Trouble Magnet (17 page)

After a while, Subar was aware someone was in his arms. At first he took her to be Missi, but soon realized it was Zezula. Her eyes were glassy, her expression beatific. Sprawled across an old couch on the other side of the room with less than a third of a stimstick remaining clamped in his slash of a mouth, Chaloni was grinning across at him. Subar had always been by turns respectful, chary, and envious of the gang leader. But at that moment, he would have died for him.

Though it did not seem so at that especially mind-blowing moment on that particularly jubilant afternoon, it was a possibility that was not as far from reality as he might have wished.

CHAPTER

10

They should have waited several months before trying to market the first of their spoils. Being of a youthful and impatient age, they waited several days. Not even the usually reflective Chaloni was immune to the insistent lure of instant cred. They were each and every one of them dead broke, having spent everything they had been able to accumulate or borrow to finance the raid. In the end, the temptation proved too great.

Chaloni chose the fence carefully. First he vetted the woman via contacts throughout Alewev. Then he paid a visit in person to sell a comparatively inconsequential packet of activated medicines Missi had picked up off the street. Finally satisfied with the choice, he selected a couple of small but extremely valuable items from the hidden stockpile and set off across Malandere with Subar in tow. Pretending to be his “slow” younger brother, Subar would serve as a second pair of eyes and as armed backup.

“I’ve never used a gun before,” he argued when the older boy explained his intentions. “Knives, a stunner—but never a gun.”

Chaloni pressed the compact pistol into Subar’s reluctant hand. “Since everything is going to go according to plan, you won’t have to use it this time, either. But there are times, y’know, when it’s enough to let someone else
know
that you have a gun.”

Subar indicated his understanding, conflicted between secret pleasure at having been chosen by Chaloni to accompany him in place of the older Dirran or Sallow Behdul, and concern at having to tote a high-powered weapon.

He relaxed a little when they entered the shop.

It looked a lot like a miniature version of the storage facility they had raided, only with all the goods crammed together, out on display, and none concealed by packaging. The assortment struck him as highly eclectic: a lot of junk interspersed with a few objects of real value. The presence of so much of the former might be intended to draw attention to the latter, he decided.

The middle-aged woman seated behind the long counter flashed maternal as they entered. “Wellup, wellin, boys.” She had a permanent squint, a relic of imperfect ocular surgery, and wagged a finger at Chaloni. “You sold me those pop-pills, as I recalling.” Her gaze flicked to Subar. “Who’s this sprightly youngster?” Subar bristled at the “youngster.” She might tag him differently if she could see the pistol presently residing in his right front pant pocket.

“My younger brother, Vione. Thought he’d like to see your place.” Chaloni winked. “Thought it would be educational for him to sit on a transaction.”

The proprietor nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Would you like some thirps to munch on while your big brother and I are attending to business? I have cinnamon and luret.”

“Sure,” Subar responded with falsified eagerness. In reality, he hated thirps. For all their imbued flavor, they had the consistency of desiccated packing material. Going along with the suggestion, though, earned him an approving glance from Chaloni.

Munch on the snack food he might, but that did not keep him from playing close attention to the business at hand. Settling herself in the chair behind the waist-high counter, the woman looked on expectantly as Chaloni set down the innocuous-seeming package he had carried in tucked under one arm. She might affect a motherly countenance, Subar decided, but the gleam in her eye was pure distilled avarice.

Carefully, Chaloni unwrapped his precious payload. Revealed in the beam of the ceiling-mounted spotlight was a booklet of real paper. Beside it, he laid out a trio of short red stubs of similar material. Not having studied these particular items in any detail before, Subar leaned closer for a better look. The booklet advertised some kind of ancient sporting contest involving men in uniform. The accompanying triplet of smaller, darker material was devoid of imagery either flat, multidimensional, or projective. Antique indeed, he thought.

The shop owner’s reaction was instructive. Normally steady as robotic digits, her fingers actually trembled as she picked up the booklet. Hesitating, she looked over at the grinning Chaloni. “May I?”

“Buyer has the right to examine the goods,” he replied generously.

Page by precious page, she leafed through the fragile booklet. Setting it down as reverently as if it were the original copy of the books of the United Church, she delicately fingered one of the three red bits of paperboard that accompanied it.

“The dates all match,” she whispered, as if unable to believe her own words. “Same dates, and the location of the sporting contest is mentioned prominently on all four items.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Chaloni agreed importantly. “I thought that might matter.”

“You thought…?” She broke off and waved a hand over the counter. A cylindrical tridee unit sprang to life, its glow highlighting her weathered face in soft green. “I’ll make an offer.”

Subar nearly choked on a half-chewed thirp when he saw the number that appeared in the relevant portion of the projection. Chaloni was game, but even he was clearly taken aback. He had arrived prepared to bargain. It was expected that he do so. A more experienced seller would have recovered in time to do so.

“That’s okay. I mean, we accept.” Having failed to keep his expression neutral, he compensated somewhat by maintaining an even tone. But just barely.

“Good. I don’t mind haggling, but unlike some shop folk I don’t particularly like it.” She extended a hand.

Reaching into a jacket pocket, Chaloni pulled out his card and passed it over. As she ran it through the glow of the cylinder, it beeped twice, softly, before she returned it to him. A quick check showed that his pseudonymous account had been credited with a sum never encountered since he had originally stolen the device. He rose.

“We ought to be getting home. Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Benawhoni.”

