{"sf1_id":1258420,"sf2_id":"AnKM7D0e","title":"Those Grey Steel Nights S1E5: Payment Plans","author":"BlackSmoke","words":3165,"posted_at":"2017-11-04T04:01:00.000Z","tags":["Amputation","Coyote","Crime","Cybernoir","Cyberpunk","Cyborg","Drama","Drugs","F/M","Fox","Gore","Gynoid","Handjob","Mutilation","Poodle","Ritual","Robot","Yubitsume"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1258420-those-grey-steel-nights-s1e5-payment-plans","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/AnKM7D0e","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/24/7f/247fcd54-aa04-4997-be68-43750994f127","description":"Former Detective Fran Van Grantze has a very bad evening.","content":"I was on Miss Songdog's couch for days before I could finally sit up without feeling dizzy.\u0026nbsp; Eventually, I was hobbling around her flat and making a mess.\u0026nbsp; It helped that I was out of my mind on one potent course of painkillers.\u0026nbsp; It was a hell of a way to stave off boredom.\n\nIn my shaking, feverish dreams I saw that the past was a great, toothy, yawning maw, a gaping hole, and I was standing on the edge of it.\u0026nbsp; I saw faces of people I've loved before, from my mother to Jeff.\u0026nbsp; I even saw the face of that prostitute who'd hit me up the other night.\u0026nbsp; There was something off about her and the extent of her overhaul that didn't sit quite right with me.\n\nI saw the face of the woman I loved before I left for Chicago.\u0026nbsp; What was her name?\u0026nbsp; She was smiling.\u0026nbsp; I asked her about her husband. \u0026nbsp;He was gone.\u0026nbsp; It was good.\u0026nbsp; He was a real shithead, but he had the money to land the dame, and I had the personality and irresponsibility to cuckold him.\n\nIn the dream she ran her hands along my face and they felt like plastic.\u0026nbsp; She clicked when she moved.\u0026nbsp; Her eyes were glassy.\u0026nbsp; We floated in and out, just staring into each-other's eyes while I babbled incoherently and she laughed and smiled.\u0026nbsp; When she opened her mouth, the past was a bottomless hole in the back of her throat that crackled with revenge.\u0026nbsp; As she walked, spent brass casings fell from her sleeves and hit the floor.\n\nShe told me something important, but I didn't remember it when I was suddenly soaked in cold sweat.\u0026nbsp; The blankets and cushions were wet.\u0026nbsp; I sat up and pulled my hand through my fur.\u0026nbsp; I looked around the dark living room while I sat there, waiting to stop shivering.\n\nLight streamed in through the blinds.\u0026nbsp; Bars of neon changed colors and glinted off the figurines on the shelves, the jewelry boxes, and the wine glasses in the cabinet.\u0026nbsp; I listened, and didn't hear anyone home.\n\nI managed to stumble into the bathroom to hike my leg.\u0026nbsp; I splashed cold water on my face, as if that'd help.\u0026nbsp; I was spinning, but I noticed something.\u0026nbsp; The door to one of the rooms was slightly agape.\n\nI should've let it be, but I was still as curious as a cat.\u0026nbsp; I pushed it open.\u0026nbsp; It didn't creak.\u0026nbsp; The silvery computer-screen blue glow of\u0026nbsp; the billboard outside was just enough for me to see the slightly opened drawer of the nightstand.\u0026nbsp; I crept over to it on bare feet and pulled it further open.\u0026nbsp; The stark khaki color of a folder glared up at me.\u0026nbsp; I picked it up.\u0026nbsp; It had my name written on the tab.\u0026nbsp; It took me a minute to sort it out, but it was definitely Jeff's handwriting.\n\nThe front of a folder never felt so heavy.\u0026nbsp; My hand trembled as I turned it over.\u0026nbsp; Inside were photographs.\u0026nbsp; It was me, at the bar.\u0026nbsp; It was me on the balcony in Chicago.\u0026nbsp; It was my police ID, scanned.\u0026nbsp; It was me in Navy cracker jacks.\u0026nbsp; There were clippings of cases I worked on, copies of my police dossier, handwritten notes that had such a level of detail they even openly noted me as bisexual, talked about how I was habitually late, a compulsive hero, and liked salty snacks.