Glass 4

The constant thump of the beats from the speakers filled the club, making my head throb in time. The acrid smoke stung my nostrils as I battled my way through throngs of dancing idiots. I could see the bar tender serving drinks, laughing boisterously with a few of the patrons. I assumed he was the owner, Dirty Sal, based on his ragged black hair, bright sleezy clothes, and raucous demeanor. The mirrors on the wall behind him reflected the club lights into my eyes, which added unmercifully to the pounding in my head. Reaching the polished wood bar, I sat down on one of the nearby stools, reaching into my coats inner pocket. I stared at him, waiting for him to pay attention to me. My nose wrinkled in disgust as I watched a bead of sweat drip down his fat head, falling into one of the beers he was serving.

Dirty Sal turned towards me, using a bar towel to wipe out the inside of a cup he had just picked up. A large, doggish smile faded quickly from his countenance as he regarded me. His furtive eyes narrowed, his thin crusty lips curling into a sneer.

"You're in the wrong part of town, Silver. What do you want?" He growled.

I pulled a picture from my jacket pocket. "I'm seeking information on this woman. Her name is Shayla Día Crowstrike. Have you seen her?" I practically had to yell over the incessant hideous music. The rotating lights were starting to make me feel nauseous.

He trundled over, stopping to look downwards at the picture. "Nope." He said curtly and continued to wipe at the glass.

"Why do you have to make my life hard?" I grumbled, more to myself than to him. I pulled my wallet out, taking a few bills from it. Setting them on the bar in front of him.

"Mmmm, think I remember something, but it's still kind of foggy..." He urged, arching his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, pulling out a few more bills and adding them to the pile.

His black squinty eyes filled with a roguish light. "Your girl had a meeting here two days ago with a group of Darks. They seemed to be involved in some kind of exchange. Things got pretty wild." He pointed towards a darkened room above the dance floor. "They obliterated the VIP room."

"I'm curious about this 'meeting.' Any chance you might have bugged that room, maybe some surveillance cameras...anything like that?"

"Come on, Silver, of course not. My clients expect a certain level of-decorum." He made an elaborate gesture towards the crowd.

I snorted derisively. "So what happened?"

"Well, they blasted everything and left a nice pile of corpses for me to clean out of the carpet. T'was such a lovely sight. Lots of work to get all that blood out of that carpet. Look, any more questions Silver? I've got a business to run."

"Was this woman one of the casualties?" I inquired, tapping my finger on the glossy picture.

"Yeah. Her head was smashed against the wall, just like chunks of strawberry jam. Still cleaning that shit up. Sorry kid." He set the glass he had been polishing down on the bar. "You want a drink?"

I was trying to absorb what he had just told me as I looked down at the picture. "How do you know it was her, if her head was smashed?" I asked.

"Because she was the only lady in the group." He snickered, throwing the towel down on the bar.

I was about to ask him another question, when, looking up from the picture, I saw him give a subtle signal to someone across the club. I searched the mirror behind him for the one who had received it. A young woman began quickly heading towards the darkened VIP room overlooking the dance floor.

I watched the reflections in the mirror behind Sal as she swiftly climbed the stairs above the swirling sea of people. She tried to stick to the shadows as much as possible in the rolling club lights. She might have actually escaped my notice if I hadn't seen the signal in the first place. Her back to us, she reached the frosted glass door. After she waited there for a few moments, it opened into a dimly lit room. a blue colored light passed across the women to quickly for me to get a good look at their faces.

"How about that drink, Silver?"

"Yeah, sure." I said dismissively, waving my right hand as I watched.

I clearly saw the two women clasp hands, and then the girl let go and began motioning towards the bar vehemently. The rotating lights hit them both, illuminating an unidentified young woman and Shayla Crowstrike. She looked towards the bar, the bright club lights splashing across my white-silver uniform. Shayla immediately pulled the woman into the room with her and shut the door.

Shaking my head, I reached down and took my knife from its sheath just above my boot. I held it up so Sal could get a good look at the cold silver metal. His black eyes went wide, and he held his stubby hands up in a pleading gesture.

"You lied to me, Sal." I snarled, dangerously.

"Wait, just a second, Silver, I can explain..."

