Outside again, Scott took a deep breath, scrubbing his gloved hands against his pant legs.
”Scott? What did you find?” Red asked.
”I got a name and address: ‘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 through a hawk’s eyes!” Jay shot back.
Red laughed, then looked at Scott. “Shall we check it out?”
”Just a moment, Red”
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 some skeet-shooting?” muttered Red. “I think we could get the cops to loan us one of those gyro-guns.”
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 back into a flexible fabric. He climbed into the back, removed his shirt to expose the bullet wound in his shoulder and lay down on one of the padded benches along the sides.
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 unit and Red stood up, flexing his arm. All that was left of the wound was a red area 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 hallway was dimly lit; most of the overhead bulbs either 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 open a few inches on rusty hinges. “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 both 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 stepped 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 nonexistent 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. “That strip joint’s about three blocks down the street. If she’s a stripper, she might work there. Or she might be a singer and work either there or in one of the other bars nearby.
”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 beyond the sighting just before our little ruckus with Vengeance and company. The woman seems to be intimately associated with the tiger; especially with what Tracker just told us. 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 — Blacksnake 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, Blacksnake’s gang 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’d guess 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.”
