Chapter 323

On Jackson’s wrist, the not-Rolex dangled like expensive bait, fifty to a hundred thousand selve of temptation. Even after the fence’s cut, the potential score would be enough to draw exactly the kind of attention we needed.

My suspicions were confirmed shortly after we turned around and traveled up the same street we’d come in on. This time, the rock struck the car’s back window. The thrower’s accuracy remained excellent, and the stone bounced off the corner, leaving a sizable crack.

Jackson slammed on the breaks, gave me a calm nod, threw the driver’s side open and stepped out. For the most part, he was a decent actor, though his pantomimed hyperventilation leaned more towards the fear side than to the anger side, which was likely unintentional. Thankfully, the watch did its job, and our mutual malefactor was too fixated on the band to be paying any real attention to micro expressions. “Think that’s funny, you little shit?”

Tearing eyes away from the platinum watch, the kid looked him over with cold indifference. “That a rhetorical question?”

“Oh, so you do think you’re funny.”

“Bingo hall’s bombed out, grandpa. Better hobble on home.”

“‘Bout to see how well you can run with this boot up your ass.” Jackson jogged towards the kid, doing a much more authentic impression of being pissed off now that he actually was.

The kid tensed, taking a split-second to size up Jackson before he vaulted out of the truck bed, sprinting directly towards a nearby alley.

As far as minds went, the kid’s was surprisingly disciplined. His thoughts remained firmly fixed on the current moment until Jackson committed to chasing him, only then wandering to how lucky he was to encounter such a windfall, gauging the distance, how much he would lose in the short sprint from the street to the back alley and how likely he was to take a loose brick to the dome from the rooftop ambush. Sifting a little deeper, I was able to pull the address of a nearby safe house, and the identity of their leader as well.

It was a name I expected to come up again. Eventually. Certainly not this soon.

I pulled up my contacts and dialed the steward. As the line was ringing, I rolled down the window and shouted. “Jackson, let the little bastard go.”

Jackson stopped awkwardly, off-balance, then spread his arms, frustrated. When I gestured for him to come back, he jogged back to the car, his expression stormy. “How are we gonna figure out where they’re operating out of if they don’t rob me and take the watch?”

“Hello?” The steward’s voice piped into my head. I ignored long enough to point out the two kids on the rooftop above us, staring down in confusion, bricks held in their hands.

“Ah.” Jackson said, anger disappearing immediately.

“Your rat problem is a mouse problem.” I told the Steward, not having to reach far to sound pissed off.

“Excuse me?” He returned.

“The thieves you wanted me to “deal” with. They’re kids, asshole. And not just kids. A whole ring of fucking urchins and orphans.” Out of the peripheral of my vision, Jackson mouthed ‘where the hell are you even getting this,’ and I gestured for quiet, waiting for the Steward’s reaction. When it didn’t come, I pushed harder. “Wasn’t taking care of the homeless your whole thing? Odd that they feel they have to steal from you.”

“This… makes no sense.” The Steward stammered, more put off than I’d ever heard him. “They would be welcome. If they joined us, everything they’ve stolen would be given freely.”

I thought of Astrid and Astria. “Not everyone likes throwing in their lot with large groups. People fall through the cracks. You should be more aware of that than anyone.”

There was a long silence. “Regardless of who they are, they are causing irreparable damage to a place that serves as a sanction and stronghold to countless others.”

I let it hang. Drew out the moment, to really punctuate what he was asking. “The thefts stop and we’re square. Yes?”

He responded with a negative noise, deep in his throat. When he spoke, his voice was uncomfortable. “I’d prefer some degree of proof—”

“—And I’d prefer to not be unleashed on children like a garden variety Pitbull, yet here we are. Really not in the mood to go carving off tiny fingers for you—”

“—Not… that.” The steward interjected immediately. “If they’re children… I don’t wish them harm. Only that they are gone. Perhaps, a return of inventory could suffice?”

“Okay. But you get what you get. I can’t control what they’ve already sold.” I pointed out dryly, inwardly bracing as I waited for his answer.

“Fine” The steward