The Dead Reckoner : Volume Two: Urban Underworld

like a flip book of a man getting hist chest blown out of him. A part of her had expected it to end that way. What she hadn't expected was what was in the truck behind those rail cars. Nothing in her life had prepared her for that.

  FOURTEEN

  Mel Price sat in the service vehicle level of the parking garage under the Atlantic Mall, waiting for John Smith and his van to arrive. He was enclosed in a security booth and reading messages from Bethany on his cell. They were very hot. Bethany might not lost, but right now she was the best thing that had every happened to him. She was his practice run, an exercise in ego boosting on his way out of the service vehicle level.

  Mel glanced up for a moment to see if Tommy, his shift partner, had run off. There were two entrance lanes, one for pass holders and one for stopping and search vehicles. That didn't have a pass. That standard black and red striped gate and tire teeth stood watch at these approaches. Beyond that was a small office. The windows were large and the darkness in the garage made the space glow a little. Tommy was there, dressed in his gray jumpsuit, combat boots and square hat. He tried to keep the rifle strapped to his back from shifting as he popped a cup onto the instant coffee machine and talked up the woman who restocked the refreshments and emptied the garbage.

  Price checked the delivery schedule. The van from Judge Network Solution was due to arrive soon. He switched his phone to intercom mode and spoke.

  “Tommy get in here.”

  The other guard jumped and splashed coffee on his boots. As the woman with him didn't already find it threatening that a well armed man of six foot two was leaning over her in a lonely, cramped room five stories below ground, she jumped away at the sound as if under attack. She wheeled her trash bin in front of her and back through the exit.

  Mel found it amusing because neither he nor Tommy were much of a threat to anyone. In these days of the war on terror and mass shootings at schools, the pressure to populate the world with both more and fewer weapons. People needed more menacing security to feel safe and better regulation. The new rules stretched up and down the spectrum, from Semtex to Glocks. That didn't make it impossible or even hard for a place like the Atlantic Mall to fortify its access points, because uniformed personnel got more than exception. They were encouraged to carry ever bigger deterrents. However, such expectations levied unforgiving amounts of liability on corporations should one of their soldiers of fortune waste the wrong guy. Driven by the relentless desire to optimize their bottom line, it didn't take long for those corporations to realize that theater mattered more than reality. Besides, would a clock watching mercenary like Mel Price put his life on the line for his faceless employer? Certainly not, which is why their weapons weren't even real. Should someone drive in their garage with a bomb, they would be the first to run.

  Price didn't like his job. He'd been looking for alternatives when he got an email from Polymath, a company in the very building he and Tommy guarded. He used to be like Tommy, before the Sorter straightened him out. Polymath offered him a free trial. They said they wanted to gather data to improve their algorithms and in turn he would reap the benefits of the technology. It was well worth it. He got right to work on fixing his love life. He just answered a few questions and the next thing he knew he was sleeping with another participant of the free trial. That was Bethany; she of the dirty messages on his cell phone. That was when Mel turned to the Sorter for career advice.

  Tommy walked up to the booth and pounded on the door. Mel buzzed him in. The other guard flipped him off and grabbed his boots, which were resting on of the only other seat in the room. Tommy pointed at the phone.

  “You can't watch stuff like that at work.”

  Mel shrugged an slipped the phone in his pocket, saying, “Your first problem is that you have an angry face. When that cute janitor looks in your eyes, she sees the hate you have for every woman that's turned you down. She knows you blame her when she does the same.”

  “I'm a nice guy. She see that if she gave me a chance.”

  “A nice guy?” said Price. “Seriously?”

  “Shouldn't that be enough.”

  “Not nearly, Hulkster. You say you're a ice guy as though you want an award for masteing a skill that ought to be a standard feature for every human. Was you forth grade teacher hot? Is that why you equate sex with a gold sticker for good behavior?”

  Tommy gave Mel a stupid look. It was that cave man grimace that was starting to make Mel think that maybe he was cut out for better stuff after all. The Sorter had told him he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't stupid, not even a little. After he nailed his romantic problems right to the wall, he was bound to believe it. Some day he'd have an opportunity to prove it, but maybe that wasn't today.

