“Detriment, how?” Dhata said.

  “You’re defending a race of people who transcends you in every way. Doesn’t extinction worry you, or a rise of the so-called machines? It’s on all of your social media, your news stations and billboards. The synths will bring about the end of humanity. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  “Your sarcasm is boring me, Alex, though I appreciate your attempt at a joke. I think that we can help each other out if you can clue me in on where I can get a hold of a bounty hunter.”

  “This girl that you’re after, do you have a picture or vid?” she said.

  Dhata motioned her over, then synced his implant to hers, moving over the surveillance file along with photos of the four girls.

  “The short one with the cotton candy hair,” Alex said. “I know her, and she goes by Kira. She’s a trap for synth girls; they’ve pulled a few right from here. Told that bitch if I saw her face again, I’d carve my initials in her throat. Her real name is Melissa. She turns tricks in a diner on Dale Mabry.”

  “You sure?” Dhata said, and Alex nodded at him.

  “Be careful, Dhata. I know the humes she works for, and they will be a lot more than that big gun of yours can handle.”

  “What humes? Are they a gang?” Dhata said.

  “If I knew, I’d have already told you,” she said.

  “Alright, Alex, what’s the address?” Dhata said. “Gang or not, I don’t care, I need to get some answers.”

  ‡Chapter 5‡

  Pink-Haired Mary

  The drive to Dale Mabry was short and uneventful, and Dhata hoped that the visit to this bar wouldn’t be the same. He would check in on this Mary, start some conversation, and then ease himself into the question about the kidnappers. If she was working for them, she would be hesitant to talk, not unless he had the sort of leverage that would keep her safe from retaliation. The leverage he planned to use was Aaron. He could get her a new employer, one who would guarantee her safety, and he could get the information he needed to look for Rebecca and her captors.

  When he pulled up to Akari’s Café, Dhata wasn’t sure if he was in the right place. It looked like a warehouse, but the signage was there, large kanji writing that dimmed at random times as the power surged through the bulbs.

  He walked up to the large double doors and pushed them open, and what he saw took him by surprise. The place was classy, and quite a different experience than one would have expected in that neighborhood. It looked like the sort of trendy Japanese eatery that you would find in the recesses of North Tampa, not Dale Mabry.

  There were wooden panels on the walls, and large, original paintings—acrylics from what he could tell—and there was a second floor balcony with just enough room for tiny, two-people tables and more artwork. A bar dominated the side of the diner where he entered, with backless bar stools, and a large counter that had no less than 24 cabinets.

  The person behind it was an attractive synth in an apron scattered in Sakura blossoms. The patrons, on the other hand, looked like the rich privileged children of Tampa’s elite. He was a dirty anomaly that had floated in, and they all gave him probing looks as if they wondered who he was there to arrest.

  “Goodnight, officer,” someone remarked, and he nodded to them, annoyed. Am I cursed to look like a John forever? he wondered, then took a seat and looked around.

  “Hello, sir, how may I serve you,” said the waiter, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

  Dhata swiped his hand over the menu screen on the table, and a variety of attractive dishes and drinks popped up through the display, augmented solid so that he could get a good idea on what to choose. He scrolled through them and fought against the want to order alcohol. “What’s the heart dish at the end here?” he said, when he happened upon the icon of a cartoon heart laying on top of a saucer.

  The waiter cleared his throat, looked around nervously, and smiled. “Well, here at Akari’s we offer food as well as pleasure sir. Though the pleasure is augmented, nothing real, we have a license—”

  “Dammit man, I’m not a John. Can you explain it to me like I’m a normal, hungry citizen? Plus, you’re not fooling anyone with that augmented bull. I can tell a Mary when I see one, and the synth at the bar ain’t just here for drinks,” Dhata said.

