Zendyne | Page 9

Stranger said. "A tourniquet, perhaps?"
The words brought a flicker of hope �� gratitude, even �� to the client��s eyes, as if being allowed a tourniquet was the same as being allowed to live. This piece of illogic was endlessly perplexing to Stranger, though that didn��t stop him from exploiting it: he had learned long ago that hope and co-operation were two sides of the same coin, and he liked his interviews to go as smoothly as possible.
He waited politely while his client dug a dishtowel out of a kitchen drawer and did his best to staunch the flow of blood.
"Now," Stranger said, watching as pristine cotton succumbed to a bright arterial tide mark. "Tell me all about your previous employer. In fact, tell me everything that happened today."
Halfway through the meeting, Mrs. Kelly called to her husband. Shortly after that, she started pounding on the bathroom door.
"Calm her down, would you?" Stranger asked.
"Just stay in there and keep quiet, sweetheart," called the client. "Some urgent business has come up."
"Why is your voice shaking, honey? What��s wrong?"
"Please, sweetheart, just trust me. Stay put and be quiet. Everything��s going to be okay."
The shouting and banging didn��t stop.
Stranger walked over to the bathroom and pitched his voice so that only Mrs. Kelly would hear. "Each time you squeak, from now on, I will remove another of your husband��s fingers. One squeak, one finger. Do you understand me?"
Peace descended, disturbed by nothing more irritating than the woman��s muffled sobbing. That was acceptable to Stranger, so he returned to his interview.
"Please don��t hurt her," said the client.
"That��s not why I��m here." Stranger did his best to look encouraging. "Now, you were telling me about the man who came to deal with the android. Mr. Lee from Zendyne, wasn��t it?"
***
At the end of the session, when he realized that the tourniquet didn��t mean anything after all, tears started to escape from the client��s eyes.
"Why?" he asked. "Why me?"
"It��s nothing personal," Stranger said. "I��m just deleting some inconvenient memories. You won��t remember any of this when you come back."
The man��s voice became desperate. "You don��t understand. I��ve just changed jobs, switched insurance plans. I��m not covered. I haven��t even arranged for my memory archive to be transferred."
Stranger shrugged. "Then we won��t be meeting again."
The client��s remaining fingers twisted the tourniquet even more tightly, as if that would stop his final moments from leaking away. "Whatever this is about, it has nothing to do with Cara. Please don��t hurt her. I swear I��ve told you everything I know."
"I promise you that she won��t feel a thing," said Stranger, and ended the interview, very gently.
Then he went back into the hallway and removed the chair from where the client had wedged it, underneath the bathroom door handle.
The woman had locked herself in. Stranger eased his blade through the panels, which offered no perceptible resistance, and cut out a wide semicircle around the lock. The weeping sounded louder through the hole, and became more urgent as he pushed the door open.
"Why are you doing this?" she managed to ask.
"Risk management," was his honest reply.
Cara Kelly was nicer looking than he��d have expected, going by her husband. Stranger remembered enough of mainstream culture to realize that a guy usually had to have something special about him to end up with a desirable female like this one.
He also knew that most men would have thought it a waste, killing such a woman so simply and so quickly. Some of Stranger��s competitors might have extended her life for the short time it would have taken to rape her. Others would have regretted the need to damage her at all, as if they believed that female loveliness was a finite resource and that removing Cara Kelly from the gene pool would somehow diminish their own share.
On a purely rational level, Stranger believed he understood the philosophies behind such viewpoints, but he didn��t really get them.
He washed the blood from his fingers in his clients�� sink, and carefully rinsed away the rose-colored droplets that clung to the ivory porcelain �� because he��d have hated it, if anyone came to his place and messed the bathroom up. He borrowed one of their fluffy white towels to dry his hands before hanging it carefully back on its gold-effect hook.
By the time he got back to the lobby, he��d put the sightfold on once more, and his armor and blade had transformed themselves back into moist-smelling flab. He was already too hot and too heavy. He smiled sadly at the Russian Doll who��d frisked him earlier and gave a resigned nod to the flunky as he passed the front desk.
***
In the darkened cocoon that was his limousine, Stranger plugged himself into the network and called up Back Office.
"Authorizing connection to ... Stranger. Awaiting input. Please forward your query