6 – A Walk in the Park
Addie flicked her focus from her eyes to the drone’s feed, watching as it zoomed through the Royal Breeze courtyard. She was scanning for a friendly face—someone she’d met with before, someone she felt confident enough to approach uninvited. She would have liked to have JJ help, but he didn’t have access to the Dust-tech drone; the Dust made a link right to her mind.
She flicked again and looked at Tony. He was leaning against the building, deep in the shadows, arms folded, staring into space through those dark sunglasses. She wished her father hadn’t given them to him; Addie liked to look into a person’s eyes.
She still hadn’t figured him out, not that she’d had much time to do so. Her perception of him had certainly changed since their first encounter in her dad’s store, however. She’d thought he was just a wastrel—an addict or washed-up braincase who’d fried out and been rolled—left in a gutter. Or worse, she admitted, she’d thought maybe he’d resorted to selling off parts for bits, feeding some kind of addiction. It wouldn’t have been the first time her dad took someone like that in, after all.
Things were different now; he’d steadied out after the surgery, and he seemed pretty cool-headed. There was no way her dad’s sketchy inhaler was keeping him even-keeled like this. She was pretty close to believing his story about a nanite bank. It made sense that as soon as he got her old Dust reactor running, the nanites would start working. As Dust-tech, they didn’t need a PAI or controller program. Still, if she believed that, she had to start to really think about who he’d been. Dust-tech medical nanites were serious business—hundreds of thousands of bits serious.
She flicked back to her drone and zoomed it over a group of youths hanging around the east basketball court. She was pretty sure she recognized one of those hoodies. “I think that’s Jamal Hoshock.” She recalled the drone and asked, “What’s my Dust level?”
JJ projected a flickering amber window on her AUI:
Dust Purity: Impure -
Dust Capacity: 9/30
“Not bad. Plenty for a quick interview.” She glanced at Tony; those dark sunglasses were staring her way, but he didn’t move. “I’m going over by that basketball court on the right. Might go smoother if you stay here.”
He flicked her a lazy salute with two fingers, and Addie hmphed and moved past the metal fence into official Royal Breeze territory. She knew it was in her head, but it felt like it got darker as she stepped over that boundary onto the dirt path where a park once flourished. She sent her drone high—it had a powerful zoom, and she knew from experience that it wasn’t always wise for people she interviewed to see that she had it.
She’d almost lost it enough times that she’d done some research, trying to see what it would cost her to replace it. As Dust-tech, it was uncommon enough, but Addie had never seen one like it on the markets. There were a few models similar enough, but none that boasted the same capabilities. Even so, those other cam drones were listed for thousands of bits—more than Addie could hope to scrape together. “Excuse me,” she muttered as she passed between a pair of older women sitting on either side of the path, conversing loudly about someone’s lost cat.
They ignored her, and Addie found herself wishing she’d worn her green jacket with the hood. She tugged her too-bright, yellow coat’s lapels together and stuffed her hands in the pockets, furiously trying to avoid the increasingly frequent stares aimed her way. She flicked and watched herself progress through the courtyard. Using the drone’s cam feed and superior noise filtering, she listened to nearby conversations:
“…this little prissy bitch. She don’t live here, does she, Cindy?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Watch her—probably looking to score, but I ain’t trying to have any strays scratching ‘round my turf.”
Addie zoomed in on the woman’s face and tried to place it. It wasn’t hard—notched left eyebrow, pink star tattoos around her left orbital bone. It was Patricia “Starstriker” Kline, a lieutenant in the Charmed Foxes. Addie made sure she hurried past and didn’t glance her way.
She shifted the drone’s focus to her quarry. She was only a dozen meters away, almost to the concrete basketball court. Head down, she hustled past a couple of groups of young banger-wannabes, talking tough, smoking chemsticks, and laughing as they took turns teasing one another.
When she approached Jamal, he was looking the other way, pointing at a friend who was trying to do a weird, hopping dance while keeping his too-big, chain-laden trousers from falling down. “You look a fool, Toast!”
While part of her mind concentrated on getting a good drone angle, Addie cleared her throat and said, “Hey, Jamal.”
He whirled, stuffing a hand into his coat, but when he saw Addie, his eyes widened, and he laughed. “Stupid, doll! I almost put two in your guts!” He jerked his hand under his coat for emphasis. Addie doubted he really had a gun in there, but she was glad to see him laughing, anyway.
