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“Watch the snotty remarks. As I was saying, McCloud talked to her. Then he pulled her out of her car before my bomb could go off.”
“Bomb?” Osterman’s voice rose in pitch. “What bomb?”
“Chunk of Semtex I’ve had lying around. Don’t worry, I wasn’t showing off. Any fool with access to the internet could build it. I rigged the final touches this morning, while everyone was looking at the fire.”
Osterman’s heart thudded. “This was supposed to be a discreet hit! A bomb in a shopping district? I thought you were a professional!”
Gordon looked hurt. “Think outside the box, Chris. My stalker craves attention. It fills the void inside him. The bigger the gesture, the more he imagines that it will impress the object of his deranged love.”
“Your pseudo-psych bullshit is not a justification for—”
“I enter my character’s personality structure, and follow its directives,” Gordon lectured, enjoying himself. “That way, each crime has its own coherence. Which keeps me, your buddy Gordon, from leaving a signature. In fact, the lack of a signature is my signature.”
“You’ve explained your criminal philosophy to me before. It won’t keep the cops from investigating the shit out of this!” Osterman fumed. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison!”
“Oh, prison wouldn’t be so bad. With that pretty face of yours, I’m sure you’d be very popular.”
Osterman forced himself to breathe. “Are you showing a desire to stop the downward spiral of violence? Is this a cry forhelp, Gordon?”
“Fuck, no.” Gordon’s toothy grin was cheerfully manic. “Nothing will stop my downward spiral. I live for this shit.”
“The Helix Group will not help us, if the police find your tail.”
Gordon’s shrug was casual. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Back to McCloud. As I said during the Midnight Project fuck-up—”
“Do not say the name,” Osterman ground the words out.
Gordon rolled his eyes. “I told you we should take out Sean McCloud in a preemptive strike—”
“I didn’t want the body count to get higher,” Osterman snarled.
“You always get squeamish at the wrong moment,” Gordon complained. “That girl passed the info on, and went into hiding.”
“Then why haven’t they come for us? We haven’t heard anything in fifteen years,” Osterman argued. “He might have been passing by. A burning bookstore attracts attention. Or did that not occur to you?”
“Yeah. Right. Coincidence.” Gordon hawked, and spat on the floor tiles. “McCloud is on to us. He guessed my bomb. He knows, Chris. The question is, do we kill him now, before trouble has time to begin?”
Osterman stared at that hateful glob of yellow mucus, and contemplated ways of killing Gordon. He did not like cleaning up his own messes, but things were getting seriously out of hand.
On the other hand. The prospect of training someone new was daunting.
“I should question the girl before I put her down,” Gordon mused. He glanced over at Caitlin. “Speaking of which. Want me to dump this one for you? She looks like a shredder to me.”
Oh, God, he’d forgotten all about Caitlin. He turned, and knew instantly, as Gordon had, that the attempted interface had failed.
She was twitching, straining against the restraints. Broken blood vessels marred the whites of her eyes. Her mouth was wide, as if she were screaming, though she made no sound. Hallucinations, no doubt. X-Cog had paralyzed her motor functions, but the side effects had fried the rest. Or maybe the electrical stimulation had been too aggressive. He made a note to dial it down for the next subject.
He averted his gaze. That silent scream effect was grotesque.
“Nice titties,” Gordon crooned, fondling them.
“Stop that,” Osterman snapped. “Let’s get back to McCloud. And the girl. Just kill them, for God’s sake, and get it over with.”
“So let’s talk fee adjustment. And take off your pervert crown.”
Osterman lifted off his master crown, and carefully smoothed back his thick, glossy dark hair. “I’m paying you a fortune already.”
“McCloud is high-risk. Ex-special forces. One brother who’s an ex-fed, another who’s a private investigator. Those men are going to be unhappy. It may be necessary for me to relocate. That takes capital.”