  He said, “We've got a van on the schedule. Oh look, there it is.”

  Tommy looked at the approaching van and said, “Great. It's a plain white van. A tear down search will lift my spirits.”

  “Be nice.” said Price.

  “And ruin my day?”

  FIFTEEN

  Marianne walked down the balcony overlooking the Atlantic Mall's lobby. She stopped before the big letters that read POLYMATH and checked her phone once more. Dale hadn't returned her call. He had been on the ground before her. He must have gotten it. Dale never failed to return her calls. That he had failed to do so this time it meant only one thing. He was furious with her. She looked up at the doors leading to her destination. She was sure Dale was in there somewhere, waiting for her. It was bad enough that she was on the front line of this search and destroy mission, and so much worse to go into it with a partner who may or may not be ready to toss her to the wolves.

  She took a breath and charged in.

  Something was wrong.

  The place was deserted. She stood in a vestibule that reminded her of a dentist's waiting room. There was a large, but abandoned, desk and an array of plants and empty chairs. A fish tank with alternating lighting was mounted to one wall and a gigantic video screen was mounted to the other. The screen worked through a silent montage of data and charts regarding Polymath and its signature product.

  Her phone rang. It wasn't Dale. It was the hospital.

  “You should come when you can.” The doctor was saying. “Your mother doesn't have long.”

  She should have turned and left. It would've been an easy way to avoid Dale. Then again, he might assume she had left for different reasons. Perhaps if she saw him and explained what was going on with her mother, she could bring back his sympathy. He would certainly forgive her, even if she left him alone to do this job.

  Marianne told the doctor she would come as soon as she could and stepped through the inner doors to the main office. She found herself in a quiet hallway with enclosed window offices on one side and a half-height wall on the other. It reminded her of the wall between her living room and her kitchenette, where she'd last seen her mother. At the end of the hall was a door with a window that looked into some sort of electronics workroom. She wondered if that was the gateway to this wonderful technology she'd lost so much sleep over. The thought of it made her shiver.

  Besides its eerie silence, there was something else strange about this room. There was a blue light in the ceiling. It flashed. Two seconds on, two seconds off. Marianne stared at it and tried to sort through the queasy disquiet that was developing in her gut.

  Wrong, she thought, this is wrong. Just go.

  She turned her head and screamed. There was a woman standing next to her. That woman had not been there before. She couldn't have crept up on her from anywhere. It was as though she had just appeared.

  The woman said, “My name is Cass.”

  “Marianne Madora, from Blue Water Private Capital.”

  Cass didn't shake Marianne's hand when offered. She turned and motioned her to follow.

  She said, “You can wait in the conference room.”

  “Where is everyone?”


  “You'll have to ask Mr. Binder. He'll be with you shortly.”

  Cass escorted her through a common area and a row of cubicles before reaching a large conference room at the end of the office suite. The wall facing the cubicles was made entirely of glass, with opened blinds along the length of it. Marianne sat and Cass left. A moment later a human mannequin walked in the door. Reginald Binder.

  Not a hair on his gray head was out of place. It's perfect symmetry matched that of his face. He wore nondescript khakis and a blue blazer. None of these things were his strangest feature. Rather, that was his shoeless feat. Marianne had been in plenty of offices where the normal attire included flip flops or even bare feet, but on Binder those socks without shoes looked out of place.

  So far, Marianne had been out of luck in her search for a sign that she hadn't entered a strange and dangerous place. Instead, she'd gotten deserted rooms, an ominous blue light, a ghost receptionist and a catalog cutout with no shoes. She could add onto that her suspicions that Binder was not right in the head.

  “Good morning, Mr. Binder.” said Marianne. “The place seems a little quiet today.”

  “I sent most of my staff home.” he said.

  That didn't help things.

  Reggie placed his hands on his hips, pushing back his blazer and revealing a curved pistol handle. What? Thought Marianne, Is that a gun? She'd never seen a pistol in