BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (e book reader txt) 📕

Blackshirt captain standingover him, to notice what was happening to Kuan in the far corner, what washappening to the white man on the floor. Harry fought to remain conscious, evenas his eyes rolled backward in their sockets and he collapsed to the floor,much to the surprise of both Captain Armstrong and the SYN under his arm. Blooddribbled black from each of the boy's ears.

He did not see or hear the three intruders as they barged indownstairs—one stoop-shouldered old man, one tall young woman, one muscular,sword-wielding man. The mayhem they created immediately upon entering The Pitwas enough to make Torment stop their onstage antics and stare in utterdismay.

THIRTEEN

 

Muldoon was aware of one thing outside his body: rain. It pummeledthe shoulders of his long coat, drumming a cold, soggy rhythm into his frame.Soaked to the skin, shivering, he stood rooted to the sidewalk, facing thebrick façade of a building he didn't recognize. With one hand, he bracedhimself against it, his head down, eyes closed. A faucet stream drained fromthe brim of his hat, but he paid it no attention.

His mind was elsewhere, his thoughts stretched across time, pulledso far in both directions that they wore thin, tearing across the middle. Ittook what mental fortitude he still possessed to keep from falling through ahole and losing himself altogether.

The darkness was coming. He could feel it. The cold despair, thenausea gnawing at his gut. He would be lost. He couldn't fight it, not thistime. He didn't have the strength.

But he had to. For the boy's sake, if nothing else. The confusion anddepression could take him later. Not now. He had one more good deed left inhim.

There was nothing else that mattered. Not the autos splashing by,not the police who would be searching for him soon. Not even the man behindhim, stepping out of the shadows and into the frosty glow of the streetlight.

"You plan on standing here long?"

Muldoon spun on his heel and grabbed for his gun, unable toremember if there were any pulse rounds left in the chambers.

The old man—the boy's father, back from the dead—held up bothhands. "Hey, watch it! Don't you point that thing at me,buddy. I'm here to help you, for crying out loud!" He chuckled. "Assuming you want my help, that is. If, on theother hand, you're one of those tough guys who thinks he can do everything onhis own, then I can save us both some trouble and get the hell out of hereright now. Let the cops take you and charge you with what? Murder? Kidnapping?Reckless endangerment of SYNCorp's artificial consumers at The Pearl? Yeah, I'mpretty sure they'd throw the whole damn book at you, pal."

Muldoon swallowed, blinking to clear his vision. His stance wasunsteady, but his grip on the gun was sure. "I saw you die," hesaid.

"Really? What was that like?"

"You tell me. You were there."

The older man shrugged, scratching at the grizzled stubble on hisjaw. "You must have me confused with somebody else. Believe me, ithappens. With all this traveling across time and reality, it's a wonder we cankeep anybody straight! Am I right?" He grinned, but then hisexpression fell. A false front crashing to the street. "We should reallyget out of the open. I wasn't kidding about the cops. They're just minutes awayfrom issuing a Province-wide manhunt with your name in lights. You got a placewe could go, talk things over a bit?"

"I don't know who you are."

"Yes you do. Things have just gotten a bit messyupstairs." He tapped his left temple. "Trust me, I've been there. Butright now, at this point in time—this when—you've got to get out of therain, and we've got to talk. I don't know how else to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"What I've got to tell you."

Muldoon stared at the earnest look in the man's eyes. I saw youdie. Pulled apart like a piece of meat by two mandroids. But that wasn'tthe only time he'd seen this man. I saw you disappear, vanish into the airin that hallway. A hazy grey and white image on that vidscreen. Andsomehow, deep down, Muldoon knew he'd seen him before that, known him longbefore his murder in that alley. Same as the kid. Something about them was sofamiliar. I know you, old man...

Muldoon holstered his gun and tugged at the drenched lapels of hiscoat. "You got a name?"

The man thrust out his thick, gnarled hand with a toothy grin."Cyrus Horton. Believe it or not, we're already well-acquainted,Harry."

Muldoon faltered as the old man's hand clamped down with a firmgrip. "You know me."

"Of course I do. You're Harold Muldoon, the private investigator.Or, at least you used to be. Among other things." He chuckled. "Onein particular, of a very particular and special interest to me." His eyesburned with intensity. "The BackTracker."

Muldoon frowned. He pulled his hand free. "I don't know whatyou think—"

"No matter, no matter. Perhaps I've rushed things a bit, diving intoo deep too soon, as the case may be. Forgive me. I can be a real impulsivefool at times. Just forget I said anything."

An auto veered too close to the curb and righted itself, but notbefore it sent a murky puddle splashing across the sidewalk, chilling thealready soaked shoes of the two men. Muldoon watched the vehicle speed awayaround the headless mandroid in the middle of the street. A road hazard,standing there like that.

"Shall we?" Horton gestured with an outstretched arm asif he already knew where they would go.

Muldoon shook his head. "I can't go home."

That's the first place they'll look for me. Why were the police afterhim? Could he remember the details? Of course he could. He just had to focus onthe here and now, the recent past. I grabbed that monk—Yeng-something—at ThePearl. Caused quite a scene. That would do it.

"There's nowhere else?"

Muldoon remembered a little girl with dark eyes and blackfingernails. He remembered her parents. Zombies, both of them. He rememberedher bouncing rubber ball.

Thump, rebound, caught. Pause. "Youmessed me up."

Not a recent memory. It had that faded feeling like so many othersdrifting through his mind, leaves on the wind, impossible to grasp.