Zoey Punches the Future in the Dick

by David Wong

  The nondescript van bore the faded logo of a ride-and-breakfast commute service, boasting it would serve pancakes and eggs while the vehicle waded through morning traffic. The entire exterior of the vehicle was in fact just a series of bolted-on panels that could totally alter its make and model, one of nine outfits they could swap out. The interior was that of a state-of-the-art transport designed to move high-value targets through war zones. Wu was behind the wheel (if someone had to take over the autopilot in an emergency, he was the one trained in evasive driving), Will in the passenger seat, Zoey in the back. She was seated in front of monitors that could display a list of potential threats, right down to any unusually aggressive facial expressions on passing motorists. She glanced at them and then started playing a game on her phone.

  Zoey asked where Megaboss Alonzo’s headquarters was and Will said, “The Styx.”

  “Like, outside town?”

  “No, S-T-Y-X. Guess you’ve never been. There’s a tunnel system under the city and Alonzo has laid claim to most of it. His rationale is that property deeds don’t extend that far under the surface and also that no one can physically stop him from claiming it. He’s right about the second part, which is all that matters.”

  “Underground? How do we get there?”

  “There’s an entrance in West Turner.”

  Zoey was from a small town of fewer than ten thousand people and the most confusing thing about moving to the city was how big of a deal people make about which neighborhood they’re in. Back home there had just been the trailer parks (her domain), the one rich neighborhood around a lake, and then everybody else. Here, people identified their neighborhood as their location, rather than the city (“That’s how we do it in Beaver Heights!”) but the borders weren’t official and bitter disputes broke out over whether a new housing development was in West Turner or the adjacent West Arlington (there was no East Turner). These disputes were particularly nasty when one of those was well established in the public mind as the “bad” neighborhood, as was the case with West Turner. Zoey, however, was not at all nervous about taking a trip there and quietly congratulated herself for not being nervous.

  That didn’t last. The moment they emerged from the fancy suburb and hit the city, Zoey thought she could sense a crackle of tension in the air, a sour mood. It had to be her imagination (the supposedly world-class sensors in the back of the van didn’t note any direct threats) but she felt it in her gut. Hunched shoulders on the sidewalks, people staring at their shoes as they walked, the wound-up angst of a mutual, unresolved grievance. Even if her instincts were right, there was no reason to believe it had anything to do with her. These people led their own lives. Maybe it was the stress of Halloween shopping.

  Still, she felt trapped in the armored vehicle, like there wasn’t enough air. When they stopped at an intersection, she concentrated on the light, willing it to change, holding her breath. At one point a passerby stared a little too long and she wondered if they’d made the vehicle … but then they just kept walking. That was the thing—the moment a single person saw through the subterfuge, anyone and everyone who had bad intentions could know inside of a minute. That was the terrible magic of the Blink network.

  Still, they crept along with the rest of the traffic and passed unmolested into West Turner, a place in which not a single door didn’t have an armed guard and the doors they guarded wore metal bars. Zoey made a mental note of the plentiful neon and the cool clubs and restaurants and tried to shout down the small-town part of her brain that was treating this like a safari. Hell, it’s not like any of these people were the angry nerds who’d put the bounty out on her. This was fine. Everything was fine. Look, there’s a brick BBQ joint with a giant golden pig on the roof with smoke pouring out of its butt! That’s pretty cool.

  Will, who had an eerie and annoying ability to read Zoey’s moods, said, “If Alonzo starts getting political, just move on to the next subject. Don’t agree or disagree, just say that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Political?”

  “If he starts talking about economic justice, racism, any of that. Alonzo is an activist, at least in his own mind, and your father had a … complicated relationship with the community. He’ll try to go to work on you.”

  “Wait, the heart-eating guy we’re going to meet was an enemy of my father? You’re just now mentioning that?”

  “‘Enemy’ is a strong word.”

  “And he had ‘problems’ with ‘the community’?” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Is that your way of saying my father was a racist? On top of everything else?”

  “No. Not in his opinion. Get ready, we’re here.”

  For some reason, when it was said earlier that Alonzo ruled a system of tunnels under the city, Zoey was picturing stone walls lit by torches. Instead, they pulled up to a covered stairwell ensconced between two buildings that led down to a bustling, well-lit thoroughfare two stories high, with storefronts and food carts and people zipping around on electric scooters.

  “Is there a whole other city down here that nobody ever told me about?”

  “No,” said Will, “only about eight blocks of it. This was supposed to be the start of a subway system way back at the founding, but Arthur was never big on public transportation, so it just sat dormant until Alonzo’s crew came down and built it out. Five of the city’s ten best restaurants are down here, so there’s that.”

  There were sideways glances at the Suits and their bodyguard (who was in a black tunic with a katana on his back, Wu’s Stay Away outfit) and for a good reason: their presence down here could not mean anything good. They soon arrived at a men’s clothing store called Threads of Power, a gleaming storefront with gold trim and, in the display windows, six naked mannequins. When Zoey got within about ten feet of the entrance, the mannequin nearest to her blinked to life, the skin replaced by a hologram of Zoey herself, now wearing a striking crimson skirt-and-jacket combination. A floating price tag hovered over every item and she noted that the system’s algorithm had, like every stylist she had worked with, determined she should be showing more chest.

