Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (21 page)

Charlie spent the last hour and a half of his workday alternating between watching the list and glancing at the door. At any moment, he expected Jennings to enter and deliver the news of his termination, or worse, Samantha’s death. In truth though, he suspected by now that nothing would happen until the deadline had passed.

As five o’clock came and went, it felt anticlimactic. There was no security team of armed men or alarms blaring through the central audio system. The list stared at him, daring his next move. Charlie stood and walked to the window. The streets below remained filled with the steady rumble of vehicles. What had he expected? Samantha would be there soon, and then they might finally be able to get it sorted. He hoped Fox would come down so they might negotiate a fair outcome. Jennings too. He could stop creeping around the hallways.

At five thirty, Samantha opened the doors and entered the office. Her silky brown hair danced above her shoulders in an even cut, her slashing green eyes regarded him. She wore a smart brown suit that hugged her lean figure.

Charlie leapt off his seat and ran towards her. She dropped a bag on the ground and braced herself. “Oh Jesus, Sam, it’s good to see you.” She gave a cautious smile as he held out his arms. He couldn’t remember
needing
to hold her so much. He thought of the stress he’d battled since Monday, and how strong he’d had to be. But he’d made it. She was alive. Even if he lost his job and they had no money, they had each other.

“Where’s your assistant?” Samantha asked, pulling back.

“I sent her home. She wasn’t feeling well.” He was glad Tabby had left promptly. He didn’t want her around for what might happen. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

She smiled. “Of course I am.”

Charlie hugged her again, enjoying the swell of her breasts on his lower chest. It felt good. Jesus, he
missed
her. A sensation of relief settled over him. They would face the company’s wrath together. He would have to make up a story for his anxiety, although wished he might tell her everything.

A sharp pain stung his buttock. He grunted. Samantha clung to him, pulling Charlie close. The pain continued. He broke their embrace. “What was that?” he asked, looking behind.

Samantha walked her slender figure towards the desk. Charlie saw an object in her hand that appeared to be a needle. “I injected you,” she said, as though she had ordered him a coffee.

Charlie screwed up his face. “Huh?” At first, it didn’t register.
I injected you.
He felt detached from his body. He staggered backwards, finding his feet, and swallowed; his throat dry. Suddenly he needed to get out for some air. He’d been in the office too long. “I… need.” He clutched his tie and loosened the knot. It wouldn’t give; he yanked it, hurting the back of his neck. “I need some air.”

“Don’t bother.”

Charlie cupped his face. It felt hot.
Get a grip.
“What are you talking about?”

“I injected you with a new drug we’ve been working on. An improvement on HKX-5501.”

Charlie’s body stiffened. His left leg lost strength and he tottered. He put a hand out and fell forward, catching the top of the chair. “What?”
Had she said HKX-5501?

“The old design. We made it better.”

Charlie felt his stomach drop. He should have had more questions, but he didn’t need answers. In a second, everything was clear. He knew what HKX did. In a flash, the events of the last five days became clear. “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

Samantha sat in one of the armchairs. “Believe it,” she said, with a frosty glare.

He ground his jaw. Think.
Think
.
THINK!
But the inevitable wrapped him in an invisible cloak of acceptance. He should have known. The Company was ruthless. He had broken the rules. “How long?”

Her expression stiffened. “Ten minutes. You won’t make it out of the building.”

She was right. They might have somebody waiting in the hallway to prevent him leaving the office. HKX was designed to cause a heart attack. It would clog his arteries and stop his heart. All the blacklisted items Charlie consumed would make it appear he had suffered the attack due to a perverse diet.

“You’re overweight, Charlie. People will link the two.”

“But a heart attack? It’s so early century.”

“And so are you. You love the
old days
. You’re always spouting off about what people did early in the century. You have a fridge full of beer. Who drinks beer now?”

“How long have you worked for the Company?”

“Long enough.”

“So all those times you were away, or held up, you… were… working for Fox?”

She tipped her head sideways. “Jennings, actually.”

Charlie chuckled, suppressing nausea. He felt sicker than he could ever remember. There was some comfort that he had told Tabby and given her the files. “Would you believe how much I busted my ass to have your name taken off the list? How much I stressed about sending you to your death?”

“I know.”

“
You know?
I did this for you, Samantha. We’re married.
I love you
. That’s why I couldn’t do it.”

