Beneath a Holo-Sky (Poison World Book 1)

by Lyn Forester

  “Motels are a gray area, so he could get a license, but it would drain whatever profit he makes. Health clinics, though, are outside Black Corporation’s purview. Gr8 Games would be red-marked and fined if it operated on an upper level. Newland’s pushing the boundaries because the Peace Keepers are spread too thin down here. Aphremore den inspections aren’t a priority.”

  “He’s most likely bribing the local blue guards.” Drake nods, distracted. “There’s, what, six guards per sector down here?”

  “Four on patrol, working twelve-hour shifts. Gangs deal with most conflict.” The sound of hard sandals against tile draws my attention. The old lady clacks her way across the restaurant, a tray balanced on top of her bun. Hands tucked into her sleeves, she moves with tiny, fast steps. A brown-toothed smile crinkles her face.

  The happy raisin makes me forgive being forced to order food. She transfers the tray from head to bar with practiced ease and clatters around, dividing the items between us. She zips away, empty tray tucked under her arm, its round edge only an inch from the ground.

  “Were you in one?”

  “Hmm?” I poke at the white square in my bowl, mesmerized by the jiggle.

  “A gang, were you in one?” Drake digs right in. The edge of his long-handled spoon glides through the steaming red paste and into his own white cube. He stuffs his face and stares at me with expectation.

  “Isn’t that how most start, before signing up with Black Corporation?” I scoop a small blob onto my spoon to try. Flavorless, it squishes like paste against the roof of my mouth.

  “That’s a neat nonanswer.”

  “Stop talking with your mouth full.” I crack open the can of GoGoNow and take a sip.

  Tastes like how dirt smells. Not horrible, but I won't be switching from cherry flavored.

  “What are you doing?” He sounds horrified, and I glance away from the stream of greenish liquid splashing over my tofu glob.

  “What? There’s bean paste on yours.” I shake the can, making sure every drop comes out, and mush the concoction together. A pretty green soup forms.

  “That’s just wrong.” He looks a little green himself. Not as pretty.

  “It’s GoGoNow with Protein!” I lift the bowl and slurp.

  “You’re disgusting.”

  I slurp louder.

  ~

  In the hour we spent in Tofu-Topia, the street went from crowded to packed. Drake rubs his stomach, eyelids drooped and sleepy. The glutton ordered another round of sweet bean paste. He really will grow love handles if he’s not careful.

  “What’s the next den?” I scan the masses who stream past as we hug the wall, out of the way. Irritated glances still shift toward us. The flow of bodies goes two directions, no stopping allowed.

  Drake pulls up the Level 4 map on his palm-port, and I lean in to peer at the screen. He pre-flagged the dens, and the next one shows as a red dot on our side of the street. I lean away quickly and expel my held breath. The man smells like a five-year-old on a sugar high.

  “It’s The Hut.” Drake points to the right.

  We wait as a herd of women mince by in short, sequined skirts, the bottom curves of their asses visible when they pass. It draws the eye away from their baby faces. No amount of cake makeup will make them look old enough for the clubs. One wobbles on her stilted heels, and Drake takes the time to appreciate an absence of underwear.

  Yeah, the skirts offer a great distraction.

  A threesome of teenage boys headed in the opposite direction stop to whistle at the women and make crude hand gestures. One of them dares a light smack on the ass. The girls laugh and make hand gestures of their own.

  A kid pushes through the group, hollers at the holdup. Both sides shove him out of the way.

  “You see that?” The teenagers join the women’s party and move off together.

  “How could I miss it?” Drake sounds dreamy, eyes still glued to the wobbly girl’s butt.

  I snort with derision, and Drake casts me a disapproving glance.

  Whatever.

  “You’re easily distracted.” I turn to head toward The Hut.

  “A fine ass on display should be looked at.” He sticks his arms out, hands cupped, and makes a bouncing motion.

  “Stop. I’m going to throw up.” Sandpaper can’t remove that visual from my brain.

