Chapter Seventeen
"What the hell are we gonna do with a baby, for crying out loud? I don't know the first thing about what they eat or nothing!"
Lethe, nestled in an impromptu bassinet made from clean towels and an open bureau drawer, waved her arms and kicked her legs as if semaphoring her agreement with Palmer's statement.
"Well, here's where you're gonna learn. I went down to the all-night drug store on the next street and picked up this crap." Sonja tossed a box of disposable Pampers at him like a medicine ball.
"You think I'm taking care of that, you're crazy!"
"You can't stick the kid in a tube sock and hose her off once a week. I bought enough canned formula to last her a few days, plus a couple of bottles and a pacifier. You can cook her formula on this hot plate..."
"The hotel rules say no cooking in the rooms."
"The old gent behind the desk didn't bat an eye when we came back from our 'winery tour' with a newborn baby. What makes you think the management is going to notice a lousy hot plate? Look, we promised Anise we'd take care of her - "
Palmer held his hands up, palms outward, and shook his head from side to side. "You promised, not me! I'll fight fuckin' ugly monsters for you, babe. I'll even allow myself to be involved in breaking and entering and murder charges. But I am not changing diapers!"
"Palmer!"
"Just because I fucked you doesn't mean I want to start a family, especially like this. Besides, how do you know she won't turn into something like the first one?"
"She's just a baby!"
"If she's just a baby, what is it with her eyes?"
Lethe gurgled and kicked and waved her arms even more. Sonja plucked at her ward's makeshift blankets. She'd had little experience with children, especially ones so young, but she was certain Lethe was unusually active for a baby not even a day old. She'd be damned if she was going to mention that to Palmer. He was spooked enough as it was. Lethe peeked out of her swaddling with golden, pupil-less eyes and gave Sonja a toothless grin.
"So, okay, her eyes are screwed up! Is that a fuckin' crime?"
"No, but you weren't the one her evil twin tried to turn into Gerber's strained beef!"
"I'm not asking you to take her to raise, damn it! I'm just asking you to baby-sit. If we're going to be on a jet to the Yucatan within the next twelve hours, I've got to check with a few of my... connections. And I sure as hell can't do it dragging around a papoose."
"Okay, I'll do it. But just this once!"
"Great. I'll try to be quick about it. Everything you need for fixing her bottle should be in the bags. Just read the labels on the can - they're pretty self-explanatory."
Palmer grimaced at Sonja's back, then turned his disapproving gaze to Lethe.
"Sure, you're cute now. But if you try anything funny, you're going out the fuckin' window. You got that, munchkin?"
Lethe cooed and yawned, exposing soft pink gums.
"Yeah, well, don't you forget it."
The pay phone stood on the corner of
Guerrero and Twenty-First Street
, opposite a television repair shop with dusty windows full of half assembled or partially demolished Philcos and Zeniths. The black-and-chrome face of the phone was covered with graffiti, the coin box had been forced and a yellow adhesive strip bearing the legend OUT OF ORDER was plastered over the coin slot.
Sonja scanned the corner. Across the street, a couple of young men dressed in bomber jackets and tight-fitting leather pants strolled arm in arm, walking their Pomeranian, while an intense-looking middle-aged man with heavy eyebrows ducked into an espresso bar. Somewhere a police siren wailed, throwing echoes against the hills.
Satisfied the area was clean, she sauntered from her watching place inside a doorway and picked up the dead receiver. The plastic was cold and hard in her hand. Sonja placed the earpiece to her head and casually stabbed the pay phone's push buttons. There was stone silence, then the sound of a receiver half a country away being lifted off its hook.
"Yeah?" A heavy, almost liquid voice.
"I want to talk to Malfeis."
The voice on the other end slurped. "Yeah. Sure. Who should I say is calling?"
"The Blue Woman."
"Sonja! Chicky-baby! Sorry 'bout the slug. Breakin' in a nephew - what can I say? So, what can I do for you, sweet thing?"
