by E J Frost
if it was, I’d be given hard credits in hand.
No messing around.”
I’m tempted to ask how many hard
credits, but I restrain myself. Her trust is too
beautiful to fuck with.
“There’s not another Dock 216 North, is
there?” she asks.
“Ship would have asked me to confirm
which one if there was. We’re in the right
place. They’re just fuckin’ late.”
She sighs. “I’m beginning to understand
Penny’s thing about being on time.”
“Be patient,” I say, as much to myself as
to her.
“Snow—” she begins, then freezes. I hear
it, too. The pneumatic hiss of one of the
windows opening.
Kez draws herself up and slides away
from me. Slips off the crate and gathers the
tether for the box. Suppressing a shiver from
the loss of her body heat, I follow her,
catching her backpack as I climb off the
crate. I fall into place behind her,
deliberately framing her slender body with
mine. In the rising light, in my black fatigues,
I’ll loom like a huge shadow behind her. She
wanted backup and that’s exactly what I give
her. Extremely visible backup.
On the far wall from the windows
looking out on my ship, one of the wall
panels slides open. Guess the whole
building’s a fucking door. Three people walk
through the portal while it’s still sliding
open. Two men and a woman. The woman is
hired muscle. Every centimeter of her
exposed skin ripples with augment scars.
She’ll be the strongest person in the room.
Only problem is, those retrogenned augments
make you slow. She may be stronger than I
am, but I bet in a fight, I could take her.
The two men aren’t as obvious, but as
they draw close, I’m betting the small wiry
one walking in step with the woman is a gun
for hire, too. He and the woman walk like
bodyguards. One step back. Hands at their
waists, close to whatever weapons they’re
carrying. Both have earpieces and the man
wears smoked blue lenses that cast a
flickering electric glow onto his cheeks.
He’s wired for sight and sound.
I reach back and pull the hood of my
jacket over my head. He can vid my chin to
his heart’s content. My face isn’t as
recognizable as it was before my visit to the
chop doc on Cayster, but there’s no point in
tempting fate.
The man in front of the two mercs is
wired, too, but only for his own amusement.
He wears pointed earbuds in both ears and
even from several meters away, I can hear
the heavy bass whump- whump. He bounces slightly with each step, grooving to his own
personal soundtrack. He wears the uniform
of an eDub street punk. Beige pseudosilk
trousers so baggy the crotch rides just a few
centimeters above his ankles. Matching
jacket a size too small, straining across his
skinny, sunken chest. A sweat-stained blue
headband holds black dreadlocks off his
face. They’re natty, not nearly as smooth and
well-formed as Kez’s, bits of hair sticking
out at all angles. Even from a distance, he
smells, and not of soap.
He bops to a stop a meter away. Takes
out one of the earbuds and offers Kez his
hand. The two mercs stop a step behind him
and cross their hands. Right hand to left
wrist. Trained guard dogs.
“Hey, I’m Hat Trick,” the eDubber says
as Kez briefly clasps his hand.
I glance at Kez, whose face is impassive.
Maybe she didn’t read the Downers’ graffiti.
When Hat Trick extends his hand to me, I
say, “I think I heard of you.”
“Hey, yodel. I’m famous. So you’re the
runners? Kincaid said there would be two of
you.”
Kez stiffens at the name. It’s one I
recognize, too, although I control my reaction
better than she does. Darra Kincaid. Runs the
Hex-trade from Roysten south for the Tyng
family. From everything I’ve heard, he’s
addicted to his own product. I haven’t had
the pleasure of a formal introduction, but a
hooker at the Red Carpet pointed him out to
me one night as I was coming and he was
going. Or maybe, before I came and after he
did. Thin, dark, good-looking in a way
women seem to like. The hooker told me he
liked it fast and rough, but since that’s what I
was there for, too, I wasn’t in any position to
judge.
His name answers one of my questions at
any rate. If Darra Kincaid is paying Kez’s
bill, then what’s in the box is definitely
black-market.
“I was told to be here at five,” Kez says.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Mara overslept.”
Hat Trick tilts his head towards the female
muscle. There’s no change in her expression,
but her shoulders bunch. I don’t think she’s
the one who overslept. Too much of a pro.
And I don’t think she likes being blamed for
Hat Trick’s fuck-up.
“I was also told to ask for a code.” Kez
tucks her hands behind her back, passes the
box’s tether from one hand to the other while
she wipes her palms on her ass. I don’t know
if it’s exhaustion or if she just doesn’t like
Hat Trick and his bodyguards and doesn’t
give a shit if they know it, but her tone is
edging beyond irritation into aggression.
