Asimov's SF, February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "I still don't know why spooks would be following you,” he said, pouring two cups of black. “Wouldn't they be feds or something?"

  "I'll take cream,” Lanna says, “and sugar."

  "I don't have either."

  "All right,” she takes the cup of black coffee he holds out to her. “And no, they wouldn't be feds, because I'm an international criminal.” She sounds proud of it.

  "Oh,” says Chris. “I see."

  Some of the metal in her face fogs up a bit when she drinks coffee, mostly the spikes. The studs closest to her face are too warm for the steam to condense. She's wearing black mascara and eyeliner.

  "I'm getting scared,” she admits. “Can I hang around with you today?"

  "Sure,” says Chris. “If you don't mind running an errand with me."

  "What errand?” she asks.

  * * * *

  They're waiting at the bus stop. Chris has his canvas rolled up in a cardboard tube under his arm. Rico's gallery is two transfers away, but it's going to be a nice ride. Lanna and Chris are enjoying the day. It smells like fall, crisp and fresh.

  Lanna and Chris breathe in the fall air at the bus stop, and, in their relaxation, they don't notice the two boys rapidly approaching on noiseless electric bikes. Before Chris can react, they whiz by, and grab the cardboard tube. They yell something as they bike away. It sounds triumphant, profane, but beyond that Chris can't really understand what they're saying.

  "What did they say?” he asks.

  "I dunno,” she says. “But they sounded pretty excited."

  Chris sits down on the curb and picks up a brittle red leaf. “Shit,” he says.

  "Yeah,” says Lanna. “That's pretty raw."

  Chris crushes the leaf in the palm of his hand. “Well,” he says. “At least I know where they live."

  "Yeah, they'll probably give it back to you if you return their air rifle."

  Chris crunches another handful of leaves and sprinkles their fragments onto the concrete. “Shit,” he says again.

  "You hungry?” Lanna asks.

  "Yeah,” he says.

  "Let me take you out for lunch,” she says.

  "Okay,” he says. “I'd appreciate that."

  A few minutes later, the bus rolls up to the curb, and they get on.

  * * * *

  It's the same restaurant he went to with Rico the day before. He decides not to get the burger this time. “What's good?” he asks the waitress.

  "The seared tuna is great,” she says. “We also have a nice bison filet.” She's thin and pretty. He wishes he were wearing clean clothes.

  "I'll take the tuna,” he says. “And a double Jameson."

  "How would you like that?"

  "Neat,” he says. “I'd like a coffee, too."

  "And for you?” she asks Lanna.

  "I'll take the bison fillet and the tuna,” she says. Lanna always eats a lot. All the stims make her metabolism abnormally high. “And give me a bowl of the ostrich soup, too."

  The waitress raises her eyebrow, and looks like she's about to say something.

  "I'm hungry,” says Lanna.

  The waitress tilts her head slightly, as if to say okay, and goes to put in their order.

  "Can I taste some of that soup?” asks Chris.

  "Of course,” says Lanna, doing her best impression of a blowfish. Chris smiles.

  "So, I'm kind of fucked,” says Chris. “I need money ... bad. I'm gonna have to wash dishes pretty soon if I don't get that painting back."

  They mull it over for a minute. “I've got plenty of money. If you let me move in again—"

  "No, we tried that already."

  Her eyes glisten for a second, looking wet. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess so."

  He reaches across the table and rests his hand on hers. It is warm, but there are little cold spots where the flesh is lanced by metal. “I can't take your money,” he says. “It doesn't feel right."

  "Why not?” she asks. “I'm happy to give it to you. It isn't like I know what to do with it anyway."

  "But maybe someday you will,” he says.

  "Godamnit,” she says. “I should just buy you a house and be done with it."

  Chris is surprised. “You have that much put away?” he asks.

  She grins. “Would you like to find out?"

  "Christ, you're terrible,” he says. Somehow, his Jameson arrived without his noticing. Good service, he thinks, and takes a sip.