“Sorry I startled you. I was passing by and was wondering if you might answer a couple of questions, on the record, for my next story. I can totally tag you in the vid, and if you want me to shoutout your dance page—”
Jamal made a sound like a tire getting punctured, waving his hand dismissively. “I got more follows than you, doll. Think any your tired old subs wanna see my fresh biz?” He made the leaky tire sound again and flicked his fingers dismissively.
“I mean, if even one of ‘em likes how you sound and checks out your page, then it was worth it, right? One person talks to two more, and they talk to two each, and then—”
“Pshh, I get it, doll. So, whatchu want? I don’t see you dressing any nicer than the last time I saw you. How you gonna get views dressed like an old lady?”
Addie struggled not to frown; she didn’t remember Jamal being quite so judgmental the last time she interviewed him. Using her drone’s feed, though, she figured out what was up: he had an audience. Several youngsters nearby were paying rapt attention. Was Jamal trying to move up? Was he building up his own little cadre of wannabes? If the local gangs saw him leading the up-and-comers, it would look good for him—depending on one’s perspective. “Just a couple of questions? I promise I won’t waste your time.”
He sucked his teeth, folded his arms, and looked down his nose at her. “Next time you come around, you gonna wear something nicer?”
Addie decided to try playing the game. “I’ll see what I can find in my closet.”
“Shoot then.”
Addie put on her reporter voice, “Thank you, Jamal. Can you confirm rumors that local gangs are working together around the Royal Breeze apartments?”
“What ya mean working together?” He gathered a wad of phlegm and spat to the side.
“There’s been an unconfirmed report that the Black Hand and the Lobos are both working for a mysterious individual who goes by the monicker ‘Mr. Ross.’ Does that—”
“Yo, speak English, doll. Mondicker? He a pimp?”
“Jamal, have you heard of a Mr. Ross?”
“Hell nah.” He leaned a little closer. “I do see them bangers talking nice, though. It’s weird as hell. They used to fight for nothin’!” Jamal’s face went wan, and he shook his head rapidly, backing away from Addie. She was about to pursue him, wondering what had spooked him, when a new voice rang out behind her.
“This that news bitch everyone’s been talking ’bout?” Addie whirled at the voice and saw a tall, leather-clad man with a shaved head and red, rubbery, low-end synth-flesh covering half his face. The sleeves of his leather jacket were cut off, exposing long, powerful-looking arms with taut, sinewy muscles. Worse, he openly carried a heavy-looking revolver strapped to his left thigh.
“Hello, sir,” Addie said, stepping forward. With a corner of her mind, she moved the drone to get a better shot of his face. “I’m Adelaide Jones, and I’m conducting an independent news report about the Royal—”
“You running Dust? I can see a glow in those eyes. What you running?” He turned in a slow circle, ignoring Addie. When she didn’t respond, he turned and stepped closer to her. “I said, what you running, bitch?”
“It’s my AUI.” Addie did not want this man to know about her drone. She piloted it straight up, then sent it zooming toward the edge of the courtyard where she’d left Tony. He wasn’t there.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
A finger poked her chest, bringing her back to the reality of her situation. “You recording me with those eyes? You got optics?”
“I’m recording voice—”
“She’s got a drone, T-bomb.” Jamal moved around her to stand closer to ‘T-bomb.’ “I seen her page. Lil’ doll’s got hella skills—mad shots, air zooms, close-ups, everything.”
“You lying to me, girl?” T-bomb poked her chest again—too close to her breast for comfort. Addie flushed and took a step back.
“Please don’t touch me, sir. If you’d like to be interviewed, I could—”
T-bomb cut her off again, “What you doing poking around here? This ain’t your block, bitch.” He took half a step, his finger outstretched, aiming for her chest, but it stopped centimeters short of making contact. Addie realized his whole body had stopped—his foot hung in the air, unable to complete the step. When he made a soft gagging sound, she realized why—the collar of his leather jacket was pulled tight to his throat, and as she moved to the side to peer behind him, she saw the issue: Tony was there, twisting the leather collar in his mechanical fist.
He gave the banger a shake, then threw him back so he had to stumble and windmill his arms to keep from falling. “Hey, T-bomb. I’ve been looking for you.”
T-bomb grabbed his neck, the bits of normal flesh on his face reddening with rage as he stared daggers at Tony. “The fuck are you?”
Tony shrugged. “You owe me a hundred bits.” Addie stared at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. She almost asked him what he was doing, but he pointedly avoided eye contact with her, and more and more young wannabes were crowding close, shouldering past her. T-bomb had completely forgotten about her, and she wondered if that had been Tony’s big idea, stupid as it might be. Why would he think getting himself beaten to a pulp was the right move here? It wasn’t like Addie hadn’t dealt with intimidation before.
