“I've got enough trouble without worrying about Red Hand repercussions,” Jubal said to the unconscious Jane.
He turned back to the window and zoomed in. Edward was talking to Moe and Jubal could just manage to read their lips. He caught enough words to conclude that Edward wanted a bike delivered to Hei Long. Their transaction apparently completed, Edward turned and walked away, apparently in quite a hurry. Jubal considered chasing after him, after all he hadn't spoken to Edward in far too long… and the bounty on his head was nearly as high as Sarkissian’s. At the edge of the junkyard, Edward ducked down the backstreets and ran off. Jubal let him go, he had a mission to complete. Their reunion would have to wait.
He picked up his GR-67 droid head and was startled as the electronic pulsing sound began again. He shook the head and gave it a sharp tap, and the strange signal stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Jubal frowned and stuffed it into his handbag. He heard Jane stirring weakly as he climbed down the stairs, but he ignored her. Stealthily darting in and out of high cover, Jubal made his way through Moe’s junkyard and approached the back door. He reached into his bag and pulled a short cable out from the droid’s open neck and plugged it into the maintenance interface on the security panel. Within a few seconds, the LEDs changed from red to green and the door silently slid open.
“Cakewalk,” Jubal muttered to himself as he snuck inside.
The door closed behind him and a fine spray erupted simultaneously from a dozen different directions at once. Jubal tried to dive into the next room, but the mist instantly hardened into a rubbery mess and he was frozen in mid-leap inside an oversized marshmallow. He struggled to pull his limbs free, but he was completely immobilized.
“Welcome to Moe’s,” said a nearby voice.
Jubal looked up to find Moe calmly sauntering into the entranceway that Jubal had failed to cross.
“Well this is embarrassing,” Jubal sighed.
“Oh, don't feel too bad,” Moe said kindly. “Most dirtbags don't even make it past the door! That's some gizmo you got there. GR-64?”
“-67 actually,” Jubal answered, wincing as his foam prison tightened against his body.
“Wowie, the -67 is my favorite,” Moe continued happily. “I'm sure I've got enough parts to build a new body for your droid twice over!”
“Sounds great!” Jubal wheezed as his breathing became laboured.
“‘Course, if that's what you were interested in, you would've come to see me during normal business hours. And you didn't do that, did you? So what are you here for? Now don't waste your breath lying to old Moe, I don't need to tell you that foam will crush the life out of you in a couple of minutes--give or take! I ain't no scientist after all!”
“A book,” Jubal gasped. “Sarkissian sent me to steal your copy of Paradise Lost.”
“Did he now?” Moe laughed amiably. “Ari Sarkissian is just incorrigible. He wants to have it all. You know, I bet my copy is the very last one in existence?”
“You--don't--say,” Jubal croaked as the foam expanded across his throat.
“During the war, the governments of the world tried to outlaw any and all works that pertained to supernatural evil--hell, demons and the like. They hoped it would help stifle subconscious fears of that genre and weaken the Infernals. Paradise Lost was near the top of the list of banned works, just below the Bible. 'Course I didn't believe in that mumbo jumbo and I don't agree with book burning on principle. Seemed like I was the only one who saw things that way though. I remember bonfires as high as Brooklyn Bridge. They even managed to purge whatever Internet servers hadn't been destroyed by the fighting.”
Moe regarded Jubal with a thoughtful expression for a moment, while Jubal choked and sputtered.
“I'll tell you what,” the old timer continued. “I'll let you have the book, and the droid body, if you do something for me first.”
“Ok,” Jubal managed painfully.
Moe pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew. Jubal didn't hear anything, but Moe was clearly puffing hard. Jubal felt the foam softening around him and emitting a loud hissing sound, like it was deflating. In another moment, it crumbled into popcorn-like fragments and he collapsed to the floor, desperately gasping for breath.
“Infrasonics,” Moe explained with a fatherly smile, holding up his whistle. “So, you're going to get me a key. It won't be hard to find, since it is always around the neck of Wallace Hanson. You can find him in the Caloumi building in New New York.”
Jubal nodded, still catching his breath.
“Oh, and don't leave Jane lying around on my property.”
Jubal looked into Moe’s kind, smiling face and sighed resignedly. He picked himself off the floor, collected his handbag and walked out without saying another word.
Jane regained consciousness just long enough to give Jubal her temporary address, before passing out again. He stuffed her into a self-driving taxi and got in for the ride. Cursing and grunting with effort, Jubal managed to get her into her apartment. He bandaged her shoulder before remembering that he should still be angry. He was a little concerned that she never fully regained consciousness throughout the entire process, starting to wonder if she had gone into a coma.
“Doesn't look like you've been eating your vegetables, Jane Kelley,” Jubal said to his unconscious colleague. Shrugging his shoulders, he left.
* * *
Wallace Hanson looked at himself in the mirror, noting the new grey hairs that had sprouted above his ears. He put his hands into the sink and felt cool water rain down. He splashed his face tiredly, pausing to massage his temples. It had been another long day. He was looking forward to watching the grav-cycle race the next day. Nothing helped him forget about his troubles like watching a bunch of nutjobs trying to get themselves killed.
A soft clanking noise drew his attention toward the bathroom door. He watched in confusion as a metallic sphere the size of a cabbage rolled into the room. It came to a stop a foot away from him and a blue LED began to blink. A lean figure casually strode in behind it, but before Wallace could react, a blinding electrical discharge erupted from the sphere and he abruptly collapsed, paralyzed.
“Hello Mr. Hanson,” Jubal said with a smile.
He bent over the prone figure, who was grunting as he tried to move his unresponsive muscles. Jubal quickly found the key hanging around his neck and pulled it off him.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Hanson managed at last, giving up his struggle. “Do you know who that belongs to?”
“Why, it belongs to me, doesn’t it?” Jubal answered, laughing.
“Wrong asshole,” Hanson growled. “I work for Oren Spillane. Nobody steals from Spillane unless they have some kind of death wish.”
“Well I guess I have some kind of death wish then,” Jubal replied calmly as he retrieved his droid head and made to leave. “Since I have just stolen from him.”
“You won’t even be able to use that key, moron.”
Jubal paused, intrigued despite himself.
“And why is that?” he asked patiently.
“Because there are a dozen Infernals guarding that vault,” Hanson replied triumphantly.
“Bullshit,” Jubal replied with a snort. “The war is over. There haven’t been any Infernals around for years.”
“There’s something special about that vault, besides the gold,” Hanson declared stubbornly, “because they’ve been guarding it for years. Spillane has me checking on them, figuring they’d disappear, but they’re still down there.”
“Down where, exactly? And what did you say about gold?”
“What? You mean to tell me that you don’t even know what this key is for?” Hanson laughed bitterly, until Jubal gave him a brutal kick in the ribs. “It opens a vault buried in the ruins of one of the branches of the Bank of New York Mellon, in Old New York,” Hanson finished, coughing through the pain.
“And this vault contains some long lost gold reserve?” asked Jubal with growing interest.
“Yeah.”
“Well, thanks for the history lesson, Mr. Hanson. Be sure to give Spillane my regards. Oh, my name is Jane Kelley, by the way,” Jubal said as he walked away.
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