he’d been pounding had finally caught up to him.
“Shay? You there?” I tried over the implant this time, not trusting the audio pickup in the house.
Still silence.
“What the fuck did you do?” I demanded, surging out of my seat and taking a step toward Ingles. His eyes snapped back open as I came to my feet and his hand twitched, but it was already too late. I swung my Gauss pistol down, slamming the barrel into the wrist of Ingles’ gun hand. There was a satisfying crack and he let out a small whimper of pain as the weapon slipped from his nerveless fingers. I swept the weapon to the floor as I twisted my left hand in the fabric of his suit, hauling the fat man to his feet. I jammed the muzzle of the gun under his chin. “Where the fuck is Chan?”
“She is here, Mr. Langston.”
The words—spoken in an urbane tone that I’d heard once before—sounded from behind me. I hadn’t heard the door open, but I spun around, bringing the Gauss pistol up. The assassin stood there, just inside of the doorway, white-gloved hands holding a microwave emitter to Chan’s head. Chan’s face was a mask of stoicism, but even in her new coil, I could see the fear hidden beneath the mask. Our backups were suspect, but even if we died, the cores in our current coils could be salvaged, giving us a shot at carrying on. Unless someone fried them with a close-range shot from a microwave emitter.
“Tsk, tsk, Mr. Langston,” the assassin said, a slight smile curling his lips. “I don’t think you want to point that at me. I may get a little jumpy.” He grinned at Chan—he had to look up to do it, but that somehow made the gesture all the more condescending.
I realized in that moment that I’d just foolishly turned my back on Ingles, so I spun again, trying to keep both men in my vision. I needn’t have bothered. Ingles had slumped back down onto his couch the moment I’d released him. His own gun still lay on the floor and he was staring wide-eyed at the assassin. He looked like he was poised equally between pissing himself and passing out. I ruled him out as a threat and turned my attention back to the man holding Chan at gunpoint.
He hadn’t taken advantage of my momentary lapse of attention. That might have been because the microwave emitter was a short-range weapon, almost contact range. Dragging Chan along while trying to get close enough to zap me would probably have been difficult. On the other hand, he could have fried Chan and been on me half a heartbeat later, and I doubted there would have been much I could do about it. If his primary goal was to kill us, why was he waiting?
“What do you want?” I asked. I hadn’t lowered the gun. Whoever this guy was, I wasn’t worried about him getting jumpy from having a weapon pointed at him. He had the look of someone who’d been in that situation more than a few times.
“Right to the point, Mr. Langston. I like that about you.” He smiled. It seemed a genuine smile, revealing even white teeth that stood out against the bronze of his skin. “I think, under the circumstances, I’m glad I didn’t kill you at the apartment complex.”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Me, too.” I was watching Chan, looking for the telltales that she was getting ready to make some sort of move. Her coil had a size advantage over the assassin, something I was sure she wasn’t used to. I hoped it didn’t give her the unfounded confidence to try something stupid. She just stared back at me, eyes calm, waiting for my cue. Good. I had no doubt she’d do something if I made a move of my own, but until I did, it looked like she was content to wait. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said to the intruder.
“That’s because I haven’t quite decided, Mr. Langston.” He tilted his head a bit, and I felt the weight of his gaze. “The situation is evolving. I’ve been given new orders from my client, but also a certain amount of discretion in the execution of those orders. A judgment call to make, if you will.” The asshole sounded thoughtful, almost pensive. “I often have the power of life or death in my hands, Mr. Langston, but I’m not normally the one to choose.