“Oh, yeah. Mike, what’s the code again?”
Blue Shades stiffens more than his
partner did when accused of oversleeping.
He slowly unlocks his hands, reaches into a
pocket of his black spidersilk trousers and
pulls out a translucent plaz card, which he
hands to Hat Trick. The eDubber turns the
card around between his fingers before he
hands it to Kez.
Mara-the-Merc makes a noise like the
window machinery overloading. “Mister
Hat, that card’s not supposed to leave your
possession.”
I lower my head so no one sees my grin.
I’m pretty sure I know what Mike and Mara
call Mister Hat when he’s not in earshot.
Hat Trick shrugs one shoulder
rhythmically. “I can’t fuckin’ read it.”
He can’t fucking read is more like it.
Kez glances and at the card and hands it
back. “That’s right. Here’s the package.” She
holds out the box’s tether.
Mara steps forward. Takes the tether and
opens the box with a tensing of her huge
shoulder muscles. She’s a bad judge of
relative mass. The box lid flies open on its
hinges, rocking back so hard the box nearly
flips over before the floaters stabilize it.
She peers inside, nods and closes the box
with another pointlessly heavy jerk. Yeah,
we’re all impressed by how strong you are,
sister.
“We’re good, Mister Hat,” she says.
“Realio.” The eDubber rocks forward
and back on the soles of his two-toed,
scuffed white peddies. “Skee-daddle.”
The two mercs nod and take a
synchronized step back. The box bobs after
them.
Until Kez slaps her palm down on it.
“Uh, excuse me, but where the fuck’s my
money?”
Mara and Mike exchange glances, settle
back into waiting-mode, hands on wrists,
although Mara holds on to the box’s tether.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Hat Trick
adjusts himself with a quick tug at his crotch.
Guess the graffiti didn’t lie. “Boss man
wants to pay you himself. Personally.”
Extremely bad idea. I shift closer to Kez
so she can feel me at her back, feel exactly
how bad an idea I think that is.
“No, no one mentioned that,” Kez says.
Her tone shifts towards a growl. She’s
overtired and Hat Trick is really pissing her
off. “Where is he?”
“At the tower. They’ll take you.” Hat
Trick nods at the mercs.
“I don’t think so. I was told I’d be paid at
the drop. No messing around. Give me back
the package.” Kez flicks two fingers at Mara,
who tosses her the box’s tether without
argument.
“Hold up, b!” Hat Trick holds up his
hands, exposing the bright pink palms of a
New Brunny native. Freaking prawn. “No
reason to get like that. Kincaid said he
knows you. He just wants to say hello in
person.”
“He was an asshole then and he’s an
asshole now,” Kez hisses. I can almost see
her fur standing on end. “Hey, what’s your
name, Mike? Is Kincaid on there?” She
points to his headgear.
Mike-the-Merc inclines his blue-
spectacled head.
“Make sure he gets this. If I don’t have
my money in five minutes, I’m putting this
box up on the H-net for the highest bidder. I
am not fucking around. I nearly died on this
run and no one is walking away with fuck-all
until I have my money. Get that?”
Mike-the-Merc takes off his spectacles
and earpiece and holds them out to Kez.
“Mister Kincaid would like a word with
you.”
“Fine.” Kez tosses the box’s tether to me
and snatches the glasses and earpiece out of
the merc’s fingers. She jams the earpiece
into her ear and snaps the spectacles down
over her eyes. Pressing her fingers against
the earpiece, she moves a few steps away.
None of us pretend not to listen.
“That’s very sentimental,” Kez says, in
response to whatever Kincaid’s said to her.
“But I was told I’d be paid at the drop.”
She’s silent for a moment, presumably
while Kincaid speaks. During that silence,
her shoulders hunch. She begins shaking her
head before she even opens her mouth. “That
wasn’t the deal. It was less whatever I paid
for the buy. No extras.”
She’s silent again. A long silence. Her
shoulders hunch further. She glances over her
shoulder at me. “I need to be back in Nock
by eight.”
Another long silence, during which she
shakes her head. “No. I’ll come on my own.
Snow will stay here with the package. Once
I’ve got my money, your thugs can have the
box.” She listens, takes a deep breath.
“Look, that’s not my problem. I was here at
five. Your boy was late. I’m sorry you’re on
the clock now, but if you’d paid me at the
drop like you were supposed to—” She
breaks off. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there in fifteen
minutes.”
She tears the glasses and earpiece off and
thrusts them at Mike-the-Merc. Turns to me.
