—Yeah. So say you're Horde, and everything I've said is true of you. And it is true. We know that. So that all being the case, who could blame you for taking a professional interest in something like a very bizarre and dangerous bacteria? A bacteria that, I don't know, say a bacteria that consumes its host and compels him to eat human flesh.
The wounds in my arms and left leg are corked with plugs of brick-red scab. I pull off my undershirt.
—It would just make good business sense to look into something like that.
The holes in my belly and chest are scabbed as well and surrounded by angry red skin. If I can get some more blood they'll be gone in a couple days. If I get out of this room alive.
—Just imagine if something like that were to become widespread. Situation like that, the first company on the block with a vaccine would clean up. Face it, who's not gonna pay top dollar to get a shot that's gonna keep them from eating their neighbor's brain?
I open the closet, grab a pair of old jeans, pull them on and get a black T-shirt from the shelf. I face Predo as I shrug into the shirt.
—But where to start? How do you develop that vaccine?
I go to the desk, scoop up my wallet, keys and loose change, and put it all in my pockets.
—Now I don't know much about this kind of thing, but I'm guessing the first thing you'd need is someone already infected with the bacteria. The technical term would be zombie. Not many people know how to come by a zombie, Mr. Predo.
I go sit back on the edge of the bed and wiggle my feet into a pair of socks.
—You know where to get one?
I reach under the bed for my shoes.
—Sure you do. If anyone knows where to get a shambler, it'd be Dexter Predo.
I lace my shoes.
—But then things get really tricky. Way I hear it, the bacteria only lives in the human body, and sooner or later it kills its host. So what's a brilliant millionaire researcher to do? I grab my smokes and get a fresh one going.
—Some people might say, fuck it, I'll just keep making new zombies. Every time one is ready to kack, just have it bite a new subject and, presto: new zombie. Hell, some folks might extend the life of their subject by feeding it some brains. But really, how long is that gonna work? Gonna be a whole lot of bodies going in and out of that lab. Might raise a couple eyebrows. And this.
I jab my cigarette at him.
—This is where being a brilliant epidemiologist comes in handy. 'Cause it turns out the bacteria can exist outside a host. How? Fucked if I know. But it can. I've seen it. Which means you can get it under a microscope and look at it all you like without needing to make any new shamblers. Unless you have a reason for making new shamblers. Now what could possibly be a good reason for making new shamblers?
I blow some ash from the tip of my smoke.
—Any ideas?
He stares through me, studying the wall behind me. The giant just stands there like a good boy and waits for Predo to order him to tear my fingers off for being an asshole.
I point a single finger at the ceiling.
—Here's a thought.
I aim the finger at Predo.
—What if you had the idea to study the bacteria in the wild? What if, now that you had it isolated, you wanted to see how it spreads, how quickly? For a man looking to cure a potential zombie epidemic, that could be valuable information. Especially if you're thinking about starting the epidemic yourself.
I tap the finger against the side of my head.
—But, can't have something like a zombie epidemic getting out of hand before you're ready to deliver your vaccine and make your . billions. That would suck. So what do you do? Oh, you go ahead and make a plan to put it out in the general population. But it needs to be a very special population. I put the finger away and smoke.
—See, nobody wants that kind of experiment on their turf. That shit gets even a little out of hand and next thing you know, there's a lot of attention focused on your yard. Nope, something like that doesn't get tested on Coalition turf. And not uptown, things are too tense with the Hood. Not on Enclave turf. Nobody fucks with Enclave turf. Sure, things are pretty open below Houston or in the Outer Boroughs, but it's just about impossible to keep an eye on things out there. Tough to collect data. And the experiment could fly off the handle. But what about Society turf? Hell, why not? Everybody wins. Horde gets to watch the bacteria move around in a population, and the Coalition gets to cause a little trouble below Fourteenth. A little sand in the Vaseline to keep Terry and his crew busy. That'd be good, what with DJ Grave Digga trying to stir up trouble. And after all.
I blow a smoke ring.
—You got a jerk like me down here to handle things in case the shit hits the fan. And a toady like Philip to keep an eye on me.
I blow a stream of air that rips my smoke ring to shreds.
—So Horde goes to work. He infects Whitney Vale. Tell me?
He focuses his eyes on me.
—Did you know he had been fucking her and that she was blackmailing him? 'Cause I'm guessing you never would have signed off on her as patient zero if you had known.
He blinks, slowly.
—Let's call that no. He probably sold her to you as a porn hustler no one would miss. When you found out the truth you must have flipped. And when I stumbled across Vale, you must have shit a brick. Metaphorically speaking.
Predo taps an index finger on his thigh.
—Will you be concluding soon?
I nod.
