having fun?”
Vaughn ignored her and faced me. “The lights are on but no-one home, right? I did think she took me dropping in like this real well. I suggest we make ourselves scarce while we can. Things could get a bit awkward.”
He stood but I remained where I was. “Who’s this ‘we’, kemo sabe? You’re the one who’s just erased her boyfriend, but I’d rather you didn’t stand so close to me when she brings the house down.”
“Look, Duncan, Cromarty-“
“Stein. He goes by the name Chris Stein in this body. That body.”
Vaughn shrugged. “Cromarty, Stein, whatever. He’s now in the hands of his new employers and I’ve hijacked his interface with the game environment. Look, I can get you out of this mess but it’s a once-only offer. Savvy?”
He started to walk away and I found myself trailing after him, again, pushing through the unhelpful street crowd to catch up. Vaughn threw more cash at the driver of a semi-legitimate taxi, a lime green Citron 2CV, and we piled in back. We moved down the street at less than walking pace but at least conversation was possible. He wiped sweat from his brow, keeping an eye out the window.
“OK, I’ve been listening in to your side of the conversation since you shot me – and that bloody hurt, by the way – and I’m prepared to help.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’ve been what? How? I ditched the earpiece.”
Vaughn grinned. “Viral implant when you touched my sword. I can only hear the speech you generate though, but enough to get the gist of your cunning plan.”
“And you came rushing back to my rescue? I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “Actually I’ve been sent back in to confirm who knows the real reason for this little charade, that being you and Debs, with a view to a real-world clean up.”
It felt cold in the taxi, despite the climate. “Well, thanks for the heads-up. I take it you’re still being pressured by whoever is holding your daughter? So how long do I have before meeting an unfortunate accident?”
Vaughn shifted to look at me directly, his grey eyes like stone. “Look, I work for the Russian mafia diaspora, second, third generation émigrés who are now almost entirely legitimate. However, they’ve stayed in touch with their roots and are distinctly old-school when it comes to dealing with betrayal, in the sense of bolt cutters and blowtorches. They like to employ family men, men with ties, men with a lot to lose. The up-side of that is they take care of their own.”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning no way was my daughter lifted right off the street without NovaRus knowing about it. Because that made me susceptible to outside influence I’d have been kept on ice while they found her, or her body, and massacred those responsible. It’s obvious my employers were behind the kidnapping, they’re behind all of this.”
I found that putting a name to the puppet-masters didn’t help any. “So what, man? They’ve still got you by the balls.”
His smile was a thin line. “My wife died in a car crash two years ago. Accident. My parents are both dead and I’ve no other family apart from my daughter, Helene. My wife left us a DVD, a kind of video farewell, the usual kind of ‘why I loved you’ stuff. Right at the end, though, she dropped the bomb. Hundred megaton airburst. I wasn’t Helene’s real father – there was even a DNA test to prove it.”
There was an awkward silence. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well, hard thing to take. But you raised her man, from birth, you were more of a father-“
“Every time I see Helene I see betrayal, countless lies, years wasted. I came to resent her, hate her, but now I’m truly indifferent. If she dies because of this I’ll walk away with a clear conscience.”
Man, that was cold. All that anger he felt towards his dead wife, projected onto the living reminder of her treachery. There was a tick in his left cheek and his hands were fists, so I didn’t doubt his daughter was in deep ****.
“Vaughn, ah…Look, if you don’t care, truly don’t care, they why’d you agree to all this in the first place? You could have called their bluff, told them to stick it.”
“Once I realised it was NovaRus yanking my chain I decided to get the hell out, taking as much of their money as I could. Unfortunately in the real world I’m so closely monitored there’s little opportunity for sticky fingers. Your virtual Canasta though, that’s a different matter. I can give him access to a master file index – every bank account, every password, every authorisation protocol.”
I almost choked. “Jesus, man, are you serious? How much are we talking about?”
“Hardly matters, as long as he gets it all. It has to be a real Burning Chrome gig.”
It took me a moment to get the reference. “Burning….Gibson?”
