“Every jerry east of Kansas is looking for Adamson under his real name. I think you know that.”
“Go on.”
“His name is Jared Tenere. His father is aide to—has connections. He checked into Room 3023, had a meal in your revolving restaurant. Then what?”
“How are you involved, Mr. Tyre?”
“Jared Tenere is sick, in need of hormone rebalancing. His father is a family friend, and is very upset. I’m helping him find his son.” No outright lies, as far as I knew.
“The boy may have stayed here, but he checked out on—”
I stood. “Thank you for seeing me, sir. Obviously the jerries can—”
His voice caught me halfway through the door. “All right, damn it!”
I turned.
“We didn’t do anything wrong.”
I tried to sound accommodating. “You didn’t check him out, and you didn’t confiscate his card after the ‘notify’ was placed. You didn’t contact the authorities. I’m sure the police would like to know why. But my only interest is to find my frie—Jared. I’m too young to have any interest in hotel business.”
“Is that a promise?”
I felt dirty, and old. “If you level with me, sir.”
He shook his head in wonder. “What are you joeykits coming to?”
I waited.
“All right, he checked in four days ago. Paid cash, under the name Adamson. That’s not illegal, even if he’s a minor.”
“No, sir. I’m a minor myself, and I know that.”
“He used the card to pay for dinner. The night auditor spotted the alert when he ran it through his puter. I sent our security chief to his room.”
My heart pounded. “And?”
“The boy spotted us, and took off. We chased him through the corridors.”
Jared was wiry, and when we played football I could never lay hands on him.
“He ... disappeared.”
“Please, sir. Tell me the truth.” I tried not to let my voice tremble.
“That IS the—ahh.” He waved his disgust, and his surrender. “All right. He made it to street level. Kicked open a door and ran out. I have no idea where he went.”
Elation. Fear. Relief.
I looked up. “Why didn’t you call the jerryhouse?”
“I don’t know.” Fenner’s eyes were evasive.
“For Lord God’s sake, I can’t find him until I get inside his head. Tell me what you know.”
For some reason, he looked perplexed. Then he sighed. “You’re one strange joey. The reason was ... do I have your promise?”
“More than that. My oath. I won’t tell a soul.”
It seemed to reassure him. “Sometimes, mistakes are made, son. The maître d’ ...I wasn’t there, you understand. It happens. Our policy is—we don’t normally—”
I waited until he ran down. He blurted, “They served him drinks. A bottle of wine.”
“Ah.” No wonder Fenner was frightened. The waiter, the maître d’, possibly even the manager, risked a penal colony. As did Jared.
“So you hid the whole affair.”
“Not exactly.”
“He’s on the streets? Where the transpops live?”
“The trannies, yes.”
“I’ve got to find him.”
He let out a long breath. “That’s not our concern, is it?”
“No, sir. But I’ll need a way back in at night.”
He stared. “You’d go—don’t be ridiculous. They’d eat you alive. Literally.”
“I have to find him.” It was my fault Jared had left. The vile things I’d shouted at him, when I wasn’t thinking clearly. I still wasn’t sure why I’d done it.
“The jerries have his picture. Let them do their job.”
“Show me the door he went out. I’ll call someone to unlock so I can get back in, when I’m ready.”
“Boy, you can’t—”
“Sir, I have to.” My voice quavered. I tried desperately not to rev. “I’m going to my room. I’ll be back in a while. You’ll have someone let me out at ground level. Please.” I stood, headed for the lobby.
“Your parents—”
I faced him, my hand on the doorknob. “The truth is, they don’t know I’m here. But I wasn’t lying when I said they know the Senator. And a lot of other important people. You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. I’ve got to find Jared before he’s hurt.”
His tone was uneasy. “Son, I can’t let you go out there. I have a youngster about your—”
“It’s not your decision, sir.” I peered into his eyes. “I’ve done a—a very bad thing. He ran away because of me, and now it’s my job to find him. I’ll be all right.” I had to get back to my room.
