Moxyland - Lauren Beukes [66]
In realworld, Doyenne is a taxi driver in her mid-40s – maybe a tad decrepit for fun and games, but who am I to thwart her recreational? Cos that's what it's about, right? Re-creations of lives you could never live.
We're all civilian. Specs were undercover, although I'm not going anywhere without my BabyStrange, that's for you, kids, for your enjoyment. It's switched to live-feed from my splinter-new phone, no delay on the uplink. It's also perfect for hiding the telltale bulge of the .44 riding on my hip.
On the escalator, standing behind me, Ibis aka Julia checks her lipgloss in my coat. You gotta admire a girl who has the presence of mind to touch up her prettifiers pre-combat. She's been relatively cold to me since we were reintroduced. But then, I didn't call. But then, I never do.
'You activated?' she murmurs behind me, so soft only I can hear, cos we're playing strangers for the moment, until such time as Doyenne decides we're good to make our play. As soon as Twitch has scoped out the lie of the land.
I don't bother to answer. As if I would have forgotten in the heat. My phone is already blinking blue, logged onto Playnet and legit with the relevant authorities – although unlike my crime-busting colleagues over here, I'm registered under a fake name. It's not necessary, but let's say I've developed a taste for anonymity, for taking on an artificial ID (like Diary isn't an exaggerated persona already). I'm sure it's all going to get terribly confusing. Try to keep up.
I grab hold of the rails with both hands and swing over the top steps, my coat flaring behind. Julia pushes past me, just another underway annoyance, her boots making sharp cicada clicks on the vibracrete as she vanishes into the cram. I swivel on my heel and prowl over to the newsstand to buy a bottle of water. No sense going into this dehydrated. It's still lank early. Fourteen minutes ahead of schedule. We've got time to kill.
Doyenne's strict on the punctuality, Twitch told me while we were sitting in the taxi waiting for her to come back from the petrol station loo, cos she has a spastic colon. He was switching through the motions on his rifle, checking the mechanics until the constant clack got to me, and I grabbed his hand to stop him doing it.
'Leave him alone. It chills him out.' Ibis aka Julia spoke from the front of the car, not even looking round.
'Well, it's riding me one time.'
'He needs it. He's OCD.'
'For fuck's sake. Can't he take meds? Or a hit of sugar?' My luck to latch up with a crew with sufficient medical ailments to fill a doctor's waiting room. And that's not even counting the guy I'm replacing, who broke his collarbone moving a fridge.
'Nah. Meds blunt his focus. And Doyenne doesn't shine to drugs, so don't talk about whatever you're on now, okay?' She cocked her head over her shoulder, presenting a shadow of profile, just enough so I could see the dark mole at the corner of her lip that makes her mouth look faintly misshapen. 'And besides, he's fourteen. So lay off, okay?'
'Okay. Kit Kat!' I lifted my hand off his, and the kid went right back into the damn clicking, sliding the ammo clip out, slamming it back in. 'Do your parents know where you're at tonight, Twitch?'
He looked puzzled, although at least he stopped with the damn clicking for an instant, and then launched straight back into it, not looking up. 'For your information, fuckwit, my mom was the one who hooked me up with Stinger.'
From the front, Ibis aka Julia snickered.
I take a sip of water and flip casually through the racks, sneaking previews on some of the pushmags, but being particular in not skeeming the gaming titles, cos you don't want to be too obvious. Keep it tight.
'You gonna buy that?' The shop chick, a bovine dumpy blonde, eyes dulled by one too many soapcasts, picks at her teeth with a fingernail, intent on the blurbvert playing on the screen above the till.
'Me? Hmm. No. I don't think so.'
'Well then, skip it.'
'Hey, I already bought