\n\nThere were photos of me with that coyote.\u0026nbsp; She and I, smoking on the balcony, late at night when her man was out doing lines off hookers or who knew what.\u0026nbsp; She and I getting into the car.\u0026nbsp; Me, holding her from behind in her kitchen.\u0026nbsp; There was a large, circled dollar sign on each photo, and her husband's name.\u0026nbsp; Bartell.\n\nI heard footsteps out by the door.\u0026nbsp; I all but slammed the drawer shut and limped back out into the hallway in front of the restroom as quick as I could.\n\nMiss Songdog let the door slowly swing open in front of her.\u0026nbsp; She was covered in dirt.\u0026nbsp; There were at least a dozen bullet holes in her.\u0026nbsp; She was twitching her head and her hand in an odd way as she walked inside.\n\n\"Fran.\"\u0026nbsp; Her voice was off.\u0026nbsp; I couldn't quite discern what was happening.\u0026nbsp; I worried she was about to die.\n\n\"Songdog.\"\n\nShe stepped inside.\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp; She slammed the door closed behind her.\u0026nbsp; She locked it without looking.\u0026nbsp; Her big, dead eyes were focused on me and flicked up and around.\n\n\"Fran.\u0026nbsp; Vincent Getavo is no longer under my employment.\"\n\n\"He's dead?\"\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\nShe slid her coat off and threw it on the ground.\u0026nbsp; Her dress was torn.\u0026nbsp; There was a large smear of mud across the front and back of it.\u0026nbsp; She took off her hat, and the powder burns on her wig were apparent.\n\nShe dragged herself over to her chair in the living room before she collapsed.\u0026nbsp; She leaned over and held her head in her good hand.\u0026nbsp; I walked up and stood in front of her.\u0026nbsp; I thought about asking her about what happened.\u0026nbsp; I thought about telling her about what I found.\u0026nbsp; I thought about sitting down on the couch and getting off my throbbing leg.\u0026nbsp; I thought about a lot of things.\n\nShe looked up at me.\u0026nbsp; From the angle, her eyes looked different.\u0026nbsp; The way her face was shaped made her look emotional.\u0026nbsp; Her mechanical body's shuddering looked like sobbing.\u0026nbsp; She smelled like gunpowder and rain and a musty place.\u0026nbsp; I got weak in my good knee.\n\n\"Fran...\"\u0026nbsp; She kept saying my name.\u0026nbsp; Just my first name.\u0026nbsp; Not 'Mister Fran', not 'Mister Van Grantze', but Fran.\u0026nbsp; It was odd to hear.\u0026nbsp; For an instant, her autotuned voice sounded natural.\n\n\"What, Miss Songdog?\"\n\nShe grabbed me.\u0026nbsp; She rested her head on my stomach.\u0026nbsp; She held her arms around my hips and I was nearly pulled off my feet.\u0026nbsp; I waited for something to happen.\u0026nbsp; I waited for her to do something, but she didn't for a long time.\u0026nbsp; My fur was all on end.\u0026nbsp; My snout was wrinkled, a little from pain, a little from worry.\u0026nbsp; I couldn't see her face.\u0026nbsp; Her hair was a mess.\u0026nbsp; Why was this familiar?\n\n\"I have something to tell you.\"\u0026nbsp; She looked me in the eyes again.\u0026nbsp; \"You know who I really am.\"\n\n\"You're Miss Songdog.\"\n\n\"We loved each other once.\u0026nbsp; Do you remember it?\"\n\nI froze.\u0026nbsp; My heart was pounding.\u0026nbsp; I was swimming.\u0026nbsp; The room was spinning.\u0026nbsp; The lights were getting vivid.\u0026nbsp; I was freezing.\u0026nbsp; All at once, she was the entire focus.\u0026nbsp; I looked over her.\u0026nbsp; I was confused.\n\n\"My name was Margaret Bartell.\"\n\nIt hit me like the L-track.\u0026nbsp; My eyes widened and my mouth was dry and suddenly her perfume was familiar, her eyes were familiar, her touches were the same.\u0026nbsp; I forgot she was plastic and software.\u0026nbsp; I fell to my knees.\u0026nbsp; Her hand caressed my shoulder and I felt like liquid.\u0026nbsp; The walls were melting and going wavy around her.\n\n\"Do you remember, Fran?\"\n\nI did.