He grinned, looking like the Vaughn Vermeer I knew. “Yup. We clean out all their liquid assets and NovaRus are in serious trouble. I mean the people behind it, not just the organisation. They might be legit but their backers are old-school as well – anyone who loses that amount of money doesn’t deserve to be in business. Or breathing.”
I sat back, my mouth dry. A personality construct, reaching out through dodgy intermediaries to trash a major financial institution? God, the backlash would be something fierce. Christ knows what the real Canasta would do if the bad boys came calling, although they’d ignore his denials as a matter or course. Thinking about it, I could live without the money. Thinking about it, though, I wouldn’t mind a taste.
The taxi had reached a major thoroughfare and picked up speed. Some of the surroundings looked familiar and I looked over at Vaughn. “Where the hell are we going, anyway? The Spin?”
“Just a touch-and-go. You have an appointment at the Russian Tea Room across the street, remember?”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me! I just hope Ramirez is bringing some spare firepower.”
Vaughn rummaged inside his coat – big interior pockets – and handed me a pair of SIG subcompact 9mm pistols. With the coat open I could see another pair stuffed into his waistband. I held mine up by way of query. “What’s this we’re heading into, a John Woo movie?”
“Well, either that or the end of Butch and Sundance. Take your pick.”
Six
I stared at him, focused but conscious of the sudden gap in the crowd around us. One of the barmen eased into view; the Australian, carrying a baseball bat. He was a big lad, red hair, freckles, wearing a good-humoured smile that didn’t stretch as far as his eyes.
Vaughn, or the thing that looked like Vaughn, smiled at me. “Sit down, Duncan, or you’ll get put down by our friend here. You’ve nothing to lose by just talking to me.”
I hesitated, but chummy with the club looked like he didn’t mind busting up a tourist, so I placed my broken glass on the table and slid back into my damp chair. Vaughn fished out his wallet and held out a wad of local currency to the barman.
“Sorry about all the commotion, just a misunderstanding between old friends. Is that enough to cover your trouble, and a new round?”
The Aussie twirled his bat and bounced it off one forearm, plucking it deftly from mid-air and bringing it smartly to a ‘parade rest’ stance. This impromptu juggling broke the tension and drew a smattering of applause from the other patrons. The condon sanitaire around us began to shrink as the barman relieved Vaughn of his money and disappeared into the throng.
I flicked a shard of glass at him. “Care to tell me how any of this is possible? You’ve got about two minutes before she gets back… “. I motioned towards Miss Harry. “…and hits the roof .”
Vaughn took her hand and kissed it. “Debs, wonderful to see you again. It seems like ages.”
The non-player-character version smiled. “And you, Vaughn. Been having fun?”
Vaughn ignored her and faced me. “The lights are on but no-one home, right? I did think she took me dropping in like this real well. I suggest we make ourselves scarce while we can. Things could get a bit awkward.”
He stood but I remained where I was. “Who’s this ‘we’, kemo sabe? You’re the one who’s just erased her boyfriend, but I’d rather you didn’t stand so close to me when she brings the house down.”
“Look, Duncan, Cromarty-“
“Stein. He goes by the name Chris Stein in this body. That body.”
Vaughn shrugged. “Cromarty, Stein, whatever. He’s now in the hands of his new employers and I’ve hijacked his interface with the game environment. Look, I can get you out of this mess but it’s a once-only offer. Savvy?”
He started to walk away and I found myself trailing after him, again, pushing through the unhelpful street crowd to catch up. Vaughn threw more cash at the driver of a semi-legitimate taxi, a lime green Citron 2CV, and we piled in back. We moved down the street at less than walking pace but at least conversation was possible. He wiped sweat from his brow, keeping an eye out the window.
“OK, I’ve been listening in to your side of the conversation since you shot me – and that bloody hurt, by the way – and I’m prepared to help.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’ve been what? How? I ditched the earpiece.”
Vaughn grinned. “Viral implant when you touched my sword. I can only hear the speech you generate though, but enough to get the gist of your cunning plan.”
