Dhata lived inside a disabled zeppelin, though at first glance a stranger wouldn’t know, since the hull had been stripped and the wings removed for salvage. Now the exterior resembled fine art of twisted, welded metal shaped into a spaceship with steps, windows and doors. Several trees grew around it, their canopy of leaves keeping it concealed from the sky, and the yard about it was expansive, with a garden and a giant fire-pit surrounded with stones.

  All of this was behind a dense set of woods, dying like much of the flora in this post-war Tampa, and accessible through a path that he now took, watching the console for any sign of movement. Not that anyone would be foolish enough to come to the home of Dhata Mays uninvited, but having been attacked there on more than one occasion, the old skiptracer tended to stay on edge.

  He parked near the end of the path where it opened up into the field where the zeppelin sat, and instructed Dale to be on alert before walking the 70 yards to his house. Lur should have been asleep, but he could see from a window that she was in the living room watching the television. Dhata cursed. He was hoping he would catch a break, and she would be knocked out, allowing him to brood. Now he had to put on a brave face at least for tonight to avoid her asking about his mood.

  Looking up those steep steps leading to the front door, Dhata thought that the zeppelin could easily be mistaken for a UFO. The body was like a football that sat on angled stilts above a generator, and much of the tail was invisible from the outside, covered by a dense set of pines.

  Taking a breath, he steeled himself and jogged up the steps on his strong new leg. He felt like a 30-year-old man once more, older and wiser, with enough clout to make the hools scared, but still strong and spry enough to keep up with the ones that chose to press their luck. He held onto those good feelings as he engaged the locking panel and stepped inside the zeppelin.

  “Dhata, you frightened me,” Lur exclaimed. “Are your calls on mute? I tried reaching you no less than five times.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, I had it on mute while I spoke to a contact,” he said, pulling off his boots and placing them neatly on the rack. Next came the duster, gun belt, and watch, which he deposited into a dish on the wooden bar that separated the kitchen and the living room. Once he felt comfortable, he walked over to the couch, plopped down onto the cushions, and watched her figure as she approached him.

  She still had the same effect on his heart as the first day he met her, when they shared a hotel room in South Beach. He hadn’t dreamed she’d become his girl then; he had just been happy to spend some time with her. But life had brought her to his doorstep several years later, and now, here they were.

  She had been a young, naive, drug lord’s princess back then, with the big hair and deep tan to match the lifestyle. Now she was a woman come into her own, confident, independent, and intellectually exhausting, due to her above-average intelligence. The same intelligence that made her embrace the world of the cypher, which lost her much of the tan, and added silver and blue highlights to her short black curls.

  “I don’t understand why you keep going down there, Dhata. We are set on money. Why not enjoy some time away from all the piss and bullets?”

  Lur walked past him in a beige, silk kimono-styled robe, while she munched on an olive from her dirty martini. As she brushed past him, she dropped a hand to his thigh, letting it travel across both legs, before plopping down beside him.

  For a moment, Dhata was sure that she knew about his earlier surgery and was now playing a game of “disappointed parent,” waiting him out to see if he would come clean. His throat felt dry as he studied her face and those mysterious brown eyes that gave him a wink.

  “Familiarity, Lurita. It’s like I told you, if I become a stranger, the synths won’t talk to me when it counts.”

  “Do you play me for dumb, Detective?” she said, laughing. “You forget that I’m a cypher whose job is to get below the surface of things. You were at a bar, and you drank an old-fashioned, I could taste the bourbon and artificial fruit on your lips. Sloppy. Tsk-tsk-tsk. You also had a cigar, and something else before that. Whatever it is, you did the drinking to distract me from the real thing that I am supposed to be upset about, eh?”

  She leaned to the side and adjusted her body so that she was lying across him with her small, warm feet on his lap. “Is it a girl?” she cooed, still staring at him with a fist dangling dangerously close to his groin.

  “Do I look suicidal?” he said, dryly, reaching down with both hands to massage her feet. That seemed to pacify her, and he exhaled, applying pressure to one of her heels before working his fingers into her instep, and then her toes before returning to the heel.

