Down And Dirty

And then, blessedly, he lost consciousness.

Wednesday, 12:45 A. M.

The waking dream hit her just as she pushed open the door to the warehouse. The graffiti-scrawled paint became fluid; the door sagged like a lead figurine thrown into a fire.

In the darkness beyond she could hear laughter-Hartma

And then it was gone. There was the door, and her hand ready to twist the key. "Allah," she breathed, and shook her head. The motion did nothing to dispel the lingering feeling of dread. The images of the dream stayed with her, and she could hear her heart pounding. The lock clicked open and she pushed the door wide. "Gimli?" she called "Hello?"

The warehouse was as dark as her dream, and empty.

Misha's pulse roared in her head and the dream-demon threatened to reappear; in the dim reaches of the warehouse, whirling splotches of light moved with her momentary dizziness.

The door to the office swung wide, the glare from beind the lamps inside nearly blinding her. A shadow loomedMisha cried out.

"Sorry, Misha," Peanut's voice said. " I didn't mean to scare you."

His hand reached out as if he was going to pat her shoulder, and Misha drew back, leaving his hand extended awkwardly. She frowned as she regained her composure. "Where's Miller?" she asked sharply.

Peanut's hand dropped, his sad gaze regarding the stained concrete floor. Heavy, clumsy shoulders lifted. "Du

"What's the matter, Peanut? You've been here alone before."

"Polyakov-he phoned. Said to tell Gimli that Mackie was here, in the States. Said that the paper trail was all official stuff. government. He told me to tell Gimli that he was afraid Hartma

"Does Gimli know?"

"Not yet. I gotta tell him. You wait with me?"

"No." She said it too quickly, too harshly, but she didn't try to soften the word with an explanation. " I talked to Sara; I need the jacket-we're going to take it to Tachyon."

"You can't have the jacket. Gimli took it with him. You'll have to wait."

Misha only shrugged at that, surprising Peanut, who had expected her to fly into a rage. "I'm going to my place. I'll come back here later."

She turned to leave.

"I don't hate you," Peanut's childlike voice said behind her. "I don't hate you 'cause you got lucky with the wild card and I didn't. And I don't even hate you for what you and the Nur did to people like me. I think I got a lot more reason to hate than you, but I don't, 'cause I think maybe the damn virus has hurt you more than me, after all."

Misha had kept her back turned, stiffly, from his first words. "I don't hate you, Peanut," she answered. She was tired from the long day, from the flight, from the meeting with Sara and the inchoate feeling of dread that still enveloped her. There was no energy in her to argue or explain.

"The Nur hates jokers. Barnett hates jokers. Sometimes jokers hate jokers. And you and Gimli and the Russian want to hurt the one guy who looks like he might care. I don't understand." Peanut sighed. "So what if he's an ace? Maybe that explains why he works so hard for the jokers. I might keep it secret, too, if I could. I know how people treat you different and stare at you and try to pretend it doesn't matter when it does."

"Haven't you listened to us, Peanut?" Misha swung around, sighing. "Hartma

"I'm still not sure I believe that," Peanut insisted. "Even if I did, didn't what you and the Nur preached kill? Didn't you cause hundreds of jokers to die?"

His mild voice only made the truth of the accusation sting more. Blood on my hands, too. "Peanut-" she began, then stopped. She wanted to bring the veils over her eyes and hide her feelings behind black cloth. But she couldn't. She could only stand there, unable to look away from his sad, puckered face. "How can you not hate me?" she asked him.

He almost seemed to smile. "I did, once. Till I met you, anyways. Hey, your society fouled you up. Does that to everyone, huh? I see you fight against it, and I know you care, underneath. Gimli says you didn't like a lot of what the Nur said, either." Now he did smile, a tentative grin that heightened the ridges in his thick flesh. "Maybe I could come with you and protect you from Stigmata."

She could only smile in return. "Well, ain't this touching?"

The voice, so utterly unexpected, caused them both to whirl -the words had a strong Germanic accent. A hunchbacked, anemic young man in black stepped through the wall of the warehouse as if it were a mist. Misha knew that cruel, lean face instantly, knew the sickness that lurked behind the eyes. The hammering of fear in her body was reminder enough, and he had the same feral casualness of the figure hanging in Hartma

"Kahina," he said in a jittery, quick voice, and with the use of that honorific she knew it was over. The youth was breathing like a nervous thoroughbred, smiling lopsidedly. Hartma

She could only shake her head.

Peanut moved to put himself between the intruder and Misha. The boy-man's sardonic gaze flicked toward the joker. "Ain't Gimli told you about Mackie? Man, everyone's scared shitless of Mackie. You should have seen the Fraction bitch's eyes when I offed her. I've got an ace better than anything…" There was an eager satisfaction in Mackie's rambling voice. He reached for Misha. Peanut tried to strike Mackie's hand aside, but suddenly the hand shivered and began to vibrate with a fierce thrumming.

Blood fountained impossibly. Peanut's severed forearm dropped to the floor.

Peanut stood for a moment, staring in disbelief as pulsing red jetted from the stump. Then he screamed. His legs buckled; he collapsed. Mackie raised his hand again, a deep buzz-saw whine coming from the blur.

"No!" Misha shouted. Mackie hesitated, looking at her. The pleasure she saw in the boy made her sick-it was a look she'd seen in her brother, it was a look she'd seen on Hartma

Mackie's breath was harsh and loud; emotions crossed his pinched face like quick cloud-shadows. Peanut moaned beneath him. "He's a damn joker. I thought you wanted them all dead. I can do it for you. It'd be quick; it'd be good." His face had gone serious now, and the sickness was like a lust in him.

"Please." Mackie didn't answer. Misha stopped and ripped a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress. She knelt beside the stricken joker, who writhed on the floor. "I'm sorry, Peanut," she said. She wrapped the cloth around his arm above the stump, pulled it tight until the blood flow eased, and knotted it. "I didn't hate you. I just couldn't manage to say it."

Mackie's hand touched her arm, and Misha flinched. Though the horrible vibration was gone, his fingers gripped her until she cried out in pain. "Now," Mackie said. He glanced down at Peanut. His tone was almost conversational. "Next time you see Gimli, tell him Mackie said Auf Wiedersehen' "

And then he was gri