Leverage

by Jeffrey A. Ballard

  “Do we need him?” Puo asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “You need a doctor, and I want what’s owed to us. And just to be clear,” I say this directly to Winn, “you’re wrapped up in this now whether you want to be or not. There’s no going back to your Leave it to Beaver life until we figure this out.”

  Winn’s response is his well-practiced, scrunched-up, man-panties-in-a-twist existentialist-crap face, which only pisses me off more.

  But Puo cuts me off before I really get going and turns back to Winn, “Go to the transport hub and head to long-term parking. We’ll pick up a ride there.”

  Winn turns the hovercar into another skylane. He says in a tight voice, “We’ll need a place to hole up. If they do know who I am, then my place isn’t safe.”

  “We’ll have to deal with that in the morning,” I say. It’s getting close to eleven at night.

  Puo nods in understanding. “We have another problem,” Puo says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Our CitIDs. The hospital and the authorities have them—”

  “Fuck!” I rage. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! We were on an exploding boat, and suddenly went missing from the hospital. They’re going to be looking for us, looking for when and where our CitIDs pop up.

  “We’re going to need new ones,” Puo says.

  “No way,” I say. “One, we can’t cross back over the border to get them. Two, we can’t seek out a local Citizen Maker in Nix’s territory—they’d also have to specialize in American ones. And three, we can’t afford it.” I damn near want to cry. We finally have enough cash to pay the stupid things off and now we need new ones. Back into the donkey-fucking red hole we go.

  A heavy silence settles over the car. Eventually Puo says into the silence, “We’ll pick up some tools and new pocket tablets in the morning when the stores open up and I’ll see what I can do then.”

  We need the new pocket tablets to get plugged back in, so Puo can have the tools he needs to work his digital magic.

  “And some new clothes,” I say, like stat.

  “Yeah,” Puo says. He then looks down deliberately at the lone hospital gown he’s still wearing. “Perhaps we should do that first.”

  I snort and settle back into my seat, my arms still crossed in front of me. “Can you wait to eat until morning?” I ask Puo, for when we have our new tablets. I don’t want to take the risk right now of stealing food and getting nabbed for something so stupid.

  “Yeah,” Puo says, a little forlornly.

  I close my eyes and try to exhale evenly. Calm myself down. Prepare.

  “Hey,” I say to Puo. I’m already quickly drifting off to sleep, “How’d our tablets still work after our dip in the bay.”

  Puo turns and gives me his I’m-so-smart face. “Given what we do, I thought it’d be worth the effort to waterproof them. Doesn’t work to any real depth, but, not bad, right?”

  I shake my head no, not bad at all. I try and fail to get comfortable.

  Winn interrupts my silence to heap praise on Puo, which Puo laps up.

  Grr. I force myself to unclench my fists and relax my arms.

  It’s going to be a long night for three adults stuck in one hovercar, particularly when one of those adults wants to alternate between ignoring and punching the crap out of an ex-boyfriend.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE BACKSEATS OF hovercars are not designed to be slept in. Even stretched out in the back, the night was long on tossing and turning, and the two depressions where asses are supposed to go became increasingly annoying as the night wore on.

  But a fresh new wardrobe that fits properly and is designed for the cold weather has me feeling a ton better. I didn’t realize how much not having a bra on with Winn nearby was bothering me until I walked out of the store properly dressed.

  The thick, furry rainbow socks tucked into my lush fur-lined tan boots make me feel like I’m walking on a warm cloud of air. I learned in England last month that it’s all about the layers. I have leggings on under black jeans, an undershirt under a heavier shirt under a sweater under a wonderful army-green, belted, hip-length winter coat complete with a hood. And, of course, a gray knit winter hat over my medium-length black hair.

  Even Puo looks happier all bundled up with a quick breakfast in him. If I hadn’t been watching Winn giving Puo medication regularly, I would’ve thought he was fine.