  Jazz music wafted from the store as they passed through. Zoey assumed that at some point they’d be ushered through some kind of armored door and wind up in a back room full of scowling henchmen smoking cigarettes and polishing bullets or whatever people like that do in between crimes. Everybody in the city did their dirty work behind some kind of legit storefront, even if the city’s law enforcement situation barely made it necessary. Zoey thought it was partially a status thing for these guys, having the cool restaurant or whatever to slap their name onto. Either way, Zoey found her eyes darting around the racks of suits and dresses, studying the mannequins and nattily dressed salespeople for clues, trying to find the cracks in the facade. Unless this wasn’t Alonzo’s place and Will had just stopped to ask directions.

  Will approached a counter helmed by a wiry young black woman with a shaved head and, before he could speak, she said, “You just won me a thousand dollars.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I bet Alonzo that you would bring her and her bodyguard both; Alonzo said you’d come alone. We made a bet, I won.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Oh, he’s here,” said the woman. “He’s been waiting all morning. Cleared his calendar, just for you.”

  She was at least four inches taller than Zoey, though from behind the counter it was impossible to know if she wasn’t in heels or something. She wore a dress that was made of a delicate silver material that almost seemed like chain mail, draped over broad shoulders and bare arms. No polish or art on her fingernails. She had a tattoo over her left breast of some kind of falcon, like something you’d see in Egypt, and Zoey thought she could detect where it had been applied to cover a circular scar. The shape of an old bullet wound.

  Will glanced up toward the ceiling and said, “Well, that was considerate of him.”

  “Yeah, he must really want to see you peop
le. Or, he knows the winter lines are coming in today and that every inch of these shelves have to be swapped out and four girls called in sick, and that if he pokes his head out of his office I’m putting his ass to work. I’ll bet you the thousand dollars I just won that when you go up there, he’ll pretend to be on the phone. Here…”

  She hit a switch under the counter. Behind her, a pair of mannequins slid aside, opening a hidden door and revealing a narrow staircase going up.

  They circled around behind the counter, which immediately felt to Zoey like a dangerous trespass, then up one floor to find an enormous office that somehow felt bigger than the entire store below it. There was a black marble desk in front of a sound system that occupied the whole of the rear wall. A muscular man sat shirtless behind the desk, a thick beard jutting from his face, a tattoo of a teardrop under one eye. Zoey wondered if he was wearing pants. This, presumably, was Megaboss Alonzo.

  Alonzo put down the phone he’d been pretending to listen to without even feigning a good-bye. “Welcome!” He looked at Zoey. “You’re looking well.”

  Zoey was sure she’d never spoken to him before, but said, “Thanks.”

  “You’re not letting the trolls get to you, right? I know you had some hard times over the summer.”

  “I try.”

  “Stay strong.” To Will he said, “Do a magic trick for us! Break the ice.”

  Will had a reputation for being able to do magic but Zoey had only ever seen him do one coin trick. It wasn’t something you asked him about.

  Without breaking stride, Will said, “Look for your wallet. You’ll find it’s not in your pocket.”

  Alonzo’s face froze. He reached for his back pocket.

  “It’s right here.”

  “But just for a moment, you had doubts. That is the trick.”

  “Touché! Have a seat.”

  There were three chairs, but Wu remained standing behind them. Behind Wu were two of Alonzo’s bodyguards, each of them much larger than Wu, who also only had one unbroken arm. They stood so that they were blocking the door and Zoey thought this was all fine, just fine.

  “So,” said Alonzo, “why has the Lord brought us together on this beautiful day? Is this about that unfortunate virgin who held up your pajama theater a month ago?”

  Will, already sounding impatient, said, “Yes, the one whose heart you say you ate for breakfast this morning.”

  Alonzo stared at him for a solid three seconds, as if trying to hold an expression. Then his eyes lit up and he threw his head back, laughing with his whole body. The sound filled the room. Will sat, stone-faced. From behind them, Alonzo’s bodyguards joined in the laughter. Zoey felt Wu place a hand on the back of her chair.

  After he caught his breath, Alonzo said, “Sorry, I couldn’t hold it any longer. You think I eat human flesh, Willy? It was a pig’s heart. Just a little bit of theater. Saw the story on the news and thought we’d have some fun. It’s almost Devil’s Night!”

  Will said, “So you don’t know anything about Tilley? We’ll let you get back to your business, then.” He made like he was about to stand, but clearly had no real intention to.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t know anything. I just said that wasn’t his heart.”

  “Great. Did you kill him?”

  “No sir.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “Before I answer, I want to ask you something.” He looked at Zoey. “Why did you believe me and my boys would eat a man’s heart?”

  Zoey hesitated. “Because … you explicitly said so on camera? Several times?”

  “I say the fact that you thought it was real says more about you than it does me.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me, here.” She glanced at Will, looking for a rescue.

