The Nightfall Billionaire: Serial Installment #2 (Scarlet McRae) Page 4

  Cherry Trees Tower.

  A hundred and fifty thousand residents lived here, all crammed together, but there was only one of them whom Scarlet was interested in seeing at present.

  She entered through one of the revolving doors and stepped onto a clacking, automated walkway that was as wide as a football field. It carried her to the far side of the building’s atrium. Great piles of trash, discarded by the building’s many residents, were heaped along the sides of the atrium’s walls. Occasionally, a bag of refuse would be tossed down into the atrium from some unknown place higher up in the tower. These bags would punch the floor with considerable force and would often splatter open upon impact. Children, many of them shirtless and gaunt, would quickly descend upon the fallen bags of trash and begin to rummage through them.

  The stench here was so malefic that she was nearly smitten to the ground. Her eyes burned and watered. She had no real choice but to hold her breath as long as she could. However, many of the residents, appearing defeated and stoic, did not bother to do likewise.

  At last, the automated walkway brought her to a bank of high-speed elevator platforms that would hold hundreds of people at a time.

  As she crowded onto the platform, she held in memory exactly where she needed to go.

  Floor 253.

  Unit 4517-E.

  The platform whisked up its throng of people, all of them bundled up, and many of them carrying plastic bags. Some of the bags were for shopping; they looked new, and they displayed the bright, jagged logos of various retailers on them. But other bags looked worn and crinkled; the great, downtrodden armies of the poor and the decrepit, wrapped in soiled rags, tended to carry their belongings in whatever they could find.

  There was no carpet along the concrete corridors of the old tower, but rows of anemic, white lights tried to illuminate the floors and walls, flickering now and again. Here, in the various corridors, was a popular place for the homeless to find shelter of a sort. They would hide in here to escape from the cold. It was better than staying in the freezing, violent streets, and most of the tower’s residents cared little whether they were there or not. The old corridors, de facto extensions of the street, quietly slept, and they seemed to wish never to be woken up.

  Frequent lay-offs could see any of the tower’s residents end up homeless at virtually any time. To have a residence of one’s own was no guarantee whatsoever of continuing to have one. What was more, if one calculated the net worth of the average resident, including all of the debt, then the homeless were technically, on average, the wealthier.

  How the world turns, Scarlet thought.

  She walked carefully around several dozen people sleeping inside the corridors. There was simply not enough manpower within the local police forces to remove them all.

  The homeless on this floor appeared to be dormant. No doubt, some were passed out from drinking. Some coughed, and others looked up at her with eyes heavy from years of guilt and shame, but none gave her trouble.

  How horrible it all was inside Cherry Trees, yet there was nothing she could do at present to provide the residents with any real relief.

  Her heart bled for the residents of the tower, but especially for the children in the atrium. She stopped for a moment, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and somehow managed to collect herself for the sake of the investigation.

  Almost there.

  Standing now in front of Unit 4517-E, she pressed the buzzer.

  After a few moments, a frail, old woman in a shabby white dress answered the door. She looked like she had just been woken up.

  “Ms. Glowry?” Scarlet asked. “I’m sorry to wake you at this hour.”

  “Oh? Who are you?” The old woman peered at Scarlet. Her trembling hands reached for a pair of glasses in one of her pockets. After a few attempts at putting them on, she at last managed do so. The old woman looked penetratingly at her for a moment through a pair of very thick lenses, then recognition suddenly hit her. “Oh, that young lady! Yes, I remember you. The nice lady from the government. You haven’t been here in a while, have you? Come in, come in. Paul’s in the back.” She stopped herself. “Oh! It is Paul that you want to talk to, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And thank you. Your grandson has been a big help to the Bureau. I’d like to speak with him again.”

  Ms. Glowry smiled. A gentle light shone from her aged eyes. She welcomed Scarlet in with shaky, fussy hospitality, then led her toward a back room.

  In the dim light of the apartment hallway, Scarlet reflected on what she knew of this woman. Born in 1995 in a small town just outside of St. Louis. She’d doubtless seen the world transfigure in ways that she could never have imagined as a child. Despite the world’s endless panting after the new and the more, which had constantly forgotten and obscured the past in service of a more glorious future, this woman had somehow retained her memories of simpler, happier times. It was in those simpler times that a part of this woman still lived. Oh, she was a relic now, an antique that had long since been superseded by all the new things of the world. She was someone who could be passed in the street without drawing anyone’s attention.

  Scarlet sensed, though, that she was one of the silent few who deeply knew, even if they never said it, that things didn’t have to wind up as they had.

  She carries her heartbrokenness well. Better than I might, in her shoes. How strong this old woman is…

  “Paul!” Ms. Glowry called. “The government lady is here. She wants to talk to you.”

  A door with chipped paint slid open, and a male voice called back, “You can let her in, Gramma!”

  It was dark inside the room from which the voice had come, except for some spectral lights that oozed from several monitors whose brightness had been turned all the way down.

