Socket 1-3 - The Socket Greeny Saga (41 page)

“My name is Mr. Black.” Patrick extended his
hand. I didn’t shake it. Edward the watchdog twitched. Patrick only
smiled.

“No offense, Mr. Black, but I only need a
second and I’ll be out of your way soon enough.”

“No problem. I see you have urgent business
and I wouldn’t want to be a burden, but you see we’re in the middle
of an exchange.” He held up the item that Streeter had placed in
his hand. “Mr. Street has given me something that I desire and I
wish to reimburse him for it.”

My imbed deciphered the marble as he rolled
it up and down his fingers like a magician. What looked like a
child’s plaything was actually a complex piece of gear that would
allow someone to codebreak encryptions. Mr. Black was not likely to
use such a device for the betterment of mankind. And Streeter would
know that.
Why would he do that?

“If you’ll allow me just a moment to verify
the contents,” Mr. Black said, “I’ll be done before you can lick
your lips.”

He stared a moment longer. I had the feeling
he was staring at my eyes and I was suddenly aware of my imbed’s
effect on them. Patrick held the marble out to Edward without
looking away. Edward took it around to the cab of the truck.

Patrick’s cologne stung my nostrils but it
still wasn’t strong enough to mask the smell of his burning skin
that emanated from tiny discs buzzing behind his ears. His stink
was worse than any of the other burners because he’d been doing it
for so long. A real veteran of gear addiction, he smelled like
summer roadkill.

I turned to Streeter. “You all right?”

He wouldn’t look directly at me, but I could
see his enlarged pupils and the inflamed ring around his irises. He
wasn’t in Charleston the other day seeking help. He was with
Patrick, but for what? Streeter had everything he needed at home,
why would he go to a void merchant? He knew this guy was a new-age
heroin dealer, giving his clients free mood discs until they were
hooked. Maybe this was more about addiction then his dead
parents.

“Mr. Street is quite a talented codebreaker,
would you agree?” Patrick said.

“What’re you doing here?”

I didn’t mean here in the parking lot or
dealing gear. I wanted to know why he bothered leaving virtualmode
to come back to his rotting skin. He knew exactly what I meant, but
it didn’t phase his fake smile. Only made it grow.

“I like to get back to the skin every once
in a while,” he said. “Mix it up a bit.”

More burners were near us, most of them
staring at Spindle. They were all teenagers.

“Why don’t you go somewhere else, recruit
your own kind, not these people,” I said. “They’re just kids.”

“My friend, I don’t need to recruit; they
line up for my services. Like children at an ice cream truck. They
need what I have.”

“You’re making them that way.”

He frowned. “I haven’t done anything. I’ve
only extended my hand, they simply take what’s in it.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Yes, I do. I’m giving them what they want.
Tell me, where is the crime in that? How am I responsible?”

“They don’t know what they want.”

He gestured to the crowd that seemed to be
waiting for us to be done, to have their turn. The smell of
smoldering flesh grew stronger.

“Clearly, they do,” Patrick said.

Edward came back around and nodded, then
fixed his stare on me. Patrick took a red disc from his pocket and
held it between his finger and thumb. Streeter reached for it but
Patrick snatched it back.

“We had a deal,” Streeter muttered through
thin lips.

“I’m curious.” He gestured to Spindle. “Tell
me about the mech, first.”

“He’s not for sale,” I said.

“I see.” He nodded for awhile, studying
Spindle while he rolled the disc in his fingers, purposely tempting
Streeter until he started to fidget. Patrick pushed off the
tailgate and circled around Spindle, tugging at the ridiculous
overcoat.

I scanned the security lookits through my
imbed. Normally, they would’ve made a few passes through this area
by now but I hadn’t seen one since leaving the stadium. It appeared
they had been reprogrammed to avoid Patrick while he did business.
No doubt, he had the gear to do that sort of thing so I reset the
security paths. One would be around within minutes.

“Very impressive.” Patrick peeked into
Spindle’s hood. “Where do you get one like this?”

“My parents are rich.”

