Firebolt

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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“I know you’re here to kill me,” said David Zinn, handing me a gin and tonic. I watched him closely as I took the glass. Daniel was still crouching by the door, still armed. If I let my guard down, I was dead.

“But I have to admit, my feelings are hurt,” he continued, sipping his own drink. “I was sure Vitalius would send more than one person. That’s why I hired so many guards. I was expecting a siege.”

“Are you saying he should have sent more men?” I asked him. “Because it seems to me that one man was adequate.”

“I see your point. I should definitely have hired some ex-military guys, someone with serious experience. Instead I went with these Hollywood bodyguards, you know? Security to the stars, that sort of thing.”

“Tech guys are celebrities now. I understand.”

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “Daniel, however terrible his marksmanship, is right over there. If you finish the job, there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance he’ll manage to hit you before you can get him. And if we’re being honest here, you missed him too. So this isn’t just a Luke versus the Stormtroopers scenario.”

“Most people miss most of their shots in close quarters,” I said. “Even cops.”

Even disgraced former FBI agents.

“Even so, even so. You can’t really claim to be better than Daniel. Plus, you have to assume that I already called 911, which means you’re working with a hard time limit here even if we are way up in the mountains. So the smart move would be to call it a day. Can’t win ‘em all, right?”

“And then how would I explain myself to my boss when I got back?”

“You’re not a freelancer? I thought hitmen were freelancers.”

“I’m on retainer. They hired me right after you left.”

“Huh. Well, still. You can die right now or live to fight another day. It’s an easy choice, right?”

I had to admit, this guy was a cool customer.

“Shoot this motherfucker!” yelled the wounded guard in the doorway. “Kill him, Daniel!”

Daniel started to move.

“Sit still, Daniel!” snapped David. “Don’t f**k this up!”

He stopped moving.

“You’ve heard my proposal,” said David. “What’s your counter-offer?”

“You’ve got brass balls,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t assume I’m not scared,” he said. “I’m terrified. But more than that, even, I’m quite pissed off.”

“If my former business partner put out a hit on me, I’d be pissed off too,” I said.

“Your empathy is appreciated, if slightly disturbing. Don’t you even want to know what I’m pissed off about? Because I was mad before any hit men started showing up. And this is something you could benefit from.”

“I can’t just...”

“What, seriously? Hitman’s honor? You took the contract and you have to see it through? Come on, bro! That’s a load of crap!”

“Well, what are you so pissed off about then? And how can it benefit me?”

“Now we’re talking. It was my idea. My idea, you get me? Just think about what that’s worth for a minute. We’re talking mucho millions, my friend. Not whatever he’s paying you to kill me. Lots, lots more.”

“What was your idea?” I asked.

“The whole god damn thing! His so-called Quod Corporation! A single company to hire all the top geniuses from everywhere and get them working on all the new technologies everybody’s been dreaming about – printable electronics, AI house systems, DNA repair, synthetic replacement organs, f*****g flying cars, man! Everything! But most of all, the glasses!”

“The Quod Glasses?”

“Yeah, although that sure as hell is not what I would have called them. But it’s my tech, you hear me? I built that! And now that crazy old weirdo wants to shut me up?”

“What’s so important about the Quod Glasses? It’s just VR.”

“It’s just VR?!” he said with scorn. “Listen to yourself! This is not just your typical everyday virtual reality headset. This tech is revolutionary! This is true immersion. No experiential difference whatsoever between the qualia these glasses make possible and consensus reality. You can live whatever life you want to live!”

“For the right price,” I said.

“What are you, a communist? f**k yeah, for the right price! But that’s not what our pied piper Charles Manson of a CEO wants to do with them, now is it?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m just the help.”

“Okay, so you’re not a man of vision,” he said, calming himself with another sip of gin and tonic. I did the same. “But just think about the money. The money, dude! Is there a single grubby dollar bill in what this mystic wants to do with my tech? Not one. Not one! So which would you rather have? A hundred grand for my head, or a hundred million for being smart, for letting this tech be what it’s supposed to be? For helping me instead of him?”

“It isn’t a hundred grand,” I said with a chuckle.

David Zinn stopped dead, his gin glass halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?” he asked me sharply.

“He isn’t giving me a hundred grand for your head,” I said. “It’s a lower figure.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Afraid not.”

“So what’s the real number then?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“I want to know.”

“You really don’t.”

His hand was shaking. Over by the door, Daniel was getting nervous; his body language was getting tense. I probably shouldn’t have kept needling them, but I couldn’t help it.

“It’s more like fifteen grand,” I said.

“That goddamned cockroach!”

He threw the glass at me and I dodged it with a flick of my head. The glass exploded in a cloud of gin and ice against the wall behind me. I don’t know why he did it, really. I suppose I was just a symbol of his former business partner at that point. But Daniel took the opportunity to come out shooting, and from that point onward, there was no more conversation.