  Winn was the one to requisition us some new tablets and Puo’s tools—it had to be Winn. My CitID and Puo’s are suspect, but Winn’s should be fine. So Winn took care of that requisition first thing in the morning, and after that, Puo jail-broke the tablets and set them up with fake identities (not tied to our now uselessly expensive CitIDs) and laundered cash to them.

  I still can’t believe that. All Puo could do was disable our citizen chips. They’re now the most expensive, useless pieces of equipment we’ve ever owned. We finally have the cash to pay them off, and now we’ll probably need new ones. Right back to debt-laden square one. Ugh!

  So now Puo and I are right back to not being to able to move around freely. Isn’t that great? This trip just keeps getting better and better. That leaves Winn to do all the errands.

  We also decided it was an unnecessary risk to continue to steal things when we had the resources to purchase them. Don’t get me wrong—I agree getting caught for stealing a meal is a stupid risk right now. The payout doesn’t justify it. But, three new pocket tablets, new wardrobes, Puo’s tools ... well that high cost is right near my threshold for changing the risk calculus.

  And, it really wasn’t so much “we” deciding, as it was Puo insisting and Winn piling on. Puo also silently texted me to argue that Winn wasn’t as deft as I was at requisitioning things. Not that I give a shit what Winn thinks, but Puo had a reasonable point, so I agreed.

  So now, after completing our immediate shopping needs, we’re parked on the edge of Queen Elizabeth Park on a clear sunny winter day, about to dig into brunch, our second meal of the day. Winn stopped in at a Farmhouse to Table Café and got take-out for all of us.

  Puo’s not-so-happily noshing down on a farm-fresh egg white, spinach and whole-grain English-muffin sandwich. I think he would’ve refused except he was hungry, and Winn ordered the same thing for all of us on my orders—I didn’t want to hear Puo whining all through the meal and staring forlornly at my bacon.

  “This is all they had?” Puo asks, with his mouth partially full.

  “Yeah,” Winn says, a slight smile on his lips. “Damnedest thing.”

  Puo twists around to look between Winn and me. “Liars.”

  “C’mon, Puo,” I say, “it’s not that bad.” The English muffin is freshly baked with loads of tasty subtle flavors usually lost in the mass production kind. “At least the spinach isn’t wilted,” I say. He hates wilted greens.

  Puo snorts and turns around back to his sandwich.

  I take a bite of mine and lean back in the seat, looking out the window, thinking. Deona Nix is trying to kill us and make it look like an accident. But why?

  We’ve never pulled anything in Vancouver. Never had any dealings with her or her associates that we know of. But it’s that “that we know of” that worries me. After the business back in the Seattle Isles between Colvin and Valle, unintended consequences have been on my mind lately.

  “No cheese?” Puo asks.

  “There’s a side of fruit,” Winn helpfully says.

  “Cheese is heart healthy,” Puo complains.

  “Some cheese is,” Winn explains, “but it’s like how a glass of wine a day is good for you. Most people don’t know the type of wine that is true for, or how to only have one glass.”

  “I can learn,” Puo says.

  “Hey,” I say, “I hate to break up your b-f-f gab fest up there, but we need to figure out why Nix is trying to kill us.”

  They both fall quiet. Puo nods as he fiddles with the paper sandwich wrapper in his lap. Winn stares out the window, watching a pair of runners in the
distance, their heavy breathing leaving a white vapor trail behind them.

  “Do you know anything about her?” I ask the front of the hovercar.

  Winn shakes his head no.

  Puo says, “Only the name. Little else.”

  “Well,” I state the obvious, “start looking into her.”

  Puo shakes his head no. “I need more serious equipment for that. And a place to set it up.”

  “And my place is definitely out?” Winn asks.

  Was there a hopeful note in that? “Yeah,” I say. “Why? You got a girlfriend you need to warn or something?”

  “And what if I do?” Winn raises his voice, turning back to face me. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t care,” I snap back. “You should let Mrs. Cleaver know you won’t be home for dinner.”

