“Thank you, miss,” Wenthi said.
“Just eat and shut your mouths.”
Wenthi bit into the first one, and maybe it was just because he was so hungry, but the flavors exploded in his mouth, a joy he was not expecting. Even though the cut of the meat was greasier than he cared for, it still was smoky and spicy and everything he needed right now.
Or was it Nália who felt that?
He wasn’t quite sure. He certainly had never loved a street cart taco like that before.
“Come on,” Partinez said while he was eating his. “Blue house across the street.”
Another junk auto—this one with half sedan parts, and no hood covering the engine—whipped around the dead-eye curve in front of the house. They both waited for a moment, finishing the last bites of taco, before they carefully crossed.
The blue house had a wall with an iron gate, and a small garden beyond the wall before the house proper. This house stood out on the street for that; most of the rest seemed to just have a broken wooden door, cloth curtain, or some other thrown-together measure to separate the inside of the house from the street. This was easily the nicest place in this patch. That made sense—from what Wenthi had heard, Niliza Dallatan was a queenpin in these parts, her fingerprints on quite a few robbery rings and shakedown gangs. Of course she lived better than her neighbors.
As they approached, a trio of dogs came racing up to them, barking and jumping all over each other.
“Hey ladies,” Partinez said, holding his hand through the iron bars. “How are you, yes? Are you good to your auntie, yes?”
The dogs scrambled over each other to try to lick the taco grease off his hand, and then started growling and nipping at each other.
“Who’s out there?” a woman called out. “Who’s got them riled up?”
“Urka,” Partinez called out. “It’s Anjedaro.”
“Daro!” The woman came out of the house proper to the gate. She was a small woman, about Mother’s age, perhaps a bit older, with a similar pudgy figure hidden in a loose blue day dress. Her dark hair was sun bleached and streaked with gray, her rich complexion leathered and lined, her dark eyes partly hidden by thick, brass-rimmed glasses. “How is it you’re here, I’ve not seen you in, I don’t even know how long, it’s been at least a year, and look at you, so skinny, where have you been, you haven’t come around, oh, that was right, you were arrested, of course, xo mirod, what barbarity, that’s where you have been, I have missed you—yes, yes, calm, calm, away—come let me look at you.” All those words fired out like an autogun in the few seconds she took to walk from the door to the gate, shoo the dogs to the side, and open the gate. Wenthi wasn’t even sure he heard them all.
“Missed you, too,” Partinez said, taking the short woman into a warm embrace.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Did they have you in Hanezcua again? Spirits watch over, that is no place for a body, but look at you, you look good and strong, if too skinny. But I know what you need. Good meal, good bath, and good fuck, am I right?”
“You are,” Partinez said. “Though Lajina gave us a couple tacos to start.”
“To start, but that’s just a start.” She grabbed Partinez’s face and pulled it down to meet hers, kissing him on the lips. “She put you on my credit? Fine, fine. Let’s get you inside, it’s so good to see you, oh—” She looked at Wenthi for the first time. “Who’s your friend? Is he who you’re going to fuck?”
“Not yet,” Partinez said, though his face told Wenthi he wasn’t against the idea. Wenthi hadn’t given it too much thought, though he certainly hadn’t minded double-riding the cycle with him. “We just met after the prison train, but he needs a place to stay and—”
“Oh, yes, the housing vouchers. I cannot believe they are even bothering with those things, almost no one but me is going to even take them, and I only—but it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Let me look at you.” She came closer and peered at Wenthi up and down. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you, though? If he doesn’t fuck you, I will. Unless you’d rather fuck Lajina. Lajina!” She shouted across the road to the zocalo. “Do you want to fuck these boys who just got out of prison?”
“I’m working!” Lajina shouted back as her only answer.
“She’s busy. Maybe later. Whatever you need, though, any friend of Daro is—what was your name again?”
“Llionorco,” Wenthi said. “Renzi Llionorco.”
