Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

“I’m bored,” Gonzo says.

“You’re always bored,” Rod says. “Now
silencio
, we’re trying to listen.”

“The assumed name of the Slip is…”

The entire room—save for perhaps Gonzo, who’s in the process of tying his shoes together—seems to hold their collective breaths. At least Benson knows that because of his father it won’t be him—can never be him.

“…Benson Mack,” the reporter says.

~~~

Past article from the
Saint Louis Times
:

Street Punks Reign in Saint Louis

Recent statistics show that petty crime by ‘Pickers’ has increased significantly over the last year, forcing Pop Con to raise the sentence for offenders over age twelve to a minimum eight years in prison, which will potentially result in termination for repeat offenders under the new prison overflow laws. However, those accused will still be entitled to a trial and sentencing, unlike those who commit population control crimes, who will continue to be terminated upon capture.

“Our dedication to keeping our streets clean is one thousand percent,” Mayor Strombaugh was quoted as saying. “We believe harsher penalties for Picking will help protect the people of Saint Louis, as well as lead to a greater number of birth authorizations for our deserving, law-abiding citizens.

Michael Kelly, the Head of Pop Con, was not available for comment.

Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now.
NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

Comments:

SandraWilson3: I had my LifeCard
stolen while walking through the Tube. Thank you for taking this danger seriously.

TheodoreDawes11: Can’t wait for my wife and me to move up on the Prisoner Overflow List!

JasonHughes1: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

StarHeaven: Mayor Strommy is SO CUTE!

I
f the Destroyer wasn’t so pissed, he’d be confused as hell. In his current state, however, all he wants are some freaking answers.

“Why was I fired?” he says.

Corrigan Mars stares straight ahead. “Mr. Kelly isn’t thinking clearly.”

“Was this because of last night?”

Corr’s head snaps toward him. “What happened last night?”

Stupid mouth. The Destroyer tries to get control of his temper, which will only cause him to make stupid decisions, say stupid things. “Uh, nothing. Just a disagreement with Michael Kelly. I thought it was resolved.” Obviously if any of this was about what happened with the cruel but gorgeous assistant and her dumbass boyfriend he would’ve been arrested instead of fired. And after what he did with their bodies, the world may never know what really happened to them.

He almost smiles at the thought. It was the first time he’d killed anyone he wasn’t ordered to kill. And yet, they were just as deserving of death as the others.

Corr holds his stare for a moment, as if trying to read his mind. Finally, he looks away and says, “Yeah, me too.” He folds his hands together. God, that man’s eyebrows are bushy, the Destroyer thinks, wondering how he didn’t notice it until now. Then again, until yesterday and today, he’d never been in such close proximity.

“Why am I here then?” he asks. He braces himself with his metal arm as the car takes a corner with heart-pumping speed. The aut-car seems to be breaking every single traffic law ever created. It gives him a pointless blaze of satisfaction being a part of it.

“You may be officially ‘fired,’”—Corr makes air quotes with his fingers, as if the word is something a child would say—“but unofficially your employment begins now.”

“I don’t understand. Why would I want to work unofficially?” Whatever that even means.

“Because you’ll be working directly for me. No more small-minded imbeciles like Hodge. No more having to answer for every little decision you make. You get the job done, and I won’t ask how. You see, Destroyer”—he can’t help but smile at the nickname—“you’ll be free, completely off the books.”

He mulls it over, wondering how he could possibly be this lucky.
Because I’m a freaking rock star
, he thinks to himself. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Kill the damn Slip.”

He doesn’t flinch, savoring the moment, which feels as if he’s standing on a mountain peak. “What are the rules?” he asks.

“I want this done quickly and outside of official channels. There are no rules.”

“When do I start?”

“Immediately. My own private Hawk has already located a potential match for the target, the name Benson Mack coming up numerous times from holo-ad eye-scans near a known hideout for undesirables, well-hidden from thermal sensors. The Crows have been watching it for a few weeks, hoping it would lead to a larger group.”

“Won’t Pop Con move on it first?” He’s having trouble grasping the fact that he no longer works for Pop Con.

“Michael Kelly is spineless. He screwed up the last Slip hunt, and he’ll screw up this one, too. We’re the only hope for the city. You in?” Corrigan Mars smiles.

The Destroyer smiles back.