  "I know you feel weird about taking my money, but if it's ever a real problem, you need to stow your pride and ask me for help."

  "Thanks,” he says. “But it's never going to come to that."

  The waitress delivers Lanna's soup. She offers Chris the first spoonful. It's thick and creamy. The bits of ground meat throughout must be ostrich. Chris nods in approval, and Lanna takes back her spoon, digging in with enthusiasm.

  Then Chris notices something unsettling. Sitting in a window booth is a bald man in a suit. He's making an unconvincing show of reading the paper. His eyes dart constantly around the room. They lock with Chris's for a moment.

  Chris decides that there is no way the guy could be a spook—he's just too inept.

  "Lanna,” says Chris.

  "Mmm?” she asks with a mouth full of soup.

  "Your friend is here. The bald one in the suit."

  She swallows. “No shit?"

  "He's over there by the window."

  "You think I should look?"

  "I wouldn't,” says Chris.

  "What should we do?” she asks.

  "Eat,” says Chris. “There's nothing he can do to us in a crowded place."

  Right on cue, the tuna and bison arrive. Lanna seems worried, but there isn't much that can affect her appetite. Chris digs in, too. The waitress was right. The tuna is very good. It's raw in the middle, and lightly flavored with wasabi. It tastes light and clean in a way that only raw sushi-grade fish can.

  They eat in silence for just a minute or two, until Lanna asks, “What should we do now?"

  Chris looks up from his meal. There are two plates in front of Lanna, and they both look like they just came out of an industrial dishwasher. “Jesus,” he says. “You're done already?"

  "I was hungry,” she sounds almost apologetic.

  "Wait for me to finish,” he says. “Then we'll figure it out."

  He takes his time, because it isn't everyday he has a big filet of sushi-grade tuna for lunch. When he's done, he wipes his mouth, and downs the last of his Jameson. He stands up from the table. “Come on,” he says.

  "What? Where are we going?” asks Lanna, concerned.

  "We're going to go ask this asshole what he wants,” says Chris. “Why sneak around? He can't do anything to us here. It's the perfect time to confront him."

  "No! This is stupid. If they find out that I know, they'll just pull this guy, and send out someone else. It's better to be followed by someone I can recognize than by someone I can't."

  She has a point there, thinks Chris. He sits back down. “Well, how do you think you're going to solve this problem in the long term, then? You need to figure out who these people are and why they're following you."

  "I told you,” says Lanna. “They're fucking spooks, CIA, Camp Peary nuts—"

  "They're not CIA,” he says. “There's no way a spook would wait on my doorstep for you, and then follow us into a restaurant where he could be recognized—sloppy."

  "Then who the fuck is it?” she asks.

  "How the hell should I know?” He lets out a long sigh. “So what do you want to do?"

  "Go back to your place,” she says.

  "All right,” he says.

  The next time the waitress comes by, Lanna pays the check and they leave. The bald guy pretends not to notice them walking out the door.

  * * * *

  On the way back to Chris's place, they stop at the grocery store. Lanna insists on buying him some provisions, and he's too smart to refuse her. Maybe he won't take
her money, but he's desperate enough to let her buy him groceries. He picks up a couple of extra jars of peanut butter on top of everything else and they take the bus back to his place.

  When they get there, they unpack his groceries and chat about who might be following her. Lanna still thinks it could be spooks, but she's starting to consider the feds too. Then again, maybe it's the mob, because even though she thought she got away clean after skimming from their laundering operation a couple of years back, there's a small chance they could have traced her via some exploit or other she learned about this year. They continue to speculate, and at the same time, they fill Chris’ cupboards with more stuff than they've held since he moved in. When they get to the peanut butter, Chris takes two jars and heads for the door.

  "Come on,” he says.

  "Where are we going?” asks Lanna.

  "You'll see. Just don't freak out, okay?"

  "I'm not making any promises,” she says, and follows him out the door.

  They head down the hallway to the stairwell, and, when they get there, Chris starts climbing, taking the steps two at a time. Lanna keeps up with him no problem, even though her legs are a lot shorter. The high metabolism has its benefits.