  In a friendly tone, Alonzo asked, “You know why I own a clothing store?”

  “Uh, I’d say because you need a legit business to launder money.”

  “Aside from that. I sell the suits at cost, because they’re needed for job interviews. I even rent out suits by the hour, for that purpose. Tell them they can pay when they get the job. Or not.”

  “So you’re not a bad guy, you just pretend to be one for your videos?”

  “Zoey,” interjected Will, “you could fill an Olympic pool with the blood this man has spilled.”

  “Is that true?” asked Alonzo. “Or have I just made you think it is?” He turned his attention back to Zoey. “See, you can’t get a job without a nice suit. You know why that is? It’s because a job interview isn’t really to see if you can do the job. It’s to see if you can properly assume the role of a member of a higher class. And guess who gets to decide what that looks like.”

  Will said, “We’re getting off the point here…”

  “Are we?” Alonzo stayed fixed on Zoey. “See, that’s your people’s power. You’ve got all of the finest things locked away, accessed by a secret handshake that only certain kids learn growing up. The rest of us get left out in the cold, where asking the wrong person the time of day gets you shot. Not by a police officer, not in this city, but by a low-rent merc who answers to no one but some coldhearted millionaire looking down from way up high. Well, when all other kinds of power are denied to you, the power of fear is all you’ve got left.”

  “And so your only choice is to say you eat human hearts. Sure. So why are you mad at me for believing it?”

  “Who’s mad? I’m sitting here calm. I’m not raising my voice. Once again, you assume savagery. You brought that attitude in the door with you. As usual.”

  Zoey was sweating.

  Will, on the other hand, sounded merely bored. “Look, if you don’t actually know anything about Tilley, we need to go chase down other leads.”

  Still keeping his eyes on Zoey, Alonzo said, “You know three young men were shot outside the Kennelworth apartments last week? Private security did it, said they were trying to break in. They were visiting their grandma.”

  Zoey had not heard this, but Will jumped in. “Zoey doesn’t own Kennelworth and those weren’t our people. Those were VOP.”

  Zoey said, “And as for your job interviews and secret handshakes, a couple of years ago I heard a group of managers burst out laughing after I left an interview, then they posted my application on a ‘Job Interview Fails’ website. It was a job cleaning toilets.”

  Alonzo smiled.

  Will stood and buttoned his suit jacket. “Let’s go. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “I know who you should talk to. How about that?”

  “Who?”

  To Zoey, Alonzo said, “Ah, your little heart is racing. Now look at your partner here, he’s not scared. You know he’s not even carrying a gun? See, he’s got that confidence that comes with knowing that if somebody wrongs him, a whole lot of other people with guns will come along and exact unthinkable vengeance. What do you like to do for fun?”

  The question caught Zoey so off guard that she wasn’t even sure she’d heard it.

  “What do I like to do for fun? Uh, these days I mostly get high and watch street streams. Or those Blink feeds where they’ve got the cameras tied to animals.”

  “Oof. That sounds depressing.”

  “Have you ever followed a squirrel’s life over the course of a day? It’s hilarious.”

  “See, I’ve already diagnosed your problem right there. You’re carrying all of the stress and troubles of wealth, but you’re not having any of the fun. You have Halloween plans? Why don’t you come to the Lincoln Showroom? Doing a costume party. It’s a jazz club, a little upscale, shouldn’t be too scary for somebody like you, especially not if you’re there as my guest.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or what you’re doing here.”

  “No mockery at all, you can even bring your bodyguard. My parties are very subdued, all about fine music and soft conversation.”

  “My Halloween costume wouldn’t fit in the door.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever
heard that one before.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Alonzo rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I know what that means.”

  Will said, “You’ve had your fun, give me your lead and let us get on with our lives.”

  “You ever wonder how your personal fan club put together a million dollars for the bounty?”

  Will said, “Assumed they crowdsourced it. Zoey has thousands of people who hate her, I assume some of them have jobs.”

  “No, they do not. The money came in all at once. Single donor.”

  Will nodded, suddenly looking past Alonzo. Thinking. “Somebody’s got money.”

  “The kind of money that they can throw out a million just to mess with you. Not that many of those people in the city. Find one who benefits from the chaos. Somebody who, I don’t know, has a business interest in security.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Sounding insulted, Alonzo said, “Because I knew you were coming and didn’t want you to leave empty-handed. Made some calls.”

  Will nodded. He’d gotten what he’d come for.

  Zoey said to Will, “Wait, if we just get Alonzo to confess, does that mean we win the reward money?”

  Alonzo said, “Oh, no, the reward is specifically for anyone who can prove you did it. Doesn’t pay out otherwise.”

  “Wait, really? And nobody sees the obvious flaw in that system?”

  “They see it, they just don’t care. But enough about America’s war on drugs. If I hear anything else, I’ll pass it along. If this city does have an actual cannibal killer, I’m in agreement that that is a bad thing, as they probably won’t stop at just one meal. We could have our own Albert Fish, or Jeffrey Dahmer or Andrei Chikatilo running around out there. Those guys were all white, by the way. I trust you can see yourselves out.”