New York Nights [Virex 01] Read Online Free
![New York Nights [Virex 01]](/res/rof/book.jpg?1)
Author: Eric Brown
inhaled more spin.
He tried the trump card, knowing that he might be making a big mistake. ‘Do you know Sue . . . Susanna Halliday?’
‘How do you know her?’ Hatchet-face asked.
‘She’s my sister. Note the family resemblance? Dark curly hair, cleft chin?’
They had always got along okay as kids, but when Sue hit adolescence and discovered things about herself, their relationship had deteriorated. About five or six years ago, with no explanation, Sue had stopped answering his calls, moved from the Solano Building without leaving a forwarding address.
Now Hatchet-face spoke to Claws, who took his arm again, his time with the little girl pinkies of her left hand. She smiled again, so innocently. ‘I’ll show you around, Mr Halliday.’ She giggled. ‘It’s a jungle in there and you’ll need a bodyguard.’
Before he left the room, Hatchet-face said, ‘Watch yourself, Halliday. Some of us aren’t so forgiving.’ She stared at him. ‘Remember that.’
He passed into the darkness of the foyer, the woman’s words echoing uneasily in his head. The little girl took the fingers of his right hand and led him through a swing door.
‘Told you it was a jungle in here, Mr Halliday. Stick close to me and you’ll be okay, okay?’
The Scumbar was an old holographic theatre, and playing tonight was a scene from some sylvan epic: holo-projectors beamed an optical illusion of trees for as far as the eye could see. They were fair projections, but discernible as fakes by the slight fuzziness of image at their peripheries. Mood music played, synthesised with appropriate bird song, and in the clearings between the tree trunks couples moved in rhythm to the beat.
They edged past dancers, his presence earning stares ranging from curious to overtly hostile. He was glad of the half-light which made his presence less conspicuous, but even so he felt uneasy.
She led him to a circular bar done out like someone’s idea of a jungle hut, with bamboo palisades and a straw roof. He hitched himself onto a high stool. ‘Care for a drink?’
‘Thanks. Beer. Brazilian, if you’re buying.’
The black-suited barmaid stared at him without expression.
Halliday ordered two Caribas and the barmaid uncapped the bottles and slid them along the bar. ‘That’ll be forty.’
He tried not to show any reaction to the robbery. He peeled off four notes and left them on the bar. The kid grabbed a bottle in her steel claw and suckled. Halliday sipped his beer and assessed the dancers. There were a lot of fashionably-shaven skulls bobbing in the twilight, and it seemed that the body voluptuous was back in vogue; the cycle had turned and the Earth Mother soma-type was all the rage, at least among the clients at the Scumbar.
‘I don’t see Carrie Villeux,’ he said, scanning the dancers.
Claws pulled her furled tongue from the bottle and peered. ‘She must be around somewhere, Mr Halliday. She always arrives at ten. Wait here, I’ll see if I can find her.’
Arms swinging to the music, the girl skanked across the dance floor, earning smiles from the dancers. Halliday found himself wondering if her mother knew where she spent her Friday nights. He smiled to himself. What had Sue accused him of? ‘A conditioned tendency to traditional bourgeois values?’ He supposed, being brought up by a father schooled in the military, that was to be expected.
The girl tapped and tugged at the occasional dancer, then stood on tiptoe and shouted into proffered ears. The women glanced at Halliday, frowned and shook their heads. The girl moved off, out of sight behind a spray of ferns.
Self-consciously, Halliday up-ended his Caribas and tried to appear as if he were enjoying the music. Two minutes later, the girl emerged through the trees, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.
‘Carrie hasn’t shown yet. She was due in at ten. Some of her friends are at the next
He tried the trump card, knowing that he might be making a big mistake. ‘Do you know Sue . . . Susanna Halliday?’
‘How do you know her?’ Hatchet-face asked.
‘She’s my sister. Note the family resemblance? Dark curly hair, cleft chin?’
They had always got along okay as kids, but when Sue hit adolescence and discovered things about herself, their relationship had deteriorated. About five or six years ago, with no explanation, Sue had stopped answering his calls, moved from the Solano Building without leaving a forwarding address.
Now Hatchet-face spoke to Claws, who took his arm again, his time with the little girl pinkies of her left hand. She smiled again, so innocently. ‘I’ll show you around, Mr Halliday.’ She giggled. ‘It’s a jungle in there and you’ll need a bodyguard.’
Before he left the room, Hatchet-face said, ‘Watch yourself, Halliday. Some of us aren’t so forgiving.’ She stared at him. ‘Remember that.’
He passed into the darkness of the foyer, the woman’s words echoing uneasily in his head. The little girl took the fingers of his right hand and led him through a swing door.
‘Told you it was a jungle in here, Mr Halliday. Stick close to me and you’ll be okay, okay?’
The Scumbar was an old holographic theatre, and playing tonight was a scene from some sylvan epic: holo-projectors beamed an optical illusion of trees for as far as the eye could see. They were fair projections, but discernible as fakes by the slight fuzziness of image at their peripheries. Mood music played, synthesised with appropriate bird song, and in the clearings between the tree trunks couples moved in rhythm to the beat.
They edged past dancers, his presence earning stares ranging from curious to overtly hostile. He was glad of the half-light which made his presence less conspicuous, but even so he felt uneasy.
She led him to a circular bar done out like someone’s idea of a jungle hut, with bamboo palisades and a straw roof. He hitched himself onto a high stool. ‘Care for a drink?’
‘Thanks. Beer. Brazilian, if you’re buying.’
The black-suited barmaid stared at him without expression.
Halliday ordered two Caribas and the barmaid uncapped the bottles and slid them along the bar. ‘That’ll be forty.’
He tried not to show any reaction to the robbery. He peeled off four notes and left them on the bar. The kid grabbed a bottle in her steel claw and suckled. Halliday sipped his beer and assessed the dancers. There were a lot of fashionably-shaven skulls bobbing in the twilight, and it seemed that the body voluptuous was back in vogue; the cycle had turned and the Earth Mother soma-type was all the rage, at least among the clients at the Scumbar.
‘I don’t see Carrie Villeux,’ he said, scanning the dancers.
Claws pulled her furled tongue from the bottle and peered. ‘She must be around somewhere, Mr Halliday. She always arrives at ten. Wait here, I’ll see if I can find her.’
Arms swinging to the music, the girl skanked across the dance floor, earning smiles from the dancers. Halliday found himself wondering if her mother knew where she spent her Friday nights. He smiled to himself. What had Sue accused him of? ‘A conditioned tendency to traditional bourgeois values?’ He supposed, being brought up by a father schooled in the military, that was to be expected.
The girl tapped and tugged at the occasional dancer, then stood on tiptoe and shouted into proffered ears. The women glanced at Halliday, frowned and shook their heads. The girl moved off, out of sight behind a spray of ferns.
Self-consciously, Halliday up-ended his Caribas and tried to appear as if he were enjoying the music. Two minutes later, the girl emerged through the trees, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow.
‘Carrie hasn’t shown yet. She was due in at ten. Some of her friends are at the next
Readers choose
Stephen Leather
Sylvia Smith
Shannon Donnelly
Cathleen Ross
R. G. Richards
Nikki Sex
P. O. Dixon
Donna Hill
Tara Oakes
Rebecca Patrick-Howard