“We all get played, Charlie. Sooner or later. We were all warned in the beginning that we’d have to pay a price.”

“If the company wanted me dead, Samantha, why not just kill me?”

“This… fits in with our plans.

“But they’ll know!”

“No. They’ll think you died of natural causes.
”

Charlie felt the sting of humiliation.
I’m a fool,
he thought. His ignorance had been monumental. “Can I just leave? Return to a normal life?”

Samantha laughed. “Don’t be stupid. Have you ever heard of anybody leaving? Besides, this is only a little about you.”

Charlie felt sweat on his forehead and a mild tightness in his chest. He shifted in his seat, swallowing; the need for water sudden. “Where’s the antidote?”

“In a safe place… for now. What did you do with the files?”

They don’t know.
Tabby was clear for now. That mattered. If there was one thread of good in all of this, it was Tabby. If he told Samantha, would she give up the antidote? Fifteen minutes ago, he might have thought so. “Files? Not sure.”

“You want to do that? There still a chance—”

“
Rubbish
. There’s no chance.” Charlie wiped a forearm across his perspiring brow. “Don’t bullshit me now.” Samantha nodded, and stood. Charlie sensed a shortness of breath. The pressure in his chest had grown. “Tell me one thing.” She raised her eyebrows. “Was it ever… did you ever love me?”

Samantha walked to the door. With one hand, she pulled it open, and then turned back to him. In that moment, as Charlie felt the first pains in his arm and shoulder. He searched for the women with whom he had fallen in love.

“Our marriage was a setup, Charlie. I was planted by the company to watch you, make sure you succeeded.”

Charlie gritted his teeth as the pain spread from his chest, as though someone was sitting on him. This was it. He felt an invisible fist tightening around his heart. He tried to speak, but his breath had dissolved. He sensed his world ending, but he wouldn’t go out like this. “Fuck… you…”

Tabby stood outside the door to her apartment, hand poised over the scanning plate. It was too late to go back now. She shouldn’t have left him, should have stayed for support. But he’d insisted she leave, and at the time, she felt too bemused to try and change his mind. She’d resisted the urge to call to make sure he was okay, but she worried doing that might alert management to her involvement.

Why had she accepted the drive? Possessing restricted company files would land her in serious trouble. She contemplated hiding it in her car or elsewhere in the apartment building in case they discovered he had given it to her and tracked it down. But she couldn’t part with it. Charlie had entrusted the information to her, and now it had stirred a sleepy curiosity. She wanted, no
needed,
to know more about the company. What had Charlie meant?
This company isn’t what you think it is. Janefield is not an investment bank. We do other things though. Terrible things.
Those words filled her with a cold fear. And the police were investigating the deaths of Dominic Curwood and Bryce Adler. Something strange was going on.

Standing outside the apartment all night would solve nothing though. She laid her hand against the sensor plate on the wall, and the door slid open. She stepped one high-heeled foot inside, glancing back into the spacious hallway, unable to shake the sensation she’d been followed.
Don’t be paranoid.

She called for the lights as the door closed. Stella’s motherly female voice welcomed her home, and a pre-programmed sequence illuminated the entry, hallway, and living room beyond. Stella appeared as an automated vacuum moved from side to side over the carpeted floor in silence.

Tabby hurried down the passageway to the kitchen where she slid her work bag onto the bench. Although it was late, Stella offered her choice of beverage, and Tabby agreed on a strong coffee. She checked her phone again as the ‘Bot voiced a command into a faded stainless steel coffee machine her parents had once received as a wedding present. As the grinder whirred, Tabby swiped and poked her way into the message screen on the fridge door. Empty. She thought Charlie might have sent a personal message to let her know he was okay. A heavy, sickly feeling churned her stomach.

Waiting by the bench, she considered the situation, wishing she didn’t feel so much investment. Most of her friends complained about their bosses, and rushed to be away from them at the conclusion of the week, but Tabby often missed Charlie’s cheerful demeanor. But what did she really know about him? Following her start with Janefield, Tabby’s inquisitive nature had driven her to seek information about her new boss. In college, her research skills had been legendary, but, despite her attempts to uncover details of his activities, Charlie’s persona remained a shadow. Pages of his high school and college exploits, but beyond that, aside from the standard entry in business directories, he didn’t exist. She’d felt an undercurrent of strangeness at the time, but assumed he valued his privacy. Their discussions had revealed only a little more, despite her attempts to draw extra information from him. She knew of his parents, who’d been married a long time, but he never mentioned other family. His wife had never visited the office. Charlie spoke of her often, though Tabby suspected minor issues with the relationship. In truth, she didn’t know too much about him.

