Chapter 5, Part 3

hannah

Jacobson shrugged. “He says strange things sometimes. He’s a strange man. He’s also very, very good at what he does.”

I nodded slowly. “I just get this feeling… it’s silly, I guess. Just, it feels like, that we’re not, you know, on the same page. That he’s really well and truly insane and if I listen to him too closely I’ll wind up believing him.”

Jacobson patted my hand. “It’s all right. I’ve seen stranger things- not many of them, you understand. But trust me. There is no one better suited to discovering your father’s whereabouts and apprehending those responsible than Thomas Bleakly.”

I smiled at him. At moments like that, he almost reminded me of my father. Except with a mustache. My father with a mustache and bugfuck crazy friends.

“Thanks. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He smiled warmly. “More coffee, dear?”

“Yeah, I’d-”

A melodic beeping interrupted me. I raised my eyebrows as Jacobson, embarrassment unnecessarily commandeering and twitching his mustache, pulled out his charmingly outdated phone. I didn’t recognize the ringtone; he indicated through hand signals that he’d been meaning to change it.

Then the motions and eyerolling stopped. A moment later, his chatty calm had dried up, leaving behind monosyllablic questions and a spreading frown.

“You’re- you’re sure? They’re back. What, were you- no! Of course not! Just… stay calm, all ri- oh. Oh, no. No, no, no-”

I tried to catch his eye, mouthing what’s wrong? What’s happening?

He closed the cell phone and stood without looking at me. “Stay here, Hannah. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If I’m not… here’s my keys. If I’m not back, take the car and drive. Just drive.”

—————————-

bleakly

Multitasking was never my strong suit, but I make a policy of not having strong suits. Hell, it may just be that simultaneously running, reading and interpreting lifesigns from a handheld electronic device, and screaming “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit” is simply difficult. Go ahead and try it sometime to maximize your appreciation of this part of the story. It’ll still be here. Just go run a lap while fucking around on a handheld. If possible, be very, very worried about your loved ones, with a growing conviction that something has gone terribly wrong. Then come back. Don’t worry, I’ll bold the next sentence so it’s easy to find when you get back.

Now that you’re back, you’ll know how I felt when I realized it would take me way too long to get where I needed to go on foot. So once again I opted for speed over convenience.

Back alleys in this town tend to be filled with broken junk and broke junkies. On the rare occasions I was in a sane and calm state of mind I did not navigate back alleys in that neighborhood on a whim.

Having assessed the risk I sprinted down the first dripping brick canyon that yielded an entrance to me. C’mon c’mon it’s gonna be okay it’s gonna be okay SHIT. According to Lifesigns.1_z’s blinking indication on my handheld everything was not going to be okay. Hannah was in panic mode (I thought they disabled those?) and Jacobson’s bloodstream had more adrenaline than red blood cells in it.

I didn’t care that I would be exhausted by the point I got to Sharkness cafe. I didn’t care I’d have nothing left to fight with. I just needed to be there and I needed to be there five minutes ago. My legs complained, I was out of breath. My stupid fucking coat was holding me back like a parachute-

“You’re in a hell’vuh hurry, son.” A voice boomed loud enough to make me trip and skid along in the muck. A synthetically augmented voice: some thug who had his voicebox replaced, laced and bass’d was pointing something buzzing and sharp at my face.

Not. Right. NOW.

Epinephrine does funny things. Ha! Ha! Ha.

After shooting the brainless mass of tubes and meat in each kneecap and thus rendering it an annoyance rather than an obstacle, I made it to the other end of the alleyway, just a short sprint from Sharkness. It was just around the corner-

And I was just close enough to recognize the pale, identical men striding through the smoking remains of Sharkness.

——————–

jacobson

“GREG!”  A familiar voice cut through the haze.

My heart was -ugh- fluttering as I awoke. Age and electricity-based weapons are never a healthy combination. I would count myself lucky I did not suffer a heart attack, except- No!

I inhaled too sharply. “Hannah!” I coughed; my lungs were filled with smoke and ozone and my mouth knew the taste of copper.

“She’s not here. You alright, Greg? Shit, shit. Here. You’ll be all right.” Thomas’ face swam into view. His firm grip seemed the only warm and solid thing at that moment- I felt chills, though I was drenched in sweat.

“My- my word, Thomas, they-”

He was already nodding. “I know. Neithermen. Nothing you could have done. They’ve got Hannah.”

I sat up too quickly. “NO! My word, Thomas, how- I… oh…” My head throbbed with the aftereffects of the diabolical electrical attack.

Thomas’ jaw was set; his lips formed a thin line. “Oh, I’ve got a little surprise that might help us find her. For now, she’s okay. I know she’s okay, and I’m not just saying that.” His eyes flicked to the small screen of his ever-present handheld.

I coughed again. “Thomas, I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

He pounded my back helpfully. “We’ve got a more pressing matter. Look.”

He handed me a red envelope that bore a large wax seal.

I touched the wax lightly. It was the seal of Cornelius City, iron mogul and the least-liked man ever to have eight separate statues of himself erected within a hundred-mile radius.

Thomas lit a cigarette and helped me to my feet. “That envelope was lying here on the table. It’s addressed to me.”

I tore the envelope open and wordlessly handed him its contents: a notecard with a single handwritten line.

Thomas read it aloud: “You could have just asked. Love, City.”