Page 18

They worked quickly, Niko switching to grasping the top on Elliott’s mark.

When the metal was severed, he laid it down gently on the roof overhang.

Freed of its barricade, the window beneath was unlocked and slid open easily.

Heavy, bass-driven techno music pounded, flowing freely out from the open window now.

Elliott peeked in, pushing the curtains back just a smidgeon. “ Come on, ” he whispered, then slipped inside. Niko followed quickly as he could, nervousness briefly spiking through him at the fear of getting his unfeeling feet or legs caught on the window ledge.

He cleared it easily, to his relief, stepping down as quietly as possible into what indeed appeared to be Skeevy Larry’s bedroom.

Elliott was a little too good at being able to think like an asshole crime lord.

He closed the window behind himself, hoping the guards didn’t think anything of the brief increase in sound.

The room was shitty chaos—almost every visible piece of wall was covered in posters and graffiti, clothing, emptied vodka bottles and used syringes lying scattered around the floor and bed.

The room smelled of stale smoke and despair.

Two separate ashtrays were overflowing with ancient cigarette butts until Larry had at some point given up and started, apparently, leaving them lying around the top of a vanity dresser which sported a broken mirror.

An old stained up couch sat by the bed, weeping its springs out through gouges and worn holes.

At the far end of the bedroom, beside a huge and expensive looking stereo system was the most horrific feature of the entire room—Skeevy Larry himself.

He was in nothing but his underwear, eyes closed, dancing enthusiastically to the music, bottle of half-drank vodka in hand. The guy actually had a tramp stamp that featured a credit sign flanked by two pistols.

For a moment, Niko and Elliott froze, simply watching.

“I finally understand what the term ‘poetry in motion’ means,” Elliott marveled in disgust.

“...Yeah.”

“Well, anyway, let’s kill him,” Elliott said, his tone lofty, all business.

“Right. So how are we gonna do this?”

“This is your favor, so you should do the honors this time.”

Niko sighed. “Right. Okay.”

“Here.” Niko heard movement by the windowsill. Elliott then stepped away from it and Niko saw he’d left his knife lying there for him.

He was grateful Elliott hadn’t tried to hand it to him in stealth, blade out.

“Thanks, babe.” Niko grasped it and turned toward Larry. He wasn’t used to this sort of killing style, of sneaking around and taking someone out from the shadows. But Elliott did it just fine, so he could make do too. How hard could it be?

He advanced through the room, moving slowly now, careful not to knock or crush any of the scattered trash with his feet, the knife clutched tightly in hand.

How to do this? Sticking it in his throat guaranteed a quick death, but it was so… messy. Niko hated the idea. In the head seemed grisly. Anywhere else and he wasn’t guaranteed results. Neck it was, then.

He was almost to Larry when the man suddenly flung out his arm in a dramatic dance move, his bottle of vodka knocking straight into Niko and crashing to the floor. Both froze, Larry looking stunned and freaked out. “Oh—Oh shit. What?”

Niko panicked. He lunged for Larry with the knife, but the other man had caught on that something calamitous was going on and stumbled back out of the way. He started screaming for help.

Fuck. Of course. Asshole.

Niko did the only thing he could think of and grabbed Larry.

He struggled with him, the knife dropping somewhere in the grime and mess below.

For someone so scrawny, Larry put up a hell of a fight, powered by unholy strength from who knew what or where.

Niko figured it was drugs. Any enigma that occurred on Dainna could almost always be attributed to drugs.

Niko finally got him turned around and held tightly against himself.

He grabbed him by the head, then wrenched it to the side in one quick, strong jerk.

The muted crunch of Larry’s neck snapping was swallowed up in the pulsing beat of his techno music.

Just like—Niko hoped—his earlier scream had been.

Niko was trembling. He let out a shuddering breath and slowly let Larry’s carcass down, lying it in the broken bottle shards and piles of his own trash. He’d wanted to let it drop, to not touch it anymore, but was paranoid of the sound it might make.

“Shit,” he muttered. He squatted down and fished around for Elliott’s knife, finally finding it buried in what might have been an old sweatshirt.

Elliott deactivated his stealth and appeared beside him.

