CARTER BUILDING
FRIDAY, 11:09 P.M.
Despite not being far from the bustling epicenter of the metropolis, Urie, the Yellow Area neighborhood where Adam lived, was quiet, filled with residential towers with sprawling front yards and wide sidewalks, with trees that joined their canopies at the top, forming bushy roofs of reddish leaves over the narrow streets. His loft was on the twelfth floor of the Carter Building, a building with long square windows, which looked like a concrete cylinder rolled up with glass ribbons.
With the idea of going out again, Adam left the car on the street in front of the tower and not in the private garage. Seeing Ruben, the doorman, outside, leaning against one of the pillars of the entrance, he opened the glove compartment and withdrew one of the two Loud’s holographic cards.
Ruben Blue finished smoking his cigarette. When he saw Adam arrive, he took the last drag on it, tossed the butt into the trash can, and went ahead to open the glass doors for him.
Ruben was a man in his sixties, owner of a lean face, hair too dark to be natural, and a prominent belly from the regular intake of beer. Also, he shared a peculiarity with Adam.
“Blue,” Adam called him. “Blue.”
“White?” Ruben called him. “Any problem with my last name?”
“None. Today no one forgot that I’m an orphan, and I wanted to remember that I’m not alone in this.”
“You and thousands more, little princess,” said Ruben. “In this city, even the guy with the fanciest last name is alone. I can’t say the same for your 08.09, though, which will soon receive a visit from the tow truck,” he warned Adam then. “The spot you took is private parking. If they find it there…”
“Chill, old man,” Adam said. “Parking robots don’t take rounds down this street.”
“Robots don’t, but flesh-and-blood inspectors do.”
“C’mon, old man! I’m leaving in a heartbeat,” Adam replied. “I’ve come to change my clothes and I’m out again.”
“A change, huh?” Ruben pointed out the red stains on the T-shirt. “That’s red wine, you drunkard! You spilled wine on yourself and came to change your clothes so no one would know how much of a bad boozer you are.”
Adam snapped his fingers as if to say, ‘You got me!’ He didn’t feel like talking to the old man or explaining what had happened.
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“Here,” he said, and activating the holo-magazine, passed it to him. “Have fun reading about me. You’ll find an article on how to knit a balls-grabber for old men like you on section fifty—I mean; in case you’re interested in dabbling in macramé.”
“Buzz off, little princess, and dress up already that your hunk awaits.”
They showed each other’s middle fingers, and Adam walked through the entrance hall with a cheerful gleam on his face. That’s what he needed for his night to change: happy moments.
He called an elevator. And when the metal sheets parted, he found a pleasant surprise in there. A beautiful female specimen leaning against the mirrored wall, with arms folded and gazing down. If Adam had believed in the gods, at that moment he would have thought that the goddess of beauty had just given him eye candy, a present meant to restore his happiness.
She was a sexy girl with well-defined muscles; maybe she was an athlete. She looked tough, yet, at the same time, very feminine. He hadn’t seen her before in the building. Maybe she was a new tenant. Must be around the same age as him, he reckoned—a few summers less, perhaps. She had a rounded face, smooth and pale skin, somewhat pink, large eyes, and hair golden like the ears of wheat, falling to the sides like a cascade of waves to her shoulders. She was wearing a black T-shirt, skintight jeans, and shiny black knee-high boots with high heels. The funny thing was that on her pants and her boots were traces of dried mud. Maybe she worked on a farm, or she was a rancher; the Proxima district included not only the gigantic city but also miles and miles of virgin places and small sparsely populated towns.
With a polite gesture, Adam stepped aside to give her room to exit the elevator, and with his hand, covered the bloodstains on the T-shirt. She didn’t move, so he went in.
“To the garage?” he asked. The girl did not reply. He pressed the marker on the board screen to go to the twelfth floor. She had not yet specified her destination. Well, that gave him a perfect excuse to find some conversation. “What floor?” he offered to mark the board for her. He didn’t get an answer either, though this time he managed to get her to look at him. Her eyes were as light blue as a miniature representation of the sky.
And so, the elevator closed its doors and began to rise.
Haven’t you noticed yet, champ? spoke the often-treacherous voice of his own ego. She’s playing hard to get. Otherwise, she would have hopped off the elevator.
“Are you new here?” he asked.
She gave him a strange, intimidating look.
Until, finally, the number twelve lit up on the elevator board and the doors opened. His journey had come to an end, and with it, the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the young woman. Well, maybe next time, he thought, and just as he stepped out of there, he felt her hands on his back giving him a slight push.
“Go ahead, dear,” the blonde told him. Her voice was raspy and carried a slight accent that sounded weird, somewhat melodic, and very sensual, of which he couldn’t pinpoint the origin.
Adam looked her over his shoulder with a triumphant smile. However, it didn’t take him long to spot someone at the entrance to the twelfth floor, waiting for him. The blonde’s intention was not to flirt with him, but to hand him over to that person.
Shock gave him the death kiss for the second time in the same night: the one in front of him was no other than his doppelgänger.