“Fuck you!” she shouted. “You can take your thug bullshit and shove it right up your thug ass.”
He shook his head, his face reddened with anger. “I knew it. I knew you’d pull this shit, that you’re just doin’ this to get on Easy Street.”
Quinn held up both hands, each with its middle finger extended. “Get out, thug.”
She pointed to the door, instinctively going for her brass knuckles, just in case. But she didn’t need them. Jones turned and stormed out the door.
Chapter 28
Quinn woke with a start. She looked around her place, her heart pounding as she grasped her weapon. Everything looked wrong.
Then she realized why. She was facing the wrong way. She’d shoved her bed up against her front door, as a first line of defense in case anyone—thieves, the cops, whoever—tried to break in again. All it would take was one nudge of that foam bed and she could shoot first and ask questions later.
Light came in through the edge of her shades, and she checked the time. It was almost nine.
All at once, it came back to her. The failed job. The garbage bin. The robbery. The fight with Jones. And Noah being the worst cop ever… or the best one. One who could fool even her paranoid Downtownie instincts. But it shouldn’t be any surprise to her. She was good at assessing men she met or dated, but not men she got close to. Wyatt was proof of that.
It seemed Noah had won. Again. He’d been winning the whole time.
Her phone rang. She got up and snatched it from her kitchen counter, and her stomach roiled when she saw who it was.
It was the man himself, Officer Noah, jacker police extraordinaire.
Why the hell was he calling? Then she realized why: he knew who she was and what she did, but he didn’t know she knew, that she’d seen him last night. He hadn’t gotten his perp, his final win, so he was looking to continue their elaborate gambit, knowing it had a big payoff. Imagine the reward—the feeling of winning—if Noah managed to put a Protectorate-trained mindjacker (or two) behind bars, especially one as experienced as her. It would be a career-maker for him.
But for Noah, suspicions weren’t enough. Even knowledge wasn’t enough. He needed evidence of her wrongdoing, and to get that he needed to get close to her, close enough for her to come clean about her occupation or, more likely, to reveal key information that would lead to catching her in the act.
She let the call go to voicemail, then checked it.
“Hey, beautiful,” came his voice. “We still on for brunch today? Give me a call.”
A flutter of pleasure coursed through Quinn at the sound of Noah’s voice, at him calling her beautiful and sounding hopeful to see her. It sounded so… genuine. Jesus, he was good. She hated herself for those feelings, for feeling them despite knowing the truth about him and what he was doing.
And brunch! After all that had happened, she’d forgotten about brunch.
She wanted to ignore the call. To push Noah out of her mind, just like she’d done with Wyatt. But it would look suspicious. It was better to make him think she still had no idea who he really was. She dialed his number.
“Hey!” he said, sounding glad to hear her voice.
“Hey,” she replied, trying to sound chipper.
“I’m glad you called. I was getting worried.”
I’ll bet you were.
“Sorry. I haven’t been feeling well and was staying at a friend’s place with better AC.”
That’s why I wasn’t here last night when you broke in.
“You okay?” he said.
No, Noah. I am not okay.
She thought he would sound fake now that she knew the truth, that she’d just believed his feelings were genuine because she’d wanted them to be. But even now, he was able to feign concern really well. “I’ve been better.”
“What’s wrong? Dust allergies?”
“No. Girl stuff.” That would shut him up.
“Shit. Sorry. You want me to come over? Bring the good drugs?”
Quinn shook her head in frustration. Even girl stuff didn’t stop him! “That’s sweet of you, but I still don’t feel well and I’m not ready for company.” Then, an idea struck. Maybe she could do a little gaming of her own. “How are you? You said work got crazy on Friday… did it get better yesterday?”
“It did, but then it got worse.” Now, his voice sounded different. Colder, harder. “Something I thought for sure would pan out, didn’t.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“It’s alright. You know me. I’m going to get what I want, one way or another.”
