Upgrade

by Richard Parry

  “Sure, baby.” She put her own cigarette and whisky down, then moved over to him. She draped an arm over each of his shoulders. Her face was very close. “Whatever you want.”

  They rocked slowly together in the centre of the room. Mason touched her slowly. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  She leaned against him. “Shoot.”

  “You seem like a nice girl—”

  She snorted. “Right.”

  “—and I’m wondering.”

  “Wondering? Like, how a nice girl like me ends up here?”

  “Something like that.” Mason touched her back, and she shivered against him. “It’s just—” He leaned in closer, kissing the nape of her neck.

  She tipped her head back, making a low noise in her throat. “It’s better than the alternatives.” Her hand reached up to touch the back of his head as he nuzzled her. “Much, much better.”

  They danced for a few moments more as the light of dawn broke across the city, a sliver of heaven seen between the blankets of clouds. Time waits for no man. Mason took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bernie fidgeted in his seat, tapping fingers against a knee. That bitch Sadie, she made his ulcer worse, but damn she could sing — it was one of her tracks doing laps around inside his head. He liked the hard grunge sound. Thinking about it, he liked her hard body. He’d get himself some of that — he always did. Bernie flipped open the glove box of the old Buick, rummaging around until his hands hit on a memory stick. It was ancient tech, but needs must. Being under the radar was more important than driving his uplinked Lexus with an on-demand music system.

  He clicked the stick into the stereo, using a fat thumb to spin the volume up. Sadie’s throaty voice eased out of the speakers, filled the cabin of the car, and he leaned his head back and stared at the once-white roof. The cracked vinyl had a stain in the driver’s side corner. He let his eyes wander along the pattern, thinking of the music, then thinking about what Sadie would look like naked.

  He almost had a heart attack when the knock came at the window, jerking upright and knocking the bottle of Southern Comfort over.

  “Jesus Christ!” Bernie reached into the footwell, rescuing the bottle, then spun the volume to low. He wound the window down with the ancient mechanical handle. “You’re late.”

  “You said 6.30.” Haraway looked at him a bit uncertainly, the white Apsel coat she wore showing a few wet spots where the umbrella she held didn’t quite do the job. Her blonde hair didn’t have a strand out of place, framing a clinic-perfect face.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s 6.31.” She looked around, the deserted lot empty except for the rain.

  “Like I said. You’re late.” Bernie jerked a thumb to the passenger side. “Get in, doc.”

  “I’m not a doctor.” She walked around the back of the car, shoes splashing in the water. She tugged the passenger door open, collapsing in next to him. She puffed the umbrella a few times, shaking the water out. “Nice music.”

  “Screw the music.” Bernie eyed her sideways. She was fine, no mistake. All the corporates were — they could afford it. “Why’d we have to meet?”

  “I—” Haraway swallowed. “You know the rain?”

  He snorted. “I know the rain. It’s been pissing down for weeks. Bar staff don’t turn up for work on time anymore.”

  She nodded, eyes distant. “I think—” She swallowed again. “I think we did that.”

  Bernie coughed out the swig of Southern Comfort he’d just taken. “What?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No shit.” He offered her the bottle. Get the bitches drunk, that was always a good start. “A little southern hospitality?”

  Haraway looked at the bottle, then grabbed it from him and drank almost greedily. If he could get her to go down on — No, business first, Eckers. You know the rules. You always fuck it up when you forget the rules. “You relocated my sister.”

  Bernie took the bottle back from her, letting his fingers brush against her. She pulled back. He grinned in the small space of the car. They always come around in the end. When they realize how much they need you. “Remind me. Who’s your sister?”

  “Marlene. Marlene Haraway. She told me about you.” She paused. “All about you.”

  “Ah.” Bernie’s grin stayed fixed on his face. “I remember. Younger sister, right?”

  Haraway glanced at him. “That’s right.”

  “Yeah. Real shame how she got in trouble with the syndicates. Real shame.” Bernie shifted around in his seat, adjusting his crotch. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Nothing,” said Haraway. Her face was guarded. “Everything. I know where the rain comes from.”

  “You said that.” He waved his hand. “Spill, kid.”

  “We’re trying to sell some tech.” She glanced around, trying to see through the windows. Like she’d be able to see anything more than a couple meters away. Always raining — it’s always goddamn raining.

  “That’s right.” Bernie frowned. “Look, if it’s about the test, that was—”

  “It’s not about the test,” said Haraway. She paused. “Ok. It’s about the test. The test you did. Without me.”

  “The test site is where the rain comes from?”

  “No.” Haraway looked at her hands. “Maybe. It’s complicated.”

  “Uncomplicate it.”

  She turned to him. “If you’d just waited, like I said, we’d have—”

  “Couldn’t wait,” said Bernie. “Had a buyer.”

  Haraway blinked. “You’ve found a buyer?”

  “Had. Past tense. Gone on the wind. Someone blew up my meeting point.”

  Haraway scrabbled at the door. “I’ve got to go.”

  Bernie put a hand on her shoulder. “Doc, look, it’s ok.”

