Chapter Eighteen

 

Ryan hadn't been flat on his back more than five minutes when another knock came from the flimsy hotel door.

 

"Want me to get it, lover?" Krysty said sleepily.

 

 

"No, I'm on it."

 

Ryan swung open the door, expecting to see Dean and Jak.

 

"Now what?" he said, his voice annoyed. Before him stood a freshly showered and shaved Doc.

 

"Ah, Ryan, might you be interested in joining me for a nightcap to celebrate today's victory of man over machine?"

 

"No, thanks, Doc. I'm whipped. Just want to get some sleep."

 

Doc assumed an understanding look as he pushed away a stray white hair that had broken loose from the rest he'd combed back from his high forehead. "I can certainly share agreement with your exhaustion, friend Cawdor. Indeed, you have earned your rest."

 

"Great. Well, good night," Ryan said, turning his back and moving to step into the hotel room.

 

"Ah, you do know young Dean and Jak both have ventured out?" Doc asked in a conspiratorial tone.

 

"They dropped by," Ryan replied, keeping his back to the old man, mentally willing him to leave.

 

Doc wasn't picking up on the mental vibrations. "I was convinced you were aware of their absence, but wanted to let you know, all the same. Growing boys are growing boys. Well, Jak really isn't a boy anymore, but you gather my meaning."

 

"Right," Ryan replied tightly.

 

"Well, if needed, I will be in that smoky little pub located on the upper level of this mammoth monstrosity, next to the front entrance of the lobby to our humble abode. I think a stiff drink of good whiskey might settle my sleeplessness."

 

"Right. Good night, Doc."

 

Ryan closed the door. "Next time, I swear, I'm not telling anyone where we're staying."

 

"That's okay," Krysty told him. "Why don't you come back to bed and we'll see what comes up next?"

 

 

 

RYAN WOKE UP in the dark bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. His recently reinjured shoulder throbbed dully in time with the pounding in his head.

 

"You felt it, too, lover?" Krysty's voice came from next to him in the bed.

 

"Feltsomething," Ryan replied. "Got a triple-bad pain in my shoulder."

 

A rustling sound came, followed by Krysty's hand on his face. "You're burning up, Ryan."

 

"Not a fever," he said. "Just a headache."

 

"What time is it?"

 

Ryan reached out and felt around on the small end table next to the bed for his wrist chron. He thumbed the button, and the glowing dial revealed the time to be 417 a.m. "After four," he said.

 

"Do you think anything is wrong?"

 

"Mebbe." Ryan stood. "You stay put while I check the other rooms. I'll start with Doc's. Dean and Jak were supposed to be going out for some fun at a vid arcade tonight. Won't hurt to make sure they're snug in their beds."

 

Ryan lit a small candle on the nightstand and hurriedly dressed in the flickering light. Krysty was sitting up, watching him.

 

"You're sure you don't want me to come?" she asked.

 

"No need. Not yet. Let me see if anything's going on first," Ryan replied as he strapped down his holster to his leg. "Keep the door locked."

 

"Don't worry," Krysty replied, rolling out of bed and starting to rummage around for her own clothing. "Door'll be locked and I'll keep a blaster in my hand. No way I'm going back to sleep now."

 

Ryan leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before stepping out into the dingy hotel hallway. He closed the door behind him and heard the lock slide home from the other side. Ryan then turned left, striding down to the end room that Doc was sharing with Dean and Jak. He softly rapped his knuckles against the door once. No answer came. Then he started to pound on the side of the frame and still got no response except from the room next door.

 

"You looking for somebody?" A plump woman in a revealing gown that rose partially above her naked hips stood there, looking Ryan up and down with a saucy eye.

 

"Not tonight, but thanks," he replied, and headed for the hotel lobby and admitting desk. He knew where he was going to search next.

 

 

 

WHEN RYAN ENTERED THE PUB, he had no trouble spotting his quarry.

 

Doc appeared to be staggering, stupefied drunk. He had removed his frock coat and hung it over the back of the spindly wooden chair he was slumped in. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, showing his lean arms down to the elbow. Still, even in his vaporous good cheer, Ryan noticed that he hadn't let his swordstick go far from within quick reach, and the snap on the holster of the unwieldy Le Mat was unsnapped for fast removal.

 

"Doc, you look crocked," Ryan said.

 

"I am, my dear Ryan Cawdor, I am," Doc crowed back happily, his breath a pungent mix of rye and gin and only the bartender and the empty bottles on his shelves knew what else. "Come, sit! Drink and be merryand you will sip for free! Everybody loves a winner! I have been the recipient of free bourbon all the night through thanks to our proud association! They have been playing a vid tape over and over on the pub's television of you smiting the steel dragon. You might yet have found your calling as slayer of androids."

