Chapter 33 - Cartel Blanche Final Part

  Only minutes after the call from Abuela did I receive a new one—from Lorenzo. With a smile, I accepted.

  Lorenzo: You fucking rat. You fucking rat. YOU FUCKING RAT YOU FUCK RAT FUCK!

  Hah! Gonk was pissed. This was great.

  D: What’s the matter?

  Lorenzo: You did this! I know you did this! You fucking—have you any idea what you’ve done? The corp war you’ve incited? You’re in the middle of it, D! My sponsors—they’ll find you, and they’ll kill you.

  D: All you had to do was leave me the fuck alone, tio. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  The line went silent for a few seconds. Then his voice came back.

  Lorenzo: I’m not going to beg, boy. Come and kill me.

  D: Eh. I got what I wanted.

  Lorenzo: The fact that you ruined my life aside—I’m honestly impressed. So. Who are you? Militech? Arasaka? You’re Arasaka, aren’t you.

  I felt an irrational flare of rage at that. Arasaka had done nothing to teach me the skills required to pull off what I had done. This was me, goddammit. D.

  D: I’m just D. I’m not a cocksucking corpo wannabe like you. Keep yapping and I really will come find you and kill you.

  Lorenzo: *snort* even better. That means we both die. Soon. Well played. I’ll give you this checkmate, but you haven’t won any fight that matters.

  I hung up. Enough out of that asshole.

  000

  Edgerunning and outdoor partying next to a diner after a gig—there wasn’t a better combination. The whole Martinez clan—family and those married in or otherwise associated with us—was gathered in this fenced off bar and taqueria combination. Loud music was playing, the women, wearing loud and colorful dresses, were dancing in entrancing choreographies.

  And a few of the main mercs in the family—Tio Alex and some other male cousins as well as a single female cousin—were gathered around me while I showed off the M179.

  “Turns out, all you had to do was long-press to charge the thing up—it punched straight through that Borg bastard’s skull like it was nothing.”

  “You killed four borgs with that?” one of my cousins, Gregorio asked. He was a lanky, shifty-eyed guy, and he seemed to doubt me very heavily.

  “Just the last one,” I said, “The other three, I killed with this,” I patted my side, where my katana was.

  “You’re not even a borg,” he said, “How can you fight like that?”

  “Are you doubting your cousin?” Tio Alex glared at the young man, “The one that saved us from those fucking dogs?”

  “Can it, Gregorio!” the female cousin, Lola, grabbed Gregorio and put him in a headlock. She looked young, probably around my age if not younger, and… she dressed up like me. High vis yellow jacket, a black crop-top and a gold rosary necklace. Instead of my usual pair of baggy pants, she wore short jeans that cut off mid-thigh. She had an undercut on her left side, but most of her hair was messy and spiky, obviously gelled to look that way. “David is the real deal and you’re just jealous!” Gregorio tried to get her off him, but he failed. He fell on the ground, trying to wrestle her before losing strength—holy shit. She went the entire way on him. When he finally went slack, she let go, stood up and gave me a nod, “Go on, cuz. He won’t interrupt you again. So you used a katana?”

  I snorted, and unsheathed ‘Masamune’. Its edge was starting to dull rather visibly. I needed to get it honed by Pilar, “Yup. It’s a clean weapon—does good work. Doesn’t run out of ammo, and when you’re fast like me, it works better than a gun.”

  “Is that true?” Alex frowned. The man hadn’t wasted any time taking the family’s newfound income and using it in face-sculpts to get his natural features evened out, making him look far more normal for Night City standards—and probably handsome in terms of the shithole that was Tijuana. His new leg was also a good model—wasn’t choppy and unwieldy like the medical implants they loaded off to veterans of war. It was a combat model.

  All the men who had been crippled by the Pinche Perros sported such models—Militech make, upon my recommendation. Not that Militech was intrinsically better. But as long as they stuck to one brand, they should be fine in the long-term. That and not going overboard.

  Like my cousin Lola, for instance, who had chipped in a medium-sized Neural Link that replaced her cervical spine, containing a Sandevistan of all things. Then there were the tendon and ligament replacements she had chipped in as well. All Militech at the very least. But I definitely needed to have a chat with her—or Abuela if she wouldn’t listen.

