NetNews Usenet Archive 1992 #31/NN_1992_31.iso/spool/alt/cyberpun/chatsubo/822

Text File | 1992-12-22 | 7.4 KB | 186 lines

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Path: sparky!uunet!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!news
From: [e-mail] (Kent Jenkins)
Subject: Joy and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
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Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1992 01:06:07 GMT
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Joy and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
[Part 25]
...

"I want them dead!" the flailing silhouette shrieked.  "I want J.J.
mine and these buffoons dead!"  An accusing finger broke the distance
and felt nearer to Gregory than before in this warped reality.  "I
want fresh kill!  See it arranged."

Gregory fidgeted.  "Our ... um, our normal supplier has not been very
reliable lately."

"Pressure him!  If Rednix does not want our business, there are others
we can call to."

"But ...."  Gregory hesitated.  "That will take time."

The silhouette's voice dropped low, grinding through the thick air.
"I do not keep you around simply to amuse me, White.  You have two days.
Cooperate with Faust completely."  He paused.  "I will take care of her."

:::

It took J.J. Faust two days to realize that her Liquid Apathy was no
longer working for her.  She had nearly overdosed one night in trying,
but all she felt was gut-wrenching pain.  The unnatural mood swings
continued and she found herself crying over a vase of daisies.  They
reminded her clearly of a Georgia O'Keefe painting and soon she found
tears running down her face, as if their beauty was too much to bear.

Or, she thought as her fist grasped the Apathy inhalant, too beautiful
to forget.

So maybe the sudden drug tolerance was a hidden boon.  She kept her
last container in her purse.  Just in case she was bitten with the
feelings again.

She hadn't had the courage of facing Mr. White about Gary's father
since her startling confrontation with Suz, but as she lay on her
couch, pulled against herself as the ebbs of pain finally drifted
away, she remembered.  And tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow
I will see to it.

J.J. was surprizingly delighted to hear from Patrick Mivlosk, again.
The young executive simply called and asked her out to dinner, if
she was feeling better after her fall.  She told him she was feeling
much better, thank you, and that she would be delighted.  Shall I
come by at six?  Certainly.

Pat was wonderfully mundane to J.J.  He was considerate, thoughtful,
and obviously had a brain in his skull.  He wasn't bad-looking
either.  He had both feet on the ground and reminded J.J. where and
when she was.

She chose a simple blue dress and braved to wear some earrings,
ignoring the slight knot of regret about a pendant that once
haunted her.  She still couldn't bear thinking about wearing
another necklace, though almost half a dozen sat on her dresser.

Patrick, dressed in a well-tailored dress jacket and tie, arrived
as on time as any man could, only ten minutes late, and offered
her a small bouquet of daisies.

It took J.J. a few moments to shake off a feeling of dread and
fear, a flashback of the painting, though she smiled politely
through the sudden change of emotion as she placed them in an
appropriate vase.

She tried calming herself down, breathing and thinking of the
beauty of the daisies, but the daisies looked wrong, their touch
sending signals to her brain.  She knew daisies were only flowers,
but these terrified her.  Instead of crying, this time she wanted
to scream.

J.J. forced a grin.  "Shall we go?"
...

Wasp pretty much had it for this so-called high life he bought into.
For the price of his soul he was the only civilian with cybernetic
optical implants, and now he had the Major's black market network.

But instead of cutting deals and making money, he was tormented with
Vit's brutal behavior and the shoulder wound and the near constant
barrage of snipers.  This was no different than being in his old
gang.

Vit was entirely no help for those next two days, leading Wasp
around by the balls like Rednix used to.  Do this, do that, go over
there, tell me everything you know.

At least I'm not dead, Wasp reminded himself.  Not yet, at least.
Vit had believed Wasp's story, finally understanding that J.J. Faust
wasn't an American gun for hire but a psychotic gemologist messed up
entirely with the wrong people.

"How do you know they are the wrong people?" Vit asked.  "Maybe they
are just smart and know we are the wrong people."

Wasp knew more, in this case.  "My boss wanted her.  I still don't
know why, but he's never wanted anything straight before.  I knew
him pretty well.  He was a major looney."

They agreed that Jerond and White Jewelers were going out of their
way to protect J.J. Faust from any outside influence.  If she was
simply an assistant designer, as the city-wide records proved, then
how could she afford a huge flat?  Were the bodyguards her idea?
(Wasp was convinced they weren't.)  And this blonde executive,
Mivlosk, had to factor into it some way.

Even with Wasp's far-reaching network of contacts, they weren't
really sure.  Mivlosk worked in the same building and this company
owned most of the stock in Jerond and White Jewelers, but there the
similarities ended.  Guesses could be made, but nothing was
concrete.

The shooting began a few hours after Wasp and Vit escaped J.J.'s
old apartment, the tell-tale mark of a professional.  The sound of
a bullet hitting pavement from high above, then no more.

A sniper hit Wasp in the arm, now sporting a pair of bullets.  Vit
proved his worth by shooting, at least scaring off the sniper and
bandaging Wasp up until he could be taken to a very discrete medic.

"What do you mean someone's put a hit out on us!" Wasp yelled into
a cellular phone that used to be Rednix's.  "What, I pay you guys
for sitting around on your collective asses to just watch the bullets
fly?  Find out who!  I ...."

Pause.  Amazement.  "Really?"

Another pause.  "Really?  Yes, I knew that, I just didn't think ...
Nononono ... No, no, look, keep your eyes open, okay?  And if you
can get me a list of people he's hired, I'll throw in a bonus ...
yeah, you too, chum."

He turned off the phone and sneered at the far wall.

"What was said?" Vit asked.

"Guy named 'Ghost'.  Shit, I should have known.  See, Ghost's this
eccentric shit who owns all of the town that Rednix doesn't, which
ends up to be a hell of a lot.  Mafia even look up to this guy.
Ghost and Rednix have had this war going on for as long as I can
remember, 'cept the times where they trade with each other.  I've
got some receipts for some pretty sick shit from one to another.

"So I figure Ghost caught wind that Rednix is dead and wants me
snuffed, and you for being with me."

Vit shook his head.  "What does this have to do with Faust?"

"Huh?  I don't know.  Nothing, I suppose."

"The killing men were at her apartment.  And at the bar."

Wasp leapt up and began pacing.  "Shit!  And outside her apartment
almost a week before that!  And the huge apartment and the
snipers...."  Wasp let his mind process the enormity of the
situation before he stopped pacing.  "What does he want from her?"

"What did your Rednix want from her?"

The answer remained unanswered.  Wasp could only think along one
line.  "Curse this gangreen crap and to hell with Rednix and Ghost
both.  We've got to rescue her."
...

[Copyright (c) 1992 by Kent Jenkins - Special effects done by ILM.]

---
Kent Jenkins    |    I don't want the world,
("Thenomain")    |    I just want your half.
        |