Zero History Part 42

66. ZIP

Benny's civilian bike, Milgrim now knew, was a 2006 Yamaha FZR1000, black and red. It was lowered, Fiona said, whatever that meant, and had something called a Spondon swing arm, allowing the wheelbase to be lengthened at the drag strip. "Quick off a light," she said approvingly.

She was fully armored again, zipped and Velcro'd, the yellow helmet under her arm. Milgrim was armored too, in borrowed nylon and Kevlar, stiff and unfamiliar, over tweed and whipcord. The toes of Jun's bright brown brogues looked wrong, below the black Cordura overpants. His bag, containing his laptop and the clothing he'd worn the night before, was strapped atop the Yahama's tank, which looked as though it had been gathered to spring from between a rider's thighs. A striking image, now, with those thighs about to be Fiona's.

"Voytek is here, to f.u.c.k penguin."

They turned, at the sound of his voice. He was walking toward them through the deserted bike yard. He carried a black Pelican case in either hand, and these, Milgrim saw, unlike his screening cases, looked heavy.

" 'With,' " corrected Fiona, " 'f.u.c.k with.' "

" 'I the pity poor immigrant.' You do not. Is Bob Dylan."

"Why are you bothering, then?" demanded Fiona. "The one in Paris was fine, and we've just gotten this one on the iPhone."

"Order of Wilson. Commissar of all f.u.c.kings with."

He brushed past them, into the Vegas cube, closing the door behind him.

"Is there another helmet?" asked Milgrim, eyeing Mrs. Benny's black one, which sat on the Yamaha's pillion seat.

"Sorry," said Fiona, "no. And I'll have to adjust the chinstrap. Had a safety lecture."

"You did?"

"Wilson." She put the black helmet on Milgrim's head, adroitly adjusted and fastened his chinstrap. The hairspray seemed even stronger now, as if Mrs. Benny had been wearing it in the meantime. He wondered if he was developing an allergy.

Fiona pulled on gauntlets, straddled the s.h.i.+ny Yamaha. Milgrim got on behind her. The engine came to life. She walked them off Benny's yard, and then the bike seemed to take over, a very different creature than Fiona's big gray one. A tight but intricate circuit of Southwark streets, feeling, Milgrim a.s.sumed, for possible followers, and then over Blackfriars in a surge, working the gears, the red and white railings strobing past. He immediately lost track of direction, once they were on the other side, and when she finally stopped and parked, he hadn't expected it.

He fumbled with the fastenings under his chin, got Mrs. Benny's helmet off as quickly as possible. Looking up at this unfamiliar building. "Where are we?"

She removed the yellow helmet. "Cabinet. The rear."

They were in a cobble-paved garden drive, behind a stone wall. She dismounted, Milgrim intrigued as always by the smooth flexibility this demonstrated. He got off as well, with no particular demonstration of grace, and watched as she hauled thick, snakelike anchor chains from the Yahama's panniers, to secure it.

He followed her up the tidy cobbles to a porte cochere. Pinstripes was waiting, behind a very modern gla.s.s door. He admitted them without Fiona having to buzz.

"This way, please," he said, and led them to a brushed stainless elevator door. Milgrim found that the armored oversuit made him feel strangely solid, larger. In the elevator, he felt he took up more s.p.a.ce. Stood up straighter, holding Mrs. Benny's helmet in front of him with a certain formality.

"Follow me, please." Pinstripes leading them through one self-closing, very heavy door after another. Dark green walls, brief corridors, gloomy watercolor landscapes in ornate gilt frames. Until they reached one particular door, painted a darker green even than the walls, nearly black. A large, italic bra.s.s numeral 4, secured with two bra.s.s slot-head screws. Pinstripes used a bra.s.s knocker on the door frame: a woman's hand, holding an oblate spheroid of bra.s.s. A single respectful tap.

"Yes?" Hollis's voice.

"Robert, Miss Henry. They're here."

