by E J Frost
“Leave your viewie on.”
“I will . . . I’m getting in the tube now. If
I lose signal, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay.”
Homemade or not, her viewie is a good
little piece of tech. I can hear the hum of the
tube’s neg cells. Kez’s frequent yawns. The
snick of the tube’s platform settling into its
brakes marks the end of her journey without
any loss of signal. The viewie picks up the
soft thumps of her boots on thick carpeting.
She must have left her board in the building’s
lobby because she’s swinging her arm freely.
The red-veined pearlstone walls streak back
and forth like a crazy pendulum. I flick off
the vid before it gives me an epileptic fit and
just listen to the audio.
After what sounds like a long walk over
deep carpet, she stops. There’s a clink of ice
in glaz. A sharp tap on a hard surface.
“Kezzy-Kez-Kez,” says a man’s voice.
“Is that you, Kezzy? You look good. All
grown up.”
“Mister Kincaid.” Her voice is thin and
sharp. Definitely not old friends. She doesn’t
even manage to make it sound respectful, just
irritated.
“How long’s it been, Kezzy? Five
years?”
“Since I ran for Livvy? Eight. Are those
my credits?”
“Yeah, you want a drink?”
He’s drinking at zero-eight-hundred? His
addiction must be worse than I’ve heard if
he’s taking the edge off with alcohol this
early in the day. Or maybe it’s late for him.
“No thank you. Do you mind if I count
them?”
“Go ahead.”
There’s a snap and the rustle of plaz. A
heavy feminine sigh. “This is short. The deal
was twelve.”
Twelve thousand credits. Close to what
I’d guessed. And a windfall for a runner like
Kez, even after she pays me off. But not
enough to risk her life for. We’re going to
have to have a talk about her priorities, her
and me.
“Oh, yeah.” A creak of genSkin. “Here’s
the other two.” A rustle of plaz and the clink
of octagons. “But you still gotta earn these.”
“I’ve done the run. Your people verified
that everything is there. I said no goddamn
extras. Just pay me my money and let me be
on my way!”
A moment of deadly silence follows her
outburst and my gut clenches. I close my eyes
when I hear the next sound. The explosive
contact of flesh on flesh. “You telling me
what to do, bitch?” Another heavy slap.
“You disrespect me in front of my own
people?”
Another slap, and on this hit Kez finally
cries out. “No!” Her next words turn my
blood to ice. “Let me go!”
I snap the vid on, glimpse the dark,
handsome face I remember from the Red
Carpet, twisted with rage and flushed with
excitement. He raises his hand over his head,
brings it down with brutal force outside my
range of vision. But the sound is enough, and
Kez screams, “Stop!”
“Get on that desk, bitch.” From the sound
of it, she struggles. The vid pinwheels and
steadies on a long expanse of bare wood,
looking out on a panoramic view of the rain-
streaked city.
The sound of his fly being pulled open
jolts me to my feet. “Kezra!” I roar into the
com.
There’s a sudden silence, broken by
Kez’s breathy sobs.
“Who the fuck is that?”
A hand slams over the vid. Yanks it up
until we’re eye to eye. “You the beast she
brought to the drop?”
“That’s right,” I say while I run through
different plays in my mind. He likes it rough,
the hooker said. Threats might just excite
him, particularly since I’m too far away to
carry any of them out before he rapes Kez.
“Fuck off.” He slams her wrist back onto
the desk. “You’re breaking up the party.”
“Hope you’re not thinking of partying
with Kez,” I say.
He leans over and sneers into the viewie.
“You gonna stop me?”
“No, but I wanna make sure I get my
share. Her ass belongs to me for the next
forty-six hours. And I don’t take sloppy
seconds.”
Kincaid laughs a low, ugly laugh.
“Shoulda known you’d already be rented
out.” He disappears and I look out across the
desk and over the city again. I wait to hear if
he closes up his fly. There’s no noise except
Kez’s hitching breaths.
“Get up, bitch,” he says finally. “You’re
bleeding on my desk.”
She moves. The vid spins and pixilates.
A rustle and clink as she picks up the
wrapped stacks of credits. The vid goes dark
as she shoves them in her backpack. Spins
again as she puts the backpack over her
shoulder.
“Put that down,” Kincaid says. I can’t see
him; Kez’s wrist is pointed at the ceiling. But
I can hear the creak as he sits down. “You
still gotta earn these two.”
“Keep them,” Kez mumbles.
“Kezzy-Kez-Kez, you say that like you
got a choice. Put your bag down and get over
here right fucking now.”