  “It’s not ok, Mr. Eckers.” Haraway was tugging at the big old handle, the mechanism sticking. “There’s only one reason why someone would… What did you say? ‘Blow up your meeting point?’”

  “Yeah.”

  Haraway looked him over, saw he was calm. She licked those delicious lips before speaking again. “You’re not concerned.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m still sucking oxygen,” he said, leaning back. “You’re still sucking oxygen. If they knew, we wouldn’t be sucking oxygen.”

  Haraway tilted her head to the side, then pulled her hand away from the door. “That makes sense.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to be careful.”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, Mr. Eckers. Really careful. This is big.” Haraway looked out into the rain, her eyes unfocused. “It’ll change the world.”

  Bernie eyed her over the top of the bottle, then took a swig. “World might not need changing.”

  She turned back to him, her lips twisted. “Everything needs changing.”

  Bernie shrugged. He hadn’t taken her for an idealist. She wanted money from the deal. Come to think about it, he didn’t much care. He picked at his nose. “Sure. Needs changing. You still want to be rich?”

  “No.”

  “What?” Bernie felt his heart skip.

  She smiled at him. “I want to be disgustingly rich. I want to have so much money that nothing can get in my way.”

  “Jesus, Doc, you had me scared for a second.”

  “No mistakes this time, Mr. Eckers,” she said. “No mistakes. No blown-up meeting points. No reason for an Apsel satellite to perform an orbital strike. Nothing.”

  “No guarantees in this business, kid.” Bernie scratched at his belly. “You know that.”

  She looked thoughtful. “I know that.”

  “Why don’t you come along this time?” Bernie leered at her. “Maybe after—”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Bernie. “I sell shit. I make a percentage — a good percentage — on selling shit. I
’m pretty simple. Not crazy.” Just want to get mine. Everyone else is getting theirs.

  “I can’t be there. If it goes wrong—”

  “If it goes wrong, it’s not going to matter if you’re there or not,” said Bernie. “They find me, they’re going to find you.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Shit no.” Bernie frowned. “You know how this works. It’s just a set of facts. They’ll stick my head in a jar and suck whatever’s inside out. They’ll find you.”

  She nodded. “They will.”

  “So,” said Bernie, looking that fine body up and down again, “why don’t you come along? It’ll give a buyer a little more… faith.”

  “Faith?”

  “Don’t hate the player,” said Bernie. “Hate the game.”

  “You want me to… To give them faith?” She turned to face him again, the Apsel coat pulling tight over her breasts. “The science is a little complicated—”

  “Science?” He wasn’t sure if he was keeping her talking for a good reason, or just to keep looking at her. She must have a damn good clinic.

  She sighed, her chest moving under the coat. “You remember the rain?”

  “The rain. Right.”

  “The rain? It’s not from here.”

  “What do you mean, not from here? Is it from Cleveland?”

  She shook her head. “It’s from much, much farther away. Trust me.”

  Bernie laughed, a small nasty sound. “Trust is in real short supply, kid. I tell you what would cut a deal, though.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You. I tell you what. I’ll bring some guys. Buyers, with money. You bring some product. And yourself. We’ll see if we can make something work.”

  “Something?”

  “What do you syndicate types call it? ‘Contract transfer.’”

  The car sat under the rain for a moment, the only noise the rain on the roof. It seemed loud, urgent, as if it wanted to come in. “You want me to…”

  “Look, Doc. If you sell something big? They’re going to have you executed.”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t care about that?”

  “I care,” she said. “Believe me. I’m attached to…” A small smile pulled at her mouth. “‘Sucking oxygen.’”

  Bitch is starting to thaw. Keep working it, Eckers. “You get a new contract, you get a new life. Protection.”

  She nodded slowly, coming to the same conclusion. “I’ll need a space to set up. No mistakes this time.”

  Bernie took the bottle back from her, taking a drink himself. “Just what are you selling, doc?”

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ll need to show you. Be there, to set it up.”

  “So Apsel don’t light us up from orbit?” Bernie tugged his shirt away from his paunch. “Or for insurance?”

  “Insurance, mostly. I — I think I can get it working right. So people don’t die. So we don’t die. Last time—” Haraway looked out at the rain. “So much has already gone wrong.”

  “How big?”

  “What?”

  Bernie twisted to face her again. This deal could be big. Could be the biggest you’ve run, Eckers. Play out the line. Don’t break the hook. “How big a space do you need?”

  “Not very big. Just for a demonstration.”

  “I got a place. Off the grid.”

  “Does it have power?”

  “I thought you Apsel guys were all about power.”

  “The demonstration has a certain fingerprint. If you’d listened to me before the test—”

  Bernie waved his hand. “Bygones.”

  Haraway frowned. “It’s best if it’s near something Apsel already runs.”

  “Don’t sweat the details. You’ll get your Apsel reactor.” Bernie put a hand on her arm. “But — well, doc. Don’t jerk me around on this one.” He let his hand linger.

  She looked down at his hand, then pushed it away. “Don’t worry, Mr. Eckers. It’s a clean game of pool. And like I said, I’m not a doctor.”