“Oh, I’ve got money, my friend. Surely, you
have a price. Everyone has a price.”

“I’ve got everything I need.”

“Perhaps your friend has a price?” He went
to Streeter and looked down on him. “Mr. Street seems to need
something?”

“Listen, there’s a lookit coming this way in
another minute,” I said. “We’re done here.”

Streeter wasn’t about to leave until he got
what he came for. And Patrick didn’t seem concerned about the
incoming lookit, and even less concerned how I knew it was
coming.

“You promised,” Streeter growled. “I did
what you asked, now give it to me.”

“Of course, my friend, I will give you what
you want. First, I need you to give me what I want.”

“I did.”

He put his arm around Streeter and stroked
his cheek, whispering, “My wants have changed.”

I closed in on Patrick. Edward met me there
and the four of us stood uncomfortably close like we were about to
dance. I pulled Streeter to the side. “We’re finished, Mr.
Black.”

Patrick held up the glittering red disc like
a valuable jewel. Streeter was visibly shaking.

“I offer access to dreams,” Patrick
said.

“Not interested,” I said.

“Mr. Street is terribly interested, I’m
afraid to say. You see, he wants what I have, what everyone wants.”
He took Streeter’s hand and placed the item in his palm, gently
closing his fingers around it. “He wants his heart’s desire.”

The lookit arrived and did a slow loop
overhead, its eyelight pointed at us. Patrick watched it but spoke
to me. “You see, I’m doing nothing illegal, my friend. I’m giving
people their dreams. Can you do that? Can you make their dreams
come true?”

Streeter pushed through the crowd and ran
through the parking lot. Patrick pulled his glasses down his nose.
His enlarged pupils had nearly swallowed the whites of his eyes,
reflecting the headlights behind me. If I could take this guy out,
there would just be another one to take his place. How could I
argue with him? What people wanted was to fulfill their emotional
and physical desires, to get happy and get rid of weakness. To not
be afraid. There would always be someone like him to sell that to
them, even if the price was steeper than they could ever
imagine.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, my friend.” He
flicked his hand at me, as if he’d given me permission to
leave.

Spindle and I left the crowd without
incident. The scent of charred skin faded behind us. The only way
I’d see that cockroach again was if Streeter came back. And I
intended to put a stop to that.

T R A I N I N G

The key

Holographic fireworks exploded above the
stadium followed by the announcer shouting above the roar of the
crowd.

CHHHUUUUUUUUTTE!

“Wait, Streeter.” I caught up to him just as
he was leaving the parking lot.

“Go away.”

“What’re you doing? This isn’t like you.” I
stepped in front of him but he cut around. “Where are you
going?”

“Home.”

His lips were tight, and there were too many
lines around his eyes. He was lying.

I caught up, again. Spindle was trailing
behind. “I want to know where you think you’re going.”

“You deaf? I’m going home.”

“No bullshit, Streeter,” I said, flatly.
“Where you going?”

He shut down, marching toward the front of
the school with a distant stare.

“What’d Mr. Black give you?”

“Candy. Chocolate covered candy. Now, can I
go home and eat it, or do you want me to share?”

He was squeezing the object in his hand like
he was hanging on for his life. I chopped his hand as his arm swung
back and the disc dropped in the grass. I picked it up. The center
was ruby red, glittering with depth. My imbed read the contents,
drawing its data inside and deciphering the code. It was an access
key to a moody den in downtown Charleston.

“Give it back.”

“Just tell me what’s going on.” I tossed it
back. “I want to help.”

“You want to help? Then get out of my
way.”

“Seriously, just tell me why you’re going
there.” I put my hand on his chest and he finally stopped. “That’s
all I want to know.”

He rubbed the ruby center with his thumb and
sighed, looking off in the distance. Maybe it was my touch, or just
someone finally caring about where he was at and what he was going
through.

“It’s just a gear booster, that’s all,” he
said.
Lie.
“My home gear is junking, I need more dataflow
to, you know, go to that one… place.”

“Back to the gates?”

He nodded.

“I thought you were going to get help?”