  “Yeah,” I snorted, “It depends on how good you are. Without chipware skills. If you go at it naturally and learn from the ground, you can be good enough to take out any gonk who thinks they’re invincible because they chipped in subderm or whatever. Chipping in isn’t a replacement for real skill.”

  “What chrome do you have?” Lola asked, eyes shining.

  “Sandevistan, big metal spine Neural Link. Cyberdeck. Kiroshi optics. All I need, for now.”

  “What? You don’t have anything on your body?”

  I snorted, “I have biosculpt,” Nanny counted for a biosculptor at this point, “Stronger bones, stronger muscles. The Neural Link gives me better nerves—that’s the real prize of neural implants. Finding a way to boost your nerves, your thinking,” I tapped my head, “And your body control. Those are things that will keep you alive. If I were you, cousin, I wouldn’t chip in until I mastered all those implants you already put in. They will improve your speed and strength, but only you can improve your control and skill.”

  “Teach me,” She stepped forward, “Take me to Night City with you—”

  “There she goes,” Tio Alex groaned, “I told you already—he won’t take you.”

  I frowned at her, “Why do you want to come to Night City?”

  “This place is a shithole!” she cried, “And Night City? That’s where legends are born.”

  “That’s where legends die,” I said, “Why do you think you’ll survive a day there?” I stood up and loomed over her. She had to be about five feet and four inches. Small, but not Rebecca small. But Rebecca had skills to back up all that talk and bluster. What did Lola have but a chipped in attitude? “In Night City, you don’t even have to do anything wrong to die. For someone to shoot you just because they can. For a Cyberpsycho to rip you apart, or for gangs to fight while you’re taking a walk with your boyfriend.”

  “But I won’t die!” she stepped forward, eyes gleaming and wearing a hopeful grin, “I’m different! I promise!”

  I pressed my gun to her forehead. I hadn’t even used my Sandy. She was really just that slow. She froze.

  I holstered the gun again. “That’s how much that shit means to me. You’re not different, Lola. You’re average. I can’t take you with me.”

  She frowned, “Then I’ll train. I’ll work goddamn hard to get to where you are. I’ll listen to everything you say.”

  Gregorio finally woke up. I considered if her knocking him out had been for my benefit—to let me know how much of a fighter she was. That was just… adorable.

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  “But you have to guide me,” she said, “Teach me how to get like you.”

  I palmed my forehead, “Don’t you have, like, school to go to?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “You don’t do Netrunning?” I asked, “I thought the girls—”

  “Abuela is old-fashioned, but I’m not a hacker. I’m a gunner.”

  She clumsily drew her pistol and showed it to me. A Lexington. Ancient stuff, “That won’t even tickle a borg. And the real guns would break your arm if you used ‘em. But I know if I leave you hanging, doing your own thing, you’ll try and do something stupid. So I’ll check back, teach you a thing or two. But I’m not bringing you to Night City, you’ll fucking die if—”

  “YES!” She jumped in the air with both fists raised, “You won’t regret this, primo! I’ll make you proud!”

  I snorted, “If you wanted to make me proud, you’d go to a corp-school and get a degree and an office job.”

  “Ew, no! That would just kill me slowly instead of fast.”

  “Hah.”

  My mirth mixed with a bit of melancholy as I considered her words. In the end, all roads did lead to death, didn’t they? That was just life, though.

  Lucy came out from the bar, carrying with her a pair of beers. She looked around for me, and when she saw me, she walked up to my little semi-circle, throwing me the beer. I caught it and dreaded having to tough through the fizziness.

  “Hey!” Lola grinned brightly at Lucy, “You’re David’s choom, right? Are you a Netrunner?”

  “Yeah,” she said, neutrally, “What’s it to ya?”

  “You’re a real edgerunner?”

  “Nah,” she said, “I don’t see the sense in flirting with death. I leave most of that to David.”

  “It must be so cool, working with him,” she gushed. “I bet he’s a huge bigshot in Night City. I wanted to join his crew, but he said I’m not ready.”

  I laughed at that. As did Lucy.

  “It’s not his crew,” Lucy said.

  “Hate to disappoint,” I grinned, “I’m not the top dawg, prima.”

  “What?!” she gasped, “Someone out there is stronger than you?”

