Spider's Game ((Book One) #Wattys2016 Winner!)

Chapter 4- A Stop On the Road

The hired car stank of grease and perfume, leaving Berrick to be thankful not to be exposed to whatever those odors might be covering. Berrick stared ahead of him at the road as the driver tried to chat with him. He kept his hands in his lap, away from the stained seats—this city was disgusting, and the sooner he escaped it, the better.

"No special plans in Brothel city? I know lots of places." The driver turned right. They were only a few blocks from the restaurant and Berrick's car.

Berrick shook his head, hoping this time the sweaty, strung-out driver would leave him to brood. If it had been any other city, Berrick would have called in his license. Yahal didn't need trash like this working in any public capacity, but Brothel city was independent. Even getting information on polite request from them sometimes took work.

He had bigger concerns than a drug addict hired driver.

When they pulled into the nearly empty lot, Berrick tipped the driver and hopped out, ignoring what the other man called after him. If he never heard another word about this disgusting city, he'd be happy.

Half a dozen cars dotted the lot—it was long after the trendy restaurant closed for the evening. Only one other person was in sight, a woman sitting on the hood of a car smoking. Berrick looked for his vehicle. He didn't drive it often. Preserving the reputation of his title took using the horse drawn carriages that the nobility preferred most of the time. Even so, after two sweeps, he realized the car the woman reclined against was his.

He checked for his sidearm, and having reassured himself the gun was prepared if this night continued to deteriorate, he strode up to his car. The woman didn't flee at the site of someone approaching. Probably not some drugged out teen then.

When he was close enough to recognize her, his glare deepened. Alita, the waitress who'd served them drinks. Her eyes wide and vacant as she puffed smoke into the already thick city air.

"What're you doing on my car?" Berrick asked.

"Your friend asked me to keep an eye on it." Alita blinked as if clearing her head. Then stood and flicked her dark hair back over her shoulder.

"My friend?" Berrick tried to keep his voice from falling into a snarl, but any patience he had with the current situation was fading.

"Halis," Alita breathed the name, reminding Berrick of how Henri had spoken of Silvia.

What sort of power did these people have?

"When did he ask you to look after my car?"

"He called," she sighed. "I gave him my number, and he called."

"Is there a phone inside?" Berrick ground his teeth, a habit that had always bugged Polly. He stopped himself when he realized.

"Yeah, suppose you could use it. Don't you have the money for a net-chip? You don't seem the sort for public phones."

"Not a Yahal native are you?"

Alita shook her head, her brown ponytail bouncing from side to side.

"Leave Brothel city and you'll find no one messes with that tech." He rubbed at the tiny lump behind his ear—a deactivated net-chip, gotten in his college days. It would be useful to have the instant access right now. He could always use his net-glasses which he kept for emergencies in his glove compartment. But the whole point was not to use the advanced tech when there was an easier option.

"I'm not really supposed to let people in."

"You know who I am?"

"The Police Chief." Alita didn't sound impressed. Foreigners never did. They heard the title and thought of some hairy detective sitting behind a desk in a small town. They didn't get how different things were on Yahal.