“You heard Mister Snow—”
“It’s only your ass he’s got a claim on,
you numb bitch. Get over here. And turn that
fucking thing off. It’s fucking up my
concentration.”
The viewie goes dead.
I sink down into my own chair. Did I
help, or did I make it worse? I rub my hands
over my face. I should have gone with her.
Left the box with her fucking narcoleptic
brother and dogged her every step. I knew
she didn’t like him; I knew he’s a sadistic
prick, and I still let her go alone.
I slam my fist into her fucking box. Watch
it rock in mid-air. I should have gone with
her.
Five minutes of pacing the Marie’s tiny
flight deck, imagining the worst. Five
minutes of berating myself for not going with
her. Five minutes of reminding myself not to
care, that she’s just a good fuck, and that this,
this is exactly why I’ve always been better
off alone. Finally, the com buzzes.
“Snow?”
I slam the controls. No vid. The monitor
shows me an eye with a red line through it.
She’s turned off the vid on her end. “Where
are you?”
“Leaving Tyng Tower. I’ve got the
money. You can give them the box.”
“When I’ve seen that you’re okay.”
“I’m . . . okay. I’ll be there in fifteen
minutes.”
“Leave your viewie on.”
“I said I was okay.”
I don’t believe her. And if something
happens to her on the trip back, I want to
know about it immediately, not after she’s
overdue. “In case you run into traffic.”
“Fine.” I hear the hum of her board’s neg
cells powering up. “See you in fifteen.”
I pop an eskey out of the Marie’s
console, hook it into my ear, and go to wake
her brother. We’re not going to be
outnumbered again.
Sixteen minutes later, Kez walks through
the wall panel that Hat Trick and his
bodyguards left open. She’s carrying her
float board under one arm, her ubiquitous
backpack under the other. She’s limping a
little. She’s pulled her slouchy hat over her
dreads. It shadows her face, but I can see her
mouth and chin. The skin around her mouth is
an angry red and a thin crust of blood has
dried over a split in her lower lip.
Hat Trick, who tried to engage first me
and then Ape in conversation but gave it up
as a bad job, rises from the chair he’s been
slouched in. “We good, b?”
Kez nods. “Ape, give them the box.” Her
voice sounds rough, raspy.
Her brother’s got the box, so that my
hands are free. They’re shoved deep in my
pockets, gripping my knives in their hidden
sheaths. Stroking the hilts while I’ve been
waiting for Kez has been the only thing that’s
kept me from cutting everyone’s throat.
Ape holds the box’s tether out to Hat
Trick, but Mara-the-Merc takes it out of his
hand. Her partner nods at me. “Pleasure
doing business with you.”
I tip my chin at him. I’ve had plenty of
time to stare down the two mercs while
we’ve been waiting. Another time, another
place, we’d be seeing who’s stronger, who’s
faster. But here and now, they’re not after
me, and I want to get Kez out of here as fast
as I can, so we’ll all just walk away, nice
and quiet and professional.
Kez gives the mercs a wide berth as they
pass her on their way out. I expect Hat Trick
to follow them. Instead, he trails a few steps
behind Kez as she makes her way across the
dock to where Ape and I stand near the
windows.
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Wait a mo, b,” Hat Trick says. “We
ain’t quite done here.”
Kez turns her head slightly. I can’t see
her eyes in the shadow of her hat, but the
corners of her mouth turn down. “Yes, we
are.”
Hat Trick adjusts himself again, bounces
on his toes. “Mister Kincaid, he told me
about you. He said you’d have somethin’ for
me once everything was done. Something
nice.”
Kez lifts her head. As the shadows under
the brim of her hat flee, I see the red and
purple bruise circling her right eye. The
spiderweb bloom of blood in the sclera.
My shiv’s in my hand before I have time
to think about it.
“Kincaid used up all my nice for today,”
Kez says. “Besides, I hear you’ve got crabs.”
So she did read the graffiti. I chuckle,
loudly enough for Hat Trick to hear. His neck
flushes.
“Looky, bitch—”
He reaches for Kez. She flinches back
and before he can grab for her again, I’m
there. Point of my shiv up under his chin. My
hand on his wrist. I could snap the bone
before he has time to whimper. But this is
still Kez’s show, and I won’t kill, or even
maim, until she tells me to.
“You want something nice?” I dig the
point of the blade in a little deeper. A bead
of blood runs down its honed edge.
Kez puts her hand on my arm. “Don’t.
He’s Tyng’s nephew. Let’s just go.”
I want a little payback. I want to hurt the
family who has hurt her. Badly enough that I
press a fraction deeper before I lower the
blade. Flick his blood onto the permacrete.
