Only Forward. Michael Marshall Smith
owes me one more favour than he did before.
As I sat with a jug of Jahavan coffee, each molecule of which is programmed to pelt round the body kicking the shit out of any alcohol molecules it finds, I considered where to go from here. So far, I didn’t have very much to go on. I had established that Ji hadn’t been involved in Alkland’s abduction, but I’d known that anyway. Ji simply wanted to take over as much of Red as he could and stay alive as long as he could whilst killing as many other people as possible. He was a simple man, with simple needs.
Whoever had Alkland was into something much more complex. They couldn’t be after money, because the Centre didn’t have any, but it was unlikely they’d done it for the sheer fun of it. They had to want something that only the Centre could give them. Working out what that might be was going to be important, and I put a memo in my mental file to have a crack at it when I could be bothered. My mental memos are different to my mental notes: I always do something about them eventually, and they’re typed so I can read what they say. For example:
Internal Memo: Who’s got Alkland?
1) Someone with enough togetherness to get people into the Centre to snatch him.
2) Someone with enough togetherness to know about him in the first place.
(The togetherness factor of these guys had to be pretty high. The Centre doesn’t widely distribute lists of ‘People Doing Really Important Things Whom You Might Like To Consider Kidnapping’. I’d never even heard of Alkland before tonight, and I know the Centre pretty well for an outsider.)
3) Someone who wants something of a kind that only the Centre can give them.
(When I knew what that might be, I’d know what kind of people I was dealing with, which would make it easier to predict the way in which they’d operate.) And
4) Get some batteries for the Gravbenda™.
See? Very diligent. Zenda would be impressed. Well, not impressed, probably, because I’m sure her mental memos run to 120 pages with graphs, indexes and supporting audio visual material, but pleasantly surprised, maybe. Surprised, anyway.
I also made another note, which I’m not going to tell you about. It was kind of a surprising idea, and very unlikely: but I stored it away anyway. I’ll let you know if it turns out to be relevant.
By the time I finished the jug I was completely sober. More sober than I wanted to be, in fact: I’d drunk too much coffee and was now too far in the black, sobriety-wise. It made me notice things like that whenever I come back to my apartment, it’s empty. It’s a nice apartment, fully colour co-ordinated and with happening furniture, but I use it just as somewhere to store my stuff, and to crash when I’m in the Neighbourhood. When I come back to it, it’s always empty. No people. Or no person, to be more precise.
I have an apartment, I have more money than I need, I have a job, of sorts. But have I got a life?
See what I mean? Foolish, unhelpful thoughts. I took a look at the packet of Jahavan and saw I’d picked up Extra Strength by mistake. ‘Warning,’ it said in the blurb. ‘Anyone except alcoholics may find themselves experiencing foolish and unhelpful thoughts.’
I wasn’t feeling tired, but decided to try to get some sleep anyway. When I get immersed in a job I tend to have to go days without any, which is one of the reasons I end up so tired. There was nothing more I could do tonight, so making a deposit in the sleep bank was the clever thing to do.
Before I turned in I checked my message tray, on the off-chance that Ji might have transfaxed something through. It was empty apart from a note from the council. The Street Colour Coordinator Computer had sent me a message saying how much it had enjoyed working with my trousers.
At 4.45 a.m. I woke up, instantly alive and alert. I turned over and tried to get back to sleep, but it wasn’t going to happen. I still had Jahavan running wild round my bloodstream, shouting, carrying on, waking up all the cells. I got up, had a shower, went into the kitchen and threw the coffee away. I don’t need that kind of shit from a beverage.
I made a cup of Debe, which is similar to coffee except it has no natural products in it and doesn’t taste much like it either, and sat by the wall in the living room, waiting for dawn to break. An amazingly, ridiculously large spider ran across the floor in front of me. I stared at it for a while, wondering how the hell it had got in. My apartment is on the fourth floor: I couldn’t believe the thing had scaled a hundred feet of wall just to hang out with me. It had to have a lair in the apartment somewhere, though I couldn’t imagine where. I found it hard to believe that there could be a crevice in there big enough to hold an animal that size. More likely it just sat around in the open all day, cunningly disguised as a piece of furniture, waiting for night to fall so it could go zipping round the floor in that way they enjoy so much. I might have sat on it without knowing, or rested a drink on it. Hell, I could have stretched out and gone to sleep on it.
Halfway across the floor the spider stopped, skittered round, and sat and looked at me. I looked back at the spider. It was a tense moment.
I take shit as and when necessary, but not from things as far down the evolutionary ladder as spiders. I think it sensed this. After a long moment it pointed itself in a different direction and slowly and many-leggedly ambled towards the door. Then, probably realising this was the last chance it was going to get tonight to do any zipping about, it suddenly accelerated to warp speed and zoomed out into the hall, taking the corner on two legs.
Unlike a lot of Neighbourhoods, Colour is open to the sky, and by 5.30 the black outside my window was tinged with a hint of pinky blue. It didn’t help much but it looked nice. They always have nice skies in Colour: I think they fiddle about with them in some way.
It was still too early to do anything useful, so I went shopping instead.
Early afternoon found me back in the apartment, sitting crosslegged on the ceiling of the living room, finishing a massive lunch.
For long stretches I can’t be bothered with shopping, especially for food. I try, but by the time I get to the stores either I’m bored with the whole idea or I get choice anxiety and it all gets too much for me. Today, though, I’d gone through with it. I’d really shopped. Food, batteries for the Gravbenda™, food, Normal Strength coffee, food and food. I’d made the fridge really happy. Finally it had something to get its teeth into again, lots of stuff it could keep nicely cold and fresh. Not all of the food was for me: one of the things I had on my list of things to do was to get in touch with my cat, Spangle, and see if he wanted to come and stay for a while.
First, though, I had some calls to make. I made them. I called all of the reliable contacts I have in Neighbourhoods around the Centre, and some of the unreliable ones too.
Nothing. Whoever had snatched Alkland had done a truly tremendous job, secrecy-wise. It was looking more and more as if it had to be a gang from Turn Neighbourhood, which was very bad news. I do this kind of thing, the normal things, largely for something to do. I have to fill my time somehow, now that it’s all I have: but I’d rather it didn’t get too serious. I’ve calmed a bit in the last few years. Taking on a bunch of well-organised psychopaths doesn’t appeal as much as it would have done once.
I ate some more food. Things were not going particularly well yet, but that’s the way it always works. The City is a hell of a big place, split into hundreds of places that have no idea what’s going on in all the other places. There’s no point just skipping blithely round, hoping you’ll run into what you’re looking for on a street corner. You don’t get handed a job complete with a little box full of clues and helpful pointers. I don’t, anyway. There’s a lot of waiting involved in the initial stages. I’d put out feelers, registered an interest, and that was all I could do.
Suddenly there was a loud pharping noise from the message tray. Unfortunately the tray is fixed to the wall near the floor, and I couldn’t reach it from where