Chapter 20: Cab 899

The driver in Taxi Cab 899 is either the same guy who gave me a lift that first night or his twin. A skinny little fellow with an Ul'ru accent, playing twangy music. Flying over the skyscrapers, I sit in the backseat, leaning back and massaging the throbbing place where I banged my shin escaping the factory. After narrowly avoiding Albright and Wilmer, I've decided enough is enough. I'm headed downtown, to the Amber City Morgue.

I need what I was promised in the beginning. A first-hand look at the body. Because things are starting to move pretty fast, and something's just not adding up. But first, I take out my datapad and prompt a number to dial. It's time to see if any of what Caesar and I discussed has sunken in yet.

Caesar answers after only two rings. "Jack... How can you do such a thing?"

My brow furrows. "Come again?"

"How can you do this?"

"Caesar, I don't have the slightest-"

"You tell me to call you if I find anything," Caesar snaps. "I'll tell you what I just find. My doorman, dead! Beaten to death!"

For a moment, words elude me. Beaten to death? That guy was strong as an ox and nearly as big. If I hadn't stunned him by slamming his face off the countertop, he'd have broken me in half.

"You said you want no trouble," snarls Caesar, "but then you do this-!"

"What reason would I have to kill your doorman?" I say.

"To, to," Caesar stammers. "To send a message to tell me to spill what I know."

"Murder is not my idea of sending a message. Especially not some poor hired muscle just trying to make a living..."

I trail off because my datapad's getting another call. Checking the display, I see a number I don't recognize.

"Look, Caesar," I say, "I don't know who killed your doorman, but if you value your life, close up shop and lie low. If whoever did it shows up again, I suggest you do a better job running from him than you did from me."

"Jack, what am I supposed to do with this body? I can't even move this elephant of a-!"

I hang up on Caesar and answer the incoming call.

"Who's this?" I say.

"It isn't your mother."

I don't know when or where Fox got my number, but it doesn't really surprise me. A man who makes his living in information knows how to find things.

"You caught me at a bad time, Fox," I say.

"You'll disagree when you hear what I've got to say."

"Talk fast, then."

"And the pay?"

"I'll owe you."

"I'll make a note of it... Jack, Nathan Harland is alive."

I was surprised at the news of Caesar's doorman, but this one's too far-out to take seriously. "I think there's some static on your end, Fox."

"He was spotted a couple hours ago down at the waterfront. A jive club called The Holiday. Multiple witnesses."

"Who told you this?"

"A gentleman never asks, and a middleman never tells. But trust me, I don't deal in gossip. Only Grade-A stuff."

Cupping my hand over the datapad receiver, I lean forward to speak with the driver. "You familiar with a place called The Holiday? At the waterfront?"

"Yes, sir."

"Better take us that way."

There's a whir of antigravity engines and a quick, stomach-lurching change of momentum as the driver veers our cab out of the present skylane to swing around, back into the opposite lane of traffic.

"This information is clearly a work of fiction," I say to Fox over the datapad. "But I'll admit, it is perhaps interesting enough fiction to prompt my attention."

"Fiction?" says Fox.

"Nathan Harland is dead."

"Is he?"

"Yes."

"You're sure? You saw the body, did you?"

I open my mouth to tell him yes, but I have to pause here. Because I didn't. I saw photos, sure, but photos can be doctored. Manipulated. Or fabricated entirely. I had assumed Albright ordered the body to be taken away out of professional pride. Because he didn't care for a nonprofessional like me sticking his big nose into police business. I'd have felt the same way if I were still in his position. My own personal bias and experiences filled in the gaps, perhaps incorrectly. Maybe Albright has been hiding something from me.

"Jack?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, Fox. Got to go. Call me if you hear anything else."

I cut the connection with Fox.

There's no warning. Only a ping of breaking glass, and the inside of the windshield is suddenly splattered with viscous red and gray. The driver slumps forward into the controls.

The change of gravity is immediate. The cab plummets.

The force of free fall smashes me into my seat, then lifts me up until my head bumps against the ceiling. Alarms start screaming, trying to alert a dead driver to pull the cab out of its sudden nosedive. More bullets punch holes through the windows and ricochet off the vehicle's frame as I ride a roller coaster drop straight to hell.