  “Girl’s a riot,” Lucy snorted as she took a drink of her cerveza. Before I could answer Lola in the affirmative, Lucy made a humming sound to forestall me. She swallowed the beer, “But you did get one thing right—ain’t nobody in the crew stronger than David. He’s the real deal.”

  I snorted, “Maine’s a beast.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, David,” Lucy crooned, “Not in front of your adoring cousins.”

  I laughed, while Lola only looked confused.

  “Who is the strongest edgerunner?” Lola asked. “In Night City?”

  “Some guy called Adam something,” I chuckled, “What was it again? Smasher. Adam Smasher. Night City legend.”

  “Then there’s Morgan Blackhand,” Lucy said, “Another legend. Probably dead. David’s good, but on account of the fact that he just started this gig not two months ago, I’d say he’ll probably be the best someday—provided he lives long enough.”

  “You only started two months ago?!” Lola asked me, wide-eyed.

  “No way,” Tio Alex scoffed. The other cousins muttered amongst each other. Gregorio scoffed in doubt. Good that Lola hadn’t seen that, she might have put him to sleep again.

  It was one and a half months ago, but I wouldn’t quibble over the details.

  Lola looked at me like I’d just told her I’d fought off a pack of cyberpsychos barehanded. “That’s... that’s insane! How are you even still alive?”

  “Skill, luck, and some mil-spec chrome,” I replied, giving her a grin. “Mostly luck. And good chooms. Like Lucy, and some others I left back home.”

  “Definitely luck, though,” Lucy quipped, smirking at me over the rim of her beer. “But don’t let it go to your head, David. A lot of people in Night City thought they’d live forever. You know what happens to them.”

  “I know,” I said, my tone softening. “But hey, I’m still here. That’s gotta count for something.”

  “Yeah, for now,” she said, her voice carrying that mix of teasing and genuine concern only Lucy could pull off.

  Lola, oblivious to the undercurrent of our exchange, turned to Lucy with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “So, what’s it like, being an edgerunner? Do you guys get into crazy fights every day? Or is it more like those XBDs where you’re sneaking around megacorps and taking down their servers?”

  Lucy chuckled. “A little bit of both. Mostly it’s just trying to survive long enough to get paid. Or when shit pops off, going buckwild and hoping that giving it your all will be enough. It ain’t always, though. I’d have died twice over by now without D having my back.”

  Lola practically bounced on her toes. “Still, it sounds amazing! I mean, not the dying part, obviously, but the rest of it! The action, the adventure—”

  “The migraines, the bullet wounds, the constant paranoia,” I interrupted, shooting her a look. “It’s not all XBD glam, prima. Most of it’s just messy and painful. And if you’re lucky, you get to grow old enough to regret it.” I couldn’t give her a false impression of the work. Of course, I never experienced all of that mess, not enough to feel bothered by it. I had been stabbed and cut up, of course, but Nanny took care of all of that.

  But for someone human like Lola, all those things would only magnify. She’d be in the muck of it all, suffering every second unlike me.

  Lola deflated a little, but only for a second. “Still sounds better than some corpo desk job,” she said stubbornly.

  “Spoken like a true Martinez,” Tio Alex said, shaking his head. “Always chasing danger like it’s the family business.”

  “Better danger than boredom,” Lola shot back, crossing her arms.

  “Danger can be exciting,” Lucy said, her voice calm but firm, “but it’s also a quick way to end up in the dirt. If you want to chase this life, you need to be ready for what it’ll take. And what it’ll cost.”

  Lola nodded solemnly, but I could see the fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed. She’d heard the warnings, but I doubted they’d stick. Not yet, anyway.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, ruffling the hair that she made to look like mine. “You’ve got time to figure it out. And if you’re serious, I’ll teach you the ropes—one step at a time. Deal?”

  Her grin returned, bright and defiant. “Deal!”

  “It’ll be painful,” I promised, “And if I did my job right, you’ll end up hating me.”

  “I can take anything you’ll throw at me.”

  It only now dawned on me, how much responsibility grooming this kid into the life would be. Goddammit. Definitely had to make her quit—by any means necessary.

  “Practice your shooting. And don’t call me,” I ordered. “I’ve probably got more important things to do.”

  Lola’s halogen-light smile told me it would take a little bit more than dickery to get her to stop.

