A Motive with a Universal Adapter 02

This felt dangerous and savage and I just wanted to lose myself in the pleasure of the pain.

"Holy shit, Ritz," I cried, "I feel like I'm gonna explode... Oh, god... make me explode... please please please... just fucking destroy me, Ritz... make me fucking cum..."

She nipped at my exposed throat and nibbled her way up my neck as her hand violently darted between my splayed legs. I matched her fury, churning her sopping body with my fingers, determined to give as good as I got.

When her lips reached my ear, she whispered "Does this scare you, Princess?"

"Yesssss!" It terrified me.

I could feel the edge growing closer and I reeled at the dizzying height I had climbed to. There was so much pent up need and emotion I was frightened of what would happen when it was finally released. But I wanted it too much to stop.

"Good," she breathed. "Because I'm gonna rip this pretty little pussy apart if you don't cum for me soon."

That lewd threat was the last little nudge that my fervid brain needed.

"Shit!... Shit!... Shit!.... Ritzt, I--- I'm cumming!... I--"

And then my world erupted. It felt like every synapse in my brain fired at once, every muscle convulsed, every electrical connection overloaded. I swear, static burst through my vision and I couldn't tell if the wailing I heard was coming from me or a feedback loop in my aural processor.

"That's it Princess, cum for me! Cum for me! Cum for me!" Ritz pushed me on and on.

I clung to her neck with both hands, digging my nails into her skin as the most powerful orgasm of my life wracked my enervated body. My hips spasmed furiously and my spine arched first one way and then the other. I forgot how to breathe.

"Ungh!... Ungh!... Ungh!... Ungh!"

When it was over, the last thing I remember is sinking into Ritz's embrace, kissing her lips, her face, her neck. Resting my head on her shoulder.

I woke up with a start. I didn't know where I was or why I was naked on this sofa.

"Morning, Princess," Ritz greeted me from the floor. The previous night flooded back.

"Oh, god, please... never, ever call me that again." My head ached and I felt dehydrated as I pushed myself up on my elbow. "How long have I been out?"

"About nine and a half hours," she said, after taking a quick second to do the math. "That stim tab rebound really knocked you offline. Jeremy said we c-could sleep it off in the G-Green Room as long as we're out before the early shift gets in at noon."

That's when I noticed the slight tick in her voice and looked down at her through bleary, crusted eyes. I blinked twice before I could see for certain that she was trembling again. She was sitting on the floor with her back propped against the wall. A cord snaked from her pants leg to the wall outlet, charging her cyber leg. At least she'd managed to get herself dressed.

"So, you got over the jezi too, huh?" I asked, sitting up and looking around the room for my underwear. "Did Jeremy take care of you? Or was it Dan?"

"You don't remember?" she asked coyly. "You were here for the whole sordid thing."

"Seriously? Oh, that's just wrong." I winced, discovering the deep rug burns on my knees.

"Relax," she soothed. "You slept through everything and nobody touched you. Oh, your phone rang a couple of hours ago. I thought it might wake you, but when it didn't I let you sleep. There's coffee there on the desk. I think it might even be real."

I abandoned my quest for clothes and poured myself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the side table. This was a luxury.

"Oh, that's what I needed right now," I sighed, taking the first long sip as Ritz lit up a cigarette. After I got dressed, I checked my messages and found one waiting from Whistler.

"Ciao, Abby. Sorry I missed you," he greeted in Italian. "Hope you're doing something naughty. Can't wait to hear about this new run you're so excited about. Call me back."

I poured myself another cup of real coffee and left another message for Whistler, because he never picks up for anyone, no exceptions. I just had to hope the phone volley didn't go too long. We needed dirty data from inside Militech and Whistler was the only way I knew to get it.

ICS had a studio cantina on the tenth floor, and since Ritz and I were still technically guests of the show, we grabbed a couple of sandwiches for breakfast, found a booth in the corner, and plotted our next move. The first order of business was getting her a fix.

"Do you know anybody else on Lucidrine?" I asked between mouthfuls.

"Not anybody local. Most of my old unit from the 13^th is dead, and I don't know how to contact any of the mercs from Lithuania who started taking it. The few people I know in Night City who tried it once or twice got it from Savage Joe."

"Alright, what about other dealers? Do you know anyone else that deals in black lace, jazz, or slammer? Any other kind of combat drug?"

