7 – A Side Job

Tony pulled the door to Bert’s shop open with a jangle of the bells and held it for Addie. She gave him a funny look, stepped through, and was immediately greeted with Bert’s concern, “Everything go all right?”

“Fine.” She looked at Tony with an arched eyebrow. “Right?”

He shrugged, letting the door close behind him. “Yeah. I got in a little scuffle with a banger, but nothing to write home about.”

Bert folded his thick arms over his chest. “That’s not an easy neighborhood. You sure you’re good?”

“Yep.” Tony grinned and walked further into the store, past a rack of used motor parts so that he could see Bert better. “It was nothing. Just some trash-talking, really.”

“I’m going to do some editing,” Addie announced, taking long, bouncing strides toward the back door to the storeroom. She walked with her thumbs under the straps of her backpack, head down.

Bert barely managed to call out, “Let’s order pizza for dinner!” before the door swung shut behind her. “She always does that,” he said to Tony, rubbing his chin through his stiff white beard with a thumb.

Tony nodded. “I’d say you were right earlier when you said she was pretty driven. She’s all about the story.”

“Hey, speaking of stories, Tony, I thought I should mention something—kind of a warning.” Bert shifted, looking uncomfortable as he reached over his shoulder, stretching and straining like he wanted to scratch an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah?” At the word “warning” coming from Bert and on the heels of talking about Addie, Tony felt like he was about to receive a lecture about how he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy Bert was looking to have to get fresh with his daughter. Tony wouldn’t have argued.

“Yeah, you mentioned you had those Dust-tech nanites kind of nonchalantly, and you can’t be doing that in this neighborhood, buddy. Don’t worry about Donny and me—he knows how to keep his mouth shut—but there are other folks who’ll talk to their banger relatives or shoot, just the enforcer on the block, trying to earn some credit for the info. Next thing you know, you’re being hauled into the back of a van, and someone’s cutting you open. You understand? People get killed for a lot less than tech like that around here.”

Tony closed his mouth, clicking his teeth together as the old guy’s words hit home. He was right. “Yeah, that was a dim-brain move. Thanks for the reminder, Bert.”

“Well, in your defense, you’ve had a hell of a couple of days. I mean, shoot, you’d just had surgery. Just be cooler about that stuff in the future. I’ll tell Addie to keep it quiet, but she’s pretty savvy. I doubt she’ll be broadcasting the news.”

Tony nodded. “Thanks again. Hey, uh, that banger who I had a thing with? I took this from him. You wouldn’t be interested, would you?” Tony reached into his pocket and lifted out the heavy chrome-plated revolver, walking over to the counter to slide it over to Bert.

“What’s this? An old Sokolov Terminator?” Bert chuckled, picking up the piece and rotating the cylinder. He popped the chamber and pulled out what looked like a miniature shotgun shell. Tony’s eyes widened when he saw the diameter. “Only holds four rounds, but they pack a hell of a punch. Can shoot 4-10 shotgun shells or the company's custom, high-pressure, polymer rounds. Well, they used to make ’em. Don’t think they’re still in business. Even so, last I checked, there’s a ton of ammo available on the market-net.”

“So, you’re interested?”

“Sure. I’ll sell it on commission unless…” He eyed the front of the store where the windows opened onto the street. “You probably want the bits now, huh? So you can get Beef off your back?”

“I was thinking that, yeah. Is the thing worth a hundred bits?”

“Easily. I’ll give you one-forty, so you’ll have a little pocket money. I s’pose you need a bit-locker, huh, no PAI?”

“Yeah.”

“No worries, I’ve got a dozen lying around back here.” Bert pulled out a drawer near his little terminal and started shuffling through what sounded like a large amount of “junk.”

While Bert looked for a bit-locker chip, Tony leaned an elbow against the glass counter and asked, “When I get enough scratch together, you think I ought to talk to that doc about a new eye? Any other chop docs around? I mean, I looked through your supply of spare parts,” Tony chuckled, “and I didn’t see any eyes.”

“Doc Peters can order what you need, and he gets all the same discounts as parlor shop chop docs. I trust him a lot more, too.” Bert held up a pinky-sized plastic device. “Aha! Here we go, Tony. Someone paid me on this thing a few years back—drained it dry and left it here.” He plugged it into the data port on his terminal, and Tony watched him tapping at the air, no doubt punching buttons on his AUI.

