Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

was self-defense.”
    Bernie licked his lips, eyeing her with concern. But I could tell he still wasn’t going to talk.
    “Quite right, Jenna,” I said, “but we don’t have to do the killing. We’ll simply spread rumors. I know several people in the Community. Dr. Meng, and the rest. You were in Rostok’s confidence, Mr. Kinley. You were fired, so you blabbed. Everything I know I’ll relate to everyone I see, putting your name down as the source. Actually, it will be quite helpful. I can cover my own tracks using your name. They’ll believe everything I’ve learned came from you. That allows me to safely cover my real sources.”
    He was sweating again. “What do you know? Probably nothing.”
    I put the gun down on the table. “You’re free to go,” I said.
    “What?” Jenna said in protest.
    I put my hand up. “He’s worth more to us alive than dead. We’ve got the perfect fall guy. We don’t even have to feel bad about it, as he moved on us first.”
    “Wait a minute,” Bernie said. “The Community doesn’t like people with big mouths.”
    “Oh, I know all about that, friend.”
    Bernie sat there, staring at us for a second, his eyes flicking back and forth. I could tell he was thinking hard. Jenna had joined in my act now. I could tell she had figured out my plan. She picked up her cell and tapped at it.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “I’m broadcasting your picture,” she said. “You want to take another shot while hugging me or something? No—I guess not.”
    “Who are you going to send it to?” he asked, still trying to look disinterested and failing badly.
    “Detective McKesson, for one,” Jenna said.
    Bernie’s face reddened further, although I would have thought it impossible just a moment before. “That rat bastard?” he asked. “He’s a rogue, just like you. Figures you are working with him.”
    “Are you talking or am I sending?” Jenna asked. Her finger was poised over the face of her cell phone, ready to tap the send button.
    “We probably know most of it anyway,” I told him.
    “Just tell us about your ex-boss,” said Jenna. “About the murders. About all the strange stuff going on lately.”
    “If I tell you what I know, it won’t leave this room?”
    “Not with your name on any of it,” I assured him.
    “And all of this break-in stuff is forgotten?”
    “Right,” Jenna said.
    He let out a long sigh. “I don’t know much,” he said.
    Then he began to talk, and it turned out he knew plenty.

Bernie Kinley’s words painted a strange picture. He had worked for Rostok, a man who was a recluse—who never left the twin towers of the Lucky Seven. Rostok was a Ukrainian immigrant who’d come from a tough criminal background from Kiev. Some said he was ex-KGB, or ex-military. No one knew for sure, but he’d come to Vegas and worked his way up quickly in casino security. He’d built a reputation for predictable brutality. No one wanted to cross him. About a dozen years ago, he’d gone from managing security to managing the casino itself. Then he’d somehow grown rich enough or frightening enough to purchase the entire enterprise. There were tales of disappearances and horrible deaths associated with the man, but nothing had been proven by anyone. There were never any credible witnesses—when there were witnesses at all.
    At some point over the last decade, Rostok himself had disappeared from the public eye. Very few had seen his face sincethen. There was a rumor that held that he had been disfigured in some way. People hinted this was the reason he kept the lights off on the rare occasions when he did meet with people.
    “How does McKesson fit into all of this?” I asked.
    Bernie shrugged. “He’s the cleanup man for the Community. He puts an official face on anything that goes—wrong.”
    “You mean when something bad happens? For example, when a creature like Ezzie gets loose?”
    Bernie stared at me. “I’ve never seen Ezzie. It’s some kind of pet of his, or…”
    “Or what?” I asked. “Pets don’t usually talk. I heard Ezzie talk.”
    “I don’t know,” Bernie said. “I’ve heard theories. People tell stories. Some say she’s a mentally defective relative of his from Russia.”
    I snorted. “I think she’s from farther away than that.”
    Bernie shook his head. “I really can’t help you on that topic.”
    I believed him, but pressed for more. Oftentimes people knew things they didn’t think were important.