“I will,” he said. “After.”

“I don’t think you should go.”

“Yeah, well it’s my life.”

“That’s a key, Streeter. It’s not a gear
booster.”

“Then why’d you ask? Look, if you want to
stop me, fine; go ahead and stop me. I don’t give a fuck because in
another week you’ll be gone and I’ll go get another one.” He threw
the thing at me. “Keep that for a souvenir.”

“How can you do this? That guy’s a void
merchant. You’ll be hooked.”

“I’ll take the chance.”

“You want to be one of them?”

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his
hand. “I got to do what I got to do.”

I dropped my hand and he didn’t run. He just
stared down.

“You don’t know what that’s like,” he said.
“I got to see my parents and I’ll do whatever I got to do.”

The key twinkled, like it agreed.

“Your parents are gone, Streeter. You’re
still alive, don’t do this to yourself. You got to let it go.”

He looked off to the side and sort of
laughed. “Man, I at least thought
you’d
understand.”

“My old man is gone, Streeter. I know that.
I don’t need to spend time on a memory. You got to face the facts,
you’re addicted to gear. Don’t let a memory ruin your life.”

He was nodding and, for a moment, looked
like he was considering what I said. He was trying to go somewhere
that didn’t exist anymore. He was trying to go back home, back to a
time when he was a little boy and his mom and dad were still
around. But that was a memory and he was here and now. He couldn’t
throw his life away for something that didn’t exist.

“Give me the key, I’ll use it now or I’ll
get one for later. Either way, I’m going and you can’t stop me.
It’s my life. Go live your own.”

“Forget it.” I clenched my fist. “I’ll
assign a Paladin sentry wherever that key leads. I’ll send doctors
to your house, if that’s what it takes. I’m not letting you do
it.”

I couldn’t do any of those things. He knew
it.

His energy swirled darkly around him with
waves of blue and violet, saturated with grief. His chest
heaved.

“I don’t have anyone,” he whispered. “You
know that? I’m all alone. I just got some things to say to my
folks, that’s all. I know that doesn’t make sense to you, you don’t
have to feel, but I… I do. I just think, maybe, things will be
easier if I see them one last time. That’s all I’m asking.”

“This is wrong, you need help. I know it
stinks, but sometimes the right thing smells like shit.”

“If it smells like shit,” he said, “it’s
shit, Socket.”

Halftime had arrived and it seemed like half
the crowd was walking past us, laughing and having a good time, but
whispering after they passed. They recognized Streeter, the
school’s virtualmode king, the number one codebreaker, slumped over
on the front steps with some white-haired stranger and a goofy
trench coat man.
Stranger.
Is that what I’d become? A
cold-blooded asshole?

He wiped his nose and eyes.

The facts were this: He was going. Now or
later. I’d rather be with him if he was going to do this. I could
protect him if I was there, but if he went alone there was no
telling what would happen.

“Promise you’ll get help after this?” I held
up the key.

He nodded.

“I mean real help. Like a family counselor
and gear addiction therapy. I mean it, I’ll tell my mother to send
the best doctors.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, looking up. “Yeah,
I’ll do it.”

I sent Spindle to fetch the car.

Streeter sat on the step, deflating with
relief. I stood in front of him, warding off stares of curiosity,
until the black sedan pulled up.

T R A I N I N G

Judgment day

There wasn’t a lot of talking.

Streeter sat in the passenger seat. His
fingers twittered on his leg like his hand was trying to run away.
In the window’s reflection, his eyes didn’t look at anything in
particular.

It was stop-and-go traffic until we reached
downtown’s historic marketplace, a long narrow building that
extended for blocks, where vendors peddled t-shirts, fragrance and
sweetgrass baskets to cash-heavy tourists. I found parking halfway
down the market in front of an outdoor café, the exact one Chute
and I were destined for a week earlier. Streeter sat quietly.
Fingers running.

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked.

He nodded, got out.

“Stay here.” I turned to Spindle in the back
seat. “Pull the hood tight and don’t move. Stay vigilant. I’ll be
back as soon as possible.”