“And you, Puol.” She smiled at Subar. “You too, Mr. Vione. If you don’t mind my inquiring,” she asked hurriedly as the two youths headed for the doorway, “where did you obtain these very special relics?”

While not prepared for the size of the opening offer, this was a query Chaloni had anticipated, and he was ready with a response. “Third-party sources. Can’t say more than that,” he finished, having said nothing at all.

“Of course. I’m sorry. Unforgivable breach of etiquette.” The proprietor looked properly apologetic. “Can you—do you have access to more material like this?”

Chaloni halted at the doorway. “I might be able to come up with a few pieces. You’re saying that you’re interested?”

She nodded once, deliberately. “Yes. I am interested. How soon can you bring me more?”

Chaloni shrugged, as if the matter was of no consequence. “Give me a couple of days to talk to my suppliers. Tueswen morning okay?” She indicated agreement. “Maybe something bigger next time?”

“Whatever you can get your hands on, child.” Turning slightly, she gestured behind her. “Sometimes the smallest items are the most sought after. In this business it’s all a matter of matching merchandise to a market.”

Chaloni nodded as he stepped out through the invisible, momentarily deactivated security barrier. It was not until he and Subar stepped off their second public transport of the morning that the two of them finally felt safe enough to free their feelings. Their shouts of ecstasy and excitement drew looks of disapproval from commuters chained to the joylessness of actual jobs. Neither youngster paid the least attention to the judgmental stares their youthful expressions of delight attracted.

“Tvan,”
Chaloni exclaimed, “did you see how much? Did you
see,
Subar?” The older boy was fondling his credcard with a caress hitherto reserved solely for Zezula.

“I saw, I saw.” Unable to restrain himself, Subar was prancing all around the gang leader like a Quillp at the ritual nest pole. “What now, Chal? What do we do next?”

“Do next?” Grinning hugely, Chaloni waved the credcard teasingly back and forth in front of the younger boy’s eyes. “We spend, friend. Spend like we’re briated, because there’s flare more where this came from!”

Despite Chaloni’s exultant exclamation they did not spend quite like they were intoxicated. That they were clearly under the influence of something, however, was on display for all to see. Handed
real
cred for the first time in their young lives, all the members of the group felt free to indulge their own individual desires, sometimes in previously unsuspected ways. Who would have thought, for example, that that silent sentinel Sallow Behdul would have wanted to take out a subscription to Benews, buying the headset that allowed one to listen to direct-induction media twenty-six hours a day? Or that Missi, apparently forever content to hover in the shadow of the alluring Zezula, would spring for a phototropic hair weave that caused her coiffure to change color as well as pattern with every light shift?

They spent and they played and they went their separate ways, keeping their newfound wealth secret from relatives of every stripe. Heeding Chaloni’s admonition, they were also careful not to overdo it. Able to purchase personal transportation up to and including a private, enclosed skimmer, the gang leader opted instead for an open street glider. He could customize it to fit his taste without drawing the attention of the authorities. Private skimmers could maybe come later, he explained to his exuberant acolytes, when they had sold more of the goods and accumulated greater cred.

Ashile was stunned when they met on the rooftop of her building and Subar presented her with the necklace. He insisted on fastening it around her throat himself. Mouth open, she found herself breathing deeply as she held the bottom curve of the band up to the light. Befitting the bastard glow of evening, the absorptive faceted gems trapped the city smog and promptly twinkled orange.

“Subar, I—I don’t know what to…” Her tone darkened and she turned to face him. “Where, how, did you get this?”

He grinned broadly, enjoying himself. “Same way everybody gets things. By buying and selling.” He nodded in the direction of the ribbon of refracted light that encircled her neck. “The bigger stones are Burley firestorm. Like it?”

“Like it? I never in my life, Subar…”

She ought to have questioned him further, she knew. She ought to have challenged him straight up. But every time she started to do so, a shaft of orange flame distracted both her eye and her attention. So she was left with only one thing to do.

She put her arms around him and kissed him.

His eyes got almost as big as the necklace’s central stone. Pulling back, he was still smiling, but wary now. Not only because of the abruptness of the embrace, but because it made him feel unexpectedly funny.

“
Tloat,
Ashile. Take it easy. I’m going to assume that means that you do like it.”

Having decided to keep it, she was examining the necklace more closely now. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It must have cost you—I can’t imagine how much it cost!”

He feigned indifference. “It wasn’t so bad. Buying two of them, I got a great deal.”

She looked up from the necklace and blinked. “Buying two…?”

“Well, sure,” he told her innocently. “This one for you and the other for Zezula.”

“Zez…” A wealth of emotion distorted her expression in a matter of seconds. “You gave one just like this to Zezula?”

He nodded, in the manner of those males of the species who have paused to smell a flower unaware that the sheer cliff directly behind them has just been shivered by tectonic forces beyond their imagination and is about to collapse on top of them.

“Uh-huh. She liked hers, too. Not as much as you, I think.”

Reaching behind her neck, she touched a forefinger to the coded clasp. Reading its new owner’s body charge, the necklace released. She caught it as it fell from her throat and tossed it back to him. He caught it reflexively.

“Ashile, what…?”

Her tone had passed beyond frosty into the realm of the arctic. “I’ve just decided I don’t
like
Burley firestorm. But thank you for the thought.” Turning, she strode away from him and toward the building’s lift, walking fast but not hurriedly, the sinewy shape of her a sine curve counterpart to the stiff rooftop profusion of aerials and vents. Utterly bewildered, Subar stared down at the very expensive piece of rejected jewelry.