  He sighed and jabbed a finger at the Jasmine tea, then chose a variety of dishes and sent the nervous waiter on his way. The music was traditional and he found it soothing, and by the time his food came he was much more relaxed. He noticed that the patrons were no longer staring and seemed to be in their groove. They were singing, dancing and chatting with one another, and it allowed him to let his guard down and truly enjoy the atmosphere.

  As he ate, he looked through the menu until he found information on when Akari’s closed. They were open until 1:00 a.m., which struck him as odd for a restaurant. As time went on more people came and went, but none of them seemed to notice him. When he was finished eating, he ordered coffee, and spiked it with Bailey’s to take the edge off.

  It was 10:00 p.m. and he was no longer tired. He wondered if it was due to the coffee or what seemed to be a chemical in the air. He began humming along to the songs, and enjoyed the place, though he knew that he was acting out of character. Are there stims in the vents here? he began to wonder, though he felt too good to object.

  Time seemed to fly by, and before he knew it there were people at his table. Two women: one, the pink-haired sprite who was a bit too close for it to be casual, and the other a tall, grinning brunette who was talking to him as if she knew him. He wondered where the time had gone and when exactly they had sat down at the table.

  “Am I losing my mind?” he said, not realizing that he’d said it out loud.

  “I don’t know, are you?” said the pink-haired girl. “Not used to the Sakura Bliss are you, sweetheart? Oh my god, Brooke, it’s his first time here. I think he’s high!” she squealed, and they both began to laugh.

  This is stupid. I need to get out of here, he thought. “Where yah goin’, hun?” said the pink-haired woman, whose intense blue eyes gave her an edge of danger that he recognized. He still couldn’t recall when she’d joined him at the table.

  “Restroom,” he managed. “It is—”

  “Upstairs. I’ll take you,” said the tall brunette. She had long bangs that almost covered her violet eyes, and her outfit was comprised of a bra with harem pants and sandals. She was fetching, but he knew deep down what was happening … they recognized him as a law officer, and he was about to be set up. The memory loss from the stims was troubling enough, but now his life might actually be in danger.

  “The two of you are synths,” he said, and their laughter ceased immediately. “You’re enhanced so it’s hard to tell, but I know what you are. You don’t have to worry; I’m probably the only guest here who knows, and your secret is safe with me,” he said, showing them The Unsung badge.

  “What do you want, Detective?” the brunette said, no longer laughing.

  “Answers,” he said, and a sly smile crossed his lips. “I’ll pay, of course, but not for the two of you. I’m only interested in talking to miss pretty in pink.”

  “Who sent you?” pressed the brunette, her eyes slatted with distrust.

  “Hey!” Dhata said. “That’s enough with the questions. Go bother someone else while I talk to your friend here. I showed you my credentials so you know where I stand. That’s all you need to know, alright? Now go before I lose my patience.”

  He reached for a glass of water and knocked it back quickly. The stim in the air was making his head swim and he could feel his grip on the world loosening with every minute.

  “So, you’re Unsung?” said the pink-haired girl, who seemed to relax when the other was gone.

  Dhata looked her over, confused by her style. She looked like something from an animated film. “I work with them, but I’m human. You can tell, can’t you? Most synths know immediately.”

  “Of course I can tell, but you have that badge so I was beginning to doubt my instincts. So, let’s get down to it, Detective. It’s obvious you’re here for me. What have I done to be on your naughty list, and what can I do to get off it?”

  Dhata put his head in his hands. The room was spinning slightly, and he didn’t want to succumb to whatever it was that was in the air. “Why that look?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Why the hair and the clothes? I’m looking at your features, and you’re obviously an adult. Why enhance yourself to be a kid? Actually, you don’t have to answer that … I’ve heard of these places.” He shook his head. “I can only imagine your clientele.”

  “So, you came in here to find me to judge, or did you want to get a date?” she said.

  Dhata took her left hand and turned it palm up, then slid his forefinger down the center, leaving a UCC chip on her wrist.