Ritz shook her head. "I got anything I needed from Joe."

I slumped forward with a frustrated sigh. Finding Lucidrine was probably going to mean talking to the kind of people who don't like talking to reporters.

"Rough night?" asked a familiar voice from above me, and my skin crawled up my spine.

Murray Laska, with a cup of coffee and a Manila folder, slid into the booth across from me without waiting to be invited.

"I've got the early numbers from last night, and they look very promising," he told us, then turned towards Ritz and extended his hand. "Hi. Murray Laska, Abby's producer. Can I call you Ritz?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer.

"Y'know, you're good TV, Ritzie. That trick-shot with the gun over your shoulder? Legendary. And that hydraulic thing in your leg—is that a custom job? Never seen one like it before. Whoa! That's quite a grip you got there, soldier."

The smile plastered on his face never faltered as he laughed off Ritz's handshake and shook the pain from his living hand.

"So tell me Abby, what else are you working on? Is there anything I can help you get into the pipeline?" Murray had slid one foot out of his loafer and up onto the bench seat next to me. His socked foot pushed at the hem of my skirt and caressed the side of my bare thigh while he waited for an answer.

"I, um... I do have a couple of threads on the spool." I stammered. "Some, uh, some bigger than others."

"That's great! Ritzie said something about Militech last night. You're not going after those guys, are you?"

Shit! Ritz did say something about Militech. What had she said? How much did Murray know? I tried to dredge up the interview from the fuzzy memory of last night but I couldn't come up with it and Murray was still waiting, his foot stroking my leg.

"The Militech story....That, um, that hasn't really panned out yet. It may not. There may not be anything there."

"Well if there is, I want to see it first. Here..." He handed me a business card. "That's my direct address, and my cell phone number. Don't bother with the slush pile, send it directly to me.

"Y'know, I shouldn't be telling you this," Murray leaned forward conspiratorially, "but ICS has big plans for the news division. You could be a part of those plans, Abby. If you can pull these kinds of ratings consistently, I know we can find you a place here. Would you like that, sweetheart?"

"I'd love to have a network job, Murray. But I'd need a few... considerations."

"Oh yeah, I bet you would," he grinned, and leaned back next to Ritz. His toe stretched out and traced the curve of my butt. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, first I want to choose my own crew. Ritz goes on the ICS payroll as my security."

She looked up in surprise, closed her mouth, and then looked back down at the table.

"Won't be a problem," Murray assured me, looking her up and down with a sly smile. "I heard about your green room fun last night." He winked at Ritz and turned back to me. "I want to work the two of you as a team. What else?"

Ritz interrupted before I could present a second demand. She didn't look up. She didn't turn towards him. With her face downcast on the table in front of her, she said "If you ever lay a finger on her again, I will shove my foot up your ass and spread your rectum open wide enough to reach in and yank out your left testicle from the inside. I will make you swallow it, and then I'll go back and do the same thing with the other one. You think this is hyperbole, Mr. Laska..."

Then she turned to face him. "I assure you, it is not."

Murray's foot slid off the seat and back to the floor as the color drained from his face and his smile faltered.

"Well, ah hmm," he sputtered as he scooted out of the booth. "We'll still have to see what the final ratings for last night look like, of course. And uh, we'll see what happens with your Militech story." He looked at his watch. "Oh! I'm late for a meeting. I need to get back upstairs now, so... "

He raised his coffee cup in a farewell gesture, and headed straight out of the cantina leaving one of his expensive loafers behind.

"Sorry," Ritz looked down at the table. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Are you kidding? That was chrome-cold awesome!"

"Were you serious about hiring me as your security? Even knowing about my... dependency?"

"Absolutely. Even without Lucidrine, there's nobody I'd rather have watching over me."

"Thanks." She looked up at me and I think she blushed a little before she looked back down at the table. "That... That means a lot."

"Just the same, let's find you a supplier. It's a big city. Savage Joe Carmichael can't be the only one pushing it. I wonder where he was getting it? Did it come from out of town? Did you have to wait to get it?"

"No, not at all. He always had it as soon as I asked."

From the way her mouth fell open I could tell we both had the same revelation at the same time.

"Oh, Ritz, tell me you know where he lived."

She nodded. "Joe owns a... he owned a one-bedroom condo in Northside. It's in a building called 'Whitehaven Mansions'."

