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A pudgy Japanese appeared on the phone screen smiling cordially.
"You've reached the residence of Ernest Shiboo," he said. "How may I
help you?"
"Is your phone tap-proof, Ernest?"
"Of course, Professor Monkwood."
"Listen. They've grabbed Jill--you probably already know that. I'm
not sure who did the job, but it must have something to do with what
Marriner and the overseas Tek cartels are planning."
"Mr. Shiboo is away just now, but I will convey this message to him,"
said the smiling Japanese. "Is there anything else?"
Monkwood stiffened, pulling back from the screen. "What the hell are
you--"
"I'm the answering android," said the replica of Shiboo. "Apparently
you mistook me for my employer. Employer and creator, I might add.
Shiboo's an dies are handcrafted, you know, and noted for--"
"Skip the commercial," cut in the angry professor. "Where the hell is
Shiboo, the real Shiboo?"
"He's away at the moment. However, any message--"
"Away where? I have to talk to the man."
The android kept on smiling. "Actually, Mr. Shiboo is on vacation."
"Where'd he go?"
Shaking his head, the android said, "I don't know the location,
I only know he won't be back in the Greater Los Angeles area for--"
"What about his companion--Herky?"
"Oh, I imagine he's on vacation, too. He and Mr. Shiboo are
inseparable, you know."
"Christ," muttered Monkwood. "They've probably got him already."
"What was that?"
"Nothing, never mind."
8 9 "I'll tell Mr. Shiboo you phoned--the mmnent he checks in with
me," promised the simulacrum. "Where can he reach you, Professor
Monkwood?"
Monkwood hung up, left the chair, headed into the dim-lit living room.
"I'm okay, I'm all right," he told himself in a whisper that didn't
convey conviction. "They don't know where I am."
From the bedroo,n Annalee all at once screamed.
9O
Gomez was stretched out on a narrow white table.
Jake eyed him. "So how do you feel?"
"Like mierda," spoke his partner.
Gomez' clothes were ragged, smudged with dirt and soot. There were
several pl asking bandages on his battered face, and his moustache was
singed.
"That's a good sign."
Gomez looked up at the low ceiling of the parked medvan. "That was
some explosion, amigo. It hit me like .. . Chihuahua!" He sat up on
the exam table, just now remembering something. "Jill was in that
goddamned hotel. Have they found her, Jake?"
"I don't think she was still there, Sid."
"Have they got the robot dogs sniffing the ruins yet?" "Just
starting."
The two detectives were alone in this recovery compartment. The van
was sitting near the small park, and police sky vans and emergency
rescue vehicles were still arriving outside.
Reaching over, Gomez caught hold of his partner's arm. "Help me
dismount from my slab, amigo," he requested. "I'm feeling a mite
woozy."
"You're supposed to recline for a while." "Who told you
that--some run-down medibot? No gadget is--"
"This was a human intern, a young lady." "Oh so? Pretty, was she?"
"Moderately so."
Gomez swung around until his legs were dangling over the table side.
"Being unconscious can certainly handicap one's social life," he
observed. "Get back to your theory about where Jill is."
"I got to thinking while you were in your trance." "How long was I
out, by the way?" "About ten minutes or so." "Bueno, continue."
"I just remembered something about the Santa Clara," Jake told him.
"Back when we were both cops, that hotel was run by the SoCal Mafia."
"Everybody knew that, s. But they lost control of it years ago."
"Yeah, but at that time the Mafia goons also ran the NecroPlex
cemetery." He pointed a thumb in a northerly direction. "NecroPlex is
only about a half-mile from here--and there used to be a series of
tunnels and pass ways linking the hotel with that complex of
underground vaults and crypts."
"Es ver dad Gomez rubbed at a bandage on his temple. "I
remember now. They were doing very well with traditional drugs in
those days and they'd built a big underground warehouse right in the
NecroPlex."
"Drugs would be brought into the hotel and they'd cart them through
those pass ways to their storerooms."
"The International Drug Control Agency even raided the setup once
about--what?--ten, eleven years ago." "It occurred to me," said
Jake, nodding, "that Jill was delivered to this particular hotel so
that she could be conveyed to that old underground warehouse."
"It would be a good place to keep somebody hidden," admitted his
partner. "Still, amigo, if Jill wasn't in the Santa Clara, why destroy
the joint?"
"To keep Glendenny quiet, to dead-end anybody who was searching for
her."
"Excessive, though. Send all those down-and-out tenants on to glory
just to silence one hombre?"
"People in the Tek trade aren't noted," Jake reminded him, "for their
humanitarianism."
"I know, st:" He hunched, frowning. "Probably this is simply an
aftereffect of my playing a key role in a very impressive display of
pyrotechnics, Jake--but I'm more pessimistic than you are." He tapped
his chest with the fingers of his right hand. "I have a feeling she
was still inside and that--that she's dead."
"If Jill's in that rubble, Sid, it'll take maybe a day to locate her,"
Jake said. "I want to check out that old warehouse tonight." After a
few seconds, Gomez said, "We'd better do that." "Soon as you're
feeling somewhat less wobbly, we can--" "The only place you two
bastards are going," announced Lieutenant Drexler as he joined them in
the recovery compartment, "is right straight from here to
headquarters."
The gold-plated kitten took three tentative steps across the white [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]