"Got tired of being a skatepunk already, Mai?"
"Hey, what can I say? I like innovation as much as the next guy, but a classic's a classic!"
"Mai, I need help . . "
"Help?"
"Mai, I'm between your cousin and the deep blue sea! I've put my foot in it big time! I need magic, man!"
"What about Li Lijing?"
"He's just an alchemist, Mai. I'm talking serious mojo!"
"Uh, look, sweetie, I wish I could help you out, but - "
"But what?!"
"I don't know what you did out there, cupcake, but Morgan's stock's falling like a lead turd in the Mariana Trench! And a lot of the big boys in the First Hierarchy aren't exactly overjoyed, if you catch my drift. I'm in deep with the family over this, Sonja. I'm not supposed to give you the time of day, much less tell you where to score."
"Mai! Damn you, you know I'm good for it! I can get you Ed Gein's brain - pureed. How about Mengele's jawbone? The real one, not that fake they dug up in South America. C'mon, man! I'm not shitting you - I gotta score!"
"Okay. Tell you what - since you've been such a good customer in the past, I'm gonna help you out. But just this once, capisce? I don't want it getting around I'm a soft touch."
"Thanks, Mai! I owe you!"
"More than you realize. Awright, here's what I want you to do. There's this bar south of Market called the Shadow Box. Go there and wait for my operative. He should be there in the hour."
"What's he look like?"
"Don't worry - you'll know him when you see him."
It was after midnight and things were just getting heated up at the Shadow Box.
A disc jockey in a neon-encrusted sound booth generated a thundering, synth-heavy mixture of europop, retro disco, and acid house. Klieg lights hanging from the rafters threw elongated shadows of the dancers onto the stark white walls. Sonja noted the dancers' stylized movements, striking high fashion poses, and how they centered their attention more on their own shadows than on their partners. It was times like these she was embarrassed at ever having been human.
"Talk about dancing with yourself," she muttered in disgust.
A gaggle of stylishly coifed and painted future executives squeezed their way past, jostling her in their hurry to reach the dance floor. Sonja briefly contemplated hamstringing one of them but pushed the thought aside. She couldn't risk calling attention to herself.
Bars and nightclubs always brought out the worst in her. She suspected it had something to do with the volatile emotions generated in such places that stimulated the Other, exciting it to mayhem. Even now she could feel the Other's silent, ominous presence just under the surface of her ego, like a shark patrolling its territory. She reflected on how Mai could have picked a rendezvous site a little less crowded, but beggars don't exactly get a choice in such matters.
The music got faster and louder, the shadows on the walls jerking and prancing like Burmese puppets. Sonja consulted her wristwatch. Mai had said her contact would arrive within the hour.
She felt it then: a spiky, adrenaline-charged surge of anger and excitement, as cold and bracing as vodka straight from the freezer. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.
The emotion wasn't hers, however. It was being broadcast - unintentionally - by someone in the bar.
Someone really pissed off.
Sonja turned to scan the interior of the club. Within the last few minutes the number of people entering the bar had doubled. The Shadow Box was a solid wall of young men and women, dancing, drinking and talking over the music blaring from the speakers.
She shifted spectrums, searching for telltale Pretender aureole. All she came up with was the comparatively weak flickering of human consciousness, augmented by drugs or hormones.
The second jolt of hate struck her, and she gasped as if caught in the grip of an intense orgasm. The Other moaned in pleasure and Sonja bit her lip, hoping the pain and blood would sidetrack it long enough for her to regain control.
Emotions as dark and powerful as hate provided vampires with as much nourishment as a seven-course dinner and a high that made crack look like baby aspirin. Her hair crackled with static electricity as she metabolized the charge.
She had to get out of here. Fuck Mai's mojoworker. She had to get away from this place, crammed full of empty-eyed food tubes. She hadn't fed since she'd taken down the pickpocket in Chinatown, and it was making her weak, susceptible to the Other's inner voice. She had to leave or something really bad was going to happen.