 

A waitress came over, winding her way past the other tables and pub junkies. She was dressed in a short black skirt of faux leather, near sheer white hose, green shirt and matching green-and-white neckerchief. The subdued lighting in the pub helped shave years off her features and contribute to the illusion of a thirty-year-old temptress hoping for a tip.

 

"Nice eye patch," she said dryly. "What are you drinking?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Uh-uh. Got to drink something, mister. This ain't a" she began.

 

"Get me a beer, then. Bring the whole fucking pitcher!"

 

"Simmer down, Patch," she retorted as she left to fill the angry request. "Usually people don't turn into raging assholes until after they've tasted the brew."

 

"She'll be back. Here," Doc said, handing Ryan a shot glass with a thin coating of amber fluid on the bottom. "Drink up!"

 

"Mebbe later," Ryan replied tightly. "Look, Doc. Snap up for a sec. Did Dean or Jak tell you where that vid arcade was supposed to be?"

 

"No, Ryan. They kept their destination private," Doc declared sadly. "Ah, children. What is one to do with the wee ones? I remember my own pair of imps, how rosy their cheeks would glow whenever they stumbled into some new mischief. Oh, how my dear Emily would shout whenever Rachel and my precious, sweet little Jolyon would get into the kitchen cupboards."

 

"Doc, we don't have time for the trip down memory lane," Ryan said. "Shake off the booze! We're going to have to go and find Dean and Jak. They'd never be out this late without good reason."

 

"You and I are both out in the early hours of the morning, Ryan. But I would give anything to be home in my own little wooden bed with the pillows Emily made herself and stuffed with goose feathers, my hand crooked in the hollow of her waist, listening to the soft sounds of her snoring."

 

As Doc spoke, tears started to fall down his lined cheeks.

 

"Listen to me, listen to me. I get a few sips of alcohol and I grow unbearably melancholy. How sad. Nobody buys drinks for a sloppy drunk."

 

"I know, Doc, but I'm trying to deal with the here and now. If you want, I'll leave you behind while I go round up J.B., Mildred and Krysty. If we split up, we should be able to track them down, whether they're still in the vid arcade or not. We can go down to that directory list and find the place on the mall map."

 

Doc rested his head on the tacky surface of the table as the waitress returned with the requested pitcher of beer and an empty glass mug.

 

"You want me to pour?" she asked.

 

"Thanks. No. Sorry I bit your head off earlier," Ryan replied, digging out a wad of the mall currency from when he made the exchange at the Bank of Freedom. He pressed two of the higher-denomination bills into her waiting hand.

 

The waitress winked. "Mister, you keep tipping this good, and you can bite off whatever you like."

 

As the woman turned away, Ryan looked out past her and spotted twin men dressed in the forest green of mall security as they stepped into the dimly lit bar.

 

Ryan couldn't quite make out their faces in the gauze-like texture of the air, which hung heavy with a mix of cheap cigarette and marijuana smoke. The sec men could be off duty, but Ryan doubted it. Something about their demeanor indicated they were alert, on the job and looking for an unlucky mall visitor or resident.

 

They paused at the head of the long pub bar. The bartender shrugged and pointed at the small table in the rear where Ryan and Doc were sitting. The pair of sec men turned and started making their way back at a deliberately measured pace. "Fireblast," Ryan hissed.

 

"What, pray tell, has happened now?" Doc asked, his head still on the sticky tabletop and nestled in the crook of his elbow. Doc's back was to the bar. He couldn't have seen the new arrivals. Ryan was surprised when his drinking companion had spoken. He believed Doc had finally passed out from the limpness of his body and the slowed breathing pattern he entered into after consuming the contents of his final glass of whiskey.

 

Now Doc's eyes were half-open and staring at him, struggling to raise themselves from the alcoholic mire. Even in the midst of tying one on, Doc had caught the hint of anxiety in Ryan's muttered epithet. "Company, Doc. Two Freedom sec men," Ryan murmured. "One of them is that Rollins guy we met outside. Keep stillI'll give you a signal in case there's trouble. They won't be expecting anything from an old drunk."

 

"Hic," Doc whispered, and winked in reply before closing his eyes and letting his upper body ooze into a pose of slack drunkenness once more.

 

Once the men got closer, Ryan could see there was a wide age difference between the two. Off his horse, Rollins was as tall as Ryan, with a similar posture and build. That's where the similarities ended. The sec leader was bald, but had compensated for the lack of hair on his scalp by growing a wide mustache. He carried a huge long blaster cradled in his arms, held in a nonthreatening fashion but still within easy reach and use.