—I'll pick up the pace. How 'bout this? Horde fucks Vale; Vale blackmails Horde; Horde has one of his goons hold down Vale while he rapes her and infects her with the bacteria; Vale shambles around; I catch sight of one of Vale's victims and start tracking a carrier; I catch up to Vale and her pals at the school; shit hits the fan; Philip lets you know shit is hitting the fan; you call me in. You have to call me in, a scene like that one at the school, the TV news involved and all, if you don't call me in I'm gonna start wondering why, and you don't want me wondering shit. Back at the ranch, Amanda Horde finds out about daddy and her buddy fucking, and runs away; Horde calls Dobbs; Dobbs finds the girl; the girl bribes Dobbs off the case; Ms. Horde hears about Whitney being killed and gets a little more worried about her husband than usual, and she asks for help; you give her me to keep me . . .
I stop, smoke in my lung. I blow the smoke out.
—You give her me?
Predo scratches his upper lip.
—Lost your thread, Pitt?
He puts his hand back in his lap.
—Not as easy as you thought?
I look at him.
—You gave her me. But you shouldn't have wanted me anywhere around the Hordes. I was looking for the carrier already. Get me looking for the girl and I might put it all together. I did put it all together.
The slightest smile creases the corners of his mouth.
—Apparently not.
He stands.
—Are you done showing off now? Would you like to know what it is you are missing?
I nod.
—All you had to do was ask, Pitt. Why should I have secrets from a dead man?
He pushes the chair back to its place next to my desk.
—What you are missing, Pitt, is information you could not possibly have in the first place. That being the case, I do not think you should be at all embarrassed. You did quite well, all things considered. The information you are lacking has to do with Horde Bio Tech and the disposition of that company's stock. HBT is not a publicly owned company. Indeed, until recently it was owned entirely by the Horde family. They still control the majority of the stock. Specifically, preferred stock shares that carry weighted voting rights, the shares that control the company. Those shares comprise sixty percent of HBT's total value, and Dale Horde owned all of them. Of the remaining forty percent, the non-preferred shares, the vast majority are held by elements of the Coalition. We came into possession of these shares at a time when Horde was in
need of funding, and not quite as liquid as he might have liked. Fortunately, we were able to help. Does the pie' ture begin to leap into clarity?
I stare at him.
—I think it does. Horde owns and controls HBT, controls every aspect of its operations, including to what questions it may or may not devote its considerable research laboratories. Those laboratories are central to the Coalition's interest in Horde and HBT.
He leans down a bit, looks at my eyes.
—I think I may see a little light dawning in there, Pitt. Good. Let me be brief before that light dims. It is true that Dr. Horde wished to research the bacteria, but his true interest was in the Vyrus. That was an interest we were unwilling to allow him to pursue. There is so little we know about the Vyrus, it would never have done for Horde to perhaps make significant discoveries. Discoveries we could not be certain he would share with us. Discoveries he might use against us. Still, the resources HBT can bring to bear far outstrip any that we have previously had at our disposal. Which led to the proposal that we should investigate strategies which would allow the Coalition to take control of those resources.
I watch the smoke drift off my cigarette.
—The stock.
Predo wags a cautioning finger at me.
—Careful, Pitt, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. But yes, the stock. If the Coalition were in control of HBT, we might steer whatever course of research we wished, secure in the knowledge that we had installed our own people in the key positions necessary to protect the nature and results of that research. How to take control? We thought to take advantage of Dr. Horde's appetites and maneuver a subject not unlike Ms. Vale into his path. That plan was discarded. If cornered by blackmail, Dr. Horde might become a fierce adversary, an adversary with knowledge of far too many of our secrets. So we came to assassination. If Dr. Horde should die, his shares would fall to his wife. And she, we felt, would be quite easily convinced to relinquish control of them. But even with our advantages, assassination is difficult, much more difficult when the subject is a man like Dr. Horde. Any investigation into his death would be exhaustive. And if an assassination should go awry, he would certainly retaliate against us. We were, in fact, mired in the planning stages when you became involved. And I had a thought. Why should the Coalition assassinate Dr. Horde when you might be made to do it for us?
I lick my fingertips.
—It is not generally in my nature to work on the basis of instinct, but I felt this was an opportunity that warranted some little risk. The question was whether or not you could be depended on to act in a predictable manner. I felt certain that you could.
I pinch out the cherry at the end of my cigarette.
—You are, as you have proven, not an utter fool, and could therefore be expected to discover a certain amount of the truth. You have a notorious temper. And though you seem to be the only one not aware of it, you are famously unmerciful with those who abuse children. Was there any doubt that when you learned some very little about Dr. Horde that you would lose that temper? Very little doubt. You are an independent contractor. If you failed, Dr. Horde could not hold us accountable for your actions. If you succeeded, we would be prepared to conceal the few threads that connect you to the Coalition. If captured, the authorities would likely interpret Horde's murder as the action of a madman. Once in the hands of the police there would be little you could tell them before you expired in custody. And if you survived and found yourself at large?
He gestures to the room.
—Well, here we are, tying up loose ends. Is there anything else you would like clarified, anything that might make your position more apparent to you so that we might move ahead with the unalterable course of events?
I drop the snuffed butt into the ashtray.
—Why'd he cut Leprosy?
He looks at the ceiling.
—Leprosy?
I rub my thumb and index finger together, brushing the gray ash from them.
—The kid.
He looks back down.
