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Creel saluted and dashed for his things. Mike stepped
out touching his ear.
“Code Janissary Project. Agent Top Brass.”
He came back in and closed the door. The TV was a
cheap plasmodia hanging from the wall. Mike touched the screen, and it began to
glow. Cindy didn’t spend a lot of money on extras for her agents, but, and he
had to smile, the side bennies were tops.
A naked, smiling Cindy VanTur lay sprawled in bed with
a dark-haired and grinning baby. The baby spotted Mike and yelped, screaming
laughter and slapping the bed.
“Mike,” she said, the word furred with sleep.
“How are you?”
“Busy.” He winked at the set.
“Me, too,” she said and let the baby, Benny Wya
Grey’s little bastard brat, crawl over her. In a few months, Mike’s sister
would birth a similar brat. That was something Cindy didn’t need to know, and
Mike shuddered at the thought, but he kept his face gentle and pleasant.
Creel spotted the boss on the screen and snapped to
attention. Cindy gave him a cold look. He glanced down at where she was looking,
and spun around. Mike killed a smile.
“Creel, finish dressing.”
“OK.” Cindy yawned. Every trace of genteel
southern womanhood evaporated. “You’ve reported in,” she said, pulling a
silk sheet over her and the baby. The screen faded and Mike winced.
“She . . . She isn’t too happy about something?”
Creel didn’t sound happy either. When Mike looked,
he was fastening the straps to a body suit that appeared to be a real suit. Mike
glanced away to hide his contempt.
“She isn’t. This bird, Grey, slipped away a dozen
times. Tell me what you know. He was in the hospital, and then what?”
Creel muttered through a report. He went to the mech-server
and punched in breakfast. Then he glanced at Mike.
“I ate.”
He hadn’t, but then this place wasn’t conductive
to the appetite. A cockroach scurried from under the bed, and he stepped on it.
“What about the Harvesters that tried to take the
kid?”
Creel blinked a few times and swallowed, hard. “But
that was a false lead –” The other agent did not appear to believe that.
“Uh . . . They disappeared. A couple of more, three of ‘em, haven’t
reported in since they went on a run to the blockhouse the kid was seen at.”
Mike scowled, and Creel’s heart sank.
“Christ,” Mike said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“It’s starting again.”
Benny moved slowly, testing each finger and limb. He
struggled not to fall asleep again and to make his body work. It would be a
while before he again bench-pressed three hundred pounds. A few yards away, a pair
of women were manufacturing something that looked like ID cards.
Squatting near Benny, a couple of small children
stared with solemn eyes. He scowled at them, and they giggled.
“Hey.” Benny crooked a finger. “How do I get out
o’ here?”
They stared with solemn eyes.
“Come on, guys.” He asked it in Spanilingo, then
the Deutch.
A bigger kid, maybe a girl, maybe not, the ragged
clothes and short hair made it hard to tell, whispered at the kids, and they
scooted away smiling at Benny.
Benny opened his mouth.
“We don’ talk no damned strangers,” the kid
said, rolling away from Benny.
“Hey, I just wanna get going. I got fuzz on my
tail.”
The kid spun. He - she?—leaped from the pile of
rags used as bedding and hurried away into the gloom, with Benny cussing at the
lack of attention. Well, that was life. Like, if the last thing you needed was a
cop, he was always there, watching.
“Crap.” Benny started to crawl and made it a few
yards before the kid raced back with the old man on his heels. The old man
squatted on his heels and offered a gentle smile. Behind him a spirit was
fussing and worried.
“Here, son, where you goin’?”
Raising himself up on stiff arms, Benny glared at him.
“Out for a walk, brat. Which way is the exit?”
“Down the tubes,” the kid warned him, “You
don’t mind you dirty mouf.”
“Promises, promises.” One arm collapsed, and Benny
fell to the concrete. He shoved, but this time the arms were shaking, and blood
ran from a cut on his chin.
The old man pulled him up in a sitting position, and
Benny choked as the splinter of bone in his spine pressed against the nerves.
“Leggo . . . please,” he whispered, and the man let
him slide back to the floor.
They rolled him over. Benny scowled at the fear and
concern. The busty babe, Kat, was sitting up, and her john—boyfriend
because she wasn't a hooker—had an arm around her waist. The scowl on his
face was not nice, but making a few promises of his own for the kid that
disturbed them.
Just to make the dude angrier, Benny gave the babe a
sexy, lazy wink. “Too many women, not enough time.”
Kat blushed, and the dude snatched the sheet up over
those now pink breasts, but she was smiling. And the dude was about ready to
snap.
“Would you do that to a da Vinci?” Benny asked,
smiling for her.
“No, but I would for an underage lech,” the man
said, the sheet bunched in his hands enough to make Kat’s breasts stand out.
“Fuzz?” the old man gently reminded them. “A lot
of us air hunted. You welcome stayin’ here.”
“Bad fuzz. Win a prize mean fuzz,” Benny said,
underscoring the words with one hand. “Like, fed fuzzies with no sense o’
humor fuzz.”
The old man pursed his lips. He glanced around at the
people staring over them.
“Fed be bad. How bad is bad?”
“Major pain in the butt. Def’netly rooters that go
all that up and don’t bother with lubricant.”
“A name, boy,” the old man said, his voice quiet
but growing urgent. “Gimme name.”
Looking at the floor, Benny said, “ . . . The boss
got a hotline to the prez, day or night, anywhere in these United Nations. Got a
right to dog collar—and I mean collars that can kill, not just zing a
welfare worker—anybody dumb enough to get trapped by them.”
“Lots like that these here days. Don’ mean no nada
. . . “ His eyes widened and he stared down at Benny. “Lordy mine. I seen
you pix on a news vid.” He glanced around. “He got to go. Go now,” he
said, rising to his feet and standing over Benny. “Man the doors. Open the
bolt holes an’ get them kiddies and women down ‘em.”
Kat threw on her clothing while Jim stared at Benny.
Benny lay with his head down, his face burning.
“Who are you, kid?” he asked.
Kat lay a finger of his lips. In a quiet, barely heard
voice, she told what she knew.
She added a small kiss. “I should have told you
sooner, Jim. I’m sorry.”
He dressed with a minimum of movement and knelt beside
Benny.
“This is going to hurt, but bear with me. OK?” He
scooped Benny from the floor. “Where now, lover?”
Benny scowled. “You better be talking to the lady,
creep. These folks would kill a -”
Kat laughed. “You know this area better than me, and
I grew up in Philly.”
With a scowl for Benny and a grin for Kat, Jim
followed a child to a manhole. The kid gestured at two armed men, and the cover
was dragged away. Jim hopped over the hole and dropped. Kat followed, using a
rusting ladder that cracked and protested her use.
Halfway down the ladder groaned, bending away from the
wall. She screamed, dropping to her feet and stumbling but caught herself. The
child dropped lightly beside her with a thin penlight and a cool grin.
“This way,” she said, trotting down the sewer.
“Mind rabbits. Don’t you be a-killing them.”
The light speared at a large rat staring at them, then
at a small trap that was occupied by two more.
“Ain’t chicken but it free. Not like them folks at
the jail-house they git.” The girl shuddered. “Soy meat. It poison a soul,
Grampa say.”
From behind them came a loud thump. The earth
rumbled, and dirt showered over them.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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