“Renzi,” she said. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty boy. All right, all right, come in here—mind the dogs, don’t let them in the street—let’s get you all set up.”
“I, uh, have a cycle,” Wenthi said. “Should I leave it there?”
“Oh, spirits, no, don’t leave it there. Some auto will rip around and clip it. But you have a cycle, that’s good. Are you a good rider?”
“Pretty good,” Wenthi said.
A wicked grin crossed her lips. “I bet you are. Oh, my spirits, you are pretty.” She grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him. “So good looking, such a good match for Daro—no Pathé, not in the street—” One hand moved like lightning and grabbed one dog as it darted out. “Bring your cycle down the drop alley, right over there. I’ve got space in the back shed down there. Close it up in there and come up through the dirt door. Come on, Daro—get Bisque there—let’s get things started. I have rice and some cold chicken and we’ll get the water going—I’m so happy to see you and I already like this Renzi friend of yours, we’ll get you both set up very nicely, I’ve got rooms to let out for each of you, or one for both if you want, though we’ll figure that out—”
She and Partinez went inside as her rapid-fire monologue continued, escorting the dogs into the house with them.
Wenthi didn’t quite know what he was expecting from Niliza Dallatan, the crime queenpin of the 14th Senja, but it certainly was not all that. He dashed across the street—checking for anyone careening around the corner first—and went to the cycle. He unlocked the engine and put it into zero gear, then pushed it back across and down the steep alley next to the house. No need to waste any fuel for this.
He would need to get more fuel soon, and that was the key to the assignment. Once he was well established here—and he seemed to be on the start of a good road for that—he would ask questions about getting more petrol than his ration card allowed. That, hopefully, would lead him to the train robbers, and from there, to the—
There was a flash of memory—Nália’s memory—of a denim jacket. An image of a flaming fist embroidered on the back. A woman’s face, mouth and nose covered with a bandana, eyes dark. A hint of a name. Nic?
As soon as those images flashed through his mind, a flurry of angry emotions came up from Nália. She had let that slip, and given it to him. Something to work with.
Wenthi chuckled to himself, but almost slipped down the slope, nearly losing control of the cycle. It was absurdly steep, and he focused on holding it steady while minding every step until he reached the bottom. As Miss Dallatan said, there was a back shed, and a screen door leading into the basement of the house. Both were just open—no locks or latches engaged. That was surprising.
He rolled the cycle into the shed, taking a look around to see what else she had in there. Tools, chairs, boxes, various odds and ends. Some of it was probably contraband or stolen goods. So many reports of recovered goods, of cracked crime circles, involved properties she owned. It stood to reason she would have that here in her shed.
And she let a stranger just come in unsupervised.
A stranger she had welcomed into her home, with no hesitation.
That was not at all what Wenthi had expected. But it would, hopefully, make his job easier.
He closed up the shed and went in the house, climbing the rickety wooden steps. He emerged into a common room where a large metal tub was prominently in the center. Partinez, already stripped t
o the waist, was pumping water into the tub while eating a chicken leg. Now that Wenthi had a good look at him, he was decidedly fetching. Lean body, strong arms, piercing dark eyes.
“Are you going to bathe first?” Wenthi asked.
“It doesn’t have to be first,” Partinez said, putting down the chicken leg. “The tub is pretty big.”
“That it is,” Wenthi said, taking off his jacket and undershirt. “I mean, I know Miss Dallatan suggested it, but I didn’t want to presume.”
“Presume away,” Partinez said, getting closer to him. “I spent four seasons in the solitary cell.”
“Yeah,” Wenthi said, wrapping an arm around Partinez’s skinny waist. “I imagine that’s leaving you pretty anxious.”
“That’s one word for it,” Partinez said before putting his mouth on Wenthi’s. This kiss was hard and rough, which Wenthi welcomed, grabbing Partinez by the belt loops of his denim pants and pulling his hips toward him. It was immediately evident that months in Hanez had left Partinez more than ready. Partinez’s hand slid down Wenthi’s body and caressed his crotch.