  “I know that there isn’t a girl,” she whispered, before draining the glass and putting a cold, damp hand behind his neck. She used her thumb to massage the area behind his ear for a few seconds before moving it up to slowly rub the back of his head. “Did it hurt?”

  “No, he put me out and the work was quick,” he said, barely believing that he was sitting here discussing the very thing he’d gone out of his way to keep secret. “How did you know, Lur? And before you say anything, just know the doctor came highly recommended from some of the most prime, cyber-enhancement fiends I’ve ever seen. Notice the limp wasn’t there when I came in?”

  “Of course I did. The limp gave you swagger; it was part of your charm. And now what do I have? A boring old man who’d rather drink with synths than come home to his girlfriend and partner.”

  “Do you ever stop breaking balls?” he said, too tired to continue playing this game.

  “Only because you love my feet so much,” she said, teasing him with the flick of her tongue. “I waited up in hopes that you would be sober enough to massage them. After the day I had, let me tell you, I needed this.”

  “Happy to oblige you whenever you want it, my dear.” Dhata said. “So, what happened today for these lovely puppies to be in pain?”

  “You should kiss them, you love them so much,” Lur teased, pulling up her kimono to show a little more leg.

  “Now that’s a step too far,” Dhata said. “If I’m kissing feet then you’re—”

  “Not going to do any of those freaky things you have filed away inside of that mind,” Lur said, twisting up her lips. “What’s really bothering you, mi vida? I know you too well to believe that you came home late just to rub on my feet like a good boyfriend.”

  “Lurita, how off the grid are we, really?” Dhata replied, pausing the foot massage to look into her eyes.

  “To any John or hool, we simply don’t exist,” she said confidently. “You died in an explosion, and the synths took your parts into Ybor, never for you to be seen again. Lur Diaz never left Cuba, where she died a horrible death in the streets, and Hiroshi, aka Cynic Star, is merely a ghost story business owners tell their IT team to scare them. What makes you ask, Dhata? Are we in trouble? Is that why the long face?”

  “A ghost from my past has just gotten out of prison, and I don’t want to take any chances,” Dhata said. “Not with you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Lur protested, but Dhata raised a hand to stop her short.

  “I know better than anyone what you’re able to do, Foxy Brown, but this isn’t some muscle-bound hool that you can hold up with your gun. This is the religious leader of a nationwide cult, and if he knows where I am, then we’re in trouble. I’m not talking about one or two guys trying to sneak into our home. It will be believers on every corner, looking to make their messiah proud.”

  “This man is Manton Paradise?” Lur said, sitting up suddenly, and withdrawing her feet to sit cross-legged, at the far end of the couch.

  “The one and only.” Dhata smiled grimly. “When I was a John, me and Jason, we went to war with Paradise and his acolytes. Lots of men got killed, some were innocents, but in the end, we won, and he went away for life. Now he’s out, somehow, and I’m worried, Lurita. I have plenty of enemies, but this man is the worst. He’s a synth butcher, with a lot of followers eating up his rhetoric about a pure human world.”

  “Sounds like every other leader of a cult.” Lur shrugged. “But don’t worry, if he seeks you out, he will have to assume that you’re dead.”

  “Either way, I want you packing wherever you go from now on,” Dhata said. “Don’t use the synth weapons, go with your Beretta. These will be human men if they come for us, and we’re not going to want to stun them, we want them dead. I see your face, and I’m really sorry, but it’s just for a time, until I know for sure that he isn’t back to his old tricks. And if he is, I don’t plan to send him to a cell that can’t hold him. Not anymore.”

  “Mierda, Dhata,” Lur said, throwing up her hands. “You sound the way Papa used to sound when he was about to go to war. Alright, I will keep my gun on me all the time, like you said. Anything else?”

