Jett turned to the girl. She looked much younger up close. He doubted if she was older than fifteen.
"You okay?"
She glared at him. "You. Same one from the alley."
"That's right."
"Stop getting in the way."
He was taken aback from the fierceness of her tone. "Wait just a minute…"
Her finger jabbed into his chest. "You wait. Twice you screw the game. Get clued, yo."
"Screw the game?" His face heated so fast he was surprised the air didn't steam. "You were about to be assaulted by an entire gang. You know what they would've done to you?"
"Can take care of myself. No prob losing those numbtards."
"Oh, really? You didn't look like it."
"The whole point. So do like skel say and go sod. I'm good, yo."
Jett stared as she gave him a final warning look before shoving her way forward. In his mind he saw Wayne Thomas go limp; eyes closing, body sagging.
Jett's fists clenched. He darted through the crowds, catching up to her in a few long strides.
"Hey."
"Get lost."
He sped up, placing himself in front of her. "Not until you listen to what I have to say."
Her hand slid into her back pocket. "You want shank or something, elderberry?"
"What does that even mean? Why does everyone talk like stupid is their first language?"
Her brows knitted. "What — you don't streetspeak?"
"Does it sound like I do? What the hell is streetspeak, anyway?"
"Lingo. Quick, easy. Blow and go. No time waste."
Jett gave a rueful shake of his head. "Tweets and texts are a spoken language now. Unbelievable."
"What's tweets?"
"A sad form of ancient communication. Before your time."
She folded her arms, looking him over. "Where you from, anyhow? You different."
"I'm from another age."
It was her turn to look confused. "What?"
"You wouldn't understand. Let's cut to the chase. You almost got me killed. And a good man died, saving my life after you conveniently hit the skids. So don't act like your nose is clean."
Her head dropped, defiant stare softening. "Heard someone got off with biogun. Building fell. People… died."
"That's right. And one of them wasn't a tough. Like it or not, if you hadn't been in that alley, he wouldn't have died. So you owe it to him to straighten this out."
She gave him an angry stare. "How I pay up? Man down. Feel bad, but case closed."
"Case isn't closed. I want to know why you were there in the first place. Why you're out here dressed up like a two-dollar hooker but not selling skin."
"What's a hooker?"
Jett sighed. "Prostitute. Escort. You know — cash for, uh…"
She grinned. "Cash for cunny. You mean prossie. Trickflip. Kankibank."
"Okay, I get it. Why are you dressed like one? You didn't look anything like this the other night."
She fingered her spike-studded collar. "This camo. Masking up for lip slips."
He concentrated, trying to decipher her jargon. "So… you're undercover, looking for information?"
"Ace."
"About what?"
"Why you interested?"
"Maybe I can help."
"Why?"
"Because… it's the right thing."
She stared at him "You seven-thirty or something?"
"Don't know what that means."
She made a whirly gesture next to her head. "Brain-gassed. Nutso."
"Why? Because I want to help you?"
She dropped her gaze. "No one helps. Pay for play. Can't afford."
He reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'll help. No strings attached."
She shrugged his hand off as if it were a giant spider. Backing away, she held up a warning finger. "Don't touch me. Don't need you. Don't need help."
He raised up his hands. "Okay. No touching. No help. You get killed on your own. Or… maybe you trust. Just for a minute. Give me a chance." He pointed to Kermit's bar across the street. "I'm there most nights. You change your mind, look me up."
She jerked her chin that direction. "Maybe. Don't hold breath." She backed away, checking to see if he'd follow. When he remained in place, she turned and darted ahead, weaving between moving bodies under flashes of night and neon. Jett watched until she vanished before heading back home.
Forget about the girl. You have more important things to focus on.
Chapter 6
Good evening. You're with Cam Danvers on another NYN news Fast Break. Residents of the Warrens are furious with the lack of RCE response to crimes in the area. They claim their neighborhood is overlooked while districts like Manhaven feature regular patrols and fast response to emergency calls. Demonstrators clashed with Peacekeepers in front of the RCE headquarters in a display of protest gone wrong. Instead of peaceful discourse, once again the message is only more violence.
Tim LeBlanc thought about his little girl.
He smiled. His baby. Lil' Debbie, he used to call her. That was five years ago. She was just four. She was nine now. Probably didn't like being called Lil' Debbie anymore, if anyone bothered. He doubted it. That was his little nickname, something between just him and her. He was sure she went by her real name now. Deborah. If they allowed her to keep her name.
If she's even still alive.
"Looking fer cheese again, rat?"
LeBlanc glanced up. Metalmouth McGrath flashed a smile, light reflecting off his silver grin. He was a wide, flabby man with a massive head and no visible neck. Lank, dishwater-colored hair hung to his shoulder.
"Yeah, you're on the hunt again, I can see it in yer eyes. What is it this time? Lemme guess — missing pet case? Someone lose a little doggy?"
LeBlanc ignored the barb, raising his shot glass in salute. "McGrath."
The bar was grimy and dark. Other than that, it wasn't at all like Kermit's place. LeBlanc sat at the bar, taking his time with his shots. He had already hit five dives and had more to prospect, with limited funds to waste on drinking. He could have risked tracking down his regular snitches but snitching worked both ways, and the last thing he wanted was putting himself on the CKs radar. But he could haunt their favorite hangouts. Sometimes all the job required was listening. People always let something slip at bars. Loose lips sank ships a lot faster when booze was involved.
LeBlanc held two fingers up, motioning the bartender. "Give my man McGrath a double on me."
McGrath blinked, taking a seat beside LeBlanc. "What's this? The world's stingiest bastard offering to buy me a drink? What kinda setup is this?"
"No setup. A celebration. To your luck."
"My luck, eh? Funny, I don't feel so lucky."
"You should. Heard a building went down right next to your shop. Didn't scratch a single one of your bikes, though."
McGrath downed his whiskey and smacked his lips. "Yeah, that was a doozy. Bunch of CKs raising a ruckus as usual. Went from looking at bikes to chasing some young gal in the alley. All those boys after one little girl. Wasn't my business, though. Heard some shouting and yelling, then boom. Down comes the building. Somebody brought a little something extra to the party."
LeBlanc chuckled. "Yeah, I bet. Problem with the big guns is the idiots that buy 'em can't figure out how to shoot 'em." He motioned the bartender for another round.
McGrath looked mighty pleased when another shot slid in front of him. "Ain't that the truth? I tell you, back in the day me and my boys would have beat those CKs to pulp just for breathing. Chasing girls around. That's what toughs do now? I tell ya, they don't make 'em like they used to."
"Amen, brother. You get a look at what went down? Been hearing a bunch of strange rumors."