 

The backup was a young punk that looked about twenty, but with a much larger frame than the leader's, and that was saying something since Rollins wasn't exactly tiny. His hair color was hidden under a riot helmet. His eyes were behind a pair of polarized sunglasses. Tough guy. Or a weak, uncertain guy playing at being tough, reveling in the inhuman guise of a walking insect.

 

"Evening, Cawdor," Rollins said.

 

Ryan turned to fully face him, while trying to keep his associate framed in his peripheral vision. The younger of the two had apparently received some training, since he was using Ryan's eye patch as a blind side.

 

"You're up late tonight, Rollins."

 

"A sec man never sleeps."

 

"Who's the kid? He hanging out with you for extra credit in sec school or what?"

 

"It's a young man's world, Cawdor."

 

"Isn't that the damn truth. Tell your lapdog no insult intended," Ryan replied. "Well, unless you and your sidekick are here to apologize for those clowns who tried to jump me and my friends yesterday out on the road, I'm going to ask you to leave. You owe me a night's peace for my generosity."

 

"What generosity is that?" the younger man asked, speaking for the first time.

 

"It talks, too?" Ryan retorted.

 

"He hasn't heard about Michaelson and Isaac." Rollins said.

 

"You mean Mike and Ike. Yeah, I was going to chill them both with extreme prejudice, but since you came along and told me ridding the world of their sorry asses might be a problem since I was planning on coming here for a visit, I declined."

 

"We've got your boy, Cawdor." On those words, Ryan forgot the pretense of playing it cool. A hot flush of blood ran into his face and brain, feeding the impulse to kill Rollins right on the spot. Ryan was on his feet and over in the black man's face in an instant, his panga drawn up and out of the oiled sheath. As Ryan moved, so did Doc, who spun with his swordstick and placed the shining blade right up against the crotch of the second mall security guard.

 

"No, son," Doc said to the younger sec man, all pretense of snoozing off a drunk now lost to adrenaline and concern for Dean. "Keep your hands up toward heaven and your blood pressure down toward Hell and maybe, just perhaps, I won't have to flick my wrist and turn you into a eunuch."

 

"Aa what?" the hapless sec man replied.

 

"An unfortunate who has faced the blade and had his scrotum removed, complete with contents," Doc said, twisting the swordstick ever so slightly and increasing the pressure. "Both contents."

 

"Are you insane, Cawdor?" Rollins rasped, sweat popping out in tiny crystal beads on his forehead.

 

"When it comes to my boy, you're damn right. I'm a fucking loon," Ryan said. "Now, elaborate. What do you mean by 'got'?"

 

"Exactly what I said. He's in lockup, along with the albino. They're printing and booking them both into the Wings even as we speak," Rollins replied. "And I suggest you put the blade down before you cut yourself."

 

"I'd be more worried about me cutting you a new asshole," Ryan hissed. "What are you talking about 'booking him in the Wings'?"

 

"Cop jargon. Means he's being processed and arrested. For our files. We like tracking repeat offenders. Get into too much trouble and you're no longer welcome in Freedom. He and his pasty white pal nearly blew the vid arcade apart in a knife fight that went bad. One customer is dead, another one wounded and the owner is furious."

 

The one-eyed man reined himself in and took the knife away, stepping back and keeping his distance from Rollins. "Dean all right?"

 

The man stared back angrily at Ryan. "He's a damn sight better than the boy he helped chill."

 

Ryan poked a finger into Rollins's broad chest. "Listen, my boy chills somebody, you can be damn sure they were asking for it, and asking for it on bended knee. He's not a coldheart, and neither is Jak Lauren."

 

The big sec man didn't looked impressed. "Whatever. We don't really give a shit about the stiff. He was one of the repeat offenders I was telling you about earlier. Problem child, but his father had the jack to keep buying his way back into Freedom. Now he can use it to bury the boy's worthless ass. Way I look at it, your kid did us a service. One less scumbag cluttering up the mall."

 

"I'm glad for you my son's ended a teenage crime wave, really. One of you two guardians of Freedom going to take me to him?" Ryan asked.

 

Rollins smirked. "All in good time. First tell your drinking buddy to let my sec man keep his nut sac."

 

"Ease off, Doc," Ryan said.

 

 

"See?" Doc told the young sec man in training as he sheathed the blade info the ebony stick. "Safe to procreate another day."

 

"What else, Rollins?"

 

"You have to make a detour. Morgan wants to see you before you can speak to your boy or Lauren."

 

"What's your baron want with me?"

 

"He's not a barontold you that before. He just wants to talk, to deal, to offer. Yeah. If you impress Morgan, all this stink might just up and blow over like a bad dream."