The simple solution was to drop the TEV. But it was probably the only unit left in Illinois, and if I lost it, I’d have no chance at clearing my name.
I grunted as the swinging got worse, rocking my lower body back and forth. Using the momentum, I waited for the pendulum to reach its apex, then continued the motion, throwing the TEV up onto the cleaning platform.
Unfortunately, the effort made me lose the little balance I had left. I stretched my bad right arm, trying to find some sort of handhold, but my lower body rocked too far to the side, and then I was in midair again, my body parallel to the street below.
My hand was yanked from the platform.
I might have whimpered, but I was too busy throwing up inside my mouth. I stared at the platform, only a few inches away but impossible to reach, and then that old bastard gravity gave me a bitch-slap, and once again I began to fall.
If I were a cat, I’d have used up my nine lives hours ago. But I wasn’t a cat, and the green ripper wasn’t ready to claim me just yet. I had a death grip on the TEV strap, and it must have snagged on something, because I swung beneath the platform and banged against the window.
I swallowed bile, amazed I’d made it this far. With my right hand I fumbled for my Nife, and managed to unsheathe it. I made a quick square in the reinforced window I was facing, the glass falling inward. Then I tossed the Nife into the building and swung through the opening I’d made.
When I hit the floor I rolled over and kissed the carpet. It tasted sweeter than anything I’d ever eaten in my life.
The office I’d entered into was dark, empty. After a few seconds wrangling my nerves back into working order, I tapped my eyelid for night vision, and found my Nife. Chances were high I’d lost the cops, but did I lose the TTS?
I didn’t want to stand still long enough to find out. I pulled off the frog legs, found the stairs, and took it up a floor. I found the office directly above the one I’d swung into, and used the Nife to open the door and the window, retrieving the TEV from the window-washing platform.
Once inside the elevator, I cleaned myself up, patting the dirt off my clothes, tucking in my shirt. When I reached the lobby I walked out casually, like I belonged there. Then I merged into pedestrian traffic, walked north for two blocks, then ducked down an alley and relieved a kindly young lady of her biofuel scooter by pulling her off by her waist.
“OMG! You’re that guy! The one from the news!” She seemed more excited than scared. “You are soooo hot.”
She whipped out her DT and took a picture. I waved good-bye and hopped onto the scooter, heading north.
Half an hour later, I was back at Aunt Zelda’s. The adrenaline had all worn off, and I felt like a wad of gum that had been chewed for a week straight. Every muscle in my body was cramped and hurting. Competing for gold in the Pain Decathalon was a killer headache. I dry-swallowed two aspirin and an amphetamine, ditched the bike, and then took the elevator up to Aunt Zelda’s apartment.
I was about to get some much-needed answers.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The door was unlocked, as I’d left it. Neil was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bag of chips. Apparently he hadn’t figured out that my Tesla account had been suspended, and that ergo his supplication collar no longer worked. If I’d been in a reflective mood, I might have quipped something about how the biggest boundaries people had to face were the ones they didn’t test. But I wasn’t feeling reflective. I was feeling tired and sore and mean.
Neil’s eyes bugged out when he saw me, and he made a choking sound.
“You…you…”
“Yes, Neil. I’m me. But the question is, who are you?”
“You killed half a million people.”
I sat down next to him, taking the TEV off my shoulder and setting it on the floor.
“So you know half a million and one is no big deal for me.” I tugged out my DT, put on the voice-stress analyzer. “State your full name, or I’ll do something horrible to you.”
“Neil Anders Winston,” he quickly said.
“Is Zelda your aunt, Neil? Tell the truth this time.”
“Yes.”
Untruth.
I took out my Nife, let him see the blade, then drove it through the table we were sitting at. He jumped about a foot. When I pulled the Nife toward me, cutting the tabletop in half, Neil lost all color in his face.
“No, she’s not my real aunt. Someone told me to tell you that.”
Truth.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. He never told me his name. He called me up, out of the blue.”
Truth.
“Do you normally follow orders from strangers?”
“No.”
“Did he have something on you? Blackmail? Extortion?”