Code Noir by Marianne de Pierres

but I wasn’t so sure who really lorded over the sinister heart of The Tert. According to Teece the name ‘Dis’ had some obscure connection with hell. Nothing obscure about it as far as I could see.
    Geographical demarcation in The Tert was more than lines on a map. It was something you just knew. Usually by the look of the punters strutting the pavements, the crappo decorations on buildings, and whatever the vendors hawked. The Muenos had toll points on the main thoroughfares. Plastique had toll for those that came in off the Transway.
    I knew it like the classroom of my net-school when I’d lived back in the ’burbs.
    Yet I didn’t know Dis. Hopefully I never would. Hard-core crazies, hard-core heavies. Even for Parrish Plessis - Warlord.
    Actually I was working on another word for my current job. And the first scud that called me ‘war-babe’ would see thick end of my garrotting wire.
    ‘What are you offering me?’
    ‘I’m offering to let my men come in here and distribute Lark and Speed. You get a percentage. ‘
    Lark and Speed. Basics. Not much appeal for designer-shit in The Tert.
    I wasn’t big on chemical entertainment myself. With a body as infested as mine there was no room for extras. Left to me, I’d shoot the Lark dealers soon as I’d buried all the Sensil teks. But I’m not stupid - that was a crusade I couldn’t win. Or wanted to. Just a personal preference.
    One thing I did know, though. Tedder’s men weren’t selling on my turf. The slimy little anorexic wasn’t getting a fingernail in here.
    ‘What arrangement did you have with Jamon?’
    He hesitated over the truth.
    ‘Jamon got twenty per cent.’
    ‘He distributed, right?’
    Tedder nodded.
    ‘You’re a liar, Road. I’ve seen Jamon’s notes.’ I had, but they’d made no real sense. Tedder didn’t have to know that.
    I saw Teece stiffen at my provocation, wondering what the hell I was up to while he had a shok-rod inserted in either ear.
    Tedder quivered, sucking deeply. ‘Twenty per cent or nothing - a very generous offer. You can continue to collect your protection money from the bars and not worry your head about the rest.’
    ‘Forty per cent and I distribute. I don’t want to see your dealers within cooee.’
    Tedder paled, twitching. He inhaled deeply once more. ‘Scramble the boyfriend,’ he said.
    My world narrowed to the space between Teece, the Plastique boys and me.
    I couldn’t get there in time, but if I could just get them to shift their rods a fraction . . .
    ‘OK,’ I said hoarsely. ‘Ease off the hardware and I’ll do it your way.’
    Tedder smiled thinly at me. He nodded at his boys to dismount. ‘Watch her.’
    My smile was for Teece. Bright and jaunty. I hope he got my meaning.
    The skewbalds released their triggers in unison, retracting their rods a fraction from his ears.
    I shot them both instantly.
    Teece dropped like a stone to the floor with them. I didn’t look at him, whipping the Lugers straight on Tedder.
    He was quick. He had Ibis as a shield, an ugly little meat cleaver jammed against his throat. The blood had already begun to trickle. ‘You’ll regret that, bitch.’
    ‘Bitch is fine, Road. But don’t call me “girlie”. And don’t ever think you can play me,’ I snarled in reply. Blood thundered in my ears. The creep had pushed me to risk Teece’s life and now he had Ibis trussed like roast about to carve.
    Yet I couldn’t let him win. Everything that had gone before would be wasted.
    In some distant, removed, part of my brain, I wondered how long it would be like this for me. Dealing for power. Is that what warlords do?
    I stared into Ibis’s eyes. He quivered. This time for real.
    ‘Don’t harm him, Road,’ I warned. ‘I’ll . . .’
    I didn’t need to finish my threat. The hand that held the knife at Ibis’s throat suddenly spasmed and fell away. The cleaver clattered to the floor, Tedder alongside it.
    I pounced on it.
    Tedder writhed in pain. I stamped my