  The old woman invited Scarlet to go in, thanked her for coming by, and then walked sleepily off down the hallway, back to bed.

  Scarlet stepped inside the room and could discern, in the low light, a singular figure, a one-of-a-kind and unmistakable personage: An extravagantly fat, middle-aged man with a short, scruffy beard and mustache, wearing a tiny, black fedora. He sat ensconced on a heavy-duty office chair that strained and creaked under his tremendous weight. His lips sucked at the straw of an enormous milkshake he was holding, and the dim lights reflected eerily off the minuscule, rectangular lenses of his glasses.

  Paul Glowry. Alias “Glow Worm” in the hacker-sphere, or simply “Worm.”

  Here was someone “off-the-books,” as Scarlet liked to put it. He was the leader of a small, informal group of hackers who called themselves The Four Horsemen. He was wanted by 28 national governments, as well as by countless corporations, for his hacking exploits, but, absurdly, or miraculously, no one—absolutely no one—had managed to trace him, let alone catch him. Not the AFE and all of its intelligence agencies. Not the Europeans. Not the Australians. Not even the Chinese, who had arguably the most redoubtable cyber-security force on the planet.

  Among his hacking peers, he was the Master of Masters. The Thrice-Great. The anonymous, literal God of the Digital Space. She had stumbled upon him by accident during an investigation at Cherry Trees several years ago while following a mysterious signal of Benton particles. She had never turned him in, nor told anyone about his existence; he was far too useful to be handed over to anyone. Besides, in the hands of the corrupt, he would only be enslaved to service their insatiable lust for surveillance, domination, and control.

  No, she would use him to help her bring justice to the world—and, in exchange, he could stay out of the penitentiary.

  It seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  At the very least, she could live with it.

  Long time no see, Worm.

  Scarlet stood at the entrance with her hands in her pockets, surveying the room and its many technological components, a hint of admiration on her face.

  He built all of this himself. From scratch, using contraband 3D printers and God-knows-wha
t-else. Not a bit of industry or government technology in here. Everything a one-off, a unique creation.

  He chuckled. “Hey, come on in!”

  “Thanks, Worm.”

  Scarlet stepped further into the room and took a seat. Her feet were red from the cold, and sore from the pavement. Exhausted, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  “Hey, where’s your sword?” he asked. “Man, that thing was cool!”

  “Smerch took my sword away some time ago. Something about standardizing weapons for PIR agents. That was the stated reason, but the real reason was probably for punishment, or maybe just so he could flex his muscles at us. Mr. Smerch likes to assert his authority whenever he can, and in whichever way he can—and damn the consequences.”

  “Did he take your high heels, too?” Worm laughed, thoroughly amused at the fact that this government official, this proper symbol of “The Beast Machine” (as he called imperial societal structures) sat barefooted in his computing room, needing his help.

  She allowed herself a silly, tired smile. “A couple of guys on the subway wanted to play a friendly game of hide-and-seek with me. You ever had that happen to you? It happened to me.”

  Worm laughed again.

  They chatted for a while, and then he asked her why she had come.

  She briefed him on the key facts of her present investigation. When she mentioned Project Red Bird, however, his laughter suddenly stopped.

  He got very quiet, leaned slowly back in his chair.

  “Lady, that’s one thing you don’t want to touch.”

  “Why not?”

  “You just—trust me, you just don’t.” He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I need to know, Worm. Tell me why I just give up on this and walk away.”

  “Why?” He seemed incredulous, even offended. “Do you feel like dying today?” Worm glared at her. “Everyone I know on the ‘sphere who tried to peek into that black box ended up missing or murdered. That’s why.”

  He closed his eyes, wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants, and let out a breath he had evidently been holding.

  At his revelation, the floor beneath Scarlet’s feet felt suddenly uncertain, tentative, like a gift only temporarily bestowed.

  Chapter Ten

  Beth continued to cry, even in Rick’s embrace.

  No, especially in his embrace.

  He had always been nice to her, had always looked out for her. She didn’t want to force him into a difficult position, but she saw no other option.

  Could manage no other option.

  Rick held her in his arms steadily, silently, non-judgmentally, bearing quiet witness to her sorrow.

  “Rick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you run away with me?”

  His heart beat faster. How easy, how wonderful, how sublime it would be if he could simply run away with this beautiful woman. The relief they might feel, the lightness of being they might experience, the bliss of union they might enjoy… But to turn his back to danger was not his way.

  Running away made you weaker, not stronger.

  My ancestors were not cowards. I will not be one, either. I’ll see this through—whatever this is we’re facing—I’ll see this through to the end.

  “Hey. You’re scared. I understand. But what are you trying to run from? And is this really something that can be run away from?” he asked gently.

  She reluctantly pulled away from his embrace and wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “I thought… I thought you might not understand,” she said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess. I shouldn’t have. I’d—I’d better go.”