Her eyes are red, like whatever show the
blue spectacles put on irritated them. Or
upset her. “I’m sorry but I need to get my
float board out of your ship.”
“Sure—” I start to say, but Mara-the-
Merc interrupts me.
“We have a skimmer here.”
Kez gives her a withering glare. “Like I’d
go anywhere with you.”
Mara’s head rocks back on her thick neck
as if Kez had slapped her. “What—?”
“Oh, save it,” Kez snaps. “Kincaid wants
you here anyway. You’re supposed to keep
an eye on the package. Snow?”
I nod and follow her out of the dock,
trailing the contentious box.
As soon as we’re out of earshot of the
mercs, I say, “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.” Kez wipes her face. Whether
she’s wiping off the persistent drizzle or
something else, I’m not sure. “Kincaid wants
to pay me in person.”
“D’you know him?”
“Yeah. I used to.” She hugs herself. It is
cold outside in the rain, but not much colder
than the dark, empty dock, and I don’t think
it’s the ambient temp that has her shivering.
“He was one of Livvy’s regulars. He used to
offer all the runners free Hex. Try to get us
hooked. He’s an ass and a half.”
I cycle open the ramp. Let her precede
me up it. The memory of another woman,
standing alone and afraid in the open ramp of
her D.S.R. ship, flashes through my mind’s
eye. She insisted on going back out to brave
the monsters, too, and look what happened.
“Hold up,” I say to Kez, holding out my
hand. She stops and turns to look back at me.
“Rethink this. We can be out of here in two
minutes. Back in Nock by seven. You put the
box up for sale to the highest bidder.”
Kez grips her forehead like it hurts, but
starts moving again. She’s silent all the way
to the door into the passenger lounge. There,
she pauses, and turns to look up at me. “I’ve
never jacked a run. That’s why people hire
me.”
“No one’s gonna blame you for walkin’
away from this one. They’re fucking with
you.”
“I know that!” she flares, all teeth and
claws for a moment. Then the fight drains out
of her and she shakes her head wearily. “I
can’t walk away. Okay? That’s all you need
to know.” She makes short, chopping
motions with her hand. “I need you to stay
here. Hold on to the package. If things go
bad, get Ape out of here. He knows the Jello
who set up the run. He can arrange a trade
for me on neutral ground.”
“There might not be anything left to trade
after Kincaid gets his hands on you.”
“I know that.” She looks up at me, big
eyes pleading. “Please, just do this for me.”
I don’t
know why she needs this run so
bad, but she does. Enough to risk her life for
it. I slide my fingers under her chin. Run my
thumb over her lower lip. Watch her pupils
dilate. “Do something for me.”
“Anythin—” she starts to say, then shakes
herself. “What?”
I nod at the jangle of straps around her
right wrist. “Plex me once you get there and
leave your viewie on so I know what’s
happening.”
She gives me a sad little smile. “What
are you going to do, fly in and rescue me?”
“If I need to.”
She turns her head, presses her mouth
into my palm. “Thank you. I’ll try to leave it
on.”
“How long’re you gonna be?”
“Fifteen minutes each way . . . no more
than forty-five minutes.”
“Better hurry up then.”
She nods and taps the door to the
passenger lounge. It opens to the sound of her
brother’s snoring.
Chapter 7
I stay on the Marie after she leaves.
Settle on the flight deck with her fucking box
floating serenely between the chairs and wait
for her call. I take grim pleasure in seeing
Hat Trick and his mercs watching me
nervously out of the dock’s windows. Feels
good to be holding some of the cards for
once.
I could leave without her. Take the box
back to Nock City. Sell it to the highest
bidder myself. That the box has attracted the
interest of Darra Kincaid gives me an
indication of the contents’ value. Ten thou
hard at least. Kez might even walk away
clean once Kincaid learns she’s been
double-crossed.
Probably the smart play.
Instead I sit and wait for her call like a
bitch. I want to fuck her, not fuck her over.
Her trust issues may not have been on
loudspeaker so far, but a hint of betrayal and
they’d be broadcasting on all frequencies.
I sit and watch the rivulets of acid rain
snake down the flight canopy.
Right on schedule, fourteen minutes after
she left, she calls. I tap the ship’s vcom and
her face appears on one of the monitors. She
looks beyond exhaustion. Running on
adrenaline and whatever deep need is
driving her. “Snow?”
“I’m here.”
“Everything’s okay so far. I’m in the
lobby of Tyng Tower.”
In downtown New Brunny. Fifteen
minutes away by floater. Considerably less
than that in the Marie, except there’s
nowhere to land. Much too far away for
comfort.
