Part 18 (1/2)
”What do you think?” Bandit replied.
”Well, yes,” she said, slowly. ”Yes, you're right. It's true. I am. Older than I look. Why ... do you ask?
Why am I telling you this?”
”You'd like to tell me more.”
”Yes, I would.” She stopped and smiled again and nodded. Then frowned. ”I don't understand.”
”There's nothing to understand.”
”Yes,, yes, there is. I'm sure of it.”
”You just like talking to me.”
”Yes, I do. But there's more. You're ...”
”No.”
”You are.” Her expression grew pained. She gasped for breath as if running a race. ”You're ... doing things to me. Stop it. Stop it, please! It hurts...” Incredible.
Bandit lowered the mask. Marena Farris dropped her head to her breast. Her hair tumbled down around her face, concealing her features completely. But not her aura. Bandit looked at that again just to see how it had changed, but it was difficult to read. Certain aspects of it were puzzling, out of sync, conflicting with the whole. Conflicting with aspects of her aura that seemed to imply that she had a great latent potential for magic. Great enough that she might have made a powerful mage, had she begun the study early enough.
Then again, her potential was not entirely latent. She had some very minor raw ability. Unrefined, untrained. A sensitivity to spells of influence, a sort of natural resistance, and great strength of will.
Bandit wondered if she might not be one of those people, successful people, powerful people, who are often credited with great personal charisma, charm, influence, and a thousand other traits that mundanes found so difficult to describe.
Magic by other names.
It would be interesting to spend more time with Marena Farris. Bandit could see the value in it clearly.
If nothing else, her own natural resistance would help him reveal the true depth of power possessed by the Mask of Sa.s.sacus.
The bedroom door swung inward.
Rico entered. ”Looking for you,” he said. ”Have a seat, I wanna talk to our guest.”
Bandit found himself a chair.
Heading into this, Rico tried to keep an open mind.
Marena Farris lifted her head and met bis eyes. She looked distraught enough to cry, scared, too. It made her seem more human.
Her Fuchi file said she was forty-three, but she didn't look anywhere near that age. Maybe twenty-five. She had the kind of looks that leapt out and demanded a man's attention, no question about it Her face was pure exec, cool and sophisticated, flawless. Her figure was beyond belief. She had all the makings of a primo s.l.u.t or prost.i.tute, the kind of woman who got whatever she wanted, regardless of what it took. She'd started at Fuchi as a corporate joygirl, a sort of combination hooker and geisha, but had broken out of that mold in just a few short years. The corp had educated her, boosted her up the ladder.
Rico noticed how the light from the room's only lamp gleamed on the moist skin beneath Marena Farris' eyes, and he decided how to proceed. An honorable man would plumb his own depths searching for mercy. Understanding. Compa.s.sion. But Rico couldn't afford it.
”What's your story?”
She hesitated, blinked like she didn't understand, the looked at him steadily and said, ”Please don't killme.”
Rico clenched his teeth. ”Gimme a reason.”
”I'm worth more alive.”
What the h.e.l.l was she talking about? Rico straggled to keep his face deadpan, concealing his surprise.
Did she think she'd been kidnapped? That someone intended to kill her? Rico thought he ought to explain, only he didn't wanna explain, not till he got the truth out of her. ”You always say h.e.l.lo to a slag by trying to waste him?”
”What else could I do?” Farris seemed to get choked up. Her voice wavered. Tears spilled from her eyes. She moaned, looking around like she wanted to find some way out. ”You had me, you brought me straight to him. He obviously hired you for that.” She paused a moment, hand at her brow. Her fingers trembled visibly. ”I can't believe this is happening. Isn't there anything I can say? I'll give you any amount of money, twice whatever he paid you, if you'll get me out of here.”
Rico hated playing games like this, especially with a woman, especially with one who looked like she expected to be killed at any moment. It made him feel dirty-like slime. It didn't really matter that she was a suit, a corporate. She was still a woman. If so much wasn't at stake ... Rico clenched his teeth. ”You got money?”
The question nailed her attention. Her eyes went wide. She nodded. Adamantly. ”Yes, I have a lot of money. I don't... I don't care how much you want. Just let me go. Please let me go.”
”Later,” Rico said. ”We'll talk about money later. I wanna know some things first.”
She nodded, looking like she'd willingly tell him anything. Rico wondered whether to believe it.
”How'd you figure it out?” Rico said. ”What we got in mind.”
Farris lowered her face to her hand, stared at the bed. She seemed about to cry again. ”I've known for some time that Ansell loathes me. He can be very vengeful. That's why he volunteered-”
”Volunteered? For what?”
Farris looked at him again. ”You don't really need to know that. It's proprietary,”
Rico stepped toward the bed. ”I'll tell you about proprietary. I almost got my cojones blown off coming after you. So you're gonna tell me what you know. Everything.”
”Please ... I took an oath.”
A real corporate thing to say.
Rico sat down on the edge of the bed facing her. A new rise of fear showed plainly in her eyes, yet something in the way she held her head, the angle of her chin, seemed almost like a challenge. Defiant.
That changed when the razorspurs slid out of the rear of Rico's arm and snicked softly into position. Farris'
eyes caught the movement. She looked, then looked again. When Rico lifted his forearm, moving those blades toward her throat, she stiffened, lifted her hands to her face, and leaned away.
Another moment and she was squirming.
She gasped. ”Please!”
When she started shaking. Rico drew back. She was hard to read, and harder to figure. One big contradiction from start to finish. She could peddle that body of hers in any bar in the sprawl without even trying, yet she seemed sharp, maybe sharp enough to go anywhere, right to the top. She didn't seem like the type to be physically brave, and yet this same woman had just grabbed a gun and tried to blow away her own husband. What the h.e.l.l kind of sense did that make? None. None whatsoever. Surikov didn't seem to understand it. Rico sure didn't.
”Consider yourself threatened,” he said. ”Now talk.”
Farris was more than just a few moments calming down. If it was an act, it was a fragging good one.
Every move flush, a seamless performance. Right down to the way she pursed her lips, as if forcing herself to at least seem in control of herself, when really she was shaking. Rico wasn't sure if he believed her act or not.