Outside again, Scott took a deep breath, scrubbing his gloved hands against his pant legs.
”Scott? What did you find?” Red asked.
”It said, ‘Antoinette Duval, Room 4B, Chestnut Street Rooming House’,” Scott replied.
”Where’s that?” asked Jay over the radio.
”Block or so up the street. I saw it while we were searching,” Red said. “Don’t you notice anything?”
”You try reading the signs on doors from a hundred feet up!” Jay shot back.
Red laughed, then looked at Scott. “Shall we check it out?”
”Just a moment, Red,” Scott said.
Into the radio, he said, “Captain Jones, rendezvous here with the hovervan.”
He turned to Red. “Let’s wait for the van. I want to get you patched up before giving someone else a chance to turn you into Swiss cheese.”
Over the radio, Jay chuckled. “Yeah, no-one likes to be given damaged merchandise. By all means, let’s get him fixed up for the next gunny!”
”Anyone for skeet-shooting?” muttered Red.
Jay laughed.
The hovervan slid to a stop by the curb, settling to the pavement as Captain Jones powered down the fans. Reaching into the back, he brought out the portable autodoc. Red switched off his armor, reverting his poly-fiber steel shell to fabric. He climbed into the back, removed his shirt, exposing the bullet wound in his shoulder, and lay down on one of the padded benches along either side.
Captain Jones positioned the autodoc over the wound, inserted the hopper of medicines, and turned it on. It hummed for a minute, micro-arms cleansing the wound, removing the bullet, drawing the edges of the wound together, suturing it, and bathing it in the radiation of the fast-heal projector. The autodoc beeped once, then lay silent. Captain Jones removed the autodoc and Red stood up, flexing his arm. All that was left of the wound was a red patch of skin where the bullet had entered.
They started for the rooming house. “How do you want to handle this, Scott?” Red asked. “Just bust in, or shall I do my pizza-delivery routine again?”
Scott shook his head. “Can’t just bust in. For all we know, ordinary people live there.”
They climbed four flights of grimy stairs, stepping over refuse. The walls and floor were heavily stained and Tracker’s nose wrinkled at the smell old vomit and urine as well as a plethora of other distasteful aromas. Jay’s foot disturbed a wine bottle lying on its side and it began to roll. Tracker’s hand shot out and stopped the bottle as it teetered on the edge of the wooden step, then placed it carefully upright against the wall.
”Okay, Red, go deliver a pizza,” Scott whispered.
The hall was dimly lit; most of the overhead bulbs broken or missing. The rest cast feeble pools of radiance in the gloom.
Red eased up to the first door on the left side and knocked. The door creaked and swung open a few inches. “Scott? Looks like the place has already been broken into.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open as the others hurried up.
It was a small room, shabby but clean; sparsely furnished with an iron-framed bed, a dresser with one drawer missing, and a cracked mirror. The contents of the other drawers lay strewn across the floor.
Scott’s mouth tightened. “Those Cartel thugs have been here, all right. Come on, let’s see if we can find out who she is, and where to look next.”
Tracker froze, nose working. “I can smell the woman and the tiger. The traces are very faint but they have been here. Probably two to three weeks ago. Nothing recent.”
They searched the room, looking for any other clues. Scott moved to a guitar lying in the corner. Someone had deliberately stomped on it and smashed the body of the instrument.
”What’cha got?” Jay asked.
”A guitar, destroyed. It’s well-worn but meticulously clean. Obviously well-loved or owned by a professional musician.”
”Tools of her trade?” Jay asked.
”Perhaps.”
He set the ruined guitar down and glanced at the others. Red held some bits of silky yellow fabric, a speculative look on his face.
”Got something?” Scott asked.
”Dunno.” He held up the items. “G-string, and a nearly nonexistant scarf. Things a stripper might use in her show. Wouldn’t necessarily need the G-string here in Chattanooga, but she would some places. However, if she’s a stripper, I’d expect to find more dance-costume stuff. And I don’t.”
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “I saw a lounge about three blocks down, on one of the main streets. If she’s a stripper, she might work there. Or she might be a singer and work there or in one of the other bars locally.
”Anyone else have a suggestion?”
”Not a suggestion, but more of a question,” Jay said. “Why are we hunting the woman? I thought we were out here to find a tiger.”
