Mindjacker
Page 2
Two mugshots appeared onscreen. Quinn didn’t recognize either man.
“El Diablo detectives have arrested two suspects who robbed an Uptown man at gunpoint in his home. The suspects attempted to steal the man’s memories of the robbery in what turned out to be a sting operation. El Diablo police believe that the mindjackers were attempting to steal proprietary information from the victim, who is the CEO of the Midtown tech firm Centurion. Michael Wells, El Diablo’s Chief of Police, comments…”
The screen shifted to a middle-aged black man in a tie.
“We consider this operation a success, and we have apprehended two suspects who will be charged to the full extent of the law. Mind invasion is not only illegal, but it represents a terrible violation of a person’s privacy and personhood. We will continue to crack down on these mindjackers and bring them to justice.”
Quinn turned and left, shaking her head. Those assholes in the mugshots weren’t mindjackers, they were mind thieves. Mindjackers worked for the Protectorate, and they followed a strict code that involved taking the utmost precautions to protect the target’s privacy and mind. Mind thieves were dirty undergrounders who robbed the minds of anyone who got in their way, with no regard for their safety or any code at all. But in the eyes of the public, and the authorities, there was no difference. The Protectorate was a secret organization, and very few knew what they did, or why.
She dodged noisy cars and cabs stuck in gridlock due to another busted stoplight, until she finally made it to Hole, Quinn and Daria’s favorite internet cafe and bar, known for its secure connection and its cheap drinks. She ambled down the stairs and entered the underground haven.
Hole was like a cavern—dark, no windows, and dimly lit. It had basic pleather booths, barstools, and tables and chairs, the concrete walls painted with all kinds of murals from over the years, including one that depicted an oasis of desert trees and spiny shrubs, before the drought made them disappear. Hole was far from fancy, but it was a cool refuge from the burning inferno outside, and the clientele was semi-respectable for Downtown.
Quinn found Daria in the corner, where she liked to be, away from the fray and the noise. She watched Daria’s face to see which expression she would get this time. Worried? Angry? Relieved? With Daria, it was difficult to predict.
Daria sat there, dark eyes glued to her computer, sorting through the data from the Stilwell job. Her face was unreadable. Quinn sat down across from her, but before she could say anything, Soo approached with a smile on her face.
“Hey girl,” she said, winking at her. “Drinky?”
“Of course,” Quinn said. “The usual. And another for Daria.”
Soo nodded and left.
“Find anything yet?” she asked Daria.
“Yeah,” Daria said, eyes still on her screen as she tapped away on her keyboard. “Give me a sec.”
Soo brought their drinks—diablos, cheap tequila mixed with lime-flavored soda. The ones with real lime were better, but no way could they afford that. Finally, Daria said what they both needed to hear.
“It’s here.”
“We got it?”
Daria nodded. “I think so. I haven’t sorted through all of it yet, but just mining Stilwell’s work-related episodic memories uncovered some evidence that he’s embezzling money from his company, and that will more than justify the cost the client paid to the Protectorate.”
Quinn grinned. “It’s payday.”
Corporate clients paid the best. They could because they had money. And, at least in Quinn’s opinion, because they were greedy bastards who’d weaseled their way into power when the drought meant certain commodities would become even more valuable to the populace. All while a large number of El Diablo’s citizens could barely afford water and basic health insurance, and a smaller but still significant number lived on the streets and in the subway stations. So, yeah, Quinn was more than happy to take money from these companies.
But Daria didn’t share Quinn’s enthusiasm. “We only get half the purse, minus the Protectorate’s cut, remember?”
Quinn’s smiled faded. When Daria griped about their pay, it was never a good sign. It was still more money than either had growing up or in the years before they joined the Protectorate, so that wasn’t the issue. In Quinn’s experience, money or the desire for it was never about money; it was always about something deeper.
“What’s wrong, Dar?”
“What happened on the subway?”
“It was nothing—”
“It wasn’t nothing. Tell me what happened, Quinn.”
Quinn sighed as Soo set down their drinks and left. “A guy got on the train, and he recognized the target. He was heading over to wake him up, so I distracted him in order to detach and get out.”
“I told you subway jobs are a bad idea!”
“They’re standard issue, Dar—”
“You said it would be a ‘no-brainer,’ that you wouldn’t need me. And I wasn’t there and you almost got caught red-handed—”
“No, I didn’t,” Quinn argued with a bit more confidence than she felt. “It was a fluke. The odds of someone he knew being on the same car at the same time, and wanting to wake him, are tiny. And the subway is less hassle than going to his workplace and much less risky than a home invasion. It worked out fine!”
Another sigh. “It’s just… all it takes is one person to recognize you, and then it’s only a matter of time until the jacker police come after you. It’s not like they wear uniforms or announce that they’re police. No one ever sees them coming. Then you’re out of the Protectorate forever and it’s ten years in the clink, minimum.”
Quinn smiled. “I’m being careful, like always. I would never put our futures at risk unnecessarily. Especially now, of all times.”
Daria looked down for a moment. “I know you wouldn’t. It’s just… I should’ve been there.”
