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meet you tomorrow for an initial scan.”
    The man nodded, betraying his self-satisfaction slightly at having passed the initial interview. He slid a card across the small glass-topped table to Catwalk. Then, he stood, “Is 10am acceptable or should I make it later for you to fight off the effects of that vile drink?”
    “Ten’s fine, doc,” Cat replied. As an afterthought, he slugged the remainder of the vodka. As he placed the emptied glass on the tabletop, he looked up at the stranger. “I’ll see you then, Delambre.”
    The man raised an eyebrow then smiled his slight grin again. “Hmm, then à demain, Catwalk.”  
    He turned and exited, fading into the crowd of swirling bodies and pulsing lights. Cat watched him as he left. Without a word, he crushed his cigarette. He looked the man’s card over again. It offered a contact number with no name. Cat grinned, signaling the waitress for another drink. He stared at the card, filtering through the first interview, and weighing the abilities of his potential partner.

CHAPTER SIX

    “This…is…unacceptable!”
    Midas slammed a golden fist through the glass coffee table. Shards filled the air, then dropped like glittering rain to the carpeted floor. A handful of yes-men and concubines scattered to the corners of the room. Hitch was dead. His body had been discovered burnt to a crisp inside his limo. The initial reports said he was trying to claw his way out as he was burned alive.  
    The only lead was the presence of some inhuman thing that had appeared out of nowhere, according to the eyewitness testimony of a drugged-out, underage streetwalker. Midas stood up, straightening his collar. Shards of glass fell as he brushed his silk dress shirt.
    Long ago, Midas had undergone irreversible cyber-surgery, giving his skin a glowing hue, while his eyes become two imposing golden spheres. He’d converted masses with the simple message that “Everything he touched turned to gold”. Hitch had been no exception.
    Midas provided the pathetic necrophiliac with all the attention and affection that Hitch’s broken psyche constantly craved. As a result, Hitch was an obedient, if flawed, dog.
    Midas’ slightest gesture kept him in line for years, providing him an outlet for his inhuman sexual advances while leaving him a productive member in the trafficking of weapons and drugs through Midas’ empire. Hitch was a henchman, and despite his flaws, he provided Midas something he needed. Hitch had been the sales pitch to many of the drug runners in Nitro City. If a limping, disfigured scavenger could rise to the right hand of the Golden King, anyone could. Now, Midas would have to hide the disappearance of his Renfield before the same impressionable scum began pissing themselves over rumors of some vigilante.
    The fool who had lashed out at Midas’ empire would have to suffer, if only to send a message to the competition. It wouldn’t be hard to find the chitbag who’d pulled the plug on his disfigured errand boy. Midas stared at the footage from the limo’s security camera. He lifted the golden goblet to his lips and took a long drink.
    He beckoned with a finger to one of his guards. The armored man, large enough to fill most of the entrance to Midas’ quarters, stepped forward with programmed obedience. Midas gestured, and the screen froze. The scared face of the scrawny male prostitute filled the screen. “Put the word out. We have a new target.”
    “Bring me the boy…alive.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

    The H-S reluctantly cut to silence as Cat parked it on the top floor of the parking deck. He stole a quick glance around. The building wasn’t exactly upscale. There were no armored guards or wired fences, but it boasted reinforced concrete walls, and the doors were solid enough. If Delambre had put his lab here, he’d done so with a great deal of consideration ahead of time.
    Cat armed the explosive theft-prevention alarm on the motorcycle and stepped off. The wind made his