“You know I can’t do sales and whatnot until I get a data port and a PAI. I suppose I should prioritize that over a new eye.”

“It’ll be a while until you can afford any of that stuff if you’re just watching the shop for me.” Bert pulled the bit-locker out of the terminal and tossed it to him. “There you go, Tony. I’d pay Beef off in the morning; people wandering the streets after dark in this district are usually up to no good. Gangs get more violent, the Boxer corpo-sec patrols harass folks, and don’t forget the odd operator or runner looking for a mark.”

Tony slipped the little plastic device into his pocket and nodded. “You don’t have to convince me; I’m not itching to get out on the streets right now. I gotta tell you, keeping up with your daughter was a little harder than I expected. I’m pretty drained. Speaking of—you got any idea how much Dust this little reactor can hold? With impure Dust, my nanites need something like a unit per minute to run optimally, and I don’t think they’re getting it.”

“Just a sec, come over here, will you? Let me see the display.” Bert beckoned, and Tony moved closer, unzipping his tracksuit, revealing his neat, glued suture line and the three-centimeter chrome display in the center of his sternum. Bert leaned close and tapped his finger against the shiny surface three times. Then, he stared at something in the air between them. A moment later, he said, “TDT Dust reactor, model seventy-four A.” He smiled at Tony. “Just a sec, my PAI’s looking it up.” He moved back, and Tony zipped up his jacket.

Tony leaned on his elbow again and couldn’t fight off a yawn that came upon him. Bert laughed, “You weren’t kidding, were you? Your face looks weary, my friend.” He held up a finger. “Aha! Success! Looks like your reactor has a capacity of ten Dust units, but combined with the stock matrix—which is what I gave you—the collection rate from ambient Dust, provided there is some in a person’s system, is one unit per ten minutes—roughly.”

“Yeah, so my nanites are only operating, uh, occasionally,” Tony chuckled. “Still, some is better than none.”

“Definitely! And the best thing about it is you’re getting that corrupted Dust out of your system.”

“Hey, uh…” Tony paused, gathering his thoughts. Bert’s mention of Dust in a person’s system made him think about mutations, which reminded him about Addie and her uncanny ability to control her drone. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You gotta tell me what’s up with your daughter—she’s at least a gleam, am I right?”

Bert frowned. “Well…” Tony could see he was weighing his words. “I mean, there’s nothing obvious about her, but I know what you’re talking about—she handles that drone better than my mother ever could, and she was trained on Dust-tech by her news corp. Addie’s had that drone since she got her first Dust reactor, though—” He pointed his finger at Tony’s chest. “—and I wonder if she’s just been using it so long that she’s developed, I dunno, a kind of bond with it. I’d test her on some other Dust-tech, but nothing appropriate has ever come through the shop.”

“Well, she acts like she hasn’t got a clue how rare that kind of control is. I’ve worked with operators who would kill to be able to do what she does with that thing; she can pretty damn near view the drone’s feed and use her eyes simultaneously—I had a partner on a gig once who tried to do that with a crawler and got violently ill.”

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“Yeah, well, denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

“Why denial, though? There’s nothing wrong with being a gleam.”

“Eh, down here? If you got a mutation, odds are it ain’t gonna be all positive. At least, that’s what folks whisper behind closed doors.”

“The corruption.” Tony nodded. “Still, if there was something negative, I think people would notice.”

“Look, Tony, there’s nothing wrong with Addie, right? If she’s got a touch of something special—something like a gleam—there’s no need to make a fuss about it. Are we clear?” Bert’s sudden seriousness didn’t brook much argument, and Tony knew enough not to ruffle the feathers of the rooster in charge of the henhouse where he was trying to lay low. He paused on that thought. Is that what he was doing? Laying low? Seemed more like he was just struggling to survive.

“Yeah, sure, Bert. Forget I mentioned it.” When Bert’s smile returned, and he nodded, Tony added, “Hey, like you said, I’m going to be a long while affording anything if I rely on your charity. You think there’s anything else I can do around the neighborhood to help me scrape up some bits?”

“Oh, I can think of a few people who might need help with a thing or two. Why don’t you let me send out some messages and see what I can come up with?”

“That’d be great, Boss.”

Bert chuckled but didn’t deny the monicker. “In the meantime, why don’t you go rest your eyes, buddy? If you doze off, I’ll wake you for dinner. How does a cold beer and a couple slices of pizza sound?”