Quinn waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. And I got what we needed—”
“And you’re lucky,” she griped. “We didn’t get our usual data numbers…”
“What’s really bothering you, Dar?”
Daria hesitated. “This job… I don’t know, Quinn. It’s illegal. It’s dangerous. And it’s morally questionable.”
“But it’s always been those things. We’ve known this for five years and we’ve gone over this before. We’re Downtownies and we don’t have a lot of options, so we took the best one we could get. And we’ve gotten this far because we’re a great team.”
“But two guys got busted today, in a sting operation!”
“They’re mind thieves, Dar! They aren’t like us and they deserve to get pinched!” Quinn paused. “Maybe… maybe we should back off and rest a little…”
“I won’t make rent if we do that.”
Quinn nodded. She wouldn’t either.
“I just don’t know if I can do this anymore…” Daria said, shaking her head.
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe this life isn’t for me.”
She’d heard that before, too. Daria would go through a bad time and say it wasn’t for her, then as quickly as the next day she would be jazzed as all get-out and ready to tackle the most complex, difficult job that Tier Twos were allowed to take. That was Daria… as unpredictable as Downtown. Quinn had learned to navigate Daria’s ups and downs over the years, although it seemed like they’d gotten worse lately…
“Dar,” Quinn pleaded. “We are so close. So close. We have only one job before I’m eligible to advance to Tier One. Everything changes after that. We get better jobs and we get all the purse, minus the fee.” Quinn leaned forward. “It’s what we’ve been working toward for years. It’s what we’ve talked about since we were kids, sitting on the stoop in our shitty neighborhoods while people got shot around us and our fathers drank themselves into a coma. Since we filled our empty stomachs with bread and apples we stole from those Midtown merchants. And yeah, it’s illegal, but it’s only dangerous on rare occasions and even then
you can manage if you’re prepared. And we’re always prepared, Dar.”
Daria nodded, but still didn’t look quite convinced.
Quinn lowered her voice. “And it’s not immoral, not the way the Protectorate does it. Those people we jack, they chose to steal, to be crooked and dishonest. They do it because they can and they’re the reason there’s so much poverty and suffering, and why our climate is so fucked that even the drought-tolerant plants couldn’t survive. So we distribute justice in our own way, and we do it without harming the target’s mind or memories.” Quinn took her friend by the hand. “We’ll be able to move out of our tiny little places and into real apartments, and afford to run the AC all day. We’ll be able to afford to eat seafood and ice cream, and drink red wine and diablos with real lime. We’ll be able to move to a neighborhood where we don’t have to watch our backs constantly. Tell me all that isn’t worth a little risk now and again.”
Daria’s anxious expression shifted, and soon she offered up a small smile. “You’re right. I don’t know what got into me. One of my slumps, I guess.”
“I need you, Dar,” she said, squeezing Daria’s hand. “You’re the only person I could ever trust to do this. When I make Tier One, I’ll have my pick of techs, but I pick you. You come along for the ride and we split everything down the middle.”
Daria’s smile widened a little. “Okay.”
Quinn smiled too, relieved.
Daria resumed working on the data. Finally, she finished and sent everything to the Protectorate to finalize and approve before someone presented the data to the client, in this case the CEO of the financial firm Stilwell worked at. Once the client got the evidence they needed, the Protectorate would release payment to Quinn and Daria. Only then would Quinn hear about the next job, the one that would change their lives forever.
Chapter 4
Quinn made her way through the Southgate neighborhood, strolling past dull concrete buildings with no balconies, the windows covered with cheap blinds or, in some cases, aluminum foil. No train connected Southgate with Ocotillo, her neighborhood, so she walked. It would be a longish walk because she refused to pass through Coyote, a lousy neighborhood with lousy memories for Quinn, so she circumvented it to go through Medford instead.
It was dark by now, but Quinn could still feel the day’s heat emanating from the streets and buildings as she walked. There were no more trees to offer shade, no grass or earth to absorb the heat and offer a little cooling. She walked as close to the street as possible, steering clear of the alleyways between buildings and whatever surprises lurked there.
When she rounded the corner, she spotted a group of men about her age, hovering near an alley. They wore cargo shorts and white tank tops, their exposed skin covered in tattoos, their heads buzzed or shaven completely. Downtown thugs. Thugs never had long or styled hair. Long hair was too hot and too expensive, better afforded by those who lived north of 30th Street and could afford 24-hour AC and regular haircuts.
When the men saw Quinn coming, they turned to watch her. A couple looked at her with narrowed eyes, wondering if she would notice whatever illegal crap they were up to and rat them out. A couple others raked their eyes up and down her body like she was a naked woman in a porn spread. Quinn returned their eye contact, making sure to briefly meet eyes with all four of them as she raised her chin just a little.
That’s what you had to do. Never let them sense weakness.
Usually, that was it. But not today. One of them faced her as she approached, a lewd smile spreading on his face as he looked her up and down again. “Hey, darlin’.”
“Fuck off,” she said, offering up her finest scowl, the one that could dissuade even the most determined ogler. She heard one of the others chuckle as they continued watching her.