  000

  Lorenzo Ladron had gone through the motions, ditching every valuable he had on hand in his office to immediately make a bee-line to a private taxi that would take him to an airstrip on the outskirts of Tijuana. All the money, all the valuables still in the city were lost—no matter. Well, it definitely mattered, but what truly mattered now was to get out still alive.

  Revenge was the furthest thing on his mind, even. All he let himself agonize over was the size of his emergency funds, the money he kept in a safe place in case anything like this was to occur. It was his retirement policy, and he had added much to it over the years—but he could have added more. Always more. But that was the sort of thinking that had gotten him into this business to begin with—he should do away with notions of ‘more’ just as he refused to consider revenge.

  This new life was over.

  The taxi pulled up at the airstrip and Lorenzo—not even carrying anything except for a satchel containing important documents, and a wallet stuffed with thousands of eurodollars that would help him land on his feet wherever he went—ran towards his private plane. He had already made the call to the pilot. They should be ready for him, they should—

  Right up ahead, he saw them. Green clad soldiers armed with guns, wearing red berets, and the corp logo of Green Farm. The Cartel’s parent company, subsidiary of Biotechnica which was the mother of all illicit drugs in North and South America.

  And ahead of them all, a bad motherfucker that Lorenzo would have to be a fool not to consider—Augustus Gonzalez, firstborn son of the Tijuana legend Alfredo Gonzalez, currently the head of security for Green Farm’s operations. The bastard had been the spearhead that ripped through every major crime family in the city, from the Alvarez, to the Suez, Sanchez, Perez, and even the Martinez, ensuring that the Gonzalez name was the only one that carried any weight in these parts.

  Lorenzo Ladron came to a stop and met the eyes of his killer. “Night City,” Lorenzo said, “Whoever started this… is a mercenary named D, and he is from Night City.”

  “You should have told us about him earlier,” Augustus said, “You would have dodged blame if you had.”

  “Why would I involve the Green Farm corporation in a matter that only involved the cartel?” Lorenzo asked. He didn’t know why he was arguing—he knew he was dead. “D killed one of our gangs. And then worked with Militech to plunder us for everything we were worth.”

  Lorenzo couldn’t have stopped it—he didn’t even know how he had started it. His empty threats should not have escalated things to this extent. A war between Green Farm and Militech could swallow up all of Mexico, claim millions of lives. It could be the start of the fifth corporate war if Biotechnica got involved.

  “D,” Augustus said, tasting the word, “Night City.” He sighed and nodded. He walked up to Lorenzo, long rifle still in hand, strap around his neck. Lorenzo’s blood ran cold as Augustus took those steps, time slowing down to a near glacial pace as Lorenzo counted down the moments he had until death—his girlfriend, Carmen. Their son, John. His parents, who had spent all that money putting him through school, all so he could waste it on being a cartel finance guy.

  Well, at least he made a fuck ton of money while working. No one could deny that he had succeeded. No one could deny that he had lived the dream—if only for a time.

  “You’re right,” Augustus nodded. His mustachio’d face, with a close-shaven beard and a military cut, somehow lended him an air of reasonability in that moment. Of… nobility, almost. But Lorenzo refused to let himself be fooled. “There was nothing you could do. But thanks to you, I now have a direction. Run along now.”

  Lorenzo frowned, “You’re letting me go?”

  Augustus nodded, stepping aside. As did his men, giving him a clear path to the parked jet.

  Lorenzo refused to fall for it, “Don’t play games with me, Gonzalez. If you mean to kill me, then kill me.”

  “I don’t play games. I came for intelligence. You handed it to me. Normally as a professional, I would pay you. Which I am—by letting you go. And as a fellow professional, I hope you can be assured by my word—you will not die by my hand or by my order. And we have not been ordered to kill you.”

  That… pretty much covered all his bases.

  He took unsure steps forward. He didn’t run. It wouldn’t help if he did. So he walked. He walked up to the plane, he walked up the stairs, he took his seat in the cabin. The terrified pilot gave his announcement.

  The Green Farm security bastardos cleared the runway. The plane took off. It flew, all the way to Miami. And it landed. And Lorenzo took a daisy chain of cabs to a random motel, making sure that his circuitous route would throw everyone following him off.

  Only then, under the cover of obscurity, and with the knowledge that the Gonzalez head would not waste so much time before killing some lowly cartel pencil-pusher, did Lorenzo allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

  He would live after all.