  "Come on,” she says. “Tell me where we're going."

  "The roof,” Chris says. “We're going to make an apology on behalf of the human race."

  "What?"

  But Chris isn't giving any more away. They climb to the top, the tenth floor. By the time they get there, Chris is sweating, and Lanna looks like she's just warming up.

  "Here we are,” says Chris, breathy from the climb. He opens the door to the roof.

  It is packed with potted plants. There are rows of tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers. A few young trees, too. Chris isn't sure, but he thinks they're apple trees. Ivy has attached itself to the outside edges of the concrete roof. In the corner, there is what looks like a small pile of rubble. Chris heads over. On his way, he can see that someone has made a big pile of dirt in one corner of the roof. It looks like a few things are beginning to sprout in it.

  Lanna is close behind him. “What is this?” she asks. “I didn't know someone was gardening up here."

  "Neither did I,” says Chris.

  As they near the rubble, they hear a chittering noise. The leaves rustle, and soon, four squirrel-things have scurried in front of the rubble pile. They stand on their hind legs in front of it, ready to protect whatever might be inside. One of the squirrels has a long, curved piece of glass in its hand. The end it is holding has been wrapped in a thin strip of leather. It must seem like Excalibur to the little guy.

  "Holy shit,” says Lanna. “They have thumbs."

  Chris gives her a look, and she shuts up. Then he gets down on his knees and sets the jars of peanut butter on the ground.

  "I know one of you got hurt today,” he says. “I'm sorry for that. I just wanted you to know that we're not all like that. I stopped them as soon as I knew what they were doing."

  The squirrel-things chatter anxiously. The one with the glass waves it around in what seems meant as a menacing gesture.

  "I understand that you're upset,” he says. “You should be. People can be real assholes. Just so you'll understand that we're not all assholes, I've brought you a couple of gifts.” Chris slowly moves his hands to one of the peanut butter jars, and unscrews the lid. He sticks his finger in the peanut butter, pulls it out, and licks it off. “See?” he asks. “It's good. I know you like it, because one of you took some from my apartment. These jars of peanut butter are my gift to you.” He gently pushes the jars of peanut butter toward the squirrels. Then Chris gets up, and carefully backs away.

  "Come on,” he whispers to Lanna. “We're leaving now."

  "Okay,” she says, still staring at the squirrel-things. He has to lead her by the arm back to the door and down the stairs.

  "My god,” she says. “I thought you were losing your mind."

  "I know,” he says. “I thought you were losing yours, too. About the spooks."

  "Yeah, I know,” she says.

  They go back down the stairs, taking their time, both lost in thought. Chris thinks to himself that it was a good idea for him to make a peace offering. He hates to think what one of those stealthy little buggers could accomplish with a piece of glass in the middle of the night. Lanna is still trying to accept that the squirrel-things exist.

  Eventually, they get back to Chris's apartment.

  "Coffee?” he asks as he unlocks the door.

  "Hell yes,” she says.

  The rest of the afternoon is relatively peaceful. They drink coffee. He stretches another canvas, hoping to recreate his thumbed squirrel piece before Rico's show. They discuss what might happen if the squirrels declared war on the city. It would be ugly, they agreed. Much would depend on how many of the creatures there were. If there were enough of them, they could probably slit the throats of half the population in a single night. “Yeah,” Lanna says during the conversation. “The peanut butter was a good idea."

  They chat until dusk, when there is a knock at the door. Chris goes and takes a look through the peephole. It's the bald guy, and he looks annoyed.

  "It's that guy,” he whispers to Lanna. “The spook."

  "Shit,” she says. “Quick, where can I hide?"

  "I don't have a lot of cupboard space anymore,” he says. “I think we'd better just find out what he wants."

  Chris grabs the air rifle from where it leans against the wall and pumps it a few times. It's pathetic, but it's all he's got.

  "What do you want?” he yells through the door.

  "I just want to talk to Lanna Stevens,” he says. “I have a message for her."