She passed them, listening closely, placing her left hand in her jacket pocket just in case. Would he pursue? For most, the harassment ended at “fuck off.” For most.
There was no pursuit.
Quinn let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, rounding the corner to get out of their view and reminding herself to avoid that street next time she walked home from Hole.
She hated those guys, and any guys like them. All of them. They were the kinds of assholes she grew up around. Thugs. Losers. Criminals. Guys who had nothing better to do than start shit and make an already troubled world worse. Downtown women could be trouble too, but they didn’t worry Quinn much. They were mostly all talk, and Quinn could easily take one of them, or two or three, if she had to. In her experience, it was the men who did the real damage.
One more reason to get the fuck out of Downtown.
She kept walking, sweat breaking out all over her and her legs itching under her cargoes. When she passed an alleyway, she walked wide, spotting a couple inside it. It wasn’t unusual to see a pair of lovers in an alley, stealing a private moment, especially at night. But something about their body language looked wrong.
Quinn stopped, backing up a little to watch the couple. The guy, tattooed and shaven-headed, had the woman pinned to the wall, his muscular arm barring her. The woman spoke in a distressed voice and tried to leave, but he kept blocking her, trapping her in the alley. Her voice got louder and more desperate-sounding, and Quinn distinctly heard the word “stop.”
Anger flooded Quinn. She marched into the alley, the couple so entangled in their power struggle that they didn’t see her coming. She put her hands in her pockets, each gripping a tool she hoped she wouldn’t need.
“Hey!” Quinn snapped. “Leave her alone!”
The thug instinctively backed away from the young, dark-haired woman. But after taking quick measure of Quinn and not finding her a threat, he scowled in annoyance. “Fuck off, bitch. Mind your own business.”
Quinn glanced at the woman, who still looked shook up, then back at him. “She clearly wants to leave and you won’t let her. Which part of ‘stop’ do you not get, asshole?”
His eyes glimmered with anger as he stepped closer to her. Too close. So close that Quinn could smell his musky deodorant mixed with his sweat.
He was a lot bigger than her. And he wanted to make sure she knew it. Quinn stood her ground, maintaining eye contact. That kind of thug posturing might work on someone else, but not her. This guy needed to learn.
Just as Quinn was about to speak, the thug reached out and grabbed her by the throat. Adrenaline flooded her body as she felt his hand grasping her neck, holding her in place and squeezing her airway shut.
“Shawn!” the woman cried, grabbing his arm and trying to pull it away from Quinn. “Stop it!”
He gave the young woman a hard shove with his other hand.
Quinn, panic rising quickly, yanked her hand from her pocket and shoved her right arm up and out, loosening his grip on her just a little, after which she heaved a kick to his groin. He cried out and released his grip on her neck, hunching over at the pain he was in. Quinn then delivered her next move, putting her entire body into her left fist, which she landed right on his jaw, an easy target with him hunched forward like that.
That crack. The sound of her brass knuckles meeting bone, combined with the distinct snap of his jaw breaking under the force of her punch. It was a horrible sound, one Quinn had heard more times than she cared to. The thug fell to the asphalt, his hulking body suddenly looking weak and vulnerable as he clutched his jaw.
Quinn faced the woman, whose hands covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fear as she stared down at him. “You can come with me. I’ll call the police.”
The woman kneeled down next to him. “He’s hurt!”
Quinn shook her head. “Girl, if he’s willing to choke me for just confronting him, he’ll do much worse to you someday.”
The woman looked up at Quinn, torn between wanting to believe her and any devotion she felt to the man who lay writhing on the ground.
Quinn turned and quickly left the alley, and then broke into a run.
Chapter 5
She barreled down the hot, stuffy hallway until she reached her apartment and unlocked her multiple locks. Finally inside, she locked the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. The place felt stiflingly hot and she turned on her AC unit. She couldn’t afford to keep it running all day, even at a barely-cool temperature, even during the sweltering sufferfest that was summer in El Diablo.
Quinn peeled off her leather jacket, fishing out the brass knuckles from her pocket and checking to see if there was any blood or other evidence of her wrongdoing.
Nothing. Only the memory of breaking the jaw of a man who learned the hard way that he’d fucked with the wrong woman.
They never saw it coming. She was female, and a little smaller than average in terms of height and build, and not thuggish looking. They never expected her to hurl a heap of damage at them, the damage that Wyatt had told her she’d better get used to hurling.
“Better to be a perp than a vic,” he’d always said.
Over the years, she’d come to agree with that philosophy. A big part of her hated it, hated that she had to make such a choice, but that was life in El Diablo’s Downtown.
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to think about Wyatt.
She stripped off the rest of her clothes and pulled her chilled water from her tiny fridge, gulping it down as she stood in front of the AC vent, letting the recycled air cool her overheated body. She shook her head again, feeling her left hand swelling, hoping she wouldn’t have to go back out there again and waste her hard-earned money on some ice.
Maybe it was stupid to intervene in something that was, in some ways, none of her business. At the same time, whose business was it? Who was going to protect that girl if Quinn didn’t intervene? She couldn’t just fucking stand there and let that asshole abuse his power. More memories from the past drifted through her mind, and she pushed those away too.