“Fuck, yodel,” Hat Trick whines. He
touches the underside of his chin with his
fingers. Blood smears into the stubble on his
neck. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Remember that the next time a woman
tells you no,” I say.
Kez tugs on my arm. “C’mon, Snow, let’s
go.”
I let her drag me away, leaving Hat Trick
standing forlornly in the middle of the dim,
empty dock. After watching us for several
seconds, he puts his earbuds back in his ears,
bounces a few times on his toes, and
wanders off in the other direction. Maybe
Mike and Mara are waiting for him, but I
don’t think so. They were there for the box,
not to protect him. Guess the Tyng family
doesn’t give much of a shit about its
wayward sons.
Kez leads the way to the Marie, moving
faster than I thought she could. Either she’s
desperate to be away from New Brunny –
and I wouldn’t blame her if she is – or she’s
pissed.
I’ve left the Marie’s ramp open in case
we needed to make a quick get-away. I catch
up with her as she starts up the ramp. Put my
hand on the strap of her backpack and begin
to ease it off her shoulder. She yanks it back.
Okay, she’s pissed.
“At me, men or life in general?” I ask,
keeping pace with her as she strides up the
ramp.
“All of the above,” she hisses.
Given her day so far, I can understand
that. Looks like I made it worse after all. “I
should have come with you,” I say, by way
of apology.
She turns her head enough to look at me
out of her reddened eye. “What are you
talking about?”
“If I’d been with you . . . it wouldn’t have
happened. I should have come with you.”
Kez shakes her head and stalks off
towards the passenger lounge. Leaves me
standing in the corridor, wondering what to
say. Ape brushes by me, follows his sister
into the lounge. “I knew it wouldn’t last,” he
sniffs at me.
Oh, no, Monkey Boy does not get the last
word.
I slam open the door to the passenger
lounge as it cycles shut after Ape. Cock my
thumb back towards the corridor. “Get out.”
“Nice fucking timing, Ace.” Ape glances
at Kez, who has stopped in the middle of
stowing her float board. She’s glaring at me,
a look that carries particular weight out of
her bloodied eye. She doesn’t look at her
brother. He shrugs and pushes past me again.
The door snicks shut behind him.
“If you two are gonna fuck, could you be
quick about it?” he shouts back through the
door.
Kez shakes her head and shoves her
board further into the storage compartment.
She tips her head at three wrapped stacks
of octagons, sitting on top of her backpack in
one of the passenger cradles. I don’t need to
count them to know there’s three thousand
there.
“Thought we agreed on two and a half.”
She shrugs and pulls the flight webbing
around her board. “You’ve earned it.”
“So that’s it?” If she thinks I’m giving up
the hour plus she owes me in a bed, she can
think again. But now’s probably not the time
to mention it. “We’re all square?”
She looks up at me. Her expression
twists, going lost and anguished for a
moment. Her lower lip quivers. She bites
down on it, flinches and gets her face under
control. “Sure.” She slams the compartment
hatch. Reaches for the rolls of credits with
jerky, broken movements.
I take her by the shoulders and pull her
back against my chest. Careful not to touch
anywhere she might be hurt. Grateful that
nothing about her pain and vulnerability has
made me hard. I lower my face into her hair.
Breath in the soap smell, soured by sweat.
“Did I make it worse?”
“With Hat Trick? Yeah, what were you
thinking? The Tyngs never forget anyone who
makes them bleed—”
That’s why she’s pissed at me? For
sticking Ass Hat? “With Kincaid.”
“Oh.” She relaxes a little against me.
“No. I . . . no.”
“Did he rape you?”
She shakes her head. “My ass is still your
exclusive preserve.”
Yeah, I was afraid she might see it that
way. “You heard of the Red Carpet?”
“In the Delta?” She shrugs. “I guess so.”
“Very rough trade. ‘Bout two months ago,
I crossed paths with Kincaid there. He’s a
regular.”
“So?”
She’s too tired to make the connection; I
supply it for her. “Threats would have made
it worse. I said what I said to keep him off
you. Didn’t have to be true.”
She lets her head loll back against my
shoulder. “But it is true, isn’t it?”
“No, we’re square.” I’m not like
Kincaid. I won’t be like him, no matter how
much I want that time in a bed and the rest of
what she promised me. She came to me.
Gave herself to me. I took what she offered,
but I didn’t force her. I’ve never forced a
woman, no matter how much I wanted her,
and I’m not starting with Kez. If she wants
this to be the end, if she wants to walk away,
I’ll let her go. Somehow.
