Kris Longknife: Deserter Page 9
“Can you get your cops moving tonight?” Jack cut in.
“I can try.”
Kris ran the time line through her head. Damn, this Calvin Sandfire was no slacker when it came to knowing what was happening and making things happen faster. Was Kris willing to bet Tom’s life on Sandfire going slow tonight? What was she willing to bet her own life on? Again, that family mantra was humming in her head. There really was no other choice.
“You can try to get your cops moving, Penny, but we can be moving in ten minutes,” Kris said.
“Lieutenant, JG,” Lieutenant Pasley said to Kris, “there are parts of Wardhaven cops only travel in pairs after dark. In parts of Heidelburg, cops only travel in fours during the day. After dark, cops don’t travel in Katyville.”
“Which means your friends are going to move slowly,” Kris said evenly. “We need to move fast. Who’s with me?”
Kris knew Jack could move fast when he wanted to, but she was still shocked at how quickly he got around the tub to grab her arm. “Woman, you are not leading a pack of heavily armed Marines into a prepared assault. You’ve got one Secret Service Agent, one Intelligence desk jockey, one timid maid who probably won’t venture her nose outside this suite, and one Princess who does not know her limits. That doesn’t a rescue mission make.”
“Who says I won’t venture out of here?” Abby shot back.
“We are not equipped for a rescue mission,” Jack answered, not taking his eyes from Kris.
“Honey, speak for yourself.” Abby laughed as she hustled into Kris’s room. A moment later she shouted, “Catch,” as a large and rather cute pink beret sailed Frisbee style through the door. Kris caught it; it was heavier than it looked. She put it on.
“Ceramic weave all around?” she asked as Abby led an auto trunk back into the bathroom.
“Will stop a four-millimeter slug at five paces. Covers as much of your head as most helmets. Here’s a couple of watch caps for Penny and me. Not as pretty, but we all can’t be dolls.”
“There’s a lot more of her to protect,” Jack growled.
“Yes, honey, and while you can pass for just one of us girls most times, we’re about to get down to our unmentionables, so make yourself scarce. You must have brought along a few things just in case she started acting like she always does.”
“Who told you what I always do?” Kris frowned.
“Your mother.”
“My mother?” That didn’t sound like the mother Kris knew, but she was dying to see what Abby had in that trunk. It seemed a slightly different shade of brown from those Kris had watched Abby pack at Nuu House. Very slightly different. “Jack, leave us women alone.”
Shaking his head, Jack went.
Abby snapped the trunk open. “Now then, I’ve got some pretty heavy-duty stuff for a working girl like you,” Abby said to Penny as she dug in, “but we’ve got to figure out whether camouflage or misdirection is the best bet for you, Princess.”
“You have a cloak of invisibility?” Kris asked.
“Nelson and Taylor sold the last one just as I got there,” Abby deadpanned. “Here’re long johns for Penny and me,” the maid said, producing a combination that included thin ceramic plates at all crucial points. “Work trousers and coats will hide these. Leave plenty of room for the fun stuff.”
“Fun stuff?” Penny asked as she shucked out of her clothes.
“Guns, grenades, and the likes that smart boy better have shipped along. There’s only so much contraband I can get past sensors. Princess, it’s time for you to start stripping.”
“Stripping?” Kris asked, but she undid the buttons of her blouse. Abby was the one with the box of tricks.
“I got this from my last employer. Just your size,” Abby said, producing what looked like a see-through bodysuit.
Kris had seen sexy stuff like that advertised. Maybe she’d dreamed about owning a set. She dredged through her mind for a comeback. “I thought your last employer was big enough for the both of us,” Kris said, dropping her skirt. How far do I go?
“Right. I meant the employer before last.”
“Didn’t any of your former employers survive the experience? I mean, Mother never hires anyone without references.”
Abby paused for a moment, eyeing the ceiling while seeming to puzzle through her memories. “One, two . . . three. No, two, I think. Hard to remember. So many of them. You got to ditch the bra and panties, honey.”