"You son of a bitch!" I roared. "You really could have saved me a lot of trouble by just telling me she was here in the first place, Sal. If she gets away, I'll bury this knife between your eyes and burn this bar to ashes!"

I threw the knife down into the polished wood, sinking it hallway to the hilt in the glossy surface. The bar stool clattered to the floor as I jumped off of it and ran towards the stairs leading to the VIP area I had previously seen her in.

A drunken woman stumbled into me and I shoved her angrily out of my way. Screeching, she stumbled into a group of other clubbers, causing a cascade effect, knocking most of them down. One of the men was immediately back on his feet, roaring profanities while swinging about crazily. He smashed his fist into the face of another man, then grasping the long blonde hair of the female he was with and yanking her violently from her feet. The club around us erupted in pure chaos as people began fighting and shouting, some running for the door in a bid to escape the tumult. I made for the stairs, swiftly ducking as a beer bottle sailed past my head, shattering on the wall beside me.

"STOP! STOP FIGHTING! YOUR BREAKING EVERYTHING!"

Dirty Sal shrieked from behind the counter, his hands to the side of his head, distressed. I glanced over my shoulder as one of the bar stools flew in from the crowd and struck Sal in the face, knocking him backwards into the mirror and decanters behind him. Broken glass rained on Sal as he fell, vanishing behind the polished counter.

I took the stairs two at a time, reaching out for the handle of the door as my foot hit the landing. It was locked, naturally. I removed my gun from its holster, shooting the keyhole. People below screamed at the sound of gunfire, some hiding, some fleeing for the exits, but the majority stayed in the thick of the riot. I then kicked the door inwards, aiming into the murky room. I squinted my eyes, and my head resumed it pounding as I visually searched the area. Seeing nothing, I entered the room cautiously, firearm at the ready.

There a few nice leather couches and a couple of chairs, and in the middle of the room was a large desk. I gave the desk a wide berth, looking into the area below the desktop to see if anyone was hiding in there. A breeze tickled my cheek and I looked to my right, noticing an open window. I turned to investigate when I heard a tiny noise to my left, coming from the dark wood cabinet.

Walking to the door of the cabinet, I tore it open. The woman who had warned Shayla squawked in surprise and shrunk back as far as she could against the wood. I pointed the pistol to the center of her forehead and cocked the hammer back for effect.

"Where's Crowstrike." I asked her simply.

Garbled attempts at words dropped from her mouth, to terrified to speak. Instead she pointed to the open window behind me.

"Better not be lying." I threatened. "I'll come back and kill you slowly."

She balled her hands into fists and shoved them into her mouth, sobbing in horror. She shook her head and tears spilled from her large brown eyes, snot bubbling from her nose in her hysteria.

Still training the gun on her, I crossed to the window, looking out to the trash strewn alley below. The smell of piss and puke hit me as the breeze wafted in. I set my left hand on the windowsill.

"Don't move at all." I warned her. I clambered out the wooden frame, clumsily. Considering I was trying to hold a pistol and climb at the same time, I lost my balance and fell into a reeking pile of rubbish, landing on my ankle. I deep growl of frustration escaped my chest. I got to my feet, hoping I could still walk. It didn't seem to be broken, as I could put enough pressure to walk, but it still hurt enough to slow me down.

Limping down the alley, I searched for any traces of her. Observation told me that she only had three possible escape routes, up the fire escape, down the alley itself or the steel door further down. The door seemed to be the quickest option, so I limped over to it and attempted to enter it. The handle on the door was reddish brown and would not even turn, due to the rust. It was probably safe to say she didn't go this way. I knew she wouldn't exit the alley directly unless she was sure she could do it unseen, which was not possible in this area of town.

My next guess was the fire escape. I noticed the top half of it was absolutely dark enough to obscure a fleeing individual. She couldn't possibly be that far ahead of me. I holstered my gun approaching the steel ladder, putting my hurt ankle on the first rung gingerly. The pain was strong, but not enough to prevent me from ascending. My boots hitting the rust covered metal caused a vibration throughout the entire frame of the fire escape. It groaned loudly, and I found myself wondering if the whole thing wasn't about to collapse with me on it. I could just see my twisted carcass squished on the blacktop of the alley under all that metal in my minds eye.