Niko opened his mouth to chastise him for it, but, well, fuck it. Just fuck it.

He deactivated his too, grateful to finally give a physical, visual presence to the two of them. Elliott stared down at Larry, a look of quiet disdain on his features.

“Wannabe. Honeybliss Lite,” he muttered.

Niko almost couldn’t hear him over the music.

He wanted to reach out and turn it down.

It was adding to a slowly building tension headache likely caused by stress, but ultimately it remained their only cover against anything being wrong and alerting the rest of the compound just beyond the bedroom door.

A glance at the door revealed—much to Niko’s relief—a thick deadbolt that locked from their side.

He held the knife out to Elliott and the other man took it.

“I thought this was supposed to be lucky,” Niko grumbled.

“And I thought you were supposed to be good at this. It must be amateur hour.”

Niko grunted. “Hey, he’s dead, isn’t he?” He summoned his phone hologram and snapped a quick photograph of Larry. “Come on, Elliott. We’re done here.”

“No,” Elliott murmured. “Not yet. Hold on.” He crouched on the balls of his feet, gripping his lucky knife. Niko saw a crescent of bare skin where his shirt and pants separated, the edge of his underwear peeking out.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting you proof,” Elliott said simply.

“Wait, what? Proof?”

Without further explanation, Elliott took hold of Skeevy Larry’s tattooed wrist and began sawing into the flesh with the serrated edge.

“Whoa! Elliott, what the hell? ”

Elliott paused, still gripping Larry’s wrist tightly. He peered over his shoulder at Niko, a single pale curl hanging in his eyes. “If I were your employer, I’d want definitive proof that you got the job done.”

“That’s—” Niko was more and more disturbed by what an apparently conniving and utterly ruthless crime lord Elliott seemed to be proving. Theoretically. “That’s what the photograph was for.”

“Well, we’re bringing her hard, solid proof.” Niko winced as he heard his knife grind up against the bone. The whole thing was grisly.

“Elliott, that’s— No.” He didn’t have words.

The other man finished his task, holding the disembodied hand up victoriously above his head. Niko grimaced. Elliott stood and grinned at him, eyes squinted like a weird little cat proud of itself for bringing home a dead mouse.

He waved it at Niko.

“Don’t,” Niko said.

“Niko. Need a ha—”

“ Don’t .”

“You were so eager for a high five before. Want another?”

“Put it away, for fuck’s sake.”

Elliott tossed the thing at Niko. It was instinct to catch it, and Niko hated himself for it.

Goosebumps crept along his skin in repulsion.

Even attached to its body and warm with life, touching Larry’s hand would have been nauseating to Niko.

For once, he found himself grateful for being trapped inside thick, armored gloves.

“This was your job,” Elliott said matter-of-factly, sliding his knife back into its sheath. “So, you carry the proof.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Niko grumbled under his breath, trying to think of somewhere to stick it. He finally shoved it in a small utility pouch at his belt, then tried not to think too hard about it being in there. “Let’s just go.”

“Well?” Death asked once they were gathered in the conference room again. Several others had come as well, curious to overhear if the two of them had been successful.

“It’s been taken care of,” Niko said.“Show her,” Elliott said, eyeing him. “The proof.”

Niko grimaced, rifling through the bag at his hip. He tossed the hand onto the conference table. It rolled once, then came to a stop with the pinky and ring finger stuck out, the distinct tattoos on them visible.

The room fell into a heavy silence, everyone staring at the hand, then at them. Niko swallowed. Beside him, Elliott looked proud of his trophy.

“What the fuck is that?” Death asked.

Niko glanced at Elliott. “Uh, a hand.”

“I see that,” Death said.

“It’s Larry’s—”

“I don’t want this thing. Get rid of it.”

Niko glanced at Elliott again, but Elliott only shrugged. They definitely needed to have a talk about bounty etiquette.

The rest of the room remained silent. The only one who seemed legitimately impressed was Yalsa, who focused on Elliott now with a keen, narrow-eyed approval, her head barely nodding.

Niko remembered her very well now. Opposite to Sweetheart, Yalsa had always shared Elliott's more brutal view of getting things done.