~~~

Her face is so gaunt and pale that Harrison wonders whether he’s got the wrong room. Wearing all red and sitting on the bed with her shoes on, the woman’s lips are parted slightly, in what he thinks is meant to be a smile. A smile by someone who has forgotten how to smile.

But then he sees her eyes and all is remembered. Staring into those crystal-blue orbs, slightly wet with moisture, he finds the woman who raised him, who sang him soft lullabies when he was just a stupid kid afraid of the dark, who cut his hair and tucked him in, and
never
missed one of his hoverball games, even when he was only six and could barely balance on his board.

She blinks and that woman disappears, the brilliant color of her eyes faded with madness, the whites a web of red veins. He wonders whether he’s made a huge mistake in coming here.

“Son, is that really you?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy, kilometers away from her singing voice, which was always soothing to his ears.

“Hi, Mom,” he says.

She reaches for him, as if her gesture might draw him closer, but when he closes the door and stands stock-still, her hand drops lifelessly to her lap.

He realizes why she’s forced to wear all red: So she’s easy to spot amongst the white walls and fluorescent lights.

This is going to be impossible.

He knows he can walk out right now and never look back, go back to his life as one of the most popular kids in school, win the State Championships, make out with Nadine on a daily basis. All that is waiting for him—and it’s not a bad life, right? Most kids would kill for his life. And yet, the temptation has lost its luster, maybe forever.

All that’s left is the truth, which, of course, gives him another option. He could demand that she tell him what she meant by her last words, and then he could leave, guilty of nothing but ditching school, a first-time offense that would get him a slap on the wrist and perhaps a shred of attention from his absent father.

“I’ve missed you, Harrison,” she says, and by the soft surrender in her voice he knows he’ll go through with his crazy plan no matter what the risks.

“I—” He doesn’t know what to say. His feet are stuck to the floor.
Focus
, he thinks to himself. He scans the room, which doesn’t have much to it. White walls, padded. White floor and ceiling, also padded. White sheets on the bed. His mother in all red—except for her white shoes—like a massive bloodstain. A large dark-purple half-sphere, attached to the high ceiling. An Eye, watching everything they do, maybe listening to everything they say.

He steps forward pretending not to notice it. Is the nice lady, Alice, watching his every move?

His mother’s arms are open, trembling slightly, as if anticipating an embrace. When he stops with his back to the camera, she stiffens and seems to hold her breath. He’s not here to comfort her, to tell her he’s sorry and that everything’s going to be okay. Maybe all that will come later, but he hasn’t thought that far ahead. No, he’s here for one reason and one reason alone.

Positioning his hand just in front of his chest, where the Eye won’t be able to see it, he uses the secret language his mother taught him when he was little: sign language. In slow, precise hand movements, he asks
Do you want to leave?
To anyone watching through the Eye, he’ll look like nothing more than an emotionally distraught teenager seeing his mother for the first time in years, unsure of how to approach her.

His mother raises a hand to her mouth and her eyes pool with tears. Fortunately for him, it’s the perfect response for anyone who might be watching. A mother, overcome with emotion at being reunited with her son. Then another perfect response: she nods.

Can I bring Zoran?
she signs back.

The Eye will have seen that, but he’s guessing her strange hand movements will be laughed off as just another mark of her insanity. He shrugs, not understanding the question. Who’s Zoran except a character from a silly children’s holo-screen program? He didn’t have time for such mindless crap growing up. His days were full of friends and sports and school.

She holds up a watch. Zoran’s strong, stern expression stares at him from the glass face, behind the clock’s hands, which aren’t moving.
Oh.
Is he really ready for this? He wonders whether breaking her out is the easy part; looking after a crazy woman who treats a watch like a person may be the real challenge.

He nods and she cradles the watch like it’s a baby, rubbing its glass face with a single finger.
God.
He snaps his fingers to get her attention. “Mom, I’ve missed you,” he says, intending it only for the Eye and whoever’s behind it.

She straightens up, her eyes still glistening. “Harrison, I—you’re so grown up,” she says.

“No thanks to you,” he says coldly, so that anyone watching will think the reunion’s about to go awry. It doesn’t hurt that the emotions behind his words are real.