  “You were looking, too.”

  “I was.” I glance at the shop windows we pass. They reflect distorted images of the street. Clearer ones hint at the shops’ products.

  “Right?” Drake pops an elbow out to nudge me. I sidestep with a frown, let a couple pass between us, and return to his side. “It’s hard not to stare.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Five.” I’m not surprised at his confidence. He probably memorized the shape of their butts.

  “What color were their skirts?” I dodge around a determined man before he plows into me.

  “Three had silver sequins, one rainbow sequins, the other pink.” He frowns. “Why?”

  “What kind of shoes?”

  “High heels.” He shrugs, uninterested. Not a shoe guy.

  “What color hair did they have?”

  “I don’t know. Longish.” He sounds irritated. A scowl creeps its way onto his face. I’m ruining his happy mood.

  “What about the guys?” A mirror replaces the plas-glass in the next store we pass. Eye catching. More than one pedestrian slows to check themself out.

  “Who cares? They were kids. Why all the questions?” Drake demands. He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

  “Because you’re easily distracted,” I murmur, timing my steps to sync with his. “You miss what’s important.”

  “The guys were important?” he scoffs. “They weren't dressed up at all.”

  “This one wasn’t.” I reach behind Drake, catch the small hand reaching for his belt, and yank.

  The kid trips over my foot, and I grab his collar, tight. His momentum propels us into the alley between stores. A quick scan shows a narrow, dark corridor that opens into the next block over. Trash bins against the wall provide potential hiding places. A good route.

  The kid squirms, tries to drop out of his shirt, but I have the neck hole tight enough to choke off his airway. He won’t escape that easy.

  He kicks out. I have him at arms length, and he hits air. Streetlights spark off the knife he pulls.

  I shove him, gently, face first into the wall. It glistens, wet with mystery fluids. Looks gross. I grab his hair and smoosh his face into it a little more. He drops the knife.

  The entire altercation takes place in silence. Good, the kid knows not to draw attention.

  “What the fuck?” Drake bellows. He stomps into the alley, too late to help. So noisy.

  “You done?” I pull the kid’s head back, making room for his mouth to move.

  “Yeah.” He wiggles his jaw to check for damage.

  Theatrical brat. I didn’t shove him that hard.

  “Was this kid trying to pick my pocket?” Drake pats his body to check for anything missing.

  Slow, but catching on to the situation.

  “Not ‘tryin’,” the kid pipes up, indignant. “I woulda gotten you good if not for her!”

  I nod my head in agreement. “Yeah, he’s an easy mark.”

  “Right?” The kid and I share a look of understanding.

  I release him. “But you shouldn’t have gone for his disc-bike.”

  “Shit!” Drake flaps his hands around more, relieved when he finds the disc-bike still attached to his belt.

  “It was easier than the credit sticks.” The kid crosses his arms over his chest, makes a move to lean against the wall in nonchalance. Halfway back, he remembers its questionable wetness and aborts the motion. He shakes shaggy, brown hair from his eyes and scowls, committing to the awkward half recline.

  “You never would have off-loaded it down here.” I ignore the clumsy pose. Kids’ egos are so fragile.
>
  “I got a guy higher up.” He darts a glance at the scowling Drake who looms nearby.

  “Do you now.” I give him the once-over to confirm what I’d already felt in our scuffle. His baggy clothes can’t hide his skinniness.

  “Of course.” The dirt that covers his cheek didn’t come from the alley. Someone’s not taking care of him.

  “Is that who you planned to sell this bracelet to?” I pull the bracelet from my sleeve and hold it up, let the streetlights sparkle off the ugly thing.

  He’d done a good job nipping it off the girl’s wrist when she’d shoved him out of the way during the flirtation with the guys. It was easy to lift it from his pocket when I introduced him to the wall.

  “Hey, that’s mine!” I let him snatch it from my fingers. I don’t want it.

  “It’s paste.” I hope he wasn’t expecting a big payout from it.