—Yes. The one you had asking about Dr. Horde's daughter. Well, I can't say for certain, but I think he viewed your involvement as a balm to his wife. He never intended that you should lay hands on the girl. He hoped perhaps to track your progress so as to find young Amanda first. For himself. I think it likely that he got carried away questioning the boy. His taste for youth seemed to have more to do with inflicting pain than with receiving pleasure.
I think about lighting another smoke, decide not to.
—Why infect him?
—He infected the boy?
I nod. Horde shakes his head.
—To play with his toy? He was quite proud of having isolated the bacteria. I am just as curious about why he killed the detective Dobbs. Do you know?
I rub my forehead.
—He didn't.
—Who did?
—Dobbs was Horde's peeper. He had all the goods on his wife and her lovers. She had her own plan. Wanted to take off with her daughter, but knew Horde could make her out as an unfit mother. She went to Dobbs for the pictures and whatnot, and he balked. So she choked him to death and grabbed the stuff.
—You are certain?
—When we met she asked about my sense of smell. Could I tell her scent? Next time I saw her she was scrubbed and clean, just like whoever did Dobbs. It was her. She wanted to get her daughter out.
—Yes, I can see that. And it brings us back around to where we started. Back to my question. Where is the girl?
—You don't need her.
—The girl.
—Let the girl be, she doesn't know anything. She was fucking unconscious when it happened. I got rid of Horde, let the girl be.
—Yes, Pitt, you got rid of Horde. And you got rid of his wife, as well. Which leaves the girl as Horde's heir, heir to the stock, Pitt.
He takes off his jacket.
—An underage girl.
He tucks his tie inside his shirt.
—For whom that stock will now be held in inviolable trust.
He unclips his cuff links.
—Controlled by the Horde family's rather too incorruptible lawyers.
He rolls up his left sleeve.
—Until she comes of age at twenty-one.
He rolls up his right sleeve.
—Unless she dies in the same horrible, disfiguring fireball of an automobile accident in which her parents will be shortly dying.
He puts his hand out to the giant.
—In which case the stock will be made available to the other shareholders. And, I believe, I have already told you who those shareholders are.
The giant places a pair of black leather gloves in his hand.
—So.
He pulls the tight gloves on and snugs them over his knuckles.
—Where? Is? The? Girl?
I look at his hands, then his face.
—I gave her to Lydia Miles.
He doesn't move.
—Lydia Miles?
—You know, the Society's resident gay rights loudmouth.
—Where did she take the girl?
—Got me. But if I don't call in a couple days she'll give her to Terry Bird.
I decide it's time for another smoke, so I get one ready.
—And did I mention that I have Horde's teeth?
Light it.
—Not his real teeth mind you, just those fancy fake dentures of his. Now those are some interesting dentures. Not too many reasons for dentures like those, full of a nasty bacteria and all. Unless you plan on making a bunch of zombies on someone else's turf and you want them to look normal. Normal for zombies, I mean. Shit like that would be just the thing to make Terry ready to hook up with Grave Digga and launch a two-front offensive on the Coalition. Something like that he could take to all the small Clans. The Dusters, the Wall, even the Outer Borough freaks, they'd all flip. Hell, Daniel might be interested in something like that. Picture that: Daniel and a dozen Enclave knocking on your door. Gives you th
e chills.
Predo's fists close tight. I can hear the leather squeak.
—Where are the teeth?
After I got Amanda dressed, I stripped and wiped blood from myself with Horde's clean undershirt. He was far too skinny for anything of his to fit me, but I managed to scavenge an outfit from the enforcer and the goon. Then I went through the pockets of my own discarded clothes and found the picture of Amanda, the one she had ripped in two. I fit the halves together and translated the torn and stained phone number on the back. I had the girl in my arms when I remembered the teeth.
I found the case in Horde's clothes. The hinge creaked slightly when I opened it. Inside, the teeth were fitted snugly in a foam rubber nest. They gleamed. He must have cleaned off Marilee's blood before he put them away. I eased them out, careful not to touch the biting surfaces. They looked perfect, like the healthiest teeth in the world, a bit on the sharp side perhaps. I opened them. The canines had tiny black dimples at the tips, holes smaller than those of syringes. Inside they would be hollow, a delivery system for something that isn't supposed to exist outside a human body. I closed them and returned them to the case.
I collected the girl, found the door she had told me about and carried her out of the school. It was raining, hours after midnight and the street was empty except for a couple scuttling past, trying to share a too-small umbrella. I got to the pay phone on the corner, called Lydia and gave her the girl.
Then I came home, got cleaned up, left the teeth sitting on the bathroom sink, and forgot about them until right now.
—The teeth are someplace safe. Someplace they'll stay as long as the girl stays safe. Something happens to her, I send the teeth to Bird
He frowns
-Who sends them if anything happens to you? I blink. And that's enough for him to know. He smiles. -You did not give them to anyone. They are simply hidden someplace, are they not?
Quickly, you only get one chance at this.
—I gave them to Lydia with the girl.
He shakes his head.
—No. You did not. They are hidden someplace. Someplace close at hand, I would say.
He exhales.