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As I took off my helmet, the noise hit—the music a heavy beat that pounded through the air and rattled the nearby windows. Underneath it ran the sound of raucous voices—men and women. I could only be thankful I didn’t have to go there. I didn’t mind loud music, but I liked to be able to dance to it. This seemed little more than noise.
I set the bike’s alarm, then made my way around to Stane’s shop. Thick grates covered the front windows, but a lot of the bars were bent—the work of drunken nonhumans, most likely, since humans would never be able to budge metal that thick without assistance.
I pushed the front door open and a tiny bell rang cheerily. The camera above the doorway buzzed into action, tracking me as I entered the shop—not that I could go too far in. Stane had a containment field around the entrance, and no one was getting into the inner sanctum without his permission.
“Stane, it’s Risa, reporting in as ordered.”
“I believe you were supposed to report some ten hours ago,” he said, his voice dry even over the speakers.
“Something came up.”
“An event that occurs quite often around you, I’ve discovered.” The slight shimmer that was the containment field disappeared. “Come on up.”
I headed for the stairs at the back of the shop. This area was small and smelled of dust and mold. There were shelves everywhere, all packed with boxes, old and new computer parts, and ancient-looking monitors of varying sizes.
Of course, mold and dust weren’t exactly good for computers, but I had it on good authority—Tao’s—that this area was little more than a ruse. The expensive items were all kept upstairs.
And up there, you stepped into another world—one that was clean, shiny, and filled with the latest in computer technology. In fact, Stane’s system dominated the main living space and wouldn’t have looked out of place on a spaceship.
It was a stark contrast with Stane himself, who could only be described as a mess with his unkempt brown hair, thick ill-fitting black sweater, and wrinkled jeans. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d put up any sort of fight—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane, like Tao, was smarter and tougher than he looked.
He gave me a bright, warm smile as he rose and kissed me on the cheek. “So this thing that came up … ,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do to help?”
A grin teased my lips. “What, the black market not exciting enough for you these days?”
“It’s not that.” He sat down and pushed a second chair my way. “It’s more the challenge. You task me with the impossible and just presume I’ll come through. I like that.”
I laughed. “Well, I do have an information hunt, but I don’t think it’s going to tax you or your system too much.”
“I have complete faith in the fact that, now that you’re back chasing otherworld crap, my tasks will only get harder.” Anticipation mingled with humor in his eyes. “So hit me with this first one, and don’t be too long with the rest.”
I shook my head as I said, “I need any and all information you have on an Ike Forman. Apparently, he’s the man Handberry went to meet the night he was killed, and he might also be the half-shifters’ new handler.”
Stane frowned. “Forman? That name rings a bell. Hang on a sec.” He twisted around and touched one of the light screens on his circular “bridge.” “Here, listen to this.”
A harsh voice suddenly shouted, “Fuck it, Forman, I’m not going to waste more good men like this. It’s not worth it.”
The voice belonged to Handberry, and the conversation had obviously been going for a while. But given that Handberry had stormed out not long after I’d released the listening bug into his office, I guess we’d been lucky to get anything at all.
The voice on the other side was muffled, but the tone was definitely urbane.
“I don’t fucking care what Harlen said,” Handberry ranted in response. “These are my fucking men, not his. There must be a better—”
Forman obviously cut Handberry off, because he fell silent for several heartbeats. Then he swore loudly and said, “Tell the bastard to meet me at home. I’ll be there in twenty.”
With that, he hung up. Footsteps retreated and the door slammed. That’s when Tao and I had witnessed him storming out of the club like some great black thundercloud. And twenty minutes later he was dead.
Stane pressed the screen again, preventing the recording from looping and replaying. “I tried to enhance the other end of the conversation, but could only get snatches of words. I think the other guy was using some sort of scrambler to hamper recording.”
Which meant he was not only urbane, but also smart and careful. “What about the name Handberry mentioned? Harlen?”
“I did do a search for both Harlen and Forman, but without knowing their full names, it was pretty useless. Still, there’s no Forman or Harlen connected to either the club or the consortium that was buying up the properties around here.”
I frowned. “What happened to the third man connected to the consortium, John Nadler? The one we never found?”
Stane shrugged. “Whoever he really is, he’s got his tracks covered. I’ve tried just about every search I can think of, and I’m coming up with nothing.”
Which was undoubtedly frustrating to someone like Stane, who prided himself on being able to go anywhere, and find anything, along the Net’s superhighway. “Meaning he’s probably using a fake ID.”