“Not wasting any time,” Miss Dallatan said. She came into the room carrying a loaded tray, which she quickly put down. “Whatever you need, go ahead.”
Partinez turned to her. “You want in on this?”
“That what you want, Renzi?” she asked. Partinez looked at him with expectation.
A pang of guilt washed through Wenthi—he knew neither of them would be interested in him if they knew who he really was. But he was here for a reason, and part of that was to fully insinuate himself into this part of the city, get people to know and trust him. He had to play the part as best he could.
“I’d be honored to have you join us,” he said.
“I knew it was going to be a good day,” she said, rubbing her hands together. She took one vial from the tray and sprinkled the powder on her tongue.
The myco.
Wenthi had known this would come up, but he didn’t think it would be this soon. He bottled down the fear, all the stories he had been told in school about what the mushroom would do to one’s brain. There was no way to object without giving himself away. His heart had already been pounding with excitement, lust, and fear melted and swirled into each other. He almost froze from panic.
It’s fine.
A surety, a calm, surged from within him. From Nália. She had done this. She had done this many times.
It’s fine.
Miss Dallatan came over to them, and her blue dress was off by the time she reached them. She took Wenthi’s face in her hands and kissed him deeply, traces of the bitter mushroom dancing over his tongue. As the sensation filled his mouth, she kissed Partinez as well.
Her hands quickly found their way to the buttons of Wenthi’s pants as Partinez resumed kissing him. She started kissing Wenthi’s chest as she got his pants off, and then helped Wenthi do the same to Partinez.
All the while, Wenthi was filled with warmth and connection—feeling her hands on him, her hands on Partinez, feeling himself through her hands, his lips through Partinez . . .
He stepped back, the entire sensation far too intense at first.
“It’s been a bit,” he said.
“I can feel that,” Partinez said, his hands—which Wenthi felt as his own—caressing Wenthi’s arm. “We can take our time, I think.”
Miss Dallatan grinned. “I definitely want to take my time with you two.” She took both their hands—Wenthi’s touch extended beyond his own hands, through her, through Partinez, their hearts drumming in a syncopated rhythm with his own—and led them to the tub. “Let’s get into the water, and into each other, and we’ll get everything out of your systems.”
21
Wenthi had dreamed as Nália.
He dreamed of racing on the 960, through the streets of Miahez. He dreamed being in her body as her legs hugged the cycle, shifting gears and going faster and faster, alongside the train tracks. Then he was her, in the bathtub, with Niliza and Partinez, kissing and touching and tasting. Then he was her, alone with him, the two of them, bodies intertwined, climaxing together—
[Disgusting.]
Nália’s voice woke him around dawn, in Miss Dallatan’s bed, his naked body curled into hers and Partinez’s. Last night’s adventures had gone from the bath to the sitting room, included a brief interlude where Lajina from the taco stand stopped by to make sure things were well in hand—which they definitely were at that point—and finally ended in Miss Dallatan’s bed with all three of them spent, exhausted, and satisfied.
He hadn’t had a night like that since the one after he’d been sworn into the patrol. He and Paulei and several others from their cadet class had cracked open a cask of rum and let their passions take them until sunrise. It was the traditional way to celebrate, after all; to feel that your brothers and sisters in uniform would be joined with you in heart and spirit and flesh.
Not quite the same as fucking two people that he’d just as soon as tether up and send to prison.
But that night was nowhere near as intense or as powerful as the one last night, and that had been due to the mushroom connection. It had faded while they slept, but Wenthi still felt a certain shadow of the sensation. Like Partinez and Miss Dallatan had been part of his own body, limbs that had now gone numb. It was a bit disconcerting to be just himself in his own body now.
Himself and Nália’s buzzing thoughts, at least.
