Dirty Work: Volume 2

Story Six - The Breaking Storm: Part 1 - 5

I've ridden in a few kars over the years. Not often enough to say that I was comfortable in them; they freak me out a bit to this day. Something about the way they move just isn't for me. But I've been in enough to be able to appreciate a nice one whenever it comes along. I might not have much money, but I've got eyes.

Z11's BlackSpirit was, genuinely, fucking gorgeous.

When I saw that she was leading me towards it, parked up at the side of the street with a protection field shimmering around it, I checked myself over to make myself look more presentable. I only realised I was gawking when I saw Z11 give me a side-glance and try to stop herself from laughing.

It was sleek, lowered down for aerodynamic efficiency. Its front was beautifully sculpted, by hand, I might add, and the city's lights flowed off it like silk as the holo ads moved overhead. It was a beautiful woman dressed up fancy for a night out.

'You're not going to find any flies to catch inside it,' Z11 said. I quickly shut my trap.

We were a few steps away when she waved her hand in front of her face. The anti-scratch protection field faded away in glitter and the door opened as if by a ghostly hand. She opened it a little wider with a slender hand. Beckoned me to take my seat with the other. 'After you.'

I ducked down inside and the door closed automatically behind me. It was like being on the bridge of a luxurious spaceship. Dials and switches and screens were tastefully built into the dash in curving lines, glowing with just the right luminosity to be perfectly clear to read and yet not glaring on the eyes. The seat shifted ever so slightly around me like a mattress, sculpting to the sleeper's body shape.

Z11 got in the other side and turned it on. She might have turned me on as well. The engine purred. 'Where'll he be?'

'Still at Dirty Work, I would assume,' I said. 'Hold on.'

I called the club on my core. The boss answered.

'Where's Markro?'

'Just left to get some things from his place.'

I went to punch the seat but Z11 gave me a stare which would have turned a vampire's blood cold. 'How long ago?' she asked.

'About half an hour, maybe?'

'Fine. We'll go get him.'

Z11 asked me for his address and I told the kar. It computed the quickest route, taking traffic into account and even the probability of accidents, and we moved off.

I tried contacting Markro but for some reason his core wasn't responding. The thought occurred to me that he might have turned it off to make sure nobody could track him, but he was only running to his apartment and then going back again. It seemed odd to have it turned off from trackers for such a short journey.

'Is he usually that paranoid?' Z11 asked.

I laughed. 'Sensible, but a wiseass. He'll trash-talk a god if he thinks he's in with a shot.'

Z11 put her foot on the accelerator just that little bit harder.

The streets seemed to float by, enhanced of course by our literal floating, and for a moment I forgot that there might be someone in mortal danger. The traffic on the roads parted for us like they were clearing the way for celebrities, and perhaps they thought they were. Maybe they were expecting us to congratulate them for being such nice human beings, give them a handout of a few thousand zale and make them celebrities in their own right, famous throughout every communications web possible. If only they knew how many of those viral events were staged to make it seem as if it could happen to them, keep the populace hoping, working efficiently, comfortable. It's been scientifically shown that, as a populous, we're gullible morons on every chance we get to prove it.