“If necessary I’ll hold you, call your parents—”
“You don’t know who they are, and you won’t find out from me. And your secret would come out. Please, don’t interfere.” I opened the door. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.” I dashed through the lobby, to the elevator.
When at last it reached my floor I hurried along the corridor, let myself in, sealed my door. I threw myself on the floor, sat hunched, rocking, hugging myself.
Jared was outside. Ten thousand sixty, in base twelve, was ...Think. Numbers are impersonal. He’ll be all right. So will you.
Relax. Stop whimpering.
Calm.
It took an hour.
When I felt better, I called room service, asked them to rush me a meal. Munching on the first of my sandwiches, I rethought my situation.
Could I count on the manager’s cooperation? Would I come back to find my room locked? Would his security guards haul me to his office while they called the jerries? Why had I admitted I was a minor who’d left home without permission?
What was my obsession to tell the truth?
I know, Father, it’s what you do. But look where it got you. Thrown out of office, blamed for Senator Wade’s mess. There’s nothing left of your career, your reputation. Nothing but your honor.
You said you’d punish me, if I told you that again. I was only eight, and didn’t understand why.
Don’t you have honor?
Did Philip Tyre have honor? You told me I should be proud of him.
Would he lie to a skytel manager?
Mr. Fenner was a strange man. We’d begun as adversaries, yet before long he was worrying I’d be hurt.
I piled clothes in a backpack. At the snack machines I filled my pockets with items that might be useful. I glanced at my watch, hurried to the desk.
This time, I reached the manager without delay. I said, “I’m ready, Mr. Fenner.”
“It’s late in the day to go streetside.”
“Yes, sir. We’d better hurry.”
He stood from behind his desk. “Is Philip Tyre your real name?”
“Yes, sir.” Most of it.
“Odd. There’s no one by that name in citizen registry. The only one listed died years ago. A sailor.”
“My, ah, godfather.” Close enough. “I’d like to go now.”
“You brought your personal caller? I’ve instructed the night manager to open when you call. You’re aware the public callers outside are all broken?” We headed for the elevators. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
We rode down to street level. A guard accompanied us to the heavily reinforced door. They unchained it, the guard’s pistol ready, and I slipped out.
“Thank you.”
The guard pointed. “He ran that way.” The door shut.
The sun still shone, but dusk would soon be upon us.
People were on the street. Their clothes were wrinkled, some of them dirty and ragged.
They stared.
I stood still. Jared had run onto this street, would have continued running until his adrenaline stopped pulsing.
Let’s see, now. I was fifteen. I’d just dashed out the door and made my escape. I didn’t have a lot of sense, but thought a lot of my abilities. Where
would I go?
Out of sight.
They said Jared had fled south, downtown. My guess was that he turned the corner. But which way?
To turn right, he’d have to cross the avenue. Left, he could disappear around the base of the hotel.
I turned left.
“Watchew wan’, Uppie?”
A scruffy man, older than Father. I took a step back. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“A boy came out of the skytel, two days ago. He—”
“Bes’ getcha self outa heah, joeykit. Night comin’.”
“I need to find—”
“Doncha lissen? Uppies can’ be on streets afta dark.” He spat. “Don’ know why I botha, ’xcept you so little. G’wan, go back home!” He shambled off.
“Mister—”
He didn’t stop.
I chewed my lip. This might be harder than I thought. I walked on to the next corner. Half a dozen odd-looking men and women lounged against a pole. I started past them.
One put himself in my way. “Where ya goin’, joey?”
“I’m looking for a boy who came this way two days ago.”
The leader glanced upward, as if checking the sky. “Dark soon.”
I said, “It’s still daytime.” I made as if to pass.
“Stay offa Broad turf, Uppie.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Can’ go here.”
“I have to.”
He considered that. “Innifo?”
“What’s that mean, sir?”
He spoke as if to a small child. “Innifo me, joey. Wha’s innifo me?”