“It sounds like you’re a damn saint, Bert.” Tony looked around the shop. “You sure you don’t need me to do anything first?”

“Nah, I appreciate you walking with Addie. Now get a few winks.”

Tony held out his mechanical fist, and Bert bumped his knuckles in a gesture that seemed automatic. As the old guy grinned, Tony ducked his head and said, “Thanks again.” He went into the storeroom and saw that Bert had put a pillow and a plain gray blanket on the cot.

Before he tried to nap, though, Tony used the little bathroom. It had a toilet, a sink, and a mop and bucket in the corner, but no shower. “God, I could use a shower,” he muttered, imagining the hot water trickling down his scalp and shoulders. He settled for splashing water on his face, careful to keep the bandage over his eye socket dry.

Out of habit or just because he was nosy and curious, he opened the little medicine cabinet behind the mirror to find a bottle of aspirin, a package of synth-skin bandages, some fingernail clippers, and a bottle of “Urban Man” aftershave. Tony chuckled and closed the cabinet, startling himself with his own face in the mirror. “Damn, you look like shit, brother.”

It was true; his hair was unkempt, a dark hollow surrounded his singular eye, and his skin tone was more ash than olive. Still, he might be biased, but he thought he looked kind of fierce. He had dark, thick eyebrows, and they were perpetually angled in a near-scowl, and he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his face—his nose was straight, his cheekbones were sharp, and his jawline looked like it would hurt like hell to punch. “That’s right, buddy, talk yourself up.”

With those affirmations, Tony left the bathroom, flicked off the light in the storeroom, and lay down on the cot. He pulled the thin blanket over himself, curling onto his side, and closed his eye. Despite his efforts to hold the door closed, whispers began to creep out of the room where he’d stuffed his uncomfortable thoughts and feelings. Foremost among them were a pair of green eyes and the scent of musky jasmine. “Emily,” he whispered, and rather than let the feelings and memories drift by only to be replaced by something worse, Tony chased after her into the corners of his mind.

He remembered her giggling, half-naked, sharing a chemstick with him, even though they both knew it was stupid. They were lying in a bed, and it was dark. Neon shone through the loft’s windows, making weird glowing shadows on the ceiling through the chemstick’s smoke. What did she say? He could imagine her voice perfectly and supplied the words as best he could remember them, “We should do it. We should run. They’re never going to erase your debt, T. Let’s just go.”

Tony squeezed his eyes, eliciting a sharp pain from his right socket, and banished the memory, driving Emily’s ghostly specter back into the room where he’d stuffed those thoughts and feelings. As a way to keep those things from escaping, he focused on the present. He thought about Addie and her “story” about the Royal Breeze. He hadn’t paid much attention to her interview at the noodle shop, but it sounded like she was onto something. Was it worth anything? Would anyone care, regardless of whatever scoop she could dig up? He doubted it.

He rolled over, frowning, unable to keep his mind focused, unable to keep it from wandering to forbidden places. Eric. He’d definitely heard Eric’s voice when they were cutting him up. Despite the sting, Tony had to admit it made a certain kind of sense. Eric had always hated that Emily loved him. He’d always been jealous of her attention. Even with Jen, even with Cross, Eric was always in Tony’s shadow. But they were friends—friends since forever…

Despite his subconscious mind’s attempts to force him to face certain realities, Tony’s conscious thoughts slipped away, and his exhaustion saved him. When the light flickered and Bert gruffly called his name, Tony had no idea how long he’d been out, but he wanted more sleep. Still, when Bert spoke again, mentioning the pizza, Tony’s stomach forced the issue, and he groggily sat up on the cot. “On my way, Boss.”

When he returned to the shop, he glanced at the big clock over the counter and saw it was nearly nine. Had he really slept for more than six hours? “Hey, Tony,” Addie called, and he saw she was sitting at the counter on one of four tall, plastic-topped stools, each bearing an image of a can of Zap Soda—different flavors, of course. Bert was at the front of the store, locking the deadbolt and pulling down the metal security gates.

Tony sat down on the grape-flavored soda stool. “Hey, Addie. How’d the footage come out?”

She smiled, pushing a large box of pizza his way. “Very well! I, uh, used the footage of your little scuffle as a hook and outro. Don’t worry—I obscured your face. I think it’ll help drive traffic to the story.”