I tried not to think about that and peered upwards, seeing nothing above but the tiny diamond shaped design of the plates above me. It felt as if I climbed those stairs forever, and the wind close to the top became ferocious. Robust gusts pulled at the metal brackets as they creaked and groaned. I had the distinct impression the wind was eventually going to tear it away from the wall.

I got off the swaying structure, examining the immediate area. There were large black pipes up here, used for ventilation. Large metal boxes caged giant fans, propelled by loud motors. There was a building up here as well, probably the top of the stairwell or a room for elevator maintenance. I squinted my eyes, straining to see further into the darkness and causing another flash of pain in my head. Why was it so dark up here? The damn gale was wild up here, playing a haunting tune as it whipped through the metal.

Walking towards the concrete building ahead of me, I got the feeling that I was being watched. I stopped and scanned the darkness, spending a bit more time on each shadow, looking for any details I had missed. The sense seemed to grow more intense as the seconds passed. I strained my ears, hearing only the yowls of the wind whipping through metal. I pulled my gun out, proceeding cautiously past a set of large, interconnected pipes on the left. The water rushing through them caused them to shake mildly, humming rising from them, blending with the whirring fans in a cacophony of sound.

There was another set of tubes identical to the first, with about a four feet gap in between them that seemed to trap the night. The building I headed towards was just on the other side of the second set of water ducts. I was willing to bet Shayla had entered it in order to use the stairs or elevator or whatever to escape to the ground level. I quickened my pace, unwilling to let he get away from me. Just as I stepped past the ducts, the cold barrel of a pistol pushed roughly onto the back of my skull.

"Drop that gun and kick it away from you." She commanded.

"Son of a bitch." I obeyed, dropping the weapon, I kicked it away from us as she had ordered. "I can't believe I let you sneak up on me like that."

"Me either. You're getting rusty, Isaiah. Now get moving." She shoved me forward, the revolver pressing into the tender part of my skull.

"Ow, where do you want me to go, girl?" I motioned around us, dramatically.

"Around this corner, there's a door that leads to the emergency stairs. When we get there, you'll open it. And then well use them to leave."

I had the intense desire to mimic her last sentence back to her, but I knew she would pistol whip me. I already had a nasty headache and had no desire to make it worse. Somehow, I was going to have to figure out how to turn myself to face her. And do that without getting shot, so I could disarm her. I moved around the corner of the building, spotting the steel door with a single small window. Light from the stairwell behind it lit up the red lettering that indicated it was the emergency exit.

"You think it's going to open from this side, Crowstrike? Might be locked." I mused.

"We'll find out, Flatstrider. Get over there." She ordered.

"So, were just going to leave my gun up here?"

I attempted to turn to look at her, but she pushed me savagely. I lost my balance and crashed face first into the steel frame of the door. My left knee impacted with the concrete floor, while my right knuckles scraped across the lower metal plate on the door, tearing the skin open.

"Don't try that shit again. And yeah. Up here is a good place for it. You don't need it." She snapped.

"Bitch." I groaned, holding my bleeding hand by the wrist as I straightened out, removing pressure from my aching knee cap.

"See if its open, Flatstrider." She demanded impatiently.

I reached up to the silver handle, turning the knob. The door opened easily and swung into a well-lit, concrete landing. I used the frame of the door to help pull myself up. I wasn't sure how well I was going to be able to walk after falling. Taking a few tentative steps, I tested the bones to see if they would still hold my weight.

"Stop screwing around." She growled.

Flashing her a nasty look, I hobbled into the stairwell. Stopping to lean against a large red box that housed a coiled firehose, I looked at her anxiously as she stood in the doorway, wearing a gloomy expression on her delicate face.

She held the pistol level with my forehead, never taking her eyes off me as she entered the passageway. Wearing a simple wine-red cocktail dress, she had her brown wavy hair pulled up on the right. It was an elegant style, held in place by a large red rose. Her dark red heels rang out with each foot fall. She stalked into the enclosure like a large predatory cat.

"Planning on meeting someone special?" I mocked, flashing her a winsome smile.

"Shut up, Isaiah. How did you find me?"

"It's me, Shayla. No one can hide from me. I've got eyes everywhere." I winked at her. "Where is the Glass, Shayla?"

"I've already sold the data. You're too late..."

"No, you didn't. Don't lie to me." I interrupted her.