  “You’re the one that’s obsessed with that show!” Winn shouts at me. “It’s all you ever talk about—”

  “Enough!” Puo yells at both of us.

  I start to say something, but Puo shouts over me again, “That’s enough outta both of you!”

  I shut my mouth.

  Winn sits back in his seat and stares out the front of the hovercar, his cheeks flushing.

  “I had a heart attack yesterday,” Puo says.

  “Coronary spasm,” I correct him.

  “Heart attack!” Puo insists.

  Coronary spasm. But when I don’t correct him a second time, Puo continues, “Now, I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure avoiding stress is high on my recovery list. And Neptune knows we have enough of that with Nix apparently trying to kill us.”

  “She is trying to kill us,” I say in sullen voice.

  “Says an assassin under duress,” Puo answers back. I told both of them the whole story of what happened back in the hospital room last night.

  When I don’t respond, Puo continues, “We need to verify what you learned. But first we need a base of operations where I can have a proper setup.”

  “Any ideas?” I ask. That don’t have Winn’s whore’s clothes strewn all over them?

  “Yeah,” Puo says, holding up his new pocket tablet that I can’t make out any details on at this distance. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PUO WAS ONLY half right. I love the digs, a floating house (as opposed to a houseboat that can move under its own power) in North Vancouver overlooking English Bay and old Vancouver, the tombs of empty buildings rising up out of the bay peppering the distance.

  What I hate is paying for it. It goes back to this whole, “Let’s not raise our profile and take unnecessary risks” business. And it’s particularly killing me because it’s the off-season for rentals and consequently so easy to run a game. Hell, I bet if I were unconstrained and properly motivated, we could come out of this rental cash-positive.

  But no. That’d be too risky. So instead we’re using a chunk of the cash we would’ve used to pay off the citizen chips to pay for six weeks of this rental. Six freaking weeks! In cash. Which is on top of now having to buy new CitIDs!

  But this rental is about subterfuge. We have no intention of being here six weeks, but Puo insisted a rental this long would help hide us. I insisted to Puo that not telling them you’re showing up, and certainly not paying them, would hide us far more completely; but he wouldn’t have it.

  The house is a three-story luxury home on a floating concrete piling. It’s a gorgeous property. Water laps right up to the bamboo covered first floor deck. Steam rises out of a heated aqua-green pool. The building itself is a combination of wood, concrete and floor-to-ceiling windows, with multi-terraced decks facing the harbor.

  No, I don’t object to the setting at all. It’s the cost plus having to buy two new CitIDs that’s eating me up. The crushing debt never ends.

  Puo and I sit in the first floor living space soaking up the afternoon sun through the large windows while Winn is off securing Puo’s shopping list of computer equipment—yet more cash disappearing.

  The living space is a sitting area toward the front of the house that looks out over the ground-level terrace into the harbor beyond. We’re both pouring over what we can find on Nix from our newly acquired tablets. I’m leaning back on a soft, slate-gray fabric couch, favoring my left side over the stiff bandages on my back and resting my feet (in my thick rainbow socks) on the simple square wood-topped coffee table. My knee still hurts from where I hit Fake Nutrition Man in the face, and the small lacerations on my leg are starting to sting again as the latest round of pain killers Winn secured wears off. But the soft couch is cradling me comfortably so as not to bother me too much.

  Puo sits in a matching slate-gray armchair across from me and keeps alternating his gaze between the tablet in his lap and me. After the sixth time of him doing this, I twist in my seat to look out through the windows behind me.

  There’s another floating luxury home fifty feet away, which is quite a long distance for floating homes, but it appears unoccupied. Which was by design on our end. It wasn’t about finding just any place to hole up, but one that was somewhat secluded. Rich folk are great for this. They like to spread out, have multiple homes, and even when they are in residence, they mind their own business and do their best to pretend other people don’t exist.

  I look back at Puo, who shifts his gaze back down to his tablet. “What?” I ask.

