Toys

Chapter 91

An hour later, no more than that, McGill strode in a quiet rage along a dark, littered alley that led into a crosshatching of even more dark, littered alleyways. He was headed toward a gutted old warehouse at the far end. It was home to a collection of humans, the kind of scum who’d never had much luck to begin with. Well, now their luck was all gone.

“Don’t come any closer-this is a warning!” a sentry, a boy, called from the shadows. The human guard was apparently used to dealing with the slum’s sneaky thieves and manic Ghools-not a huge policeman suddenly charging at him like 270 pounds of battering ram.

McGill stopped short of a collision-and then shot the human dead. He picked up the worthless boy and hurled him tumbling into the gloomy mist beyond the warehouse.

“This is the Agency of Change!” McGill roared. “Get out here now! Line yourselves up against the wall! This is the Agency of Change. You will obey me or die! I’m Owen McGill. Heard of me, skunks?”

As the frightened residents began to appear, McGill fingered the trigger of his laser pistol. God, how he hated these humans. An hour ago, he’d been on top of the world-the temporary chief of the Agency, with Lizbeth almost in his arms. Then it all blew up-because of that sonofabitch Hays Baker! That bloody traitor! That human!

McGill had watched Hays leave headquarters, just in case he did anything criminal or suspicious. And he sure as hell did.

Instead of going home like he’d said he would, he sped off toward these very slums. He’d lied, and no doubt that meant he’d been lying all along. He had made a fool of McGill, even as he stood by silently, allowing McGill to take Jax Moore’s job as head of the Agency.

There was only one way to solve the problem, and this was it, a job only he could do: find Hays Baker, and kill him.

“You stupid people sheltered an escaped convict-that’s punishable by death, and I’m the delivery man,” McGill snapped at the cowering humans. “But I’m going to give you one last chance at survival. I happen to know he’s around here now. His name is Hays Baker. Heard of him? Well, where the hell is he? Anybody?”

McGill turned his most baleful glare on a young woman in rags, holding a baby tight to her breast. She seemed the weakest and most vulnerable of this pitiful lot.

“Come on, honey. Who’s more important-your wee child there, or some stranger who’s actually a spy?”

A gray-haired woman-the oldest, and one who didn’t seem the least bit afraid of him-stepped forward to face McGill.

“She’s not covering for anybody-none of us are,” the old bag said. “We didn’t know who he was when he was here-and we haven’t seen him since. I swear before God.”

McGill raised his pistol and leveled it at the old shrew’s beady eyes.

“Wrong answer, skunk,” he said.

“How’s this for the right answer?” a different voice said-someone behind him. “You’re the only skunk here.”