“By telling you what I know, I’ll be putting myself at risk,” Napoleon says right into Itzel’s face. “I hope you’re ready to compensate me accordingly.”
Itzel’s eyes water—probably from Napoleon’s spicy breath. Wiping at her face with her sleeve, she steps back.
“How much?” I ask.
Napoleon names an insane figure.
“Throw in guns for each and every one of us, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Itzel says before I can even start to bargain.
He picks up his hellish drink. “I only have one gun left. And you’d have to use it off-world.”
“We plan to use the gun when we face Vas,” I say evenly. “Take it or leave it.”
There’s no way this is actually the last gun he owns, but if I challenge him on it, it’ll do more harm than good.
Napoleon grins, exposing his fangs. “I’ll take it… if you visit my dreams one more time.”
Itzel better appreciate this. “At a time of my choosing,” I say reluctantly. “And not soon.”
“Oui. Just bear in mind, that time will need to be before you need my help again.” He downs the rest of his drink, probably getting an ulcer right then and there.
We all chip in to pay for Napoleon’s services, with Itzel insisting on contributing the lion’s share. When we tell him to check his balance, Napoleon gestures in his VR like an opera conductor. Upon seeing the money in his account, he gives us a predatory grin and gesticulates a few more times before saying, “Check your messages.”
Sure enough, he’s sent us the location of the gang’s hangout.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” he says when I confirm I got the directions.
“What about the gun?” Itzel asks.
Grunting, he reaches under the bar in front of him and pulls out a sleek, short-musket-like device. Before anyone can see the highly illegal weapon and report us, I snatch it and hide it in the back of my pants.
We quickly hustle out of the bar and summon a ride. Itzel instructs the car to go to her place. “Felix’s suit is there,” she explains. “If we’re going to look for a gang member inside their own hideout, we need all the help we can get.”
Itzel’s apartment looks like a mad rocket scientist’s lair. There are countless screens with rocket designs on them, half-built drones, tangles of wires, and jars of exotic fuels.
In the walk-in closet by the living room stands the suit in question—which looks like a sci-fi B movie robot.
“Felix claims he was inspired by the very first clunker of a suit built by Iron Man,” Ariel says. “While I think he ripped off the Mech Batsuit.”
Felix puffs out his chest. “This is a Neo Golem original.” He launches into an explanation behind the name, which boils down to this: If Felix were a superhero, that would be his code name.
“So we have a gun”—I pat the back of my pants—“and the Neo-Golem suit. Anyone else feel like it’s not enough?”
“Depends on how many of the so-called Filthy Bastards will be there,” Itzel says. “I don’t care, though. It’s the only lead we’ve got.”
I stroke Pom’s fur. She’s beginning to scare me slightly. “How about we swing by my apartment?” I suggest. “I’ve got sleep grenades there, which might help us avoid violence altogether.”
Felix steps into his suit and snaps the robot-like faceplate in place. “Sounds good.” His voice comes out muffled.
As we exit onto the street, Felix receives a few curious glances, but not as many as he’d get on Earth, outside of theme parks.
We take a car to my apartment, where we grab a couple of sleep grenades and a bite to eat. While we’re at it, I ask Felix to teach me how to use the gun, since he seems to have the experience.
“Right.” He takes the gun from me and presses a button on the side. An antiquated-looking screen shows up above the gun—clearly, this isn’t a new model. He points at a self-explanatory label on the screen. “This controls if the gun’s ray is lethal or not.” He sets the gun to stun mode and aims it at Ariel.
“Ha-ha,” she says humorlessly. “Suit or not, I can still break you in half.”
With a huff, Felix points the gun at my window. “It’s really this simple. Point and shoot.” He mimes squeezing the trigger.
I take the gun and practice summoning and hiding the screen. It’s as easy as Felix said. I stick the gun into the back of my pants. “Got it. Let’s go.”
We summon another car and head straight for the location Napoleon provided, which turns out to be a seedy-looking cul-de-sac in one of the worst parts of Gomorrah.
“At least no one will mind Felix’s suit,” Ariel says, wrinkling her nose as we step out onto a urine-stained street decorated by piles of never-picked-up garbage. It’s beyond gross, even with the cool breeze that’s blowing away the worst of the stench. I hold my breath the best I can, but the putrid aroma seeps into my nostrils anyway.