  “I know!” He shoves the gaudy thing into his pocket, looks me up and down, then peeks back at Drake. “You guys from one of the upper level gangs?”

  Drake chokes on a laugh, and I want to hit him.

  “Yeah, something like that.” I pull one of Drake’s business cards from my back pocket and hand it to the kid.

  “Hey, when did you take that?” Drake demands.

  “Be more observant.” I rock on my heels, glance at him from the corner of my eye to note the pissed off expression. “And stop tapping the tongue ring. You’re giving everything away.”

  The kid tips the card, catching the light to read it. His eyes widen, and he lets out a high-pitched whistle.

  “Fuck me, is this thing real?” He gazes at Drake with suspicion. “He’s really from Black Corp?”

  I don’t wonder at his disbelief. Drake’s not shining very bright right now. “He’s corporate.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” The kid hands back the card, and I offer it to a scowling Drake. He takes it and slides it into the inside pocket of his jacket. I nod with approval. It will be harder to pickpocket in that location. “So what’re you doing slumming down here?”

  “None of your business,” Drake snaps. He checks the time on his datband with impatience. “Either spank the kid or let him go. We’re busy here.”

  The kid straightens up and faces Drake, hands on hips in indignation. “Ain’t no one spanking me!”

  “Who’s your lead down here?” I interrupt as Drake moves to square off with the kid. He’s serious about the spanking, but, while it might be entertaining to see, we really are on a schedule.

  “I’m my own lead!” He thumps his bony chest, and it makes a hollow sound.

  Well, that explains a lot.

  “That’s good.” I pull a Bell-E Up bar out of the pocket on my pant leg and toss it to him. He catches it with ease, but leaves it unopened, suspicious and waiting to find out the price of the food. “You see any dealers pushing Ash down here?”

  Drake stomps up to my side, with full invasion of the personal bubble. His breath is hot in my ear. So gross. “What are you doing?”

  “He might know something.” I don’t lower my voice. The kid’s right there. He's going to hear.

  “He might spread rumors and mess up our investigation,” he growls with irritation.

  “That’s not how good businessmen build upper level contacts.” Tingles shoot down my legs, urge me to put distance between us. I stand my ground.

  “No it ain’t!” The kid grunts around a mouthful of Bell-E Up. “I ain’t seen nothin’, but I ain’t been lookin’. Mighta heard a rumor though.”

  “Let’s hear it.” I hold Drake’s gaze. This was my space first. He needs to move. Does he want to do this in front of the kid?

  He huffs a big, moist breath in my face and backs off.

  I’m going to punch him later.

  The kid watches us with excited interest, cheeks puffed out as he chews. “Thought I'd see a brawl there for a second!”

  Good thing fighting impresses him. “Tell us the rumor.”

  “What will you give me for blabbing?”

  “You just ate it.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” A grime-encrusted fingernail picks at the red paste caught between his teeth as he thinks. “I might’ve heard there’s a bloke in the sector no one’s seen around before. Word is to steer clear.”

  This could be a good lead. “Do you know what he looks like?”

  “Rumor didin’ say.” The kid shoves his hands into his back pockets, chest out.

  “How are you supposed avoid him if you don't know who he is?” The click of metal against teeth signals the return of Drake’s irritation.

  “By not recognizin’ him.” The kid’s nose scrunches as he sniffs in my partner’s direction. “You got no instincts, man. Maybe you should stay behind your desk.”

  I slam an arm into Drake’s chest as he lunges forward. He grunts and leans his weight forward enough to let me know he can go through me. I’m already aware that the awkward position leaves zero room for leverage, but it allows Drake enough time to realize the kid’s goading him.

  “Are you interested in giving us a heads-up if you hear any more rumors, or see something suspicious?” I drop my arm at the same moment Drake straightens.

  The kid’s wide eyes shift between us. “What you got for me keepin’ my eyes and ears open?”

  “What’s your name?” Now that I have my space back, I choose to move, to go closer to the kid and offer another nutrition bar.