T-bomb straightened up, and Addie could see his hand stretching toward the grip of his pistol. “I don’t owe you shit, asshole!”
Tony chuckled and looked around at the crowd through his dark-lensed sunglasses. “Look at this guy—reaching for his piece. I thought he was supposed to be tough?”
The banger scowled, and Addie could see he was angry enough that murder was definitely on the table, but the sniggers in the crowd froze his hand before he pulled the gun. Bangers were, after all, political creatures. They operated on rep, and if Tony was calling him out and the young wannabes were laughing, then he’d probably lose face if he pulled the gun in a—so far—fistfight situation. Another pack of loitering youth pushed closer, shoving past Addie, obscuring her view.
A voice in the back of her mind told Addie to take the opportunity to clear out. Tony had distracted T-bomb for a reason. It would be stupid to squander it. So she did; she backed away, over to one of the old, trash-filled concrete planters, and climbed up on the edge to better see over the heads of the crowd. It wasn’t necessary; she could see in perfect detail with her drone, but she wanted to be ready to bolt, and the planter created an ideal line of sight barrier if she just hopped down on the other side.
Tony and the banger were squaring off, and Addie zoomed in with the drone to hear them over the buzz of the crowd. “…just toss me the bits, and I’ll walk away.”
“I don’t even know you, bozo! You kiss my boot, and I’ll forget you put your hands on me.” Addie smirked at the use of the old clown insult—if these bangers knew the origin, she doubted they’d try to sound so tough using that word.
“JJ, search my gang database for T-bomb. Is he affiliated?”
“He’s a prospect for the Black Hand as of the last update, which was Monday. According to his file, he’s been a prospect for nearly four years.”
“The Hand don’t recruit full members very often. I'm surprised he hasn’t given up and fallen in with one of the less discriminating crews. So, either there’s something wrong with him, or he’s just holding out.”
“According to the database, his older brother was a member of the Black Hand before he was killed.”
Addie scanned the crowd, once again wishing she could put the drone footage through JJ’s database of faces. “I don’t see any Black Hand around. But there’s gotta be a hundred people in this courtyard—I’m not sure.”
“Of the faces in your immediate vicinity, I can confirm none are known Black Hand members.”
Addie ignored JJ—something was happening in the middle of the circle. T-bomb lunged forward, driving with his hips as he swung a wild, skull-cracking haymaker. It looked to Addie like it would be lights out for Tony. She winced, imagining how much it would hurt, especially with his sore eye…socket. Something happened too quickly for her eyes to follow, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that her drone was capturing everything.
One minute, T-bomb was about to deliver a fight-ending blow, and then he was stumbling forward, and Tony was gliding around behind him, almost lazily. Had he just slipped the blow? Was it that simple? Was he that smooth? T-bomb came up against the loose ring of onlookers, and one of them caught his shoulders, helping him regain his balance. When he whirled, the murder in his bloodshot eyes was plain.
“Excuse me, Adelaide,” JJ interjected, “but your Dust reserves are down to two units.”
Addie nodded absently. “I’ll keep it close by. Warn me when we’ve been burning the last unit for thirty seconds.”
Meanwhile, T-bomb had put up his fists and was approaching Tony more warily. As he closed the distance, he jabbed out with his left fist. It looked fast to Addie, but Tony slapped it lazily, taking a sideways step. “Shouldn’t his depth perception be worse than that?”
“I’m not an expert—”
“Rhetorical, JJ.” Addie watched as Tony avoided three more punches. Then he reached out and slapped T-bomb on the cheek. The sound rang out as the crowd made a collective “Ooh” sound.
T-bomb had had enough. His fury overrode his need to follow fist-fighting rules, and he grabbed his pistol from its holster. Tony stepped forward and snatched his wrist, turning it as he continued moving past the banger. The big, leather-clad man yelped in pain as Tony did something to his wrist that had the banger leaning forward, desperately trying to turn away from the pain. Tony snatched the pistol out of his hand, then lifted the banger’s hand high and swept his legs with an effortless kick, dropping the big man to the concrete on his rump with an “Oof!”
“I’ll take this old piece in exchange for the bits you owe me. Don’t let me see you around the bridge again.” He said the words so nonchalantly and with such conviction behind them that Addie was beginning to believe Tony really did know T-bomb—that they’d actually had a run-in someplace near a “bridge.” Tony held the chrome-plated pistol in the air and looked around the crowd. “You all saw him pull this thing on me. It’s mine now.”