Death stared at them expectantly, until Niko reached out and awkwardly retrieved the hand. He shoved it back into his pack and cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” she said, after a lingering silence, “you’ve satisfied my conditions.

I consider your favor repaid. You’re in good standing with me, Killjoy.

” Niko felt the weight of three years as it sloughed off his shoulders.

He heaved out a sigh. “While you were taking out the trash, I got to look at the remainder of these files. I’ll help you make this big.

I have connections who also owe me favors.

We can interrupt and hijack public television transmissions and I think I can get past their algorithms with AI countermeasures. How big do you want to go?”

Elliott and Niko looked at each other, exchanging grins. Niko felt a little giddy. He was weightless, even sealed in the heavy suit.

Elliott turned his gaze back to her. He stood taller, straighter. When he spoke, he sounded a little breathless. “I want the whole galaxy to know.”

“I appreciate your ambition,” Death said, and nodded. “Your willingness to do to Honeybliss what no one else will has been admirable. Sometimes society needs the shit scraped off its shoes. You’ll always be welcome here, Elliott.”

Once more, Niko saw Elliott seem to fumble with knowing what to do, how to react.

His cheeks colored and he briefly looked at the floor, before glancing around the room and at all the eyes that watched him back in silence.

A few of Death’s people nodded to him in approval and respect.

In the back of the room, Yalsa pressed the palms of her pearlescent hands together in a gesture similar to prayer, showing her appreciation of him.

Elliott clearly wasn’t used to having fans.

Nor, probably, respect.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, at a total loss.

“You too, Niko. You’ll always have a home here. Anyway, this is going to take a few days to pull together. So, if you have business to take care of, do that now. And think of what you want to say. You’ll get one chance, so make it count. I’ll contact you.”

“Thank you, Deleera,” Niko said, his heart feeling full.

“You’re welcome to stay here, or you can return to wherever you’ve been staying.”

“We should—” Elliott looked at Niko. “We should get back. We have work to do, still.”

“You know, I’m honestly kind of surprised nobody tried to make a move all night while we were here,” Niko said.

“They did,” Death said. Niko’s blood turned to ice water. “All of Dainna was a hotbed of activity last night. I had patrols out everywhere in anticipation, though. We kept them back.”

“I—” Niko blinked. “Why would you offer for us to keep staying here, then? It’s such a burden on you.”

“Because Sweetheart was right, Niko. And I defend what’s mine. At any cost.”

Niko was overwhelmed, gripped by so many emotions at once. Gratitude, guilt, awe. He was humbled.

“Before you go,” Death continued, seeming to brush it off, “make me a comprehensive list of supplies you need. I’ll get them from the market, quick.”

Niko shifted uncomfortably. “I, um, don’t have a lot of credits right now to—”

Death waved him off. “It doesn’t matter. It’s on me.”

“Wait, really?” Niko asked, uncertainty creeping through him. He’d only just repaid Death’s favor. He had no idea if she wanted this one repaid too. On top of helping them with Honeybliss.

“It’s on me this time. Really. Don’t worry about it, Niko. Just get what you need.”

“Okay.”

“What happened to your helmet? That suit has connection points on its collar.” She walked over and stared up at him. The other attendees of their meeting dispersed, going back to their business around the compound.

“Uh, I lost it,” he said, remembering how Elliott had pried it off and tossed it into the infinite sea of clouds that formed Uula.

They hadn’t been on such good terms, back then.

He glanced over at Elliott, expecting to find the other man glued to his side, but did a double take when he saw him instead talking to Yalsa in the background. Something she said made him burst out into laughter.

Okay then. The two of them seemed to be hitting it off just fine.

“Talk to Noori next time you see her. She still deals in that sort of tech. Get it replaced and put it on my tab.”

“Sure.” Niko pulled her into a tight hug. “Thanks, Deleera. Really. For… everything.”

“Don’t disappear on me again,” she said. “You were my favorite.”

“I won’t.” He pulled away and grinned down at her. “Not this time.”

“I mean it when I say you get one chance at this,” Death warned him. “I’m going to have to pull all my strings and make the stars align for this to work. This is going to be the biggest favor I’ll have ever called in. So make it count.”

“We won’t let you down.”