I repeated the words, until a glimmer of understanding came. I thrust my hand into a pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar. “This is for you.”
He gaped. “Mira! Uppie payin’ innifo!” They guffawed. “G’wan, den!” He stood aside.
I stood my ground, thrusting away my fear. “A boy, two days ago. From the tower. Had on a blue jacket.”
“Yeah?”
I pulled out two more bars. “Where?”
“Gimme.”
I yanked back my hand. “When you tell me.”
“C’n take.” One of his companions drifted out of my sight, behind me.
“Yes, but it’s daytime.” I don’t know why I said it, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes. I said firmly, “It’s the rule.” Steady now, Philip. You have no idea what you’re saying.
The streeter shook his head. I glanced behind me; the joey who’d moved close took a step back.
“Not enough, Uppie.”
I turned to the wall, shielded myself as best I could from their inquisitive eyes, and reached into my shirt pocket. I counted out two fives, put back the rest. “Money, then.” I held out my hand.
His eyes widened. A pause. “Mo’.”
“Who’s Moe?”
“Mo’. Ain’ enough.”
I tried to avoid a lie, couldn’t think of a way. “It’s all I brought. Take it or leave it.” Sorry, Fath.
“Don’ try swind a trannie, joeykit. Give all, ’fore we—”
Mom wouldn’t have taken that. She’d have said ...
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” I thrust the bills in my pocket. “Do you have a name?” I poked him in the chest. “Well?”
He goggled, looking down at my finger. Someone snickered.
“Well?” I stamped my foot.
“Arrie.”
I pulled out the bills. “Here’s what’s innifo you. You want it, Arrie? If not, I’m in a hurry.”
Arrie turned to his friend. “Dissim?”
“Naw. Joeykit got rocks fo’ balls. Tellim.”
I had no idea what they were talking about.
“All ri’.” Arrie held out his hand. “Uppie kit, two day back. Bigger ’n you.”
I nodded.
“Try Mids.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hah?”
“What did you tell me?”
“Mids. Nex’ block. He ran pas’ Riff an’ Billo.” He indicated two of his group, who looked sheepish. “Dey lettim cross ta Mid.”
“Which way, please?”
Arrie pointed down the block. “Gimme innifo.”
“Thanks a lot, sir.” I handed him the two fives. “If you see him again, please ask him to wait here.” I hurried to the next corner.
I didn’t like the look of the joeys congregating across the street, so I circled the block to avoid them. I headed downtown, looking for someone less threatening to ask. I passed gutted buildings, their windows bare. The block I was on seemed deserted.
Abruptly a door opened, and two ragged teeners barred my way. “Hol’ it!”
I stopped. “Hello. I’m looking for—”
One shoved me. I sprawled against the building. “What do you think you’re—”
“Watcha got?” His hand fumbled at my jacket pocket.
I tried to twist loose. “I have innifo for you.”
“Don’ nee’. Got chew instead.”
I tried to think, but the reek of his breath made me desperate. I snapped the fingers of my left hand. “Here. Look.” Again I snapped.
He stared.
My right fist slammed into his eye. He bellowed, let go my jacket. “Ow! Ow! Swee, dissim!”
The second boy snatched out a knife. “Byebye, Uppiekit!” He lunged.
Without thinking I caught his wrist, flipped him over my shoulder. He slammed into the wall.
I’d always hated Mom’s lessons. How embarrassing to have to admit they were useful.
I twisted the knife free of his grip. My foot went up to deliver the arm-smashing kick.
I hesitated.
“Dissim, Swee!” The first boy, bent over in pain, wasn’t aware that their situation was changed.
I let go his arm. “What does ’dissim’ mean?”
“Means I gonna diss ya!” The enraged boy leaped to his feet, snatched at the knife I held.
Mr. Fenner was right. The streets were too dangerous for me. I backed away, holding the knife low, as Mom had taught. “Easy, joey. I don’t want to fight.”