  “Nothin’,” Puo says without looking up.

  “Whaaaattt?” I whine and flop around dramatically—which totally isn’t worth it with all my injuries. Ow.

  Puo shakes his head at me, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Commme onnnn,” I say. “Out with it.”

  Puo exhales and purses his lips together before saying, “All right, what was with the sniping back and forth between you and Winn about him having a girlfriend?”

  I sit up. “I don’t know,” I say guardedly. I want to add it’s none of his business, but I know better by now.

  “Well,” Puo says, “that’s kinda why I’m bringing it up.”

  “Whadda ya mean?”

  “It’s clear there’s still something between you two—”

  “Yeah,” I say, “my fist—”

  “No. I know anger in you. I know how you get when you’re royally pissed. This is different.”

  “No. I’m pissed.”

  “Yes,” Puo says, “but there’s more to it.”

  I give Puo my fuck-off face.

  “Then why ask if he had a girlfriend? You were feeling him out—even if it was subconscious.”

  “All people,” I say, “wonder how their exes are doing in the romantic department.” If Puo ever dated, he would know that.

  “Except,” Puo says quietly, “you already knew the answer to that from following him around this past week.”

  Surprise must be on my face, because Puo smirks at me and says, “Didn’t think I’d notice?”

  I stick my tongue at him.

  “Look,” Puo says. “Whatever happens, I’ll always have your back. But something ...” Puo trails off searching for the right word. The word must elude him, because then he continues, “I don’t know Isa, something is going on here. Bosses don’t just randomly decide to kill people, particularly those with high-level connections to other Bosses like we do.”

  “No, they don’t,” I agree. “But what does that have to do with Winn?”

  “Winn has found his way back onto our team. At least temporarily,” he adds hastily, seeing my face. “He’s going to be with us until we sort this out. In close quarters. After months of avoiding him.” Puo pauses to crack his neck and stretch a bit in his chair. “All I’m saying is just be careful, mindful when you’re around him. With whatever is going on, you can’t be distracted.”

  “I thought you always maintained I did my best work when I was pissed off.”

  Puo nods and then says, “Yeah, you do. But like I said, there’s more to it this time around.”

  “Well,” I say, unsure where to take the conver
sation from here, “thanks for that.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “Annoying me?”

  “Pointing out the obvious.”

  * * *

  It’s now later that evening and dark out. I stand alone in the third-floor master bedroom at the front of the house, overlooking the private balcony. Sporadic lights twinkle along the coast spread out to my right and left. There’s some light boat traffic. The yellow haze of the city glows in the distance. Hovercars stream around the city like a constant halo.

  I feel contently warm, but still stand there with my arms crossed, trying to tease out how I feel about Winn, and trying not to jump to conclusions with Nix after us. I’m not sure I’m being very successful in either task. But the view is pretty, and after my unexpected dip in the English Bay, I’ve come to put a high premium on being warm—it’s all about the layers.

  Of course I still have feelings for Winn. Duh. What remains to be seen is what exactly those feelings are: Betrayal? Rejection? Abandonment?

  I hate it when Puo’s right, when he reads me more clearly than I read myself.

  Winn always was different. He represented a different life, a taste of normalcy. He was a man, with a penis, with all the faults men with penises share. But he could also be a gentleman, be surprisingly thoughtful.

  When Winn told me he loved me, he meant it. He didn’t mean he loved the money we made together, or how I made him feel, or my smart-ass nature, or our sex life. He loved me, he loved all that and everything else in between that encapsulates a real human being.

  And I had told him that I loved him, all of him. I loved him despite his existentialist issues about falling from grace to become an underwater reclamation specialist. Despite his moodiness and seeming desire for a different life, I loved him.

  And the very next morning after I told him, the bastard left.

  It felt almost too perfect, like a part of a master plan. Like: fool Isa into falling in love and then bail on her. Except, what profit is there to be had in a broken heart?