\u0026nbsp; Those nights when her husband was away on business, and her soft body, and her intelligent smile, and her cunning tricks, and that one time I had to jump off the balcony in just my britches and she threw my clothes down after me.\u0026nbsp; It was all running together in my head.\u0026nbsp; I remembered seeing her afraid for the first time, when something happened, when she confessed to me that someone might be trying to kill her, and I thought it was just paranoia.\u0026nbsp; I remembered the tears she left on my shirt collar when he was killed.\u0026nbsp; I remember when she died in the car fire.\n\n\"Oh my god.\"\n\nI swore she was smiling.\u0026nbsp; She leaned down.\u0026nbsp; We were both on the floor of her apartment now.\u0026nbsp; I could feel the blood soaking my fur around the wound.\u0026nbsp; She was on top of me.\u0026nbsp; I could see the bullet holes in her plastic body and hear the machinery straining within.\n\n\"I wish I could've told you sooner.\"\n\n\"Fifteen years...\u0026nbsp; The car bomb?\"\n\n\"It hurt.\u0026nbsp; A lot.\"\n\n\"Maggie...\"\n\n\"No,\" she turned away for a second, \"Don't call me that.\u0026nbsp; I just need to know...\u0026nbsp; Fran.\u0026nbsp; After all these years, do you still love me?\"\n\nWas it the drugs?\u0026nbsp; Was it the pain?\u0026nbsp; Was it the killing?\u0026nbsp; Was I desperate because Jeff was dead?\u0026nbsp; Was I desperate because of the file I found, that made me think, for the first time, that Jeff wasn't all he seemed to be?\u0026nbsp; Was it because I'd loved Maggie Bartell?\u0026nbsp; Was it the memory of sitting in my Chicago apartment after she died, staring out the window, imagining myself having a picnic on the tracks just as the train came by?\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Say it.\"\u0026nbsp; Her weight pressed in on me.\u0026nbsp; I winced.\n\n\"I always loved you, Maggie-\"\n\n\"No.\"\u0026nbsp; She cut me off.\u0026nbsp; She squeezed my arm.\u0026nbsp; I stared up at her twitching eyes and noticed the deep shadows around them.\n\n\"I love you, Miss Songdog.\"\n\nShe was inscrutable.\u0026nbsp; She rested her head on my neck. \u0026nbsp;Her body mechanically shuddered.\u0026nbsp; I was crying and she could feel it.\u0026nbsp; My mind was swimming.\u0026nbsp; I was all sorts of numb all over from the painkillers.\u0026nbsp; I was floating and hot, and still felt like I was over a deep chasm, and she was laying on top of me.\u0026nbsp; Her plastic hand ran over my chest.\u0026nbsp; Her plastic face leaned in.\u0026nbsp; My eyes closed.\u0026nbsp; I leaned up and pushed my lips to hers.\u0026nbsp; There was no breath to feel leave her mouth or nose.\n\nShe pulled herself up.\u0026nbsp; She was straddling me.\u0026nbsp; She reached behind her head and behind her back, and unzipped the back of her dress, before pulling it clean off.\u0026nbsp; I could see the chipped edges of the damage and the fractures across her stomach.\u0026nbsp; I could feel the smooth doll-like anatomy of her groin against my bare stomach through her lingerie.\u0026nbsp; As she leaned back down onto me I saw glimmers of light from the exit wounds.\n\nHer hand slipped lower over my belly.\u0026nbsp; I hardly noticed when she pulled my waistband aside.\u0026nbsp; I was still holding her shoulder.\u0026nbsp; She was leaning to the side.\u0026nbsp; Her breasts pressed against my chest through her bra.\u0026nbsp; They gave a little.\u0026nbsp; They must've been some sort of silicone.\u0026nbsp; They weren't warm.\u0026nbsp; None of her really was.\u0026nbsp; She had the chill of the night air on her still.\u0026nbsp; It wasn't exactly pleasant.\u0026nbsp; I wasn't exactly in my right mind or in any state to protest.\u0026nbsp; I almost said her name again, her old name, but I bit my lip.\u0026nbsp; I was starting to fade out again.\u0026nbsp; Things were coming and going in waves.\n\nWhat was I supposed to say?\u0026nbsp; Sorry honey, I have a headache, I'm not in the mood?