I’m deep in thought when Bill gets back, sliding through the door with a bag of greasy takeout. He looks me over, peering behind me into the darkness, probably trying to see if Wells is still alive. He is. For now.
“You okay?” Bill asks, handing me a styrofoam container.
I nod, sitting back on my heels and digging in.
“He talked,” I reply, slurping noodles.
“Who is it?”
“The perp from last week?”
I nod, taking another bite. Bill chews thoughtfully, putting together the pieces.
“Viracon?” he asks.
“Seems like. He’s something to them. Enough that they want me out of the way.”
“Why don’t I have a contract?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“It’s not a contest, Bill. I put together the case and have vidfeed evidence of the murder. If I disappear, the recording goes with me. They know it’s too risky to download to the police servers. Taking me out means Takeshi walks.”
Bill swears, shaking his head and opening a beer. He hands it to me and cracks a second. We finish eating in silence, both lost in thought. I take a container to Wells, shutting down his leg with a targeted electromagnetic pulse before waking him. He regards me frostily, eyes narrowed.
I shake my head and take a bite. I leave him there to clumsily eat with his remaining hand. Bill motions me outside, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the door.
“What’s the plan, Jaz?”
I sigh, leaning against the rusty metal.
“We need Takeshi,” I tell him.
He nods, taking another drag before replying.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I figured that. Spill it.”
“I need you to distract Legion while I break Takeshi out.”
“Well… I’m going to need to cover my tracks.”
“Cover your… Shit. How many need to be unlocked?”
“I figure at least 4 around him to make it look like an accident.”
He flicks his cigarette into the gravel, running a hand through his hair.
“Who are we looking at?” he finally asks.
“Two I don’t know, Mulheed, and Koshak.”
He’s quiet for a minute, running the numbers, figuring out how much collateral we’re talking about with these four back on the street.
“What’s your estimate?” he asks.
“None are corps, couple drug runners. I figure it will take three days for them to be back, assuming the boys do their job right without us around.”
Bill nods, lighting up another cigarette.
“I can live with that,” he says.
“We’ll hit at shift change tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. Car’s open,” he replies. “Get some sleep. I’ll watch Wells.”
I dare a half smile and head to the car. There’s a pillow and blanket in the back seat. Typical Bill, covering all his bases. I lay in the dark, sleep refusing to come, my mind instead finding every part of the plan that could go wrong. I must have drifted off since the next thing I know Bill is knocking on the window.
I shake the sleep from my eyes and climb out of the car. My ocular implant puts the time at 6:25. I stretch, clapping Bill on the shoulder and heading inside. Wells is awake, warily watching me as I walk toward him.
“It’s your lucky day,” I tell him, pressing a tracer tag to his collar. “Your leg’s shot, but with this little guy, someone should be by in a couple days. You’re going to live, Wells, and assuming I live, that’s a pretty generous thing.”
He doesn’t say anything, looking away. I leave him there, heading back to the car. Time to go to work.