Someone wearing a red hoodie broke the tension. “Damn, T-bomb! That dude wrecked your ass.” As others jumped in on the chance to make fun of one of the courtyard bullies, Tony slipped away, hands in his pockets, but straight-backed with his sunglasses swiveling from left to right until he caught sight of Addie. Some of the youngsters chased after him, shouting questions:
“What crew you run with, killer?”
“Damn, bro! Where’d you learn to fight?”
“What’s your name?”
Tony ignored them all, and when he saw Addie looking his way, he jerked his head toward the nearest gap in the wrought-iron fence. She didn’t need an invitation and hurried to jump down from the planter, calling her drone home. Three minutes later, she was across the street, stuffing the egg-shaped device into her backpack, when Tony approached.
She looked up to ask him what he’d been thinking, but he ignored her and walked by, aiming for the corner. She saw why—plenty of folks were standing around near the gate watching him go. Addie waited a couple of seconds, then hurried in the same direction.
Once she rounded the corner, she saw him leaning against the bricks. “Hey.”
“You’re insane! Did you know that guy?”
He arched an eyebrow. “T-bomb? Nah, but I guess my acting’s pretty good, huh?”
“That was so risky, Tony! What if he’d been backed up by one of the gangs in the area?”
“He didn’t have any patches—I mean none that looked like gang colors.” He shrugged. “It's not like folks don’t get in fights around these kinds of neighborhoods all the time.”
“What if he shot you?”
“With this old thing?” Tony slapped his pocket. He made a dismissive sound, then jerked his head toward the sidewalk. “Come on, we should keep moving.”
Addie didn’t disagree, so she started hurrying back toward her neighborhood. “I really didn’t need you to do that! I know how to roll over convincingly enough. That guy would have left me alone after a few more threats.”
“Well, maybe, but I didn’t like how he was poking you. I don’t care what neighborhood you’re from; when someone tells you to stop touching ’em, you ought to listen.”
Addie scowled but didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. People who couldn’t take a little hit to their pride didn’t tend to live very long in the Blast. Still, some weird, lonely part of her felt good knowing someone had stood up for her. When was the last time that had happened without involving her father? She looked at the tall, lanky fellow strolling alongside her, utterly unbothered that he’d just gotten into a physical confrontation with someone. “So, you were corpo?”
He shrugged. “Wish I could deny it.”
“I take it you weren’t an ad exec or a, uh, pleasure boy.”
He snorted and looked at her with his eyebrows arched high over the top of his sunglasses. “Pleasure boy?”
Addie felt her cheeks heat up. “I mean, I watch the serials. I know how life is in ’Hattan. I thought maybe you’d angered the wrong, um, client.”
He grinned with just the left side of his mouth. “Ah, I see. Not many easy ways to explain my good looks, huh?”
“Oh my gosh! That’s not what I said! I just thought you looked too…” Addie desperately didn’t want to say “fit” or “handsome,” so she settled on something better, “soft to be corpo-sec or something like that. I figured you spent your days in the gym and the salon, then you know, at night—”
“Jeez, seriously? You’re killing me.”
“So, what was it? I don’t think most execs can move like you did back there.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Talk about people with too much time on their hands…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and Addie thought maybe she’d triggered a memory he was having a hard time pushing past. After a few seconds, though, he turned to her and nodded. “You could say I worked security. Not corpo-sec, exactly, but more like an operator on retainer.”
“Operator, huh? We get those down here, too.”
He shrugged—a gesture that seemed to be one of his favorites. “Sure. People need to make a living wherever.” They rounded a corner, and he added, “Anyway, I wasn’t trying to cause you any grief back there. I thought if I could distract that guy, you could slip away.”
“I…get your intentions, but it’s not always that simple. I’m honestly surprised they let you walk out of there. I’m surprised T-bomb isn’t behind us right now.”
“Nah, having your wrist broken usually takes the fight out of someone.”
“You broke his wrist?”
Tony shrugged—again—and held up his mechanical hand. “It’s a little stronger than I’m used to.” He shook his head. “No, not stronger—more inelegant. Let’s just say when I twisted his wrist to a degree that, in my mind, should have caused some pain, my arm took things a few notches further than I intended.” Gunshots sounded in the distance, maybe two blocks away, and he smiled, shaking his head. “Wonder what that’s about.”
Addie picked up her pace. “Let’s not hang around to find out. By the way, what are you planning to do with that pistol?”
“Sell it, I guess. I owe Beef a hundred bits, right?” He laughed. “You think your pops will buy it?”
“Oh, brother.” Addie shook her head and reached up to loosen her ponytail; she was getting a headache. Then, after a moment’s thought, she nodded. “He probably will.”