He paused, momentarily stunned. "That's… not true, Deejay."
"It is. But don't worry, I don't hold it against you."
He smashed his cigarillo into the ashtray. "And don't go saying you got killed. You're not dead."
On the screen, she raised her arms as if to demonstrate. "I'm not alive, either. Cash, it's been two years now. You have to get a grip on the idea that—"
He raised a finger. "We're not having this conversation. I'm going to check on Annmarie."
He stomped off, heading to the cargo hold. How could she say that? She's never brought it up before. She knows I'd give anything to change what happened. To take her place if I could. It should have been me. Not her. Me. He slammed a fist into the wall, chest heaving.
No. Not going there again. He straightened and flexed his fingers, wincing. Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the narrow hall until he entered the vehicle hangar, which also served as a storeroom, workshop, and temporary detention center.
He forced a casual grin as he approached the cell that housed Annmarie. The photo that showed up on the Bounty Boards displayed her as a gorgeous, petite woman. The person in the cell was anything but gorgeous. The grotesquely overweight man looked up as Cash approached. Annmarie's face was a collection of sagging pockmarked flesh, rubbery lips, and watery, red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was a dark, tangled disaster, as was the thick beard that hid most of her face.
Cash tapped on the cell bars. "Almost there, Annmarie. Got you here in one piece like I promised. And you said we weren't going to last a day."
Annmarie didn't look relieved. "Just means the hit goes down today. You don't know these people. They won't stop until I'm dead. I know too much."
Cash tried to hide his amusement at hearing her feminine voice coming from the bearded mouth. "Oh, I know the syndicates better than you might think. And you're almost right. Good thing you took all the precautions you could. Getting that flesh suit was a good move. Changed your looks and gender, albeit temporarily. How much did the alterations cost you?"
"Too much. Didn't work, obviously."
"Well, one thing you can't change is your DNA. And not your unique taste for the finer things. When I found out your drink of choice was Scorpion Kiss, it wasn't too hard to keep tabs on the three joints in the region that stocked the stuff. You took the precaution of having your bottles shipped, but that's easy enough to trace. Took a while, but I managed to narrow it down. Scanners finally picked up your DNA on a glass you send back to the hotel kitchen."
She sneered, making her face even uglier. "Congrats, genius. I'm sure no one else thought of the same thing."
"If they did, they didn't get to you in time. And for that, you should be grateful. You're only alive because of me; don't forget that."
"Proud little man." She rolled her eyes. "You still don't get it. Why go through all the trouble of tracking me down when they can wait for some knuckle-dragging, misinformed, low-level misanthrope to deliver me like a gift-wrapped present?"
Cash frowned. "Hey — who are you calling low-level?"
Annmarie sighed, dropping her bushy head. "Let's just get this over with."
Cash adjusted his stance as the Battle-Cat lurched to a stop. Deejay's voice crackled over the wall speakers.
"This is it."
Cash glanced at Annmarie. "Let's take a walk, kiddo."
The heavy, rusty hangar doors rattled open, allowing gusts of hot, dusty wind and blinding sunlight. Cash pushed a pair of tactical shades over his eyes. The liquid crystal lenses adjusted the tint automatically, compensating for the glare. An interactive display opened across the surface, allowing a wider range of vision, automatic hazard detection, and an array of other options. He glanced at Annmarie.
"Don't get any funny ideas. You make a run for it; you get shot in the leg."
She sighed behind her thick mustaches. "Yeah, like there's any place in this city I can run to."
They walked past his armored wheeler, a behemoth of alloyed steel plate and jumbo tires he called the Blunderbore. Annmarie glanced at it.
"Wouldn't we be safer driving that thing?"
"Maybe. Maybe we'd attract all the wrong kinds of attention, too. Plus, traffic is murder out there. We'd be sitting ducks if anything should go sideways."
"So what's your plan — we walk all the way to the precinct?"
Cash grinned. "Yep. It's only five blocks. We blend in with the crowds, and no one's the wiser."
"So you're going to get me killed on foot. Fantastic."
"I don't plan on getting you killed at all. The bounty's void if that happens. So keep your mouth shut and stick close to me. Time to see if that flesh suit was worth the money you paid for it."
The clamor of the city engulfed them as they exited the Battle-Cat's interior. The hangar doors clattered shut behind them. Cash glanced at the helmeted tiger emblazoned on the floater's battered hull. He made a mental note to get it repainted. Like everything on the old cargo hauler, it was worn and faded.
"Get me some eyes, Deejay."
Her voice buzzed over the datcom inside his ear. "Up and away, Cash."
Two tiny drones shot from the top of the Battle-Cat and soared upward where they hovered like electronic hummingbirds. Scanning the vicinity, running facial recognition and threat detect programs. The feed displayed inside Cash's sunglasses, where he could pick up on any alerts.
They joined the throngs of people on the streets of Tijuana. Cash glanced around. It was easy to get lost in the crowd. People of all sorts went back and forth. Men and women in business attire, glancing at floating displays on their holobands. Many of the migrants kept their traditional styles of hijabs, turbans, salwar kameez designs, mosaic beads and prints. Mexicans proudly displayed their vibrant fashion, blending traditional with Midwestern styles. Young people strutted in loose and comfortable street gear. The place was a melting pot, and no one paid Cash and Annmarie any mind as they picked their way along.
Tiny booths were crammed into every nook and hold on the roadside, where holographic sellers beckoned and called out their wares to the milling crowds, shifting languages to suit the nearest customer.
"Cigarillos. Cigars from Cuba. Prime hash from Columbia. Coronas, blunts, hookahs, vapes. You smoke it; I got it."
"Holobands. Jailbreak yours here. Get in and out the Havens without detection; completely foolproof."
"Pleasure model synoids, hombres. Get your freak on; it's not cheating if she's not real. Got 'em with sausages for the senoritas, too. Whatever your pleasure. Free basement stalls for privacy."
"Guns, pistolas. Gotta protect yourself out here. Got the latest military-grade specials. Bioguns, going fast. Get one before they're gone. Trust me; you don't wanna be the only one unarmed."
"Brand new holovisors. VR with full sensory experience. You won't know what's real. And you won't care."
"Tamales. Elotes. Tacos. Cold sodas. Best you ever had."
Cash stopped in his tracks, looked at the vendor and held up two fingers. "Dos tamales. Gimme a Limon soda too." He glanced at Annmarie. "You want something?"
Pure contempt flashed across her chubby face. "You gotta be kidding me."
He shrugged, accepting the paper plate from the smiling android behind the counter. His holoband buzzed, transferring funds when he swiped it across the payment sensor. "Hey — a man's gotta eat. Been surviving on ration bricks practically the whole trip."
He peeled back the cornhusk wrapping and took a huge bite of steaming dough, spicy beef, and melted cheeses. His eyes squeezed shut as the taste exploded inside his mouth. "Oh, man. So good."
Deejay's voice buzzed in his ear. "Now's not the time, Cash. Get moving."