Milgrim heard a chain rattle. Hollis opened the door. "h.e.l.lo, Milgrim, Fiona. Come in. Thank you, Robert."

"You're welcome, Miss Henry. Good night."

They stepped in, Fiona's ungauntleted hand brus.h.i.+ng his.

Milgrim blinked. Hollis was chaining the door behind them. He'd never seen a hotel room like this, and Hollis wasn't alone in it. There was a man on the bed (the very strange bed) with short but unkempt dark hair, and he was looking at Milgrim with a seriousness, a sort of quiet focus, that almost triggered the cop-sensing mechanisms Winnie had last touched off in Seven Dials. Almost.

"You're Milgrim, then. Been hearing a lot about you. I'm Garreth. Wilson. Forgive my not getting up. Leg's b.u.g.g.e.red. Keeping it elevated." He was propped against pillows and the wall, between what Milgrim at first took to be the tusks of a mammoth, twin weathered gray church-window parentheses. An open laptop beside him. One of his black-trousered legs up on three additional pillows. Above him, suspended, the largest birdcage Milgrim had ever seen, filled, it seemed, with stacked books and fairy floodlights.

"This is Fiona, Garreth," Hollis said. "She rescued me from the City."

"Good job," said the man. "And our drone pilot as well."

Fiona smiled. "Hullo."

"I've just sent Voytek over to mod one of them."

"We saw him," Fiona said.

"He wouldn't have gotten the Taser, but he'll have it now."

"Taser?"

"Arming the balloon." He shrugged, grinned. "Had one handy."

"How much weight?"

"Seven ounces."

"I think that will affect elevation," Fiona said.

"Almost certainly. Speed as well. But the penguin's maker tells me it will still fly. Though not as high. It's silver, is it? Mylar?"

"Yes."

"I think a bit of dazzle paint's in order. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," said Fiona, though Milgrim didn't. "But you know I'm to fly a different sort of drone?"

"I do indeed."

"The box is on the bike?"

"It is. And I should have new dampers by now."

"What are dampers?" Milgrim asked.

"Shock absorbers," Fiona said.

"Let me take your coats," Hollis said, taking Mrs. Benny's helmet, then Fiona's. "I like your jacket," she said, noticing Milgrim's tweed, when he'd shucked out of the stiff nylon coat.

"Thank you."

"Please," Hollis said, "take a seat."

There were two tall, striped armchairs, arranged to face the man on the bed. Milgrim took one, Fiona the other, and Hollis sat on the bed. Milgrim saw her take the man's hand. He remembered their morning in Paris. "You jumped off the tallest building in the world," he said.

"I did. Though unfortunately not from the very top."

"I'm glad you're okay," said Milgrim, and saw Hollis smile at him.

"Thanks," said the man, Garreth, and Milgrim saw him squeeze Hollis's hand.

Someone rapped on the door twice, lightly, not the bra.s.s lady-hand. Knuckles. "Me, innit," said a voice.

Hollis swung her feet to the floor, got up, crossed to the door, and admitted a very pretty young man and a less pretty girl. The girl carried an old-fas.h.i.+oned black leatherette case. They both looked Indian, to Milgrim, though he was vague about South Asians generally, but the girl was a goth. Milgrim couldn't remember having seen an Indian-looking goth before, but if you were going to see one, he thought, you'd see one in London.

"My cousin Chandra," said the young man. He wore complexly distressed, very narrow black jeans, a black polo, and an oversized, ancient-looking motorcycle jacket.

"h.e.l.lo, Chandra," Hollis said.

Chandra smiled shyly. She had perfectly straight black hair, enormous dark eyes, and complexly pierced ears and nose. Her lipstick was black, and she appeared to be wearing a sort of Edwardian nurse's outfit, though it too was black.

"h.e.l.lo, Chandra," Hollis said. "Chandra and Ajay, Fiona and Milgrim. And Garreth, Chandra."

Ajay was looking at Milgrim. "Bit of a stretch," he said, dubiously.