Her large eyes narrowed; the corner of her lip curled into a scowl. "Ok. So? What do you want, Flatstrider?"

"I need that Data Glass, Shayla. If you give it to me, I'll help you disappear. They will never find you."

"You're so full of shit." She accused. "You probably have a team waiting to arrest me. Your goons will never get that glass."

"Shayla, I came here alone, to talk to you. Don't you trust me at all?"

"Hell no I don't! You've got to be the most manipulative person I've ever met. Everything you say is a lie." She stopped, scrutinizing me.

"Lieutenant Crowstrike, you are guilty of treason. Do you understand what that means? Do you really get it?" I pointed my finger at her. "IF they don't publicly torture and execute you, you'll spend the rest of your life in Stagpoint prison. I mean, I'm sure your tough enough to handle that life, its whatever, right? Food deprivation, rape, sound torture-those are but a few of the places' main attractions. But you can make this really easy on yourself. Give me the Glass, and I'll give you a new life. I'll bury any trace of you. Please Shayla." I pleaded.

She began to tremble with the strain of holding me hostage for so long. Her eyes became a heated crimson, she looked as if she were about to cry. The corners of her mouth dipped down, shaking slightly.

I held my hand out towards her. "Please, Shayla. We can help each other."

Her arm fell to her side, and she looked fragile in that moment of defeat. I felt the desire to hug her, but a quick movement on my part could surprise her. She was still armed, and very likely to kill me if I act stupid.

"Promise me. Promise me you won't betray me." She whispered.

"I promise I will help you. I still love you, Shayla. That's why I came alone. I don't want to watch you die. My feelings for you never changed." I told her, truthfully.

She took a small step toward me. "Isaiah..."

I continued to hold my hand out towards her, allowing her to approach me. My muscles clenched as I readied myself to take that weapon from her. Approaching me, I saw a tear slide gradually down her left cheek. Just a few more seconds, I told myself. Our eyes met, and I felt a sliver of panic as they bore into my soul.

I used every ounce of speed that I possessed to leap forward, getting a tight hold of her wrists. Ripping her forwards, off her feet, I threw her into the wall behind us. Squealing, she slammed the sharp point of her high heeled pump down on the laces on top of my boot, attempting to break the bones there. Howling in pain, I did not release her.

She tried to knee me in the groin, but I managed to get my leg up in time to block her. I continued to crush her wrist until she shouted out, the gun clattering to the ground beneath us. I pinned her there, holding her arms above her head. She kicked me in my kneecap, hard. It buckled, causing me to fall, my body trapping her against the wall. Struggling to keep a hold on her with one hand, I seized her face by the lower chin, forcing her to look at me.

"Stop it, Shayla!" I shouted into her face.

"You bastard!" She spit at me. "You're a snake, always have been. I can't believe I trusted you!"

"I wasn't lying. I meant everything I said. I just want to help you, but you're not letting me." I could feel her sticky spittle dripping down my nose.

"This isn't helping me, you dumb prick!" She kicked me again, the sharp point of the shoe digging into my shin.

Gritting my teeth to suppress my scream, I forced her face back towards me, looking deep into her eyes. They were a pale amethyst with ice blue flecks throughout the pupil, a ringer of those with Shattered Islands heritage. Memories flooded back, the many warm nights I stroked her hair, staring into those magnificent eyes. I remembered the time her mother chased me from the house, beating me with her broom while I ran down the street. I remembered her kiss, silky and sweet; I found myself wondering if was as nice as it was back then.

My lips were on hers before I was even aware of what I was doing, my hand dropping from her chin to her throat. She stiffened as the initial shock rolled through her frame. After a few moments I felt her relax, returning my embrace. My fingers closed lightly around the warm flesh of her neck, her lips parting eagerly as her tongue twined with mine.

"I...it's been a while. I forgot what you taste like, Isaiah." She whispered, breathlessly.

"Yeah? What do I taste like?"

"Sex, and spice." A deep scarlet flushed across her cheeks.

I met her lips again, exploring every inch of her that I could reach. I held her so long that the muscles in my mouth began to ache. Finally, I pulled back from her as a long, sticky string of saliva hung suspended between us. Licking my lips pointedly, I gave her neck a gentle squeeze.