Sonja pushed away from the bar and began shouldering her way to the exit. She bumped against a tall man with half his head shaved and a diamond stud in his left nostril, sloshing beer on his leather pants.
"Hey, bitch! Watch it!" The man with the pierced nose grabbed her elbow. She went rigid and snarled, the sound rumbling from her ribcage like the growl of a big cat. He let go.
That was close. Too close.
She took a deep, shuddery breath and resumed pushing her way through the massed bodies. Before she'd gone ten feet, a second hand clamped her shoulder. The hate that flowed into her was so strong it was as if she'd been stuck with a syringe full of one hundred percent pure China White.
She didn't resist as her attacker spun her around to face him.
She smiled crookedly. "The bastard set me up, didn't he? I'm gonna cut his stash with the bones of martyrs next time! I'd damn him to hell if it wasn't redundant."
Fell bared his fangs in ritual challenge. "I don't know what you're babbling about, whore, and I don't care! You killed Anise and my baby and I mean to even the score!"
"You always talk like a fucking cliche, Fell?"
He moved fast, even by her standards, slamming his fist into her jaw. Sonja's head snapped back, blood filling her mouth. The crowd surrounding them was too densely packed for her to be able to stagger back more than two or three steps.
Sonja spat out a few broken teeth and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "Okay. Okay. I deserved that and I took it. But I didn't kill Anise, Fell! You've got to believe me, no matter what that bastard told you - "
Fell threw a second punch, but this time she was ready for it and caught his fist and held it. Fell grimaced and tried to pull free.
"I'm trying to be nice here, but you're not making it easy for me. I don't want to hurt you, kid."
Fell moved to strike her with his other fist, but she was ready for that, too. Fell tried to jerk free, but she tightened her grip even further.
"Let me go, murderer!"
"Why should I?"
The hate churning in Fell flowed into her like smoke into a bottle. The charge was so powerful that the hair on her head lifted like the crest of a cockatoo. She laughed and blue-white sparks flew from the tip of her tongue. Her voice sounded like she'd swallowed ground glass. It was the voice of the Other.
"You don't get it, do you ? You don't even have a fuckin' clue! How Morgan thought he was going to create a super-race using a lap dog like you for stud is beyond me! Go ahead, lover boy! Keep hating! Hate me as hard as you can! It only makes me stronger!"
Her grin disappeared as she let go of his hands and grabbed Fell by his shirt front, yanking him toward her so their noses touched. The hate he'd been radiating turned to fear. Delicious.
"You wanna play with me, you gotta play hardball, sucker! You got that?"
A clutch of secretaries out for a night on the town screamed as Fell crash-landed onto their table, sending broken glass and spilled beer flying. Fell, blood streaming from his nose, shook his head, trying to clear it of the ringing.
Sonja grabbed Fell by his long yellow hair and yanked him to his feet. He tried to pull away, but she refused to let go.
"I'm gonna make you a man if it kills you!" she hissed. She pointed at the people on the dance floor, entranced by deafening rhythms and their own shadows. "See that? You're no better than they are! You're fighting your own shadow, not your real enemy!"
"Liar!" Fell yanked free, leaving her holding a handful of hair. "You do nothing but lie and destroy things! You turned Anise against me! You ruined everything I cared about!" He delivered a karate kick to her gut, sending her flying backward into the bar.
She grabbed a chrome-plated bar stool and hurled it at Fell. The people closest to the two combatants tried to move back, but those near the door, deafened by the music and unaware of what was transpiring, would not let them escape.
Snarling his defiance, Fell snatched a nearby human, lifted him over his head and threw him at his opponent. Sonja ducked as the screaming man crashed into the mirror behind the bar.
The bartender yelled something and disappeared behind the counter. Sonja vaulted the bar just as he resurfaced with a shotgun. She snatched the gun from him before he had time to close the breach.
"I'd suggest you get your ass home," she growled, snapping the shotgun closed with a flip of her wrist. The bartender turned and fled to the stockroom.