“And you came rushing back to my rescue? I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “Actually I’ve been sent back in to confirm who knows the real reason for this little charade, that being you and Debs, with a view to a real-world clean up.”
It felt cold in the taxi, despite the climate. “Well, thanks for the heads-up. I take it you’re still being pressured by whoever is holding your daughter? So how long do I have before meeting an unfortunate accident?”
Vaughn shifted to look at me directly, his grey eyes like stone. “Look, I work for the Russian mafia diaspora, second, third generation émigrés who are now almost entirely legitimate. However, they’ve stayed in touch with their roots and are distinctly old-school when it comes to dealing with betrayal, in the sense of bolt cutters and blowtorches. They like to employ family men, men with ties, men with a lot to lose. The up-side of that is they take care of their own.”
I frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning no way was my daughter lifted right off the street without NovaRus knowing about it. Because that made me susceptible to outside influence I’d have been kept on ice while they found her, or her body, and massacred those responsible. It’s obvious my employers were behind the kidnapping, they’re behind all of this.”
I found that putting a name to the puppet-masters didn’t help any. “So what, man? They’ve still got you by the balls.”
His smile was a thin line. “My wife died in a car crash two years ago. Accident. My parents are both dead and I’ve no other family apart from my daughter, Helene. My wife left us a DVD, a kind of video farewell, the usual kind of ‘why I loved you’ stuff. Right at the end, though, she dropped the bomb. Hundred megaton airburst. I wasn’t Helene’s real father – there was even a DNA test to prove it.”
There was an awkward silence. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well, hard thing to take. But you raised her man, from birth, you were more of a father-“
“Every time I see Helene I see betrayal, countless lies, years wasted. I came to resent her, hate her, but now I’m truly indifferent. If she dies because of this I’ll walk away with a clear conscience.”
Man, that was cold. All that anger he felt towards his dead wife, projected onto the living reminder of her treachery. There was a tick in his left cheek and his hands were fists, so I didn’t doubt his daughter was in deep ****.
“Vaughn, ah…Look, if you don’t care, truly don’t care, they why’d you agree to all this in the first place? You could have called their bluff, told them to stick it.”
“Once I realised it was NovaRus yanking my chain I decided to get the hell out, taking as much of their money as I could. Unfortunately in the real world I’m so closely monitored there’s little opportunity for sticky fingers. Your virtual Canasta though, that’s a different matter. I can give him access to a master file index – every bank account, every password, every authorisation protocol.”
I almost choked. “Jesus, man, are you serious? How much are we talking about?”
“Hardly matters, as long as he gets it all. It has to be a real Burning Chrome gig.”
It took me a moment to get the reference. “Burning….Gibson?”
He grinned, looking like the Vaughn Vermeer I knew. “Yup. We clean out all their liquid assets and NovaRus are in serious trouble. I mean the people behind it, not just the organisation. They might be legit but their backers are old-school as well – anyone who loses that amount of money doesn’t deserve to be in business. Or breathing.”
I sat back, my mouth dry. A personality construct, reaching out through dodgy intermediaries to trash a major financial institution? God, the backlash would be something fierce. Christ knows what the real Canasta would do if the bad boys came calling, although they’d ignore his denials as a matter or course. Thinking about it, I could live without the money. Thinking about it, though, I wouldn’t mind a taste.
The taxi had reached a major thoroughfare and picked up speed. Some of the surroundings looked familiar and I looked over at Vaughn. “Where the hell are we going, anyway? The Spin?”
“Just a touch-and-go. You have an appointment at the Russian Tea Room across the street, remember?”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me! I just hope Ramirez is bringing some spare firepower.”
Vaughn rummaged inside his coat – big interior pockets – and handed me a pair of SIG subcompact 9mm pistols. With the coat open I could see another pair stuffed into his waistband. I held mine up by way of query. “What’s this we’re heading into, a John Woo movie?”
“Well, either that or the end of Butch and Sundance. Take your pick.”
