Rewired_ The Post-Cyberpunk Anthology - James Patrick Kelly [207]
The kid stiffened, panic tensing all his muscles, fear sweat sour in Aman’s nostrils. For a few seconds, the kid thought it over. Then his muscles relaxed all at once, so much so that Aman’s hands tightened instinctively on his arms. He started to tremble.
“Come on. Let’s take a walk,” Aman said. “I’m not here to bust you.”
“Let me get some juice…”
“No.” Aman’s thumb dug into the nerve plexus in his shoulder and the kid gasped. “Walk.” He twisted the kid around and propelled him down the street, away from the little juice kiosk, his body language suggesting two old friends out strolling, his arm companionably over the kid’s shoulder, hiding the kid’s tension with his own body, thumb exerting just enough pressure on the nerve to remind the kid to behave. “You are leaving a trail a blind infant could follow,” he said conversationally, felt the kid’s jerk of reaction.
“I’m not chipped.” Angry bravado tone.
“You don’t need to be chipped. That just slows the search down a few hours. You went straight from the hack-doc to here, walked through the Belt because you couldn’t take the rail, you buy juice at this stand every day, and you bought those pants two blocks up the street, from the lady who sells clothes out of her living room. Want me to tell you what you had for dinner last night, too?”
“Oh, Goddess,” he breathed.
“Spare me.” Aman sighed. “Why do they want you? You blow something up? Plant a virus?”
“Not us. Not the Gaiists.” He jerked free of Aman’s grip with surprising strength, fists clenched. “That’s all a lie. I don’t know why they want me. Yeah, they’re claiming bioterrorism, but I didn’t do it. There wasn’t any virus released where they said it happened. How can they do that? Just make something up?” His voice had gone shrill. “They have to have proof and they don’t have any proof. Because it didn’t happen.”
He sounded so much like Avi that Aman had to look away. “They just made it all up, huh?” He made his voice harsh, unbelieving.
“I…guess.” The kid looked down, his lip trembling. “Yeah, it sounds crazy, huh. I just don’t get why? Why me? I don’t even do protests. I just…try to save what’s left to save.”
“Tell me about your girlfriend.”
“Who?” He blinked at Aman, his eyes wet with tears.
“The one who died.”
“Oh. Reyna.” He looked down, his expression instantly sad. “She really wanted to kick ’em. The drugs. I tried to help her. She just… she just had so much fear inside. I guess…the drugs were the only thing that really helped the fear. I…I really tried.”
“So she killed herself?”
“Oh, no.” Daren looked up at him, shocked. “She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t want to be afraid. She did the usual hit that morning. I guess…the guy she bought from, he called himself Skinjack, I guess he didn’t cut the stuff right. She OD’ed. I…went looking for him.” Daren flushed. “I told myself I was going to beat him up. I guess…maybe I wanted to kill him. Because she was getting better. She would have made it.” He drew a shaky breath. “He just disappeared. The son of a bitch. I kept looking for him but…he was just gone. Maybe he OD’ed, too,” he added bitterly. “I sure hope so.”
All of a sudden, it clicked into place. The whole picture.
Why.
They had reached an empty lot. Someone was growing grapes in it and as they reached the end of the rows, sudden movement in the shadows caught Aman’s eye. Too late. He was so busy sorting it all out, he’d stopped paying attention. The figure stepped out of the leaf shadows, a small, ugly gun in his hand.
“I was right.” Jimi’s eyes glittered. “Didn’t think I was smart enough to track you, huh? I’m stupid, I know, but not that stupid.”
“Actually, I thought you’d be too hung over.” Aman spread his hands carefully. “I think we’re on the same side here, and I think we need to get out of here now.”
“Shut up,” Jimi said evenly, stepping