"Spray you on the sides," said Chandra, to Ajay. "That fiber stuff, from a can. For covering bald spots. Have some here." Now she looked at Milgrim. "He could do with a haircut. So that's in our favor, really."

Ajay ran his hand back through his hair, military-short on the sides but a silky black mop on top. He looked worried.

"It grows back," said Garreth, from the bed. "Milgrim, would you mind taking your pants off?"

Milgrim looked to Fiona, then back to Garreth, remembering Jun in the back of Tanky & Tojo.

"The waterproofs," Garreth said. "Ajay needs to get a sense of how you move."

"Move," said Milgrim, and stood up. Then sat down again, bending to untie his shoes.

"No, no," said Fiona, getting up. "Zips for that." She knelt in front of him, undid foot-long zips on the inner seams of the armored pants. "Stand up." He did. Fiona reached up, drew the ma.s.sive plastic fly-zipper down, loudly ripped Velcro, and tugged the pants to the floor. Milgrim felt himself blush, explosively.

"Come on," said Fiona, "step out of them."

67. A CRUSHED MOUSE

Ajay, looking pained but stoic, was seated on what Milgrim said was a Biedermeier vanity stool, in the bright tile cave of Number Four's vast bathroom, towels spread beneath him, while Chandra went carefully at his waterfall with a pair of scissors. Milgrim was in there with them, "moving around" as instructed, while Ajay, when he remembered to, studied him. Chandra too would periodically pause, observe Milgrim, then start clipping again. Hollis found herself waiting for dialog.

"What is is this?" Milgrim asked, apparently noticing the shower for the first time. this?" Milgrim asked, apparently noticing the shower for the first time.

"The shower," Hollis said.

"Keep moving," ordered Ajay.

Milgrim put his hands in the pockets of his peculiar new pants.

"But would you do do that?" asked Ajay. that?" asked Ajay.

"Quit moving," ordered Chandra, who'd stopped clipping.

"Me?" asked Milgrim.

"Ajay," said Chandra, brus.h.i.+ng a wet black bit of stray waterfall from her black tunic. Her black lips looked particularly dramatic, in this light.

Hollis glanced back at Fiona, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, listening intently to Garreth, asking occasional questions, taking notes in a sticker-covered Moleskine.

Garreth had just had to break off, taking a call from the man who was building Pep's electric bicycle. This had resulted in Pep losing his curly-stays frame, as it would have to be "cold-bent," to accommodate the engine hubs, something both the builder and Garreth clearly regarded as sacrilege. Garreth had opted for carbon fiber instead, but had then had to phone Pep and tell him, which had resulted in an agreement to go with dual engines.

Hollis was reminded of watching a director prep for a music video, something the Curfew had been largely able to avoid. She'd seen it later, though, via Inchmale and the various bands he'd produced, and she'd invariably found it far more interesting, more entertaining, than any final product.

In this case, she still had very little idea of what Garreth intended to shoot.

"You go out now," she heard Chandra say, "and close the door. This is smelly." She turned and saw Milgrim headed in her direction, Chandra starting to shake an aerosol can of product. "Keep your eyes closed," Chandra said to Ajay.

Milgrim closed the door behind him.

"Are you okay?" Hollis asked. "Where have you been?"

"Southwark. With Fiona." He sounded, she thought, like someone describing a spa weekend. An unaccustomed little smile.

"I'm sorry about Heidi," she said.

He winced. "Is something wrong?"

"She's fine. I meant I'm sorry that she hurt Foley, made more trouble for you."

"I'm glad," he said. "Otherwise, they would have gotten us. Gotten me, anyway." And suddenly he was weirdly and entirely present, a single ent.i.ty, the sharp looker-around-corners merged seamlessly with his s.p.a.cey, dissociated self. "I wouldn't have gotten to go to Southwark." For those few seconds, he was someone she hadn't met. But then he was Milgrim again. "That's a scary shower," he said.

"I like it."