"Ooo. Pretentious name for that neighborhood."

"Yeah, he took it as payment for something or other while I was off fighting in Europe. Joe always said the building was all flash and no substance." She smiled just the slightest at her recollection. "He used to say their motto should be 'There's no need so pressing that it can't wait until tomorrow'."

The front entrance to Joe's building was only two doors down from Talsorian's Bar, still wrapped in police tape. The cabbie dropped us off right in front.

Ritz leaned on the railing to get to the top of the front steps, but once we were through the doors, she reluctantly leaned on me and I did my best to keep her steady as she hobbled inside, ignoring the stares of people passing by.

The lobby was nicer than mine. The guard wore a suit instead of a uniform and sat behind a desk instead of a duraplast barrier. He nodded at us as we entered. A vid-screen directed visitors towards the sales office with a slide show of designer interiors, mortgage incentives, and the promise of immediate occupancy. The elevator bank was grouped by floors, but instead of a simple call button, each lift had a keypad.

"I hope he hasn't changed his code since the last time," Ritz muttered. She tried twice to punch in the code with a shaking hand and received an "Unrecognized PIN" message and a loud buzzer for her troubles. Other people were starting to turn and look.

"Five nine five four seven two," Ritz grumbled under her breath. "Just punch in five nine five four seven two, will you?"

I entered the code and a moment later the elevator doors slid open. A minute after that we stepped out onto the forty-second floor. Now, that's how elevators ought to work.

Ritz was able to reclaim her independence by leaning against the wall as she lurched down the hall toward Joe's apartment one precarious step at a time. It was hard to watch her fight through the symptoms of her withdrawal. Joe had to have a stash of Lucidrine in his condo, he just had to.

"This is it." She nodded toward a door.

"Quaint," I remarked, looking at the old-fashioned mechanical lock and deadbolt on the door. "I don't suppose you have a key?"

"Nope. I figured I'd have to pop it open with my leg. It's gonna be noisy, so we're gonna have to be quick."

"Who even uses keys anymore?" I mused out loud, reaching for the door knob out of nostalgia.

It turned.

I looked at Ritz and she looked back. Between her trembling and her hidden eyes, her expression is always hard to read, but she sure looked surprised to me.

I cocked my head towards the door. She nodded so I pushed. The door swung open.

We stepped into a small foyer that opened into the main living space with a kitchenette at the back. The cabinets were all open and empty, dishes and cookware were stacked on the counter. Stepping into the living room, the thing that most struck me about Joe's decor was how most of it had been thrown into boxes.

It looked like Joe had been in the process of leaving in a hurry.

The frown on Ritz's face was unmistakable confusion. She looked at me and started to say something, but then she looked past me and the confusion turned to alarm and she reached for her gun.

I spun around and spotted the man in the bedroom kneeling over a rolled up rug. He looked up and saw us in the same instant.

"Uh... Can I help you?" he asked, standing.

"Who the fuck are you!?" Ritz barked, shoving me out of the way and pointing her gun at the stranger in Joe's home. The gun wobbled in her hand as she fought to hold it steady.

"Whoa! Hey, hey, I just work here," the guy raised his hands. They were both cybernetic from the wrist. He wore heavy dungarees and a matching short-sleeve, button-down work shirt with the name "Bob" on a patch above the pocket. An ID badge was clipped to his belt. The crewcut he wore left plenty of room on his forehead for his eyebrows to leap with surprise. "There's a work order there on that box to clean this place out," he pointed.

I picked up the clipboard and saw the Whitehaven Mansions's logo on the front page of a stack of tri-color carbonless forms.

"This looks legit," I held the clipboard up so Ritz could see. I don't know if she even looked at it or not; she didn't turn her head. But she did lower the gun.

"So uh, yeah, I'm afraid I have to ask," Bob started, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. "Who are you?"

"I know the owner," Ritz said and you could just tell the memories were bubbling up as she staggered into the room.

"Oh, uh... they, um... they told me he passed away."

"Yeah, I know."

"She was his input," I clarified.

"Oh, I'm, uh... I'm sorry," Bob stammered, giving Ritz room to look around. Her attention lingered here and there before being caught up by another reminder of the man she called Savage Joe. "They um, they told me there was only one name on the deed, and no emergency contact... You can look around if you want, but I, um... I can't let you take anything."