  Heartbroken, and with tear-streaked cheeks, she turned to leave his office, but he placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her back toward him. He wasn’t about to let her off that easy.

  “Beth, let’s talk. We should talk. Tell me what you’re so afraid of. What are you running from? It’s gotta be something. Maybe a lot of things. Whatever it is, you’ve gotta tell me. Don’t try to go this stuff alone. Let me in. Let me help.”

  She pulled away from him again, but this time, instead of trying to leave, she sat back down against the wall. She was not trying to be difficult. She did want to go, and yet she knew it would be wrong to just turn her back on Rick and leave him with a host of unanswered questions. She didn’t want him to worry about her.

  She owed him more than that.

  And this might be the last time we’ll be able to talk to each other.

  She sniffled and sat in silence for a while, then said weakly, “This case. Mr. Smerch. The Air Force. The Bureau. This tomb of a building.” Then her voice got even softer and more distant, like a whisper at the end of a tunnel. “Our PIR Unit, too. I want to run away from that. All of that.”

  She looked forlornly up at Rick.

  Will he understand?

  “Are we that bad?” Rick asked. “So bad that you’d want to run from us? Some of us are your friends. We care about you. We’ll help you.”

  I should have known he wouldn’t understand.

  “No, it’s not… you, exactly. You’re great people. It’s…” She hugged her knees tightly, let out a sigh.

  He waited for her to continue.

  “It’s what, Beth?”

  But she said nothing. She kept her head buried in her knees.

  “Just tell me what it is,” he demanded. “We can fix this.”

  And now it was her turn to ask a question.

  “Rick… why do we have to die?”

  The innocence of the question simultaneously disarmed him and tore at his heart. How rare, how precious such a question was. Ordinarily, people asked questions when they were trying to win debates or when they believed themselves to already have an answer to what was being asked.

  But Beth sat in a state of not-knowing: open, innocent, scared, and yet wondering.

  Rick held himself silent for a moment.

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice seeming surreal to him, like everything that had happened in this office had been a dream. “It’s one of those mysteries of living, I guess. No one asks to be born; we have no choice but to be born. No one asks to die; we have no choice but to die. This is why we’ve gotta take care of each other. We’re all in this together—in this whatever-this-is that we’re all in. We don’t have a say in the matter. I don’t know what it is. God only knows what it is or where it came from. But you’re not going to die, Beth. Not from this case. You’re going to stay alive.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He sat next to her.

  “Because look at all the things we’ve got going for us. The Bureau has all these resources it can pull from. And Eastman’s unit has never failed a case yet, and he’s here, working even now on finding that girl. He’s going to find her. You don’t have to be on the front lines of anything or do the heavy lifting on anything. You don’t have to be put in danger. And, besides…”

  He paused and looked down.

  “Besides, what?” she asked.

  “I’m going to take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He looked into her eyes. “I promise. Soon, things will be back to normal. We can all go back to our normal lives once we’ve found the girl.”

  His words thawed her heart and shone a small ray of a light inside her darkened world. Yet there was something more she wondered.

  She hesitated, then asked, “Will we—you and I—will we go back to the way we were… before…?”

  She had stopped crying, but the sadness in her voice remained.

  He understood the question behind the question.

  “I think we have the beginnings of something beautiful,” he answered. “I don’t know where it will go or what will become of it. But,” and he looked at her, “I want to continue it. With you. If you’re willing. You’re beautiful, and you’ve got this amazing heart that—”

  She was blushing.

  Rick stopped s
peaking.

  With more of the golden sunrise showing through the blinds, he unhurriedly drew her to himself and kissed her, one fist squeezing firmly and deliciously at her hair, the other lingering in all the right areas of her back.

  She melted into his embrace and kissed back, feeling her body tingle everywhere. A warmth of moisture blossomed between her legs, and her heart raced.

  In the radiant emptiness of his office, with their worries forgotten for at least a moment, all their ecstasies intermingled.

  Chapter Eleven

  Inside Worm’s lair, a dozen computer cores hummed and clicked faintly. As Scarlet thought about whether to keep investigating Red Bird, however, these sounds faded into the background of her awareness.

  Do I really have the resources to go after Red Bird now? This whole thing might be like charging hell with a bucket of tap water.

  But is there really a choice? A bucket of water is better than nothing.

  It’s gotta be.

  She reflected on one of the truisms of life: We don’t get to choose the bad things that happen to us. We can only choose how to react when those bad things happen.

  She decided to probe a little further.

  “You really want to stay on the outside of this, don’t you?” she asked.

  He again wiped his palms across his pants, then unconsciously gave a tug to the front of his shirt. “This isn’t about me. This is about you. Ok? I’m perfectly safe finding out all the info on Red Bird you want. They won’t find me. They’ll find you. If you start sniffing around Red Bird, people with nice suits and blasty guns will come to your place for a little talk, and they’ll be the only ones who come out of that little chat alive. Do you see that I’m not exactly willing to assist in your suicide?”