  “Right, right.” He nodded at the passenger door next to her. “Then get out. Be at The Hole. You know it?”

  “No.”

  “Buy a map, then. Be at The Hole. Friday — noon.”

  Worry crinkled her brow. “Can we do it sooner?”

  “Do I look like an instant courier? No, it can’t be done sooner. Need to set up a new set of buyers, after last time. Need to get you your precious reactor.”

  “I’m worried. They feel close.” She rubbed her arms. “Friday it is.” And with that, Haraway pushed the passenger door open, umbrella leading the way out into the rain. Bernie watched her leave, his eyes on her ass.

  He fired up the old Buick as she shut the door behind her. The wheels crunched on loose stones and broken asphalt as he nosed it out onto the street. He grinned in the cabin, the dim light from the dash lighting up his face. His hand touched the volume, pushing Sadie’s voice loud in the cabin. The car picked up speed, his belly bouncing against the seat belt.

  They always came around in the end.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The lights in the room were off after the dawn. The louvres against the windows shifted slow and silent to show the cloudscape stretched out around the tower. Mason hadn’t slept yet — he stood looking out over the clouds beneath him, sipping whisky. He spared a glance towards the bedroom, catching a glimpse of black hair strewn amongst silk sheets.

  “You ready to get to work?”

  “Jesus, Carter. It’s 7 in the morning. I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

  “It’s closer to 7:30. You could have grabbed a couple of hours. What have you been doing with your time?” She sounded testy. “I’ve arranged some breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?” Mason looked down at the whisky in his hand. “I guess it is that time.”

  “You’re not hungry?” She sighed. “You need to eat. Keep up your strength. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  “You’re a golden ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Mason tossed the rest of the whisky back. “I probably should get some sleep.”

  “You can sleep when you’re dead. Harden up, princess.”

  “Holy shit, Carter. That’s cold.” Mason turned to face the apartment’s kitchen. “You should try field work.”

  “It’s not really my thing, Mason. I’ve got a nice desk job here. I don’t want to break a nail.” She paused, her tone softening a little. “I don’t need to die to show my loyalty to the company. And neither do you, really.”

  “You think?” Mason started to pull a few things from the refrigerator. “Cancel the breakfast order. I’ll make it myself.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Make time, Carter. I’ve got a guest.”

  “You’ve got a guest that charges by the hour.”

  “You’re just cranky because I got you up at 5:30.”

  “You didn’t get me up.” Carter sighed. “I didn’t get any sleep last night either.”

  “Working late?” Mason put eggs and bacon down on the marble counter top, then went back to the refrigerator for some butter. It was real, from grass-fed cattle. He had a guy who got it for him. He put the butter down on the marble, letting his eyes wander over the almost black surface, veins of white making him want to touch it. Mason rested his fingertips against the cool stone for a moment, then raised his hand in front of his eyes. “I’ve still got the shakes.”

  “You were in the chair for an hour.”

  “It felt like longer.”

  She sighed down the line. “This is one of the many reasons I don’t do field work.”

  “That’s your problem, Carter.” Mason fired up the stove — expensive gas flames licking the bottom of the skillet — and threw a good chunk of butter in the bottom of the pan. “You never get out.”

  “I don�
�t dance, Mason.”

  “Who said anything about dancing? But sure, dancing. You should try it.”

  “I don’t want to try it.” She paused for a second. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Look, I’ve never really thought about it, okay?”

  “Sheesh. Ok.” The butter had started to bubble, and Mason dropped some bacon in the pan. “I just figured — well. Work bonding. I could take you out bowling. Or dancing.” He watched the bacon for a little longer, then cracked some eggs into the pan, moving the butter around over the top of the eggs. A gentle heat was the secret to a perfect fried egg — that, and real butter, and real bacon. Everything was better with bacon. “Carter. You still there?”

  “I’m here, Mason.”

  “Sorry, I thought I lost you.”

  “Did you just ask me out dancing?”

  Mason tucked a spatula under the edge of an egg, gently teasing it off the pan. “Not really. I asked you out bowling.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “So you said.” Mason finished flipping the eggs. “But you know. We could go play darts instead. I don’t know.”

  “It sounds like a date.”

  “It’s a few drinks after work.” Mason’s eyes flicked to the bedroom, where he could hear the sounds of movement starting. “Christ, I’ve forgotten the toast.” He rummaged in the pantry, pulling out a loaf of artisan bread.

  “I’d…”

  “What?”

  “I can’t, Mason. I want to. But I can’t.” She sounded wistful. “I’d like to learn to dance.”

  “Hey, your loss.” Mason cut the bread into thick slices, revealing seeds within the bread.

  “It looks good.”

  “Jesus, Carter. Are you watching?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “It’s my apartment!”

  “Sorry. I’ll kill the video.”

  “Thanks.” Mason looked at the bread. Un-toasted it’d have to be, or the bacon would burn. I can’t believe I’ve screwed up bacon and eggs. “I think this is the first time I’ve forgotten to toast bread for breakfast. Ever.”