Kris did, then helped Abby begin the slow job of working the bodysuit up Kris’s six-foot frame. “I could use some powder,” Abby muttered. Penny retrieved a lovely porcelain powder jar from the marble expanse beside the twin sinks. “Good. Suit’s got to spread the impact of a bullet. Would hate to bruise you.”
“Aren’t these things supposed to stretch to fit?” Kris asked. This one didn’t give a millimeter. Abby just grinned and squished Kris to fit.
“Exactly what am I doing? Hey, watch the hair. That hurt.”
“Ugly faces like me and Penny a guy looks at and forgets.”
“Yeah, right.” Kris made a face at that line.
“You, Princess, on the other hand, are a problem. Not only do you have that pretty face, but it’s been on a whole lot of media lately. A guy looks at you, really looks at you, and you’re a dead giveaway.”
“And this?” Kris said, spreading her arms at her rather too-close-to-naked body.
“Your face ain’t gonna be what any red-blooded, lusting male is gonna see, honey.”
Kris glanced at Penny.
The woman bit her lower lip around a grin. “Misdirection was a standard method taught at my school.”
“What school might that be?”
“You don’t want to know the name of her finishing school,” Abby said, pulling the last of the nearly nothing up to Kris’s shoulders. “She tells you, then she’d have to kill you.”
“Yeah, right.” This conversation was going nowhere.
“Can I come in?” Jack called.
“No,” the three women answered. Abby produced a set of panties. Frilly at the bottom, they went well up the stomach. Kris discovered that her body stocking did let her move as she pulled on the undies. “Ceramic strips in there to help the under all,” Abby explained. “Frills will distract any guy who sees them.”
“How short is my dress?”
“Need you ask?”
“What is going on in there?” Jack called.
“We two will be just tired old working girls,” Abby said. “Kris is going to be a ‘working girl’ taking a trick home.”
Jack stuck his head in, got one look at Kris, and yanked it back out. “We can’t take her out looking like that.”
“Here’s your bra,” Abby said, producing one that looked just as flimsy as the rest of Kris’s outfit. “It’s a push-up.”
“As if this bodysuit would let any of me up.”
“Trust your Mamma Abby. By the time we have that loaded, you’ll be pushing up plenty.” Loading involved two small automatics, one for the bottom of each breast, and two pads that looked like they might be just what they looked like. “If things get too exciting tonight, push the nipples down, twist to the right, and throw them like Frisbees. Then put a solid wall between you and them. You might also warn us.”
“What do I say?”
“Fire in the hole,” Penny said, paused for a moment, then started giggling. “Oh my. Oh my. This should not be fun.”
“It isn’t,” Kris said dryly.
“Ready to turn the job over to the pros?” Jack called.
“Is this some sort of setup to get me to run for Mother?” Kris snapped. “Because if it is, so help me—”
“It’s for real, honey,” Abby said, deadly serious. “You going to leave Nelly at home?”
“You are not,” Nelly protested.
“Where can I put her?” Kris asked as Abby walked around her, studying her figure and looking dubiously at the small bit of red cloth draped over Abby’s arm.
“Never mind,” Kris snapped and arranged Nelly over her belly button. The computer’s straps expanded to fit, no problem there. The wire to the jack in the back of her head extended. YOU HAVE ENOUGH BANDWIDTH, NELLY?
I’M FINE, KRIS.
“The pom-pom on the beret is an omni-use antenna,” Abby said. “Your Nelly will know what to do with it. Can I merge it with your jack wire?”
“Will it damage anything?”
“The instructions on the box says it won’t. If it does, I’ll take it to the nearest Radio Shack and demand a refund.”
Kris didn’t believe a word from Abby anymore. She waited. NELLY, ANY PROBLEMS?
“The merging of the input went smoothly,” Nelly said. “The antenna is . . . unusually adaptive. Please give me a few moments to adjust to its capabilities.”
“Take all you want, honey child,” Abby said, then pursed her lips. “I think we’re ready for the dress.” Defiant as Caesar crossing the Rubicon, Kris raised her arms, and the maid settled it on her. Hanging from thin straps, the front and back plunged. Kris had wondered how she’d reach her guns; with this flaming red wisp of nothing, it was easy. The skirt ended before it began.
