Mardock Scramble полностью

–Well, I can’t show him the slightest sign that I’m worried about either the girl that should be dead or her PIs. Nothing gets past my father-in-law—he’s a shrewd customer. So I’m completely defenseless at the moment. If our enemies try something in front of us, we’re not even allowed to react, because we have to show the world that we’re completely unconcerned by this case. That’s right, isn’t it?

“Sure…” Then Boiled spotted something from the corner of his eye.

A small square card. Boiled leaned down to pick it up from the side of the bed, cell phone still to his ear.

–I’m leaving it all to you. Do whatever you have to do to crush the girl and the PIs.

“I understand. But in order to do my job properly I need to work out what their aims are. In order to make sure that I cover this from every angle, will you tell me what this key to your deal is—”

–Stop it, Boiled. Don’t you understand that I can’t tell you that? Not you, not anyone. The whole point is that I’m the only one who knows. If I tell you, that’s gone; the company has all sorts of ways of finding it out, and I lose my edge.

“You know I have a duty of confidentiality to—”

–Listen to me carefully, Boiled: fuck right off. Your “duty of confidentiality,” as you put it, isn’t worth shit to me. This is my deal. The reason I’m going to be able to pull it off is because I’m doing it alone. Can you manipulate the contents of your own mind? Can you break your memories into pieces and use them as bargaining chips?

Boiled said nothing. He was looking over the object he had just picked up.

It was actually a rectangular piece of card. On the back there was a detailed grid. On the front, a table of rows and columns of numbers.

–Anyhow. You do what you need to do, and you do it now. Got that?

“Understood.”

The call ended.

Boiled placed the cell phone back in his jacket pocket. Having lost interest in the room he headed back out into the corridor.

The manager seemed visibly relieved to see that Boiled had finished, but then, “What’s this?” Boiled asked. Surprised, the manager took it from his hands.

“Erm… I’m not entirely…” he leaned his head to one side and caught a glimpse of Boiled’s cold, piercing gaze. “We could always, uh, ask some of our other staff.”

The manager returned to the front desk on the verge of a panic attack. Boiled used the time to call a number of limo companies, collating data on all the cars that had recently been sent to the motel.

“We’ve, uh, worked out what it is, we think. It’s a crib sheet. One of the other employees here is quite keen, you see…”

Boiled plucked the card from the manager’s fingers. “Crib sheet?”

“Yes, it has the odds of various hands for different card games, apparently. I couldn’t tell you in any detail…”

“Odds…card games…” Boiled muttered. Then, decisively, “You’ve done well.” He thanked the manager—if it could be called thanks—and headed straight out of the motel and into his car.

“Games…” His voice was heavy. He took another glance at the card before placing it in his pocket.

He drove off, turning the steering wheel sharply. There was a flicker of anticipation in Boiled’s otherwise blank gray eyes, and the car headed uptown into Mardock City.

≡

As the car sped down the freeway, Boiled thought about the conversation that he had had with Faceman in Paradise. About violence, curiosity, and the value of life—it echoed all around before dissipating.

When had he lost his consideration for life? It must have been just after he joined the army.

Or was it when he was recognized as one of the best soldiers in his class and assigned to the fighter planes?

Either way, there was no doubt that one of the defining points in his life was shortly after the formation of the Airborne Division—the air raid designed to inflict a decisive killer blow on the Continent. Instead, Boiled made a mistake that ended up blowing his own life wide open.