  “That’s a lot of money,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I want to know who turned you out, and where I can find—”

  She stood up quickly but he pulled her down, looking to see if he was attracting too much attention. “Let me go or I scream, and the bouncers will come. I’ll keep this chip and you will lose all of those pretty white teeth,” she said.

  “Scream and you won’t like it,” he said, placing his clasped hands on the table. “How about you play nice and give me the info on the bastards that made you? Look, I know how it is; I’ve known a lot of girls in the life. We’ll give you protection until I put them away. What’s your name, by the way? If you told me I forgot. Since we’re going to be friends for a bit, I should at least know what to call you.”

  “The name’s Kira, but my clients call me ‘Kira Doll’,” she said.

  “Kira Doll? Isn’t that a bit rude, calling a synth a doll?” he said.

  “They’re paying me to do way worse than call me names, Detective—”

  “Dhata, my name is Dhata,” he said. “I’m looking for a friend of yours. Her name is Rebecca.”

  Kira’s eyes went wide, and she looked around frantically, then reached for her drink and knocked it back. She glanced over to the bar and then back at him. “You live near here?” she said, and he shook his head. Then she leaned in closely and cleared her throat. “Don’t say that name again. Do you know who owns this place?” she said, speaking so low that he could barely hear.

  “No clue,” he said, feeling goosebumps on his skin from what he assumed were the chemicals in the air.

  She stuck her finger in his plate and pushed his leftovers to the side, then drew a kanji symbol that he recognized. After a few seconds passed she quickly covered it with food. Dhata sat back and cursed, then rubbed his head. The symbol that he saw was that of the Cat Skinner gang. He had history with that group, and it was a dark painful memory, painful enough to make him look around to see if he recognized any of them.

  Kira slid her chair next to him and placed an arm around his neck, pulling him in close enough for her lips to brush his cheek. “They record everything in here,” she said, “so I cannot tell you much. Look into them and you will find out where they took Becca and what they plan to do to her. Now hug me and act interested or I’ll get in trouble, okay?”

  Yeah and you helped set her up, he thought, fighting the urge to call her out. But instead he complied and held her close. “I can take you out of here,” he whispered. “I have a friend who can protect you.”

  “It’s not so easy, Dhata,” she said, “but I thank you for saying that. When the music stops, you go, okay? You go and find my friend. We cannot say no to them, you must understand, but I do hope you catch them before it’s too late.”

  0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

  After leaving Akari’s, Dhata went back to his car and drove back out towards Synth City. He parked in front of the building and noticed for the first time that it was riddled with burn marks and bullet holes. He wondered if the Skinners were responsible; it would explain why Alex wouldn’t open the door before.

  He checked the time on the Buick’s dash and it read 1:30 a.m. How is it this late, he thought. The stims must’ve slowed time down in my brain. The parking lot was still filled with cars outside of the bar, and with it being past curfew, Dhata wondered how it was that they hadn’t been raided.

  Something felt lodged in his throat and he tried to clear it with a cough, but it felt as if he had a mouth full of cotton. “Freaking stims,” he said. He opened the Buick’s console, pulled out a bottle of water and drank from it, hoping that it would clear his throat. It did the trick but he was starving; it felt as if he hadn’t eaten all day. He fumbled around in the console for a protein supplement, and when he found it he scarfed it down, then popped open another bottle of water to drink.

  The neon light of the Synth City sign illuminated the parking lot, and Dhata sat there, nerves numb, thinking about the Cat Skinners. It made sense that they were behind the kidnapping, being that their primary source of income was synthetic flesh. They were drivers of vice for human buyers, and they did not see the synth people as sentient beings. They were also the most feared gang in Florida, and Dhata had had a run-in with them in the past.

  It was when he was investigating a murder in Orlando. They had knocked him out, drugged him, and threw him out on the streets. A few hours after that Lur’s dad got a hold of him, and that was when he was shipped off to Cuba to undergo a weekend of torture and interrogation. His skin felt cold when the memory came over him, and a mixture of anger and fear came next.