  “You know the drill. Stay alert and keep a look out for any new cases that deal with synth disappearances. I will provide you a list of names tomorrow. If any of them get hurt, I want to know about it. Hopefully we don’t have to get Hiro involved,” he said. “Now, enough on that topic. Give me back those feet, and did you need me to massage a little higher? I’m sensing a bit of tension in those legs.”

  Lur threw a pillow at him, but then relented, stretching back out and closing her eyes as he worked diligently at kneading the muscles in her legs. It was the distraction he needed to not obsess over Paradise and the what-ifs that had been clouding his every thought. He didn’t want to call it fear, just deep concern, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Dhata Mays had to admit that he felt vulnerable.

  “My feet are happy, now my face is jealous,” Lur said, swinging her legs up off his lap, and scooting in close where he could take her into his arms.

  He brushed the hair from her eyes and examined her face. She was so young, but he knew that as time went on, their love would only grow stronger as they learned more and more about one another. She had come so far in so short a time, and just being with him had put her life in danger. Yet, she’d never balked. She looked like every other cypher rat, obsessed with technology and the virtual world, yet inside her small frame was a gangster, the heir to her father’s throne.

  He loved her, but words couldn’t do justice to the way he felt, so he lifted her chin and kissed her lips, letting the sensation cool his thoughts. Her curious tongue began to joust with his as he tasted her gin while she sampled his whiskey. Her brown eyes lost in the darkness of the room, swam peacefully inside their white pools. She shut them away from him as he pressed her closer, and her hand found his back and stopped to pull up at his shirt.

  His strong fingers were exploring her form, hating every inch of that fabric. Too many barriers, he thought, feeling the silk of her kimono and the straps of her nightgown, where he lingered pulling it down enough to feel the warmth of her flesh. She smelled like cinnamon, and he was suddenly lightheaded. Maybe it was the drink, but his head was swimming, and his breath was coming up short.

  “I need you, now,” she whispered, her breathy voice putting him over the edge, which he thought was absurd. It was just a voice, a way of speaking, as if every word forced her to exhale, on top of the strong feminine soprano below the surface.

  She snapped the release on his pants then attempted to drag them down, and he relaxed enough to help her, not taking his eyes away from hers. “Dhata,” she moaned as he clutched at the fabric against her back, barely containing the need to be forceful as his logic went to shambles, replaced by an animal’s urge to cure that lower ache.

  He stood up with her straddling him, his powerful hands now on her buttocks, as she placed her hands behind his neck, and took control, guiding him through her gates as his brain went through a euphoria of sensations. Before the surgery, his leg would have been on fire due to the added weight, and the time would have been limited for them to play in this awkward position. Now it was nothing as he stepped out of the remainder of his clothes, hoisted her up higher, and walked her back to the bedroom.

  When they collapsed on the bed, he hovered above her, taking in her naked form, his ICLs adjusting to the low light. “What are you doing?” she complained, reaching up to grab his neck and pull him down on top of her. He delayed her further with a kiss, giving himself time to calm down before things would end prematurely. The sweetness of the liquor on her tongue made him linger there for a time as she ran her warm hands down his hips, pulling him into her with a strength that he wasn’t aware she had.

  “Come here, baby,” she whispered as he returned home, more restrained and ready to perform, all the stress from before gone from his mind.

  Lur kissed him hard, and he surrendered. If it was to be short then he would find a way to encore and make it right. She was his, completely, and he was hers, lucky to be alive to share these moments, completely open without the fear of being crossed. The morning would come, and that was for Paradise and the complications of the job that Ariana shared. But tonight was for Lurita, and he would perform as if it was their last time together.

  Chapter 4

  Key to Paradise

  At a large light table connected to an old Tampa Police rack, Dhata Mays was shuffling around an assortment of virtual photographs and videos from the crash site. In one corner he had his notes, already transcribed from his implant, and several sketches of the passengers and schematics of the vehicle and details on the bomb. Like most cases that involved foul play, the detective treated it like a puzzle that was missing a few pieces.

  The problem with the puzzle, however, was knowing which pieces you were sure of, so you didn’t end up wasting time looking for ghosts and spooks.