She flinches, as if he’s slapped her. “I—I—”

“You left me.”

“They took us.” She motions to Zoran, as if he’s as much a victim as her.

“You gave them no other choice,” Harrison says loudly, gritting his teeth. He starts pacing, which is meant to be all for show, but the movement helps to calm his racing heart. He stops suddenly, running his hands through his hair for effect. “I—I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t come here for this.”
I came here to get you out
, he signs.
Follow my lead
.
We need a diversion.

Her eyes lock on his, and she starts to scream.

~~~

Although Harrison was the one who asked for a diversion, his eyes widen and stare at her the same way all the other’s do: As if she’s the largest nut on the nut farm.

But Janice doesn’t stop screaming, even when he backs away, stopping only when his back bounces off the padded wall. Don’t be scared of your mother, she wants to say. Instead, she signs,
A diversion.

He looks confused, but then seems to realize what she’s getting at. A look of appreciation flashes across his face, but then, when the door opens, he reverts back to a horrified expression.

He’s so handsome
, she thinks. Like his brother was.

Alice spills into the room, throwing an apologetic look at Harrison—as if
she’s
the one screaming—and then turns to Janice. Janice just screams louder, scrabbles at the sheets, wrapping them around her wrists like ropes. When she finally stops screaming, she bites at the thick cloth coils. Sometimes she really acts this way, when the voices inside her make her want to hurl herself against the walls, but now she’s only acting. It’s fun, really. A diversion, just like Harrison asked for.

“Shhh,” Alice purrs. “It’s okay, Janice. Your son enjoyed his visit and will come again soon.”

“No,” Harrison says from behind Alice. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“But—”

“I just got spooked, that’s all. I’m okay now. I think I can handle her.” As if to demonstrate, he moves forward and sits on the end of the bed. He smiles at Janice and she has to fight off the urge to smile back. He’s so beautiful. Her beautiful baby boy has grown up to be a handsome young man. Is he real? She forgets sometimes which son is real and which is not.

Alice looks from Harrison to Janice, and then back to Harrison. “You sure?” she asks.

Harrison nods. “Mom, is there anything you need?” He’s a clever young man, too. He gets that from her.

She lets her mouth flop open and closed a few times, her tongue flashing out. Zoran says,
Tick,
and she says, “Shut up.”

“Are you
sure
there’s
nothing
you need?” Harrison says.

Tock,
Zoran says. She barely manages to ignore him. “I want to have breakfast with my son,” she says matter-of-factly.

Alice chews on her lip and Janice almost feels bad about misleading her. She’s the only person in this place that truly cares about her. “Okay, but you have to promise to be good. Can you do that, Janice?”

“You first,” Janice says.

Alice raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I promise to be good.”

Janice laughs, high and loud and much longer than is necessary. Just a crazy woman acting crazy. “Not
you
, silly,” she says. “I meant
him
.” She gestures to Zoran.
Tick tick
, he says. Good enough for her. “Okay, he’ll be good. And I will, too.”

Although she still looks very much unsure of the situation, Alice says, “I’ll go get breakfast for two.”

When Alice turns to go and Janice sees the expression on Harrison’s face, she almost wants to clap her hands with glee. Because there’s no mistaking that look: pride. She’s done something right.

The moment passes, however, as Alice leaves and her son springs into action. “We’ve only got a few minutes,” he says. “First, the Eye.”

He extracts a small canister from his pocket. He aims it at the Eye on the ceiling. Mist shoots from the nozzle, creating a cloud of chemical-smelling stink and coating the glass hemisphere with white. “Now they’re blind,” he says. She watches in awe as he unclips his visitor’s pass and slides it under the bed. “Might buy us a few more minutes while they search the room.” Next he pulls out some kind of a tool that looks like a lobster’s pincers. “For your anklet,” he says.

The urge to scream rises in the back of her throat like bile. She doesn’t want the metal lobster pincers anywhere near her. She stuffs her foot under the covers, out of sight.

“Mom, there’s no time for this. If we don’t get rid of your ankle monitor, they’ll be able to follow us wherever we go. They’ll bring you back here or maybe somewhere worse.”