The ambulances and coroner’s vans arrive in force, cleaning up the mess that the shells and the Dogs have left behind. That Alan left behind, really. Felon stands in the middle of it all, out on the lawn, and marvels.
“Man, I wish I’d been here. I haven’t seen action like this since the Forces.”
I explain the basics of the story to him, leaving out my contact with the spider and the Suerte. They just aren’t things he needs to know.
“Why did this Porsche chick let her slasher into the apartment, you think?”
My honest opinion is that it had everything to do with luck, but I’m not about to say that.
“She had a lot of lovers, Dave. Maybe somebody finally got possessive. She knew him, thought she could handle him, let him in.”
“You figure it’s connected?”
“Nah, probably just a coincidence. What would Alan have against Porsche?”
“Okay, back to the attack on Max, what about the magic bullet? The one that disappeared?”
“Alan collected it and disposed of it to prevent any ballistics trace,” I say. “That’s how come you guys never found it.”
He shakes his head in wonder.
“Max Prince and Rogue AI in Love-Murder Plot as Beautiful Grand-Daughter Butchered” he recites, anticipating the next day’s headlines. “The sims are gonna cream all over this one. Can I ask you one more question?”
I want him to go, but I don’t want to offend him.
“Sure, man. What is it?”
“How the fuck did you figure out it was Alan?”
I can’t tell him the truth, obviously, but I get as close as I can.
“Too many things didn’t add up. Whoever was doing this had all this firepower, all this know-how, all this money, but somehow no one ever got killed. I mean civilians, yeah, but not Max and not me, the supposed targets. Eventually it hit me that we weren’t supposed to get killed. Once I figured that out the rest just fell into place.”
“You should consider working for the P.D., man. I’d recommend you.”
I stifle my gag reflex. He may be a psycho but in this instance he means well.
“Thanks anyway Dave. I’m better being my own boss, you know?”
“Whatever amigo. Offer’s open if you change your mind.”
Cleaning up the bodies takes hours, but in the end the last coronor’s van leaves. The CSIs are still here, but at the moment they’re all inside. Felon graces me with a blast from his horn as he heads down the long driveway and Max and I are left standing on the lawn in the late afternoon sun.
“Max, Porsche’s dead,” I finally say when everything else is out of the way.
“I heard you before,” he says. He shows no more reaction than he did the first time, and I’m left to wonder what, if anything, she ever meant to him. Nothing, I suspect, except a potential heir, blood of his blood. Her shortcomings, even her evil, become more understandable looking at his untroubled face.
“What about the Suerte?” he finally asks. “Was that real?”
“You know it was. Alan would never have believed me otherwise.”
“Can you really call them off?”
I look out over the grounds for a moment, taking in the wealth, the status, the power he wields – this weird, stunted, bloated, human.
YOU ARE READING
Luck and Death at the Edge of the World
Science FictionSecurity specialist Gat Burroughs died once and he'll be damned if he lets it happen again. Unfortunately, somebody is determined to kill his client, a washed-up star named Max Prince, and isn't afraid to go through Gat to do it. Is it Max's debauch...