  "Why have you been following her?” asks Chris.

  "She doesn't have an address,” says the guy. “I have strict instructions that the message is to be delivered in person, and confidentially. I have to get close enough to talk to her, and she moves around so goddamn fast that it's almost impossible. I've been trying to deliver this message for about a week."

  Chris looks at Lanna. “So what do you think?” he whispers.

  "Who do you work for?” yells Lanna through the door.

  "I have to deliver my message confidentially,” says the bald guy. “Or it's my ass."

  "Well, Chris isn't going to leave me alone, so you're going to have to say what you have to say in front of him."

  "Can I at least come in so I don't have to yell my confidential message through the door?” The poor guy was getting exasperated.

  Lanna looks at Chris. He shrugs. “Makes sense,” he says. “People still communicate by courier when they want something secure."

  "Yeah,” she says. “Let him in."

  Chris opens the door, but keeps the air rifle trained on him as he walks in. The guy is taken aback at first. Then he gets a better look at the weapon.

  "Is that an air rifle?” he asks.

  "No,” lies Chris.

  "Buddy, it has ‘air rifle’ written on the side."

  "Well, maybe it is,” says Chris, “But it's still gonna hurt if I get you in the eye."

  The bald guy shrugs, and walks over to Lanna. He reaches into his inside jacket pocket, and there's a loud pop. The bald guy yells.

  "What the fuck!” he screams. He's holding the side of his face. “Will you put that thing away? I've got something to give her, all right? I swear to god that I'm not going to hurt either of you.” He rubs his cheek. “Jesus, that stings. I'm glad you didn't get me in the eye."

  "Just say what you have to say, and get out,” says Chris.

  "Ms. Stevens, I'm here to offer you a job on behalf of my employer, Mr. Sakata of Biosoft Industries. As a gesture of his good will, he has authorized me to give you two hundred thousand dollars.” He shoots a nasty look at Chris. “That is, as long as your friend will let me give it to you."

  Lanna is intrigued. She nods at Chris, who lowers the air rifle. The bald guy reaches into his inside jacket pocket again,
winces a little, then slowly pulls his hand out again. As it emerges, it is holding a slip of white paper with a card paper-clipped to it. He holds it out to Lanna, who accepts it gingerly. It's a cashier's check for two hundred thousand dollars.

  "If you are interested in his offer, please contact him via the information on the card that is included with his gift."

  Lanna slides the card out to get a look at it. “Thanks a lot,” she says.

  "Just doing my job,” he says, unhappily.

  There is a knock at the door. Chris looks over to the door, then back over at the bald guy, still unwilling to take the bead off.

  "Chris,” says Lanna. “It's okay. Why don't you go see who's at the door?"

  Chris hesitates a moment. Then he lowers the gun, and walks to the door. He looks through the peephole. “What do you want?” he yells.

  "My kid says you took his rifle,” yells someone from the other side.

  Chris opens the door. A large black man is standing there. His hair is very short, like he usually shaves his head, but hasn't had time to keep it up. He has big cheeks with pockmarks. “That my boy's rifle?” he asks, pointing to the gun that Chris still holds.

  "Yep,” says Chris. “That my painting?” asks Chris, pointing at the cardboard tube under the man's arm.

  "Yep,” says the man. He holds out the tube, Chris takes it, and gives him the rifle.

  "You just tell him not to shoot those squirrels. They're dangerous.” The kid's dad looks at Chris strangely, then turns and walks away.

  The bald guy decides to use the door while it's open. “Nice meeting you,” he says and quickly exits.

  Lanna and Chris are left looking at each other.

  "I might get you that house out of principle,” says Lanna. “I just can't get rid of this shit fast enough.” She takes another look at her check and shakes her head.

  "We went over that already,” says Chris. He goes to the counter and pours himself another cup of coffee. “I never knew that you didn't get yourself a place after you moved out."

  "Yeah,” she says. “I had one for a while, but it just seemed like a waste. I don't have much stuff, and I'm over here most of the time anyway."