\u0026nbsp; She took what she want and I guess I had a little pride that she wanted me, even though I'd been a sad mess of fluff on her couch for over a week and smelled a lot like piss and not very much like sunshine.\u0026nbsp; She couldn't smell, could she?\u0026nbsp; And my rocket was taking its time to launch.\u0026nbsp; I was nauseous in that dumb way when you haven't eaten but your appetite's not there and hasn't been in a while.\u0026nbsp; I didn't want this right now.\u0026nbsp; It was happening.\n\nCouldn't lie.\u0026nbsp; It felt okay, as far as I could feel it.\u0026nbsp; Her grip was tight.\u0026nbsp; The silicone pads on her fingers were soft.\u0026nbsp; She was skillful.\u0026nbsp; She took up my whole vision with her polymer mask and her camera eyes behind those glassy lenses.\u0026nbsp; They flickered back and forth looking over me.\u0026nbsp; I felt the air cool the wet fur on my cheeks.\n\nI'd like to say I made a mess, but I was too much of one, myself.\u0026nbsp; It just kind of dripped out and I kind of held on while my numb legs pedaled a bit of air and I made a sound that wasn't very masculine.\u0026nbsp; I couldn't tell if she was satisfied or pleased or disgusted as she wiped a drop on my nose and told me to go clean myself up.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nThe next evening I after I woke up from a long lucid string of nightmares, Miss Songdog was made up in a different blonde wig and a different dress.\u0026nbsp; She had a fresh suit sitting on the coffee table in my size and measurements, and my revolver was scrubbed clean and oiled.\n\n\"You can't stay here, Mister Van Grantze.\u0026nbsp; It's too dangerous.\"\n\nI looked up, still trying to wipe sleep out of my eyes.\u0026nbsp; \"For me, or for you?\"\n\nShe tilted her head as if to smirk.\u0026nbsp; \"Vincy knows you're here.\u0026nbsp; You ought to go home and get some more rest.\u0026nbsp; ...That is, unless you think you could stand a fight in this condition.\"\n\nI looked down.\u0026nbsp; Nah.\u0026nbsp; I couldn't.\u0026nbsp; My arms were too shaky.\u0026nbsp; My legs and knees were still weak.\u0026nbsp; \"Can I at least get a shower first?\"\u0026nbsp; Her face didn't change.\u0026nbsp; \"I'll get dressed and go.\"\n\nThe pants were difficult to pull on since I couldn't quite lift my leg all the way.\u0026nbsp; I didn't even bother with the dress shirt.\u0026nbsp; I pulled the suit jacket on and stuffed my street prescription in the pockets.\u0026nbsp; I got my trenchcoat and took a moment to examine the ragged hole in the skirting of it before throwing it over my shoulders.\u0026nbsp; My revolver sat snugly in the front right pocket that it normally called home.\n\nGetting down the stairs was tough, and I had to hold on to the structurally dubious bannister the whole way down.\u0026nbsp; The bear from earlier was at the door again.\u0026nbsp; He simply nodded to me as I gritted my teeth and left the building for the cold outside.\n\nMy car was where I left it.\u0026nbsp; Driving was no small feat.\u0026nbsp; I wasn't all there, and probably came off like the most vindictive asshole in the city to whoever was unfortunate enough to tail me.\u0026nbsp; Darkness was settling in before I pulled into my apartment's parking lot.\u0026nbsp; The familiarity lulled me into complacency.\u0026nbsp; I eyeballed two black SUVs I'd never seen before, but they weren't parked together, and people were always coming and going from this dump.\u0026nbsp; The familiar sounds of the neighbor's loud televisions and kids shouting far down the hall were, for once, nice to hear.\n\nMy mailbox was empty.\u0026nbsp; Normally I'd have at least four papers by now.\u0026nbsp; I was too tired to think more deeply on it and headed right up the stairs.\u0026nbsp; I struggled with the door until I could open it.\u0026nbsp; I was inside. I closed it behind me and turned around.\n\nThe pitch darkness of the room suddenly blinked away and the slide of a pistol slammed against the side of my head.\u0026nbsp; So much for a relaxing evening on the couch.\u0026nbsp; I was grabbed by two strong men and was being shouted at by a third.