  He would have to go back and face them again. It was not something he was looking forward to, but first he needed to think and process it all. He didn’t know whether or not he could trust the girl, Kira.

  When he’d dated Candace, she was always afraid of bounty hunters. Synths were kidnapped randomly; it was the reality they lived with. The rich and powerful were safe, but the poor were prime targets. Then you had the human system which made it impossible for synths to make good UCCs. Only a few humans cared about this cycle of doom, and the bounty hunters were practically allowed to operate unchecked.

  Dhata hated it. No crime should be free to exploit, not when there was a police department funded by the citizens. Just because the general human population cared so little about synths did not mean that it should be okay for them to be kidnapped without investigation.

  It was becoming hard for him not to make it personal—especially now that the Skinners were involved. Empathy was in short order these days, and no one important did anything to change it. He felt deep down that all the synths had was him, the last human in the world to care.

  Hissing through his teeth, he exited the vehicle, marched up to the door, and pounded on it. This time Alex wasn’t the one to answer. Instead, it was the man from before, the one who had been dancing on the table. “Piss off, hume,” he said in a British accent, and Dhata reached forward and grabbed him by his hair. It felt like wet carpet, but he didn’t care. Once he had a good enough grip, he pulled him out and dumped him on the asphalt.

  “Call me a hume again and I’ll break your face,” he said, stepping over the man and gaining the bar in three long strides.

  “Dhata, can you refrain from beating up my guests?” said Alex, but he could barely hear her as he scanned the room. There were a couple of humans, and they nodded at him. Probably perverts, he thought as he nodded at them. Synth sympathizers, looking to score some rust.

  “Cat Skinners, Alex? You’re tangling with Cat Skinners?” he said as he slid onto an empty bar stool next to a drunk, passed out.

  “That was fast,” Alex said as she ran her long fingers through the blonde crop of hair on the top of her head. The sides were shaved down with pink streaks, but what she had left was thick and tall, making her look like a dangerous rooster. “I’m on the hook with bounty hunters, not Cat… Whatever the hell you just said,” she whispered, looking around as if to see if anyone heard her.

  “No, you’re in bed with gangsters, and bounty hunters don’t work with them. They run their own operation. Trust me, I know. You’re lucky that they didn’t skin you too, instead of taking you on as a customer.”

  “How do you know all this?” she said, knocking back a drink. She slid one in front of him but he pushed it away.

  “I went to see that Mary; she works in some twisted Japanese spot. They have stims in the vents and girls on the menu. All sorts of freaks in there singing and dancing, and this Mary, Kira, she was trying hard to spin me into her web of tricks. There was another girl with her, didn’t get the name. Tall chick with a bit of an attitude, so I had to flash the badge.”

  “Bad move there; she was probably Kira’s boss,” Alex said, blowing the hair from out of her eyes. “I don’t know how seasoned Kira is. I’m guessing she’s a veteran since they have her trapping new girls, but chances are she’s crossed them before, so they may have stuck her with a babysitter.”

  “Well, I ran her off so that I could talk to Kira, and though she made a little noise she went away. When I finally got her talking, she showed me a sign, snuck it in where only I could see it. You seriously haven’t heard of the Cat Skinners? How are you doing business with—never mind—they are a Japanese syndicate turned street level trash. They operate mostly out of Orlando.”

  “Never heard of Cat Skinners, but I’m not someone interested in that crap. I’m just a businesswoman who’s seen her share of war and nasty humans. All I want is to run my business in peace, at least till the mainframe cuts the lights off on my world.”

  “Mainframe? That the Arch Brain?” Dhata said, referencing the AI that had created all the synths. Alex nodded solemnly and picked up the drink he’d rejected. Dhata could tell that she was telling the truth; she really thought she was dealing with bounty hunters.

 

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