It was easy to see why the myco was so dangerous. The desire to do it again, to feel that extension of himself, that was powerful. He understood why so many people had fallen into the trap of taking too much, losing themselves to bliss.
Now he had the guilt of enjoying it so much. That, at least, overcame the fear of it.
Partinez definitely had quite a lot to work out after his time in Hanez, and now in the clear light of morning, no longer drunk on lust and climax, Wenthi’s thoughts drifted to what Partinez had been arrested for to be locked in solitary at the penitentiary. For that, the Civil Patrol and Alliance Guard would have to have considered him violent and dangerous. The patrol officer at the impound lot knew him, had issue with him. That pressed more guilt into Wenthi’s thoughts.
This was the assignment. Insinuate himself within the criminal circles of the jifoz in Ziaparr. Get into their lives, become a trusted friend. He hadn’t expected to be this insinuated this quickly, but it was a good reminder of what this assignment was going to take. He would have to be deceptive. He would have to engender trusts that he was, at the center, violating. He would have to form close, intimate bonds that would allow him to get closer and closer to the cycle gangs—the flaming fist image he saw was part of that—and, ultimately, Varazina.
Though last night certainly was an incredibly enjoyable way to start that process, even if it was with people who were unsavory criminals.
It was also a reminder that he would have to cross very hard lines before this assignment was done. He would definitely have to use the myco again, connect with more minds and bodies, and use Nália as the shield to protect himself. It was clear that part worked.
Canwei had said Nália would be like a mask, but she was more like a filter in the moment. From what he could tell, all of his sensations and emotions in the moment, Partinez and Miss Dallatan felt, just as he felt theirs. But his fear, his sense of duty, his awareness of what he had to do for the mission—that didn’t reach them, instead being covered by Nália’s presence.
Like a perfume. He smelled like she ought to. So they had no sense of who he was, or what his true intentions were.
[Betrayals all around.]
Nália’s voice, clear as daylight. Maybe she had managed to assert her will forward while he had slept. He was still waking up. He shoved her thoughts down into the darkness in the back of his head.
He slipped out of the bed and went to relieve his
bladder, which was what had woken him up in the first place. When he finished and returned, Miss Dallatan was sitting up, awake.
“Well, that was certainly something,” she said with a yawn. “I’m amazed you’re on your feet.”
“Never was a late sleeper,” Wenthi said. “And I suppose I should make myself useful, hmm? I think there’s some cleaning up to do in your main rooms.”
“I imagine so,” she said. “I’ll get to it in due course. Though I should find you two proper places to bed down first.”
“Not here?” Wenthi asked.
“Oh, no, boy,” she said with a chuckle. She got out of the bed and trotted over to the water closet. “I do think you’re both very nice but I relish not having anyone underfoot. But I’ve got a couple empty fasai up the curve that you two can take.”
“Separate?” Wenthi asked. Not that he wanted to move in with either of them—he was going to need his privacy—but he had to act like Renzi Llionorco.
“Oh, definitely. You’re going to need address cards for whenever they check you, and if two bucks straight out of Hanez shack in at the same fasai, the tories will notice and be more up your ass than either of us were.”
“Good to know,” Wenthi said, though he could hardly believe that. He never heard of anyone going after people just out of prison just because they stayed together.
She came out of the water closet, covered in a colored wrap. “But leave me those vouchers before we go up there. Damn near worthless for what they’re supposed to be, but I can get something out of them.”
“Why are they worthless?” Wenthi asked.
“Because to claim them, you have to register yourself as a licensed renter, that you own the property and have the right to rent it out, and that takes papers and cards and coin switching hands in the offices in Intown. And ain’t nobody who’s gonna do that bullshit also going to rent out a space to someone fresh off the train, hmm?”
“Except you.”
“Oh, I ain’t claiming them proper,” she said. “But I know a fellow who knows people, and I’ll get paid.”
The Velocity of Revolution Page 11