\u0026nbsp; They searched my pockets and pulled out my revolver and my pack of needles and threw them on the couch.\u0026nbsp; I tried to make a quip but my mouth was full of blood and my tongue was starting to swell up.\u0026nbsp; I'd bitten it in surprise.\u0026nbsp; They ended up pulling me into the kitchen and shoving me into a chair at the table.\n\nAcross from me was the elderly feline Synth had dealings with earlier, flanked on either side by suited cats with silenced guns.\u0026nbsp; She was dressed eloquently in a traditional dress and had her hair done-up in a grey bun.\u0026nbsp; There was a small wooden-handled straight-edged knife on the table.\n\n\"Ah, Mister Van Grantze.\u0026nbsp; You're late.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Pak.\u0026nbsp; I've been on a small vacation.\"\n\nShe chuckled.\u0026nbsp; \"Well, I hope you enjoyed.\u0026nbsp; I just want you to know, you've opened a tab with my business, and I'm very particular about tabs being paid off in a tidy, say, efficient way.\"\n\nMy stomach sank and the room throbbed.\u0026nbsp; \"You're going to kill me?\"\n\n\"My associates would enjoy that, yes.\u0026nbsp; They'd greatly love to add your funeral to the list you've already given us.\u0026nbsp; Do you know how many settlements I've had to pay out?\u0026nbsp; How many caskets I had to buy?\u0026nbsp; How many grieving mothers I had to console, who thought that with me, their sons would be safer than on the streets?\u0026nbsp; But no.\u0026nbsp; Your death couldn't possibly cover that tab, and would preclude any kinds of further payment.\"\n\nShe held up the knife.\u0026nbsp; The fellow to my left grabbed my arm and balled my hand into a fist and pulled my pinky out.\u0026nbsp; I struggled to pull away, but his grip was too tight.\u0026nbsp; The man on my right grabbed that arm and held it on the table as well.\u0026nbsp; No matter how much I thrashed, they held.\n\n\"Don't struggle, Van Grantze.\"\u0026nbsp; She set a cloth down and my left hand was placed onto it.\u0026nbsp; The knife was placed nearby, and my right hand was pushed onto it.\u0026nbsp; \"Grab the knife, Van Grantze.\u0026nbsp; We'll help you.\"\n\nI couldn't fight my way out of this one.\u0026nbsp; Even if I managed to stab one of the suits, I'd get shot dead right here, right now.\u0026nbsp; I grabbed the knife.\u0026nbsp; They let go of my right arm.\u0026nbsp; I knew how this went.\u0026nbsp; I stopped struggling.\u0026nbsp; I was lucky I was on something, and lucky my stomach was empty, or I'd have upchucked.\n\n\"You know how this goes, Van Grantze.\"\n\nI trembled.\u0026nbsp; These guys were waiting for any excuse to be able to kill me right there.\u0026nbsp; I'd killed a lot of their friends.\u0026nbsp; I held the knife over my pinky, at the first knuckle from the tip.\n\n\"One more.\"\n\nThe second knuckle.\u0026nbsp; How many of those guys had I killed?\u0026nbsp; Six, maybe?\u0026nbsp; The blade was sharp and cold.\u0026nbsp; I had to just get it over with.\u0026nbsp; I slammed the knife down like a guillotine.\u0026nbsp; I sawed a little, before I saw the digit come lose.\u0026nbsp; It hurt, but it was still far away from me for now.\n\nThe knife was twisted out of my grip.\u0026nbsp; Mrs. Pak demanded I wrap the finger in the bloody cloth.\u0026nbsp; I held my hand to my chest.\u0026nbsp; Blood ruined my new shirt.\u0026nbsp; I shakily wrapped my finger in the cloth, and held it up to her with a shaking hand.\u0026nbsp; She took it from me, and held the package in her lap.\n\n\"Thank you, Mister Van Grantze.\u0026nbsp; I accept your gracious first payment on your tab.\u0026nbsp; I'll have my men contact you for further payment.\u0026nbsp; You owe my company a few favors now, and I'm sure you'll be happy to repay them.\"\n\nAnd then they were gone.\u0026nbsp; I was lying on the kitchen floor, cradling my left hand in a dish rag for who knows how long.\u0026nbsp; Eventually, I made it to the couch, and fell asleep in my bloody clothes.\n\n  \n  \n\n"}