”Well,” Scott replied, “first of all, we haven’t been able to find the tiger. The woman seems to be intimately associated with the tiger; especially with what Tracker just said. We know she and the tiger met several times in different buildings around here and both of them have been in this room, Cartel is hunting for her–Snake is hunting for the tiger. My guess is that when we find her, we’ll find the tiger as well.”
Jay shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”
”Do you think she’s on our side?” Red asked. “After all, the Snakes are known criminals, and they were after her.”
”Yeah,” Jay agreed. “The enemy of our enemy is our friend.”
”I can’t say,” Scott replied. “She and the tiger are unknowns. I imagine her mutations are just revealing themselves and she could go either way.
”Anything else?” The others shook their heads. “Then let’s check it out.” Scott rubbed his chin. “I’ll go in first and see what we can find out officially.”
Scott entered the Nightbirds Lounge while the rest waited in an condemned hotel across the street. Tracker stood in the doorway, watching the club through a narrow crack. After a few minutes, a man in a business suit opened a panel in the old storefront window and climbed in, followed by Scott. Tracker focused his senses on the two men.
The man reached out to a display of several photographs and took down a picture. The caption at the bottom read ‘Mademoiselle Antoinette.’ He handed the picture to Scott. “Keep it as long as you need it.”
”Thanks. Did she say anything at all about why she left, or where she went? Any family?”
The man shook his head. “No, no family. Or, at least, none here. She was French, spoke with a real sexy French accent. She was one of those wandering types, you know, here one day, gone the next. But seems odd she’d leave without collecting her paycheck. I spoke to her the last day she was here and she said nothing about leaving. She did seem kinda drawn-looking though, you know what I mean? I asked about it and she said she hadn’t been sleeping very well, something about nightmares.”
Scott nodded and handed him a card. “Call this number, please, if you see or hear from her. I need to find her. And thanks, you’ve been a great help.”
”Hey, no problem. I’m always glad to help a guy like you, Mr. Nolan. My cousin and his wife were on the Sea Star when you stopped those terrorists. I’ve been a fan of yours ever since! Say, could I get you to autograph the back of this card? Matt and Ginny would treasure it.”
Scott took the proffered pen and wrote his name on the back of the card, then shook the man’s hand, turned and climbed back out of the window. A moment later he walked across the street to the warehouse where the others waited.
”Well, we have a face now,” he announced. “This is Anoinette Duval.”
The others gathered around. Tracker studied the woman in the photograph. She stood slender and long-limbed, clothed only in long black hair. Fast and agile, for a human, he analyzed thoughtfully. She stood with her back to the camera, looking at them over her shoulder. Fine-boned, with high cheekbones, her face showed liquid dark eyes and a wide, mobile mouth. He memorized her features for later identification in the hunt.
Red gave a slow whistle of appreciation. “Lord, she is gorgeous!”
”Oh, wow!” Jay exclaimed, “That’s what we’re chasing? Now I know why I joined the Defenders.”
Red grinned. “May I quote you to Sarah? I’m sure she’d be ever so interested.”
”Hey.” Scott withdrew the photo. “I don’t mind you guys drooling, but you’re getting my hand wet. Let’s get back to work finding her, okay?”
”At your service, master boss-man, sir,” Jay said, with a mock salute.
”Here’s what I think we’ll do,” Scott said. “Jay, I want Lady to keep a sky-watch for us. Tracker, keep out of sight for now; you can wait here or in the hovervan. After it gets dark, you can scout around again. Red, I want you to go in as a customer. Take a table, watch the dancers.”
Red grinned. “Boy, why do I get all the tough jobs?”
”Aw, you’re breaking my heart,” Jay complained.
Scott ignored them. “Pour your drinks on the floor if you have to. Don’t get drunk. Watch for her. I’ll find a spot and watch the back door.”
”Any idea what the connection is between Miss Duval and the tiger?” Tracker asked. “They’re linked, somehow; could they be one and the same?”
”I don’t know,” Scott said with a shrug. “But we know Cartel is hunting for her, and I’m betting that Snake wants her, as well as the tiger. We know that both she and the tiger were around here.”
”Perhaps she’s mind-linked with the tiger, like I am with Lady,” Jay suggested.
”That’s possible,” Scott said. “Anyway, let’s get to work on finding her.