The boy lunged. I barely got his knife out of the way. It grazed his wrist. He’d have to be more careful, with a sharp weapon.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
He stared at the nick in his skin, already welling blood. “Aiee! Jag!” He cowered in the doorway. “Lookit wha’ he do!”
Jag pulled his hands away from his streaming eye long enough to peer with the good one. “Dissim, Swee.”
“Can’! He cut me!”
Jag gaped, one-eyed. He fished in a back pocket, pulled out a broken old kitchen knife with a jagged point. “Get ’way f’m Swee! Don’ mess wid ’im!”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” I backed away once more. “I’ll be on my way. Leave me—”
He rushed me, knife arm extended. Before I had time to think, I shifted my weight to my left leg. My right foot arced high. His knife went flying. It worked, Mom. Did Academy really teach you that?
“Hey!” Jag stumbled to a halt.
I snatched up the scarred rusty knife, before he could.
My only choice was to run back to the skytel, but first I had to get free of these two savages. We needed a truce. “Look.” I walked toward Jag, extending the knife to return it. “All I want—”
“Don’ hurt! Please, Uppie. Fadeout cool!” He staggered away, tripped on a chunk of concrete, fell heavily onto his back. “Aiee!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking—”
The other boy intervened. “Let us fadeout, joey. Please?” He clutched his wrist.
Had I hurt him? “Let me see.” I reached out.
He squawked. “No!”
There wasn’t all that much blood, but it ought to be looked at. “Where’s the hospital? Did you nick an artery?” I grabbed his hand, wondering what to do with the knife I still held.
“Oh God no!” He fell to his knees, sobbing. �
�Din’ mean nothin’, Uppie. Don’ hurt Swee.” He covered his eyes with his free arm.
I examined his wrist. Little more than a scratch, thank heaven. I fished in a pocket, wrapped my handkerchief around the cut. “You’re all right, joey. Your friend can take you to the hospital.” I turned. Jag was blue in the face, the breath knocked out of him from his fall.
Swee stared, openmouthed. His eyes darted to the bandage and back.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ...” I helped Jag to sit. He gasped and wheezed. I knelt, between him and Swee. “You’ll be all right. Let’s call it even, shall we? Here.” I pulled out his knife.
Jag’s eyes bulged with horror. He fainted.
Behind me, Swee cried out in dismay. “Why’d ya diss ’im, Uppie? He was down, wanted fadeout! Why?”
I stood. Too much, too fast. It didn’t help that I could barely understand a word. I tried not to rev. My legs grew weak. With care, I crossed to the doorway, leaned against a smashed window. “What’s the matter with you? I didn’t want trouble.”
Swee cowered, made as if to dash past me to the street. He clawed at the ancient, sealed door. “No trouble. Lemme go? Swee be outa heah. Cool?” He inched along the opposite wall.
Thank Lord God. I nodded, before I remembered. “No. Wait.”
Swee leaped back. “ ’Kay! Cool!”
“I’m looking for someone. A friend.”
Swee said nothing.
Streeters were quite eccentric. Father had told me as much, long ago. I’d have to put the joey at his ease, somehow.
“What’s your name?”
He hesitated. “Swee. Mid.”
“Sweemid?”
“I be Swee.” He pointed. “Jag. We be Mid.”
“What’s Mid?”
“Tribe. Trannie tribe.”
“You shouldn’t use that word. It’s not polite.” Father had made that very clear. On the other hand, this boy was older than I, and I had no business giving him lectures. “Sorry. My name is Philip.” I held out my hand.
“Don’ diss me!”
“Philip Tyre. Philip Tyre Seafort, actually.” I crossed to him, hand extended, hoping he wasn’t so angry he’d slap it away.
Swee stared at my hand as if it were a snake. With great caution, he touched it.
Much better.
“My friend’s name is Jared. He had on a blue jacket, matching pants. Do you know where he is?”
Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Page 19