That would be a problem if Joe did have the Lucidrine Ritz needed. But we had cash now. Maybe Bob would be open to a bribe.

With great effort, Ritz knelt down next to an open box and pulled out a picture frame.

"Hey, um... Are you okay?" Bob asked, keeping a respectful distance in the small living space.

"She needs her medicine," I explained. "We were kind of hoping she might have left some here at Joe's."

"Oh, uh... I haven't found any kind medicine. I mean some aspirin and antacids in the bathroom. Nothing prescription."

"He was my dealer," Ritz stated without innuendo. "I need a fix."

"Oh." Bob seemed nonplussed by her blunt confession. "I um, I've been through just about everything. I didn't find any drugs anywhere."

Ritz returned to the box of mementos and I let her have a moment to mourn.

"What's going to happen to all this stuff?" I asked Bob while we waited, just to fill the awkward silence.

"It's going into storage. I'm not sure what happens if nobody claims it."

"Your building management is pretty responsive. Joe only died yesterday."

"Day before." Ritz corrected me without turning around.

"Right. Day before. Sorry. My sleep schedule is pretty messed up."

"Well, you know, management just wants to turn the unit around as quick as possible. The waiting list for this building is huge."

That didn't quite jibe with the aggressive discount offers they were making in the lobby. It might be true, but my reporter's instincts twitched. I mentally pressed the record button on my cybernetic eye and spliced in the audio feed from my ear.

"Doesn't Joe's estate still own this unit?" I followed up. "Can the management really clear out his stuff and re-sell it like that?"

"I just do what the work order says," Bob answered with a shrug.

I reached toward the bedroom door and Bob immediately moved to block me.

"There's nothing else in there," he told me flatly.

"I just... thought I'd check to see if maybe you missed something," I looked up at him. "I'd be willing to pay a lot for her fix."

"What you want isn't here." Bob's patient demeanor had swiftly changed to insistence. "Look I've got to get back to work. I'm sorry for your loss, but it's time for you two to leave."

He did not want us looking in the bedroom, so it was absolutely the place I had to go.

"Kinda weird that the door still uses an old-fashioned key lock," I pressed on, standing my ground and ignoring his suggestion to leave. "I guess management gave you a master key to get in."

"Yeah," Bob replied pointing towards the door, "And now it's time for you to get out."

Ritz pulled herself to her feet with a groan using the arm of the sofa.

"Let's see it," I persisted.

"What?"

"If you really work for the building, you can show us the master key you used to get in. Let's see it."

"I don't have time to--"

"Show her the damn key," Ritz ordered. She was on her feet, braced against the sofa. Her pistol wasn't pointed at Bob yet, but it was in her hand waiting to be.

"...Fine," Bob answered after a moment's hesitation, and then reaching into his pocket, he repeated, "Fine."

He pulled his closed fist out of his pocket and flipped a cybernetic middle finger at us both. A trio of short, precision lockpicks extended from the end of it.

"It's a dying art form," Bob shrugged and then quick as a shot his other hand grabbed my shoulder.

Before I could even cry out, my whole body was seized by a painful spasm. Every muscle contracted at once and it felt like my bones were shattering from the inside. A taser hand. Sneaky.

There were gunshots and crashing. I found myself face down on the floor, out of breath, and not sure how I got there. That was becoming disturbingly common today.

The bedroom door was open. Ritz stood to one side inching forward to get a look inside, both hands on her gun to keep it steady. I was just pushing myself to my feet when a short trio of pops erupted, followed by another trio and another. Blooms of pulverized drywall erupted from the wall Ritz leaned against.

She cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor next to me, out of the line of fire.

"Shit, that stings!" she complained as she struggled to roll over onto her back. I pushed her the rest of the way and she managed to have her gun pointed at the bedroom just as Bob peeked around the door frame.

She fired a pair of much louder shots but her aim was so bad, Bob easily ducked back under cover.

"Move, Rhoades!" she hissed, gesturing to one side of the room while she tried to scramble to the other.

Bob (although by then I doubted that was his real name) pushed a svelte little submachine gun around the door frame and blindly sprayed bullets into the floor where we'd both just been. The shots sounded muted and distant as the bullets tore through cardboard boxes. The shattering of glass and the crack of wood and ceramic was louder.