Kris took stock of herself in the mirror. Even Mother had never worn anything this skimpy. Kris tried to see herself in the rear mirror. “Are my cheeks showing in back?” she asked.
“Yes,” both women answered.
Kris shook her head. “Women really wear things like this?”
“Women with the job you’re faking tonight, honey.”
“You ever?” Kris asked Abby.
“My momma did. She wanted something better for her baby girl.” Kris raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to believe it or not. Abby was busy putting on her own camouflage of the night: work boots, baggy trousers, worn coat.
“Am I going barefoot?”
“Some girls do. Good for business,” Abby said, but she produced worn shoes. “They’ll hold up better than they look.”
Kris bent over to put them on, flashing everything she had at the mirror. “How am I supposed to bend over in this?”
“Just the way you are, honey. Business is business.”
Kris stood up and tested the shoes. “Not bad.”
“You’ll be surprised how easy they are to run in. Jack, you got some toys for us working women?”
“Is it safe to come in?”
“All that’s left to do is put on her makeup.”
Jack came in as Abby went for the finishing touches to their disguises. Her Secret Service Agent took Kris in with slowly rising eyebrows and a low whistle. “This is a whole new side of you that I’ve never seen, Princess.”
Kris looked down at herself; the dress had strategically placed cutouts as well as not being much there. “There’s a whole lot of me that you’re seeing for the first time.”
Jack smiled. “Can’t argue that.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much, and—”
Abby saved Kris from finishing the sentence by tossing Jack and Penny small bottles. “You’re too clean for real working stiffs. Dirty up. Honey, you are way too understated for tonight. Sit down and let Momma doll you up good enough to eat.”
Kris sat, tried to pull the dress down to cover herself, and only ended up revealing more bra . . . and a gun’s handle. “Can’t do that, Princess,” Abby warned her as she put large gobs of powder, rouge, mascara, and lipstick on Kris. Kris started to make a face at the face looking back at her. “Hold still. Tonight, Cinderella, you ain’t going to no ball.”
Kris held still.
Done, Kris stood, took a long look at herself in the mirror, and swore she’d never do this again. Risking her neck in full battle gear was a rush. Hanging herself out for the cheap leer turned her stomach. Kris knew some women did this, had to do this. Knowing it was one thing. Being it. Being laid out like this. Kris swallowed; she’d think about it later.
Abby was back with raincoats. “What’s right for Katyville is all wrong for the Hilton. We’ll dump these later.”
Jack issued a small armory to the two women. Abby pulled back expertly on the action of a small but wicked-looking automatic, saftied it, then pocketed it. Penny did the same. Jack offered no explanation with the grenades and explosive charges he next handed out. Neither Abby nor Penny asked for any. For a maid, Abby knew too damn much about things that had nothing to do with Kris’s wardrobe. We have to talk, woman.
When Jack finished with the weapons, they stood for a long moment, staring at each other, Jack looked like he still wanted her to call it off. Penny was breathing quickly, her excitement showing. Abby wore a blank, game face.
“Let’s get Tommy,” Kris said.
7
It was raining in Katyville, large teardrops of water that splattered on the sidewalk and sent spray flying. The cracked concrete, still hot from the day, steamed. The rain, rather than cleaning the air of the stench of the squalid river, open sewers, and refuse, seemed to surrender to it.
They ditched their raincoats in trash cans near the space elevator. For an hour Kris walked out of place and was ignored by respectable people. She’d been embarrassed before. Anyone that spent two years mostly drunk had faced that moment when you sobered up just enough to realize how bad you’d been. Tonight, Kris discovered she could blush down to her belly button.
And it got worse. A chilly breeze came up, sending cold wind up her tiny skirt. The armor might stop a bullet, but it gave no warmth. Kris had goose bumps where she’d never had them before. As they moved into the darkened part of town, a pouring rain began. Rivulets ran down her hair and into her eyes, blotching her makeup. A clown’s face looked back at her from empty store windows. Wet, the red dress fit her like a thin coat of paint. Men ignored her face to leer at her other assets.