Tony opened the box, saw more than half of a large, greasy cheese pizza, and immediately had to swallow to prevent drool from escaping his lips. Addie passed him a paper plate and a little cardboard box filled with parmesan and hot pepper packets. Tony took a slice and a packet of peppers. “Well, if you’re paying me in pizza for my performance, I’m cool with that.”

Ambling back from the front door, Bert responded before Addie could, “Well, you work here now, right? It’d be rude not to feed you!”

“He was talking about me filming him, Dad.”

“Oh?”

“Just a joke.” Tony waved it off, liberally sprinkling peppers on his slice.

“Well, speaking of getting paid, one of my friends messaged me while you were napping, Tony.”

Tony was mid-bite, struggling to avoid a groan of pleasure as the greasy, doughy pizza exploded all over his tastebuds. He held up a mechanical finger, chewing exaggeratedly as Addie giggled. Bert waved his hand, continuing without a response, “I mentioned you on a chat group where a bunch of us store owners in the district hang out. I didn’t say much—just that you were a guy looking to earn some bits doing odd jobs. I said you could handle yourself, that’s all, but I think some folks read a lot into that little phrase.”

“Jeez, Dad, get to the punchline. What’s the job?”

By then, Tony had swallowed his bite and was also listening raptly. Bert grinned and shrugged. “Well, if it sounds too dangerous, just let me know, agreed?” When Tony offered a quick nod, Bert continued, “Rene over at Mercury Messengers says she and her neighbor, Eddie, from—”

“Eddie’s Subs?” Addie asked, leaning forward.

“That’s right. They’re having a problem with a fade that seems to have moved into the alley behind their shops.”

“A fade?” Tony’s eyebrow shot up. “Seriously? I’ve never seen—”

“They’re ten times more likely to crop up in the Blast than the average rate in the greater metro area.” Addie sounded like she was reciting a statistic, and when she took a breath as if she had more to say, Bert hurried to fill in the quiet.

“They called Boxer Corp, but they’re quoting a five business-day wait time for an investigation. Not wanting to wait, they went to the Helldogs, but the enforcer on their block wanted a thousand bits to deal with it. Anyway, Tony, they’re offering five hundred to you if you’re interested.”

Tony held his pizza slice at bay, fighting off his urge to fill his mouth again; five hundred bits sounded like a nice dent in the price of a new eye. “Uh, what’s it doing?”

Addie was chewing, but she looked ready to spout some more facts. Bert beat her to it. “It’s camped near the dumpster most of the day—chases anyone who comes near. The problem with fades is—”

“They’re losing corporeality,” Addie blurted, her mouth still half full. “They crave human touch, and if they phase into you and then shift states, it can create a heck of a mess!”

Tony nodded. He knew that much. He’d seen vids of fades—people losing their physical state and shifting into an energy-like existence—Dust specters, as most called them. “I mean, I was more wondering what people do about ’em. Is there any helping—”

Addie shook her head. “Nothing’s worked. I’ve read a lot about them. Plenty of corps are trying all sorts of things to stabilize or somehow utilize fades. If any have figured something out, they’re keeping it quiet. I don’t think they have, though. Otherwise, they’d be prowling the Blast, looking for subjects like this one.”

“So? What am I supposed to do?”

Bert shrugged. “Get it to leave, at least. They don’t communicate rationally when they get to this stage, Tony. They’re not really people anymore. If you killed it, no one would—”

“Don’t kill it, Tony!” Addie punched her dad’s shoulder. “They can be lured away! We could lead it to one of the abandoned lots—one of the old skeleton buildings.”

Tony narrowed his eye at her. “We?”

“Uh, yeah.” She dragged the word out like Tony was an idiot for asking. “Do you think I’ll pass up footage like that? A Good Samaritan trying to wrangle a fade? No, no, Tony, that’s a story that will drive clicks to my page.”

“I mean, I’m getting paid…” Tony shrugged, deciding not to argue the point about being a “Good Samaritan.”

“So, you’ll take the job?” Bert grinned.

“Why are you so eager, Dad?” Suddenly, Addie’s eyes went wide, and she made an “O” with her mouth, reaching across the counter to slap Bert’s shoulder. “Rene! You’ve always liked her!”

Bert’s big cheeks suddenly went crimson, and he shook his head, “No, no—it’s nothing like that.”

He didn’t sound very convincing, and Tony laughed, reaching for another slice. “Looks like I’m taking the job.”