Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

His thoughts jammed.

Think, think.

Get out, get out.

There was knock at the door. David had fought to prepare himself, but he drew a sharp breath. The knock galvanized him. He sank to a crouch. This would make him more difficult to make out when the policeman came in. Just a second’s worth of advantage.

“This is the police, sir. Open up please.”

David’s hand reached into his jacket pocket.

The landlord: “I bet he’s hiding in there. I bet. I’ve got me keys.”

His fingers snaked around the envelope of cash to the stun gun.

The policeman, more quietly: “Go on, then. Unlock it. Don’t open it. Understand?”

David drew the stun gun and pointed.

In his ear, Ego said, “The latest story was logged at BBC News On-line –”

“Ego,” he hissed, “fucking shut up.”

“Understood.”

“Do you hear something?” asked the landlord.

The policeman did not reply. Keys jingled and one rattled nervously into the lock. It pushed his own onto the floor (Shite, why didn’t I just turn the key to block the lock? he thought, block the lock, blockthelock) and then turned. There was a pause. David imagined the two of them standing there, wondering what horrors lay behind this door, what the animal would do when cornered. He looked down and saw their motionless shadows in the gap of light under the door. The policeman would be concentrating on procedure; the landlord on each detail, to make his storytelling all the sweeter.

David raised the stun gun. It was plastic and shaped like a normal gun. He released the safety catch and the laser-sight projected a red dot on the door. His finger tightened on the trigger. If he squeezed hard enough, two barbed darts would fire at the speed of air-rifle pellets. Each would trail an insulating conducting filament back to the gun. On contact with the chest, they would lodge under the skin and unleash 50, 000 volts, 18 watts and 133 milliamps. The brochure had been quite specific.

He eased the pressure a fraction.

It was a monstrous weapon, but it had the stopping power of a high-calibre projectile firearm with one difference: the victim would survive.

The two shadows remained still.

Suddenly, a third voice erupted into the silence: “Delta Echo Two from Delta Echo Three, over.”

“Go ahead Three,” said the policeman. It took David long seconds to realise that the new voice had come from the policeman’s radio.

“Report of a six-four in progress, end of Main street.”

“Three, I’m assisting, assisting,” he said.

David froze in his marksman’s crouch. He couldn’t believe his luck. The landlord whined, “Aren’t we going in?”

The policeman hurried down the stairs. “Six-four is a rape in progress, Sam. Takes priority over a routine check.”

“Oh.”

The policeman’s footfalls became quiet and then louder as he ran out into the street. David kept the weapon trained on the door and his eyes on the shadow of Sam, the landlord. The door was still unlocked.

Sam muttered something and began to walk slowly down the stairs. David imagined his face: a little defeated, angry, and shamed that did not have the courage to face this potential murderer alone.

David held his position for a time. It might have been a minute or a few seconds. Only then did he exhale. His fingertips tingled. His heart thumped and his head ached with hot blood. He took another breath and pocketed the gun. He thanked the Fates for his outstanding luck and grabbed his helmet from the bed. He checked that his backpack was secure.

He walked to the window and parted the curtain with a finger. The policeman was running down the road and David felt a momentary flash of guilt. He had been ready to shoot that man, electrify him. And yet there he was running to help a woman in danger.

David went to the door and pressed his ear against it. There was no sound. He turned the handle and braced the door with his foot to dampen the noise. It opened silently on an empty corridor. He made his way downstairs. It was difficult to be silent in his hiking boots. He heard the far-off sound of a jukebox, some laughter, a breaking glass and then louder laughter. At the bottom of the stairs, he risked a glance into the bar. He saw Sam, the landlord, clapping someone on the back. He was not looking in David’s direction. Lucky the man hadn’t stood guard.

David took three huge steps across the entrance and slid through the exterior door. The street was deserted. He swung the helmet over his head and jogged down the road towards his bike. An inner voice kept telling him, Act natural, easy does it, but he had too much spare energy. He dipped into the alley and noted that the bike had not been moved. He glanced up at the old woman’s window. ‘Her Barry’ had clearly not come down to teach his bike a lesson in parking.

He jumped on the back and made ready for the long ride. He did this with frequent pauses in which he listened for running footsteps or a shout of alarm. Finally, he zipped his jacket and kicked up the stand. The alley was too narrow to turn around in, so he waddled the bike backwards to the pavement.

“Ego, are you there?”

“Yes,” said the voice in his earpiece.

“Can you interface with the bike’s computer?”

“No. It is a closed system.”

“Fine. Listen, the bike computer uses a vocal input. I don’t want to get the two of you confused. From now on, I’ll refer to you by name if I’m talking to you.”

“Understood.”

David cleared his throat. Still no police. He held the brake, turned the key and pressed the ignition. The bike rumbled into life. Its windscreen rose and the suspension adapted to David’s preference. The Heads-Up Display gave him the time, his fuel load and a route map. The excitement of escape began to creep over him. He had enough petrol for about one-hundred kilometres on the straight.

“Ego, what do