Kris was no stranger to strange men in strange places. Her father sent her to most of Wardhaven at one time or another to patch up sagging poll numbers. Running her brother’s campaign, she’d spent much of her time being where he wasn’t. But in all that, she’d been a Longknife, respected, honored. Not tonight.
The Navy sent her up against armed kidnappers to free a kid. She’d led confused recruits against overgunned rebels in planned and unplanned fights. At the Paris system, she’d ended up commanding an Attack Squadron. So why did walking into this fight leave her knees weak and her gut in a knot?
Tired men passed her on the street; they took her in with a glance and bedded her with a second look. She could feel their fingers crawling over her long after they passed, their backward stares measuring her for a mattress. Kris swallowed hard; this disguise had seemed so logical in a warm hotel room. I am one of those Longknifes, I am a naval officer, a Princess, worth a trillion plus, and I’ve got on armored undies to boot. Still, undressed like this, she felt worse than a beggar.
What was it like for the women who really did have nothing but an ass between themselves and a roof for tonight, a meal tomorrow? She saw them, other women standing on street corners or walking in the numb embrace of men. Their eyes met hers and slid off like the water running down their faces.
Kris held tight to Jack’s arm, faked a laugh at a joke he hadn’t whispered in her ear, and hoped none of the lonely men or groups of men challenged Jack’s right to have her tonight.
THE BUILDING ACROSS THE STREET IS THE FIRST RENTAL, Nelly said. Kris passed that to Jack; he swung her around in a semidrunken lurch.
“Guess we ought to find a room out of this rain, Kitten-face,” he said.
“We’ve got a problem,” Penny said, coming up beside them. “The elevators in that place only work if you have a key.”
NELLY, CAN YOU FIX THAT?
I DO NOT THINK SO. THAT BUILDING IS OFF NET. IT MUST BE STAND-ALONE OR VERY LOW-TECH.
“Looks like Jack rents us a room,” Kris whispered. She’d come this far; she was no
t going back empty-handed. “We can rent a room for an hour,” Kris said too loud, dropping into character. “Maybe thirty minutes if you really are fast.”
Jack took a drunken stumble, righted himself, then gave her a bleary-eyed grin. “You bet, sweetie.”
As Kris ducked and bobbed her way across the empty intersection, as much to keep her feet out of growing lakes around the potholes as to look her part, she got a good look at four blocks of Katyville. There was nothing good about it.
Here and there, buildings were blackened and crumbling. Broken windows showed others were abandoned. Several vacant windows had feeble lights. Was someone so desperate that such a wreck was their best escape from the night chill? The still-occupied buildings seemed taken by some sort of cancer. What had been a front porch or a back stoop was boarded up and crudely fashioned into a room. Often a shed leaned against it, showing by a tenuous light that it, too, was occupied. Was there a building inspector on Wardhaven who would look the other way for such travesties of her father’s building codes?
A second thought struck her. Were there girls dressed like her walking the back streets of Wardhaven tonight? Kristine Anne Longknife, political campaign manager and owner of a hell of a lot of real estate, could not venture an answer. Suddenly that hurt more than the rain and the shame and the risk she was taking. Kris gritted her teeth. Once Tommy was back safely with the Navy, Princess Kristine was going to skip a few balls until she found the right, true, and full answer to tonight’s questions.
There might once have been a foyer to the Sanderson Arms, but now the bottom floor was split up into more cubbyholes. A bleak patch of carpet with two broken chairs took up a tiny space across from a desk and clerk that had seen much better days, weeks, and years. Maybe centuries.
“Got a room?” Jack slurred.
“All out.” The desk clerk didn’t even look up.
“Why you here if you can’t get me a room?” Jack demanded.
“Boss says I stay here until my shift’s over, or he don’t pay me.”
“We really need a room.” Kris tried something halfway between demure and sexy that she’d seen in a movie.