  He had been at it for hours, mulling things over, until Lur woke up and dragged herself into the kitchen. Now he wondered if he should take a break and join her for breakfast, since he had stayed out late the night before. She wasn’t the type to complain about that type of thing, but he knew that with it being only the two of them, the zeppelin could get lonely.

  “Sometimes I find myself missing that old dingy apartment we shared in Ybor,” he said, and when she didn’t respond he stood up to observe and saw that she had a mug tilted up, sipping at her coffee as if her life depended on it.

  “I don’t miss Ybor,” she said. “Nothing but violence, and sketchy hools on every corner. But that doesn’t bother you, so of course you miss it. Try being a woman in that shit hole and get back to me. They see you coming, and they stare at their shoes; they see little old me, and their gears start turning.”

  “No one will touch a hair on your head in Synth City, not while Aaron’s the boss,” Dhata said.

  “Not the point, Dhata, but now you have me curious. What is it you miss about our little apartment?” Lur said.

  “I love what we have here, Lur, so don’t take this as me complaining about the present, but there is a soul to the city that we could never experience being remote out here. We have privacy and safety, yes, and that’s optimum—not going to argue otherwise—but in that apartment we were in the heart of it all, and information was right at our fingertips. Don’t you get bored out here sometimes?”

  “Not yet, but I spend the majority of my days jacked into my rack. Who am I going to talk to if they aren’t in the ViVi, or attached to a case? I don’t want society right now, Dhata. I just lost my father. All I need is you.”

  “Let me try again.” He walked around the table to where she stood. “Think about waking up to the smell of coffee mixed with a bit of sewage from the road below. You hear the voices of people shouting, maybe arguing, somewhere off in the distance. Behind it all, there’s the drone of engines; the sound of industry coming alive. Now in the forefront stands the rain, dripping down our windows, silent, but hard to ignore. Don’t you miss waking up to that? To life’s ugly reality, made beautiful by the fact that we’re there to experience it?”

  “Mi vida is a poet,” Lur said in a flat, even tone. “Leave it to you to make Angel’s Tears sound romantic. No, no, I don’t miss the toxic raindrops, or the hools that live in it, crazy man. Here I have my racks, I have comfort, and I have quiet. If I wanted to go hear the noise and smell the caca, I can get inside my car and tell it to take me there. Maybe you are the one that’s bored, eh? Looking for an excuse to go back to living inside of hell.”

  Dhata stopped and leaned against the table, studying her slight form as she cupped the warm mug inside of her hands. “You might be right. I have been restless. But thanks to TPD that problem’s solved, since now I’m forced to watch my back. I need to figure out this bomb for Ariana, and then get out there to go knock some heads.”

  “Dhata’s back,” Lur sung, teasing him with the sway of her hips. “Go get them, baby. I have a date with a certain ‘Cynic Star.’” She stopped the dance and batted her eyes at him playfully above the rim of her mug.

  “Tell that rusty shut-in to keep his grubby hands off my girl,” Dhata said, going back to his work.

  “Virtual hands can go anywhere, you know,” Lur continued teasing. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  He looked up at her and arched one eyebrow. That was all it took for her to lose her composure and start laughing like a mad woman.

  “How is the leg?” she said, walking over to embrace him, and he took her into his arms and planted a kiss at the top of her forehead.

  “Great, really,” he said. “It feels like mine. That sounds strange, I know, but all this time I felt like I had something grafted to my leg. Now it just belongs and feels no different from the other one. I feel whole, and strong. Can’t wait to test it out later when I go for a run. Would you like to join me, pretty lady?”

  “Not today. Hiroshi has me working on a dig for a Japanese company. I need to do this to boost my reputation as a cypher, and I’ve already turned him down on a job last month,” she said, reaching up to pull him in for a kiss. “Good luck on your research. Don’t leave without saying goodbye today. Even if I am synced and deep in the grid, you come say goodbye. Promise me, Dhata.”

 

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