What she did know was that he had always treated her fairly, showed his appreciation, and rewarded her beyond reason. He listened, asked questions about her life, and took a genuine interest in her circumstances. She adored him and wanted him to be happy. Most importantly, she trusted him. If he told her something, she believed it.

And that was why his behavior was so strange.
We do other things. Terrible things.
If he said those words, they must be true. But what did terrible things include? Breaking the law? She’d heard about companies going bad from time to time on the news, but never imagined she’d be part of it.
Her organization,
the one in which she had proudly proclaimed her commitment to family and friends. This was to be her career in a reputable company, climbing the ladder over many years. They weren’t reputable though, at least not according to Charlie, and from that drive he had given her, she would learn the truth. Tabby had never witnessed anything inappropriate. Had Charlie have made it up? She remembered his torment as he had told her.
He
believed it was true, and therefore she did.

She reached into her bra and removed the drive. It was all on there. What exactly though? Secrets? Lies? That was to be determined.

She checked her watch phone again and saw it was six-thirty. Surely, the issue had been resolved by now. Why hadn’t he called?
He should have called.
Something wasn’t right.

Turning the device between her fingers, Tabby decided she couldn’t wait. She sat in the chair at the computer desk, but as she activated the computer, the soft tone of an incoming call to her implant sounded. It was her father, and she stated her answer phrase with a sense of comfort. She wouldn’t be able to tell him anything, but his need for her support would placate her, as it always did. Fleetingly, she derided herself for not being stronger.

“Dad?” she said, slipping the drive into her pocket with the other hand.

Her father’s dreary image appeared as a hologram a foot above the watch face. At time she felt his needs draining, but now, it took her focus off Charlie. His gritty voice came through as if he was standing in the kitchen. “Hello, Tabby.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Just wanted to know how you were and if you’ve reported the incident at the cemetery the other night.”

“No.”

“Why not?

“Well, what really happened? I think it might have been a case of mistaken identity.”

He grumbled something. “I can have some people I know look into it if you like.”

“No, Dad. Please just let it go. How’s the back? When are you due for surgery?”

He grunted. “A couple of weeks. Had to call in some favors.”

“That’s okay. It’s been this long now, I’m sure you can manage a little longer. What about the trial?”

“Nothing.”

Her mind wandered. She thought of Charlie again, wondering if he had gotten home safely. She would call him after seven. She felt certain he’d have left the office by then. Tabby made let the conversation drift, and then ended it with a promise she would talk to him soon. Her father’s head disappeared, and she checked for a missed call or message, but the watch face was blank.
Wait until seven,
she promised herself.

A knock at the door drew her attention. She touched an icon on the screen of the refrigerator door and a camera appeared, showing the scene outside.
Scott.
What was he doing there? She had to admit that since their break up, she had rarely thought about him, having spent so much time prior to it debating her actions. Could she leave him out there? No. They’d spent five years together. Tabby rotated the camera slightly, trying to gauge whether he was drunk, but she couldn’t tell.

She opened the door and found him leaning against the wall, his face hiding in the shadows. He staggered towards her, messy dark hair slick with booze, eyes bloodshot and drowsy. A flap of dirty white shirt hung low on one side, exposing the soft, flabby belly of his bulky frame. A sense of foreboding engulfed her.
He’s using again.
The last time he’d come home in such a state, things had almost gotten out of hand.

“Tabby?”

“Jesus, Scott. What are you doing here? Have you been using?”

“Can we,”—he hiccupped—“talk? Just for a minute.”

“Now’s really not the best time.”

“Please?” His voice was pleading. Hopeful.

“Scott, you know what happened last time you were like this. Go home. Sleep it off. Come—”

“I
don’t
have a home. I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid if I go back out there. Keep drinking, or… worse.”

“Scott.”

“Please. Just let me in. You can help me. Only for a minute.”

She supposed he was being partially responsible if he was trying to avoid more alcohol or drugs. That counted for something. “Okay. Just for a minute.”