  “Henly.” He puffs up with pride, and I believe him about being alone. It’s a name a mother would give her baby, not a gang name. Henly has darkness in his past, something that brought him here.

  Most do, who end up in his position.

  I put a hand on his shoulder, slide a tracker under his collar, back where he’s unlikely to notice, and bend to meet his gaze. “You remember the number on that card?”

  “Yeah.” He rolls his eyes, like memorizing an eleven-digit number is no big deal.

  “You get more info, you call. Drake will take a message.” We share a smile. “If it’s good stuff, I’ll get you off this level, introduce you to some good people.”

  “Fuck me, you serious?” His mouth hangs open in astonishment. It’s a golden-ticket offer.

  “Very serious.” I maintain eye contact to let him see the truth of my promise. “Now get going.”

  I watch him hurry away and with zero doubt he’ll be out all night searching for dealers.

  “Why’d you offer him that?” Drake rubs his neck and frowns at the ground.

  “You wanted a reason to trust him, didn’t you?” Henly disappears from the end of the alley, and I turn to go back out our side.

  “It’s way outside your budget. You’re just getting his hopes up.” He scuffs his feet, almost moping.

  How many times had his hopes been raised, and dashed, to feel this level of empathy for a stranger?

  “You saying I can’t comp it? It’s an expense for the investigation.” We reenter traffic, back on course for our destination ahead.

  A couple stores down, The Hut resides in a concrete building with a triangle-shaped house painted on the front.

  “It’ll never get approved.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  A line stretches away from the entrance and blocks its neighbor’s door. Two from the back, a familiar skeletal figure sways, patting at the pocket in her skirt, chapped lips forming silent words.

  Will Margie have better luck here? Has enough time passed to allow her to fill that inner void created by the drug?

  I turn to check if Drake noticed her, but his gaze focuses on his feet. Dude needs to snap out of whatever memory bogs him down.

  “Was this place a Fortune Hut?”

  I study the red outline painted on the building’s straight face. It looks like one of the old Fortune Huts with the distinctive triangular shape, little circular windows, and good fortune flags stamped on in gold filigree.

  At the height of business, they sold candy with randomly distributed t
ickets that guaranteed immigration to Leton, one level above current living status. Hopeful customers swarmed the shops day and night. Once the construction on Leton was completed and they’d filled the city, the shops lost their purpose and closed.

  That was over fifty years ago now, and most of the buildings have been repurposed. I’m shocked to see one in good condition here, where limited real estate means buildings have fast transformations into new businesses. The Hut’s owner purchased the building years after it would have been a Fortune Hut. Had the building stood empty all that time?

  “What?” Drake shakes out of his funk and gives the building a cursory appraisal. His eyes widen in surprise to discover we’ve already arrived.

  He should be glad I didn’t let him keep walking.

  “Did this used to be a Fortune Hut?” I’m not a fan of repeating myself.

  “Uh, yeah.” He shifts back into work mode, little brain wheels chugging again. “The owner touched it up to go with the den’s theme.”

  “Can’t wait to see.”

  He grunts and heads to the front of the line, flashing that special business card to allow us inside.

  I worry about entering without a mask, but it becomes apparent we won't need them. Shelves line the walls, holding buckets of brightly wrapped sweets in every shape and size. The scent of sugar hangs heavy in the air. It creeps down my nose and makes my teeth hurt. Interested, Drake walks over to one shelf to investigate the contents.

  My stomach churns, and I shift my gaze away, uninterested in his food obsession.

  A large reader board hangs over a counter at the back and displays a pink number four. Customers line up at the counter, candy clutched in tight fists and eyes glued to the board.

  Signs of the recent break-in show in a clean rectangle of floor space where a shelf was recently removed, and in the clear plastic tape covering an empty windowpane. The buckets on a few shelves are placed too far apart, spaced out to compensate for missing stock.

  Holes dot the ceiling to mark a new surveillance system. Around the new cameras, chipped paint shows swatches of old color.