Sonja swung the weapon at Fell as he began to climb over the bar. He froze at the sight of the double-ought pointed at his chest.
"Even a full-fledged vampire would have problems surviving a blast from this distance, much less a pantywaist like yourself! Whattaya think, pretty boy? Wanna chance it?"
Fell eased back, his eyes never leaving the shotgun.
"Yeah. That's what I thought." Sonja hopped onto the counter. "But before we take care of business, I think I ought to clear the field of interference!"
She could see them now, standing near the exit. Two renfields - one black, the other Asian. They were the ones responsible for crowding the bar and cloaking Fell from her scans. Fell was nowhere near self-aware enough for such psionic sleight-of-hand. They were creating a veil, blinding the crowd nearest the door to the fact there was a brawl going on. They were setting up a killing box, all right. But for whom?
She caught the black renfield with the first round, spraying his brains across some slumming yuppies. The second round missed the Asian and struck an investment banker from Pacific Heights standing next to him. The renfield shrieked and clamped his hands over his eyes as the dead man's skull fragments flew like shrapnel.
The veil lifted. Suddenly people were screaming and shouting and knocking over tables and trampling each other in a wild scramble for the exit. Their panic made her giddy, as if she'd inhaled nitrous oxide. She had only a moment to enjoy the rush before Fell was on her.
His face was contorted into a mask of animal rage. He was not advanced enough to tap into the emotions that swirled about them, but he definitely had a contact high. He pounced like a young lion bringing down its first kill, bearing her to the floor. His strong hands locked around her throat.
Sonja snarled and shoved her knee into Fell's groin. He gasped and let go of her throat, toppling onto his side, clutching himself. Sonja staggered to her feet and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, holding him aloft like a kitten. She slammed him against the wall, pushing his head back by pinning his throat with her left forearm.
She took a second to assess his wounds. He looked bad. His eyes were nearly obscured by flesh the color of eggplant, his nose was broken, and his swollen, drooping lower lip made him look like a mule. No doubt his cellular regeneration was slower than her own.
"Just - just wait until our father comes!" he gasped through bleeding lips.
"You dumb bastard! You stupid, mindless meat puppet! You don't understand, do you? He set us both up! You don't stand a snowball's chance against me, and he knows it! He sent you here to die, Fell! You were supposed to distract me until the renfields could work up a serious enough whammy to take me out."
"You're lying!"
"I don't have the time or the patience to do this right. I ought to kill you, but since you're Lethe's father - "
"Lethe?" Fell blinked in confusion.
She reached into a pocket and withdrew her switchblade. "What's your name?"
Fell looked at her as if she had asked him who was buried in Grant's tomb. "Fell."
"Wrong." She flicked the knife and neatly cut off his left ear. Fell screamed and tried to escape, but it was hopeless. Her grip was unbreakable. "Okay, I'm asking you again. What's your name?"
"It's Fell, damn it! You know that! What's the matter with - " His protest dissolved into another scream as the switchblade sliced open his left nostril.
"No, no! You're not listening! I said what's your name?"
"What do you want me to say? It's Fell! It's always been Fell!"
"I'm only gonna ask you one more time, pretty boy, then it's for real, understand?" she sighed, cutting away his right eyebrow. "What is your name?"
"I told you it's - " His eyes widened and his mouth slackened, as if he'd just remembered something important. "Oh. Oh, my God. It's Tim. My name is Tim."
Sonja sighed and allowed him to slump to the floor, hiding his mutilated face behind bloodstained hands. His shoulders shook as he tried to cry. She could hear sirens coming closer.
"C'mon, kid." Her voice softened as she patted the top of his head. "C'mon, we can't stay. The cops will be here soon."
Fell shrank from her touch, regarding her fearfully. "Aren't you going to kill me?"
"No. Look, I'm sorry about hurting you like that, but it was the only way I could get you to come out. Now, let's go! There's someone you need to meet."
"Who?"
"Your daughter."