Chapter Fifty-Eight - Interrogation
Gentrification of music and art is a bitch, ya know?
Man, used to be that art ant sothing. Now so punk kid in so backwater shithole neighbourhood makes so trashcan hip-hip about how shit life is, gets picked up by a label, and a week later hes ODed off so blow he sniffed from his new corpo wifes rack, anwhile, everything hes made, everything he stood for has been mined and broken apart and sold to the highest bidder.
--Scoop Doge, from his penthouse suite in Ohio Two, 2051
***
I figured that with about a dozen heavily-ard dudes looking out for him, as well as his nervous secretary, Burringham would be just fine if I left him for a bit. Anyone that could kill that many guards to get to him would probably kill him whether I was there or not.
The healing kit Id left jabbed into him would take care of his injuries in the an-ti. Hed be just fine.
So, where did you hide the assassin again? I asked.
The guard gestured ahead, down one of the corridors that I imagine most guests werent supposed to see. It wasnt nearly as well-decorated and opulent as the rest of the hall. Security room. We have a dic working to keep him alive.
Shit, I said. Whats his condition like?
Not very good, the guard said. Your shots didnt kill him imdiately, thats all I can say.
I nodded. Id have to buy a second kit to keep him alive. Great. Thats exactly what I wanted to do. Spend so of my hard-earned points on a man that had just tried to shoot soone. A politician, mind, so it was only like shooting half a person, but it still counted.
The security room, as it turned out, wasnt so much a single room as a small area marked off for the guards and the like.
There was a small waiting area, with a few couches and a TV against the far wall, as well as a counter with a microwave and minifridge. The other side of the space had a glass door with an armory behind it, and past that a corridor with doors on either side.
There was only one door currently being guarded.
The guard accompanying guided over to that door. It opened into a white-walled room with an interrogation table in the middle cast in harsh industrial light. The gunman was on the table, face locked in a grimace, his clothes tossed off and piled up to the side where soone had obviously cut them all apart.
His chanical arm was missing at the shoulder, and his other hand was handcuffed to the edge of the table.
A guard was wiping his chest around an already bloody bandage. How is he? I asked.
The man scread and twisted on the table, tugging at the handcuff as he did so. He opened his mouth, and it was clear that soone had torn out so of his teeth.
Hell live, the dic guard said. The shot didnt do him any favours, but it missed most vital things.
The shot, singular? I asked.
The dic nodded. One hit his chanical arm. Tore a gash into his back on the exit. Nothing too serious. Second hit him high in the chest. Punctured lung, three broken ribs, so internal bleeding. I have him filled with foam to keep the bleeding down. Havent sedated him.
Whys he missing his teeth? I asked with a gesture to his face.
The guard looked up. Suicide capsules in his teeth. Aug-linked. They didnt go off.
Ah, thats my fault, I said.
They could have been triggered manually if he crushed them enough, so the teeth had to go, he said matter-of-factly.
Shit, that sucks, I said. So, hes going to live, huh?
He should, assuming we get him to a hospital within the next twelve hours or so. I havent administered pain dication yet, I dont want him hazy for any interrogations.
Nasty. We get an ID yet?
The guard who escorted into the room was the one to reply. His eyes were glowing, a tell-tale sign he was deep into his augs. No ID. He entered the gala under the na John Black, but Mister Blacks actual location was confird minutes ago, he was unable to attend because of other matters. Were investigating.
Is his face real? I asked. To pass himself off as soone else...
The files on Mister Blacks identity were changed. Hes a close-match, appearance-wise.
Huh, I said before I leaned down atop the table, then pressed my hand over the guys sternum as he tried to push himself up. Hey buddy, whats your na?
He scread into my face, which was a little rude. His eyes locked onto my helt, and he spat a gob of blood at that splattered against my visor and imdiately slipped off and splattered on the table.
Okay, I said.
You might want to consider connecting to his augntations and use those to identify him.
Not a bad idea, I said. I noticed the dic looking up at , but other than checking the bandage, he didnt interfere. I opened my cyberwarfare software and linked back into the guys augntations.
Just about everyone had physical identification of so sort, but a lot of shops and places accepted aug-based ID. Our mystery friends augs had plenty of ID, those at the top were all linked to mister Black, but he had about a dozen more past that.
Thats a lot of IDs there, buddy, I said.
Probably a professional then, the dic comnted.
Yeah, I bet. You dont hire a chump to kill soone like Burringham when theres this much security around, I said.
The arm scanned as a normal prosthetic, the dic added. Was he making excuses for why theyd failed to nab the guy?
Ill bet, I said. Myalis, you have any clues here?
Checking the IDs... theyre all false except this one.
One of the IDs grew in my augs. Ralph Slim. Nearly the sa face as the guy I was holding down, with so slight changes around the eyes and jaw, and a bit more scruff, as if he hadnt shaved in a day or two. He was almost handso.
Ralph, huh? Yeah, Id change IDs too if I was called Ralph Slim, I said.
Ralph glared up at . Im not saying shit, he said.
You dont need to say anything, Ralphy, I have... well, Myalis. Shes a friend, currently living in my grey matter rent-free. Shes real good at digging into stuff. You wouldnt believe the gossip she can dig up on people in a few seconds.
If I could, I would be blushing.
Do you want to spill your version of things while she gets to rooting around? Because what youre working for here is sympathy.
What? he asked.
Sympathy. Specifically mine. See, Myalis doesnt care, shes going to co up with the cold hard facts, and those never make anyone look good. Doesnt matter how vanilla your tastes are, theyll still make so people hurl. Now, your continued existence depends entirely on how I feel about you in the next couple of minutes, and shes not going to paint a pretty picture.
Just, just hand over to the police! Ralph said.
No, I replied. I dont want to.
He started to twist and fight back, but against the handcuffs holding his arm down, as well as the weight of my suit on his collar, it only made a racket. You cant do this, he said.
I... Im literally doing this right now? All Ive done so far is hold you down. I havent even started to ruin your life.
Ive, Ive got a wife, and kids!, Ralph said.
He doesnt.
I jabbed him in the ribs. No lying Ralph, I said.
I... co on, Ill pay you!
I shook my head. Im richer than you. Which was a weird thing to say.
Ten million credits. Fifty million!
He really wanted to like him. What do you want for that many credits? For not to question you?
Please! he begged.
I shrugged, then stepped back while leaving a hand on his collar. Hey, you want to question him in my place? Ill do the torturing, you do the questions. I really dont know how this stuff goes anyway. Out of my depth here.
Certainly, the guard said. We have training for this. Try not to do anything debilitating.
No problem, I said.
Wait! Wait! Ralph said.
You know, your answers are worth... about fifty to .
Fifty million? Ralph asked.
No, points. Thats fifty points worth of vanguard-grade torture equipnt. I dont know what thatll look like, but Im sure itll be pretty fucky. Ive got the impression the aliens have seen and done so fucky shit, you know?
Hey, hey, Ill tell you what you want to know, please.
I dont actually have a torture implent catalogue, I said. But I do have one for sex toys, and Im very sure that theyre close together. You know, putting the M in BDSM.
I'll fucking talk!
***
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