A chill ran though Quinn at Noah’s words, at the menacing sound of his voice. Finally, the veneer had slipped and she saw it—Noah’s cold side, the side that would take her down in an instant.
She knew then it was time to cut ties. Her tolerance for risk was higher than most, but even she knew that trying to game an EDPD jacker cop was beyond her pay grade.
“Noah… we need to talk.” It was a little unsettling to be the one speaking those four deadly words this time, instead of hearing them.
“Okay…”
“I can’t do this.”
“Don’t worry about it. We can reschedule or I can come by when you’re ready for company—”
“No, Noah. I… I can’t see you anymore.”
Silence. Then, “Why not?”
“I… I’m not a relationship person. I’m sorry if I led you on. To be honest, I never thought a guy like you would ever want more than… fun… with a girl like me.”
Quinn hated lying, but this was the easiest lie she’d ever told. Because it had been true once.
More silence on his end, and Quinn realized she was pacing her apartment again. Before Noah could come up with a response, with some charming wizardry to weaken her further, she said, “I’m sorry.”
And she hung up.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the phone, at its blank screen where Noah’s name had been. Her throat felt tight, making it difficult to breathe. She glanced over at her desk, empty now. She went and picked up the delphiniums from the floor and laid them on the desk. Then she cleaned up the broken glass and water, and sat down on her bed.
It was over, all of it.
And now she had nothing.
Chapter 29
Quinn sat down on the hard concrete bench and leaned against the concrete wall. It was ten in the morning and already pushing 115 degrees, but she’d managed to score a tiny bit of shade.
She looked out over the small patch of open land, a square parcel between buildings, memories returning to her. She was sitting at Ocotillo Park, or what once was a park with an ironwood tree and a few shrubs. Now it was an unshaded and unadorned concrete and rock slab much like Mercy Park, but without the strange metal sculptures. It was the park where she’d last seen a Blue Banner in the wild, and where the thug had killed it.
Sweat broke out on Quinn’s forehead, and her scalp was already burning hot and getting itchy. She badly wanted to yank off the wig and toss it into the overflowing garbage nearby, but she didn’t. She needed to remain as incognito as possible. By now, the cops, and God only knew who else, would be on the lookout for her.
Soon, someone approached. Daria.
She still wore her usual sundress and flip-flops, and had her favorite licorice ropes sticking out of her bag, but she looked different. She smiled a little, but it wasn’t just that. She looked… even-keeled. Calm. Like her usual nervous energy had settled down a little.
Daria sat down and hugged Quinn, their moist sweat mingling for just a moment. Daria eyed her and sighed. “It can’t be good news if we’re meeting in this shit hole instead of our shit Hole, with a capital H.”
Quinn smiled, but it faded quickly.
“What happened, Quinn?”
Quinn shook her head. She wouldn’t burden Daria with the truth, as badly as she wanted to. “I’m out.”
Daria’s eyes grew wide. “They canned you?”
“No
. I’m just done.”
Daria said nothing, offering a piece of licorice. Quinn shook her head. Finally, Daria glanced over at Quinn’s roller bag. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah. I need to steer clear of my place for a while.”
“Why?”
Quinn shook her head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. So, tell me what you’re doing now. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” She smiled. “I’ve decided to go to nursing school.”
Quinn gaped at Daria. “Holy shit. Really?”
Daria nodded, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “It’s a two-year program, designed for low-income folks. They need nurses badly, so they’re recruiting applicants and offering up low-interest loans. And… two years’ worth of loans is a lot better than four.”
“But… will the pay be enough?”
Daria waggled her head from side to side. “It will be tight. But it’s ten years of tight, instead of twenty, and I’m actually excited about becoming a nurse. And, if I do well and get a good position, sometimes they’ll pay for you to get your four-year degree!”
Quinn nodded, a strange relief coming over her. If Daria had mentioned all this a year ago, Quinn wouldn’t have been supportive. Nursing was admirable, noble work, but it was grueling work for the pay, not to mention the loan and interest payments that would keep Daria stuck Downtown. From Quinn’s perspective, if you were going to suffer that kind of servitude, why not work for the Protectorate and wind up making more money down the road? But on that day, with a new perspective, Daria’s choice seemed downright sensible.
Maybe she too should accept her lot in life. She was a Downtownie and always had been. Other people survived down here, lived decent lives, even did good for their community, so why couldn’t she?
As they talked, Quinn watched Daria, still struck by how calm she seemed.
“What?” Daria said, seeing Quinn staring at her.
“Sorry. You just… you seem different.”
Daria leaned back, chomping on a licorice rope as she watched two kids play catch on the concrete slab, impervious to the heat as kids often were. “I am different. Ever since I gave my resignation, I’ve felt so much better. It’s like once I walked away from that life, I was free. My ups and downs aren’t so up and down anymore. In fact, I haven’t had a slump in a long time. And I’m super excited about being a nurse.”
“Are they still taking applications?” Quinn asked. “The nursing school?”
“They are. Why?”
Quinn shrugged. “Maybe I should apply. It’s time for me to get off the crazy train and quit trying to move up. I’ve spent enough time jacking Uptowners to know that they’re no happier than we are anyway. They just have better stuff.”
Daria laughed, her brown eyes filled with compassion. “As true as that is, this isn’t the path for you.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Quinn. You don’t mind risk. In fact, you seem to thrive when you’re on a job. I remember how your face would light up, even at the most mundane parts of the job. And when things got exciting or scary…” she shook her head, smiling, “… it was like you were in your element.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “And look where it’s gotten me.”
“It’s gotten you a string of bad luck that wasn’t your dang fault, girl. At least not all of it. I was a shitty tech, Quinn,” she said, her eyes watering. “I wasn’t good about testing the equipment and that’s what fucked everything up—”
“Dar—”
“Look,” she said. “All of this… and whatever happened that’s making you want to walk away… it’s just a big test to see how serious you are. Because the fact that they haven’t canned you tells me you’re still close to making Tier One, and when that happens your life is going to change in ways that will scare you.” When Quinn shook her head, Daria went on. “Shake your head if you want. But you were made for that life. It’s not just about getting out of Downtown or eating fancy food. You want to make the world a better place.”
Quinn scoffed, remembering blonde Sara using that tired line. “Every agent says that. They’re all full of shit.”
“Yeah, because most of the other agents aren’t Downtownies. They have no dang idea of what it means to struggle. But you’re different. You don’t see it yet, but you’re doing this for a reason and you need to see it through. If you walk away, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Quinn sighed. Despite hearing at least some of the logic in Daria’s words, she couldn’t imagine continuing now. Not after everything that had happened, with the odds stacked so high against them, and with a partner who saw her as nothing but a money-grubber.
Daria stood up. “Just take a minute, will ya? Think about it before you do anything stupid.” She glanced toward the street. “I have to go. I’m meeting with the loan people. It was good to see you, Quinn.”
“You too, Dar.”
After Daria left, Quinn sat there, replaying Daria’s words in her mind. Was Daria right? Was she just burned out after one too many setbacks, or was she finally seeing the truth? Quinn shook her head. Since when was it Daria acting like the voice of reason with her, instead of the other way around?
Finally, she stood up and headed west, eyes darting back and forth behind her sunglasses, on the lookout for anything suspicious.
She then spotted a police car driving too slowly, as if the officer was also on the lookout. Any Downtownie knew that was never a good sign. Quinn glanced at the officer. His eyes were on her, staring at her. He then began talking into his radio. Quinn kept walking, until she heard the thing she dreaded.
The car stopped. And the officer opened his door.
Chapter 30
Quinn’s heart began to race.
Cops never got out of their comfy, air-conditioned vehicles unless they had a bead on something worthwhile. It was only a matter of moments before he apprehended her, asked for her ID, and saw who she really was before patting her down and searching her bag… and finding things.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She turned into an alley, picked up her roller bag, and began to run. She saw a liquor store ahead, a slew of broken booze and beer bottles next to a dumpster stuffed with cardboard liquor boxes. She entered the liquor store, which was sweltering hot and smelled like stale cigarette smoke, the TV playing baseball highlights from last night’s Demons game.
The owner was working on his broken AC unit, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Quinn breezed through and peeked out the front door nervously, half expecting the police car to be there waiting for her. When she didn’t see it, she left and crossed the street, the high sun beating on her as sweat poured down her back. And just as she reached the corner, she spotted the cop car again… the same officer inside.
Quinn’s heart pounded. She had only one choice. If she wanted to lose him, she couldn’t continue west into Sunnyside. She’d have to head south, into Coyote. Into the neighborhood she’d avoided since she was fifteen, one whose streets were so tangled and interwoven that it was easy to lose a tail, and so unpleasant that most cops avoided it.
Quinn sprinted through another alley and zig-zagged through the streets, the way Wyatt had taught her. She hung on to her bag and whizzed past the run-down buildings, weaving through the messy streets. Finally, blocks later, having seen no sign of the cop car, she slowed down to catch her breath.
She looked around again. She’d lost him.
Coyote looked even worse than it had when she was a kid. Concrete buildings stained with dust and spray paint. Streets with giant cracks and holes. Huge fans running day and night because AC wasn’t affordable, or didn’t exist. Men and women sitting on their stoops, their arms scarred and their eyes sleepy from drugs. And the clusters of narrow-eyed boys or men in the alleys, probably doing something illegal.
Quinn’s bag bounced and wobbled over the cracks and holes. She walked quickly, but not too quickly. She raised her chin and put on her b
itch face to combat the pounding of her heart.
She continued on, counting the blocks until she could leave Coyote and reach Westgate. But soon her route was blocked off due to construction. She tried to take the next street, but it too was blocked off and work trucks lined the street. She approached one of the workers getting out of his truck.
“I’m trying to get to Westgate. What’s the best way around all this?”
“The fastest way is to take fourteenth,” he said, closing his door and putting on his hard hat.
Quinn grimaced. “Is there any other way?”
He eyed her for a second. “You can head north or south, but either route’s gonna take you pretty far outta your way.”
As he returned to the worksite, Quinn stood there for a moment, deliberating. Finally, she decided to take 14th Street. Which meant she would have to pass right by it.
The place she hadn’t let herself think about.
Quinn strolled through Coyote on a boring Saturday. It was summertime, and at 129 degrees it was the hottest day on record, and certainly the hottest of Quinn’s fifteen years. She knew she should go home and stay out of the heat, but her dad was drunk and in a terrible mood, and Daria wasn’t home. So she wandered, trying to stay in the shade.
Suddenly, she spotted a cat scurry into the alley on 14th Street. A real cat! It was black and white and had short hair. Quinn followed it into the alley, half afraid it wouldn’t survive this horrible heat, and half hoping it was just fine and would let her play with it. But just as she caught up to the cat and kneeled down to pet it, it scurried away. When she turned around, three teenage thugs, covered in tattoos and full of attitude, were standing there.
What happened next was a blur. They said things, remarking on her shorts and midriff top, joking about her “little boobies,” asking her if she wanted to take on three guys at once, “one in every hole.” She tried to leave the alley, but they blocked her. One heckled her while another rubbed up against her and a third grabbed her in her private places, the places no one had ever touched. She slapped them away and told them to fuck off, but it did no good. They laughed and kept at it, enjoying her powerlessness. They stank of sweat and smoke. She screamed at them, called them every nasty thing she could think of, screaming until her voice went hoarse, but nothing worked. They wouldn’t stop, and soon they were grabbing her and yanking at her clothing, trying to strip her.
Mindjacker Page 15