She widened the door and led him down the hallway, regretting her decision more with every step. Maybe that was why they had remained together so long; Tabby had a weakness for his vulnerability; perhaps, she thought spontaneously, similar to that of her father.

They reached the living room and Tabby sat on the far end of the sofa. Scott joined her on the opposite side. She couldn’t help staring at him, sizing up the magnitude of his condition.

“What?” he grunted.

“Do you want something to drink?” His eyes lit up. “Water or soft drink.” He nodded.

She watched him as she went into the kitchen and took a cup from the cupboard. His blazing, unfocused eyes twitched as he glanced away. His left hand scratched at the place on his arm where his right had once joined, now attached to a bionic limb her father had arranged through a doctor friend. Scott would never have been able to afford it. He was in bad shape, had probably left work early and spent the last few hours with his friends drinking in some dingy bar and hiding from the world.

“Don’t look at me
like that,
”
he said in a raspy voice.

Tabby sat on the sofa and handed him the water. He sipped, eyeing her over the rim of the container. He had promised her that he would stop. She had forecast this, even when he had tried to overvalue the meaning by swearing on his mother’s name. Pity and disgust rose in her. She fought to repress a stinging remark.

Technically, she should report him for breaking the law, and she would be in trouble for failing to do so if caught. The government had outlawed all drugs lacking medical qualities after fighting a lopsided battle for decades to treat narcotic addiction. There were no more excuses. Doctors had designed an implant device that turned off the brain’s dependence. It wasn’t compulsory though, and Scott, despite a history of family drug use, refused to have it fitted.

In that moment, she hated him for his weakness. “When we separated, you
promised
to stop using.
Promised it was the wakeup call you needed to fix your life.”

He put the cup on the table with a shaking hand. “I tried. I really did. I just…” he scratched at his arm again. “I can’t do it without you.”

Tabby left the sofa and walked to the kitchen bench. “Yes, you can, Scott. And you have to. We’re not together anymore. This kind of support—you coming over here when you’re struggling… I’m sorry, but it can’t continue.”

Scott stood and shuffled towards the kitchen, peering at the ground. Tabby felt a moment of pity for him, knowing the terrible regret he always felt when sober. He would chase her for comfort now, a hug, or kiss, but it was the last thing she wanted, all the empathy she had once possessed had been eroded by his failures.

As he reached the bench, Scott shot his right hand out and caught her by the neck. The synthetic skin of his fingers clasped around her throat, and she felt the cold lifelessness beneath. At first, she was dumbstruck, unable to react, as though dreaming. He had only ever threatened to strike her, knowing her martial art competence. Then her training took over, thrusting one arm up and outward in a defensive move, but it struck his hand, and she winced at the titanium appendage.

“Shut your mouth.”

Tabby sucked for air. His grip tightened, and her head filled with pressure. He shoved her back against the wall, and her skull hit the plaster, the scene dancing before her.

She stepped forward and threw a palm strike around his extended arm towards his neck. Her stiff hand struck the soft flesh of his Adam’s apple, and he stumbled back, gurgling. She paused, offering him the chance to retreat. Instead, he had attacked. She danced forward, snapping a flurry of moderate front kicks. The first struck him in the gut and he grunted; the second swiped his jaw line. The third swished air, but the fourth clipped his chin. He cried out above the audible click of his jaw and fell onto one knee.

She halted and rubbed her throat, clearing it to relieve the uncomfortable sensation. To her surprise, he came at her again, red faced, growling, fists barreled and primed.

Tabitha leapt forward on the balls of her feet, thrusting out at his face with her right fist. Scott raised a feeble arm, but her knuckle struck his right cheek beneath his eye. She followed it with her left, faster, his soft nose bunching under the power from her hips. His head rocked rearwards. Tabitha shot back, opening the gap between them; her right leg shot up and around, lifting high towards the left side of his face. The top of her foot connected with the side of his head near the ear, making a hard slapping sound. He spun, losing balance. She drew again and repeated the kick, striking him at the back of the skull.

Scott moaned and crumpled to the floor with a thump, one hand clasping his face.

Tabby stood ready, a gentle calmness washing over her. She had trained all those years to achieve this and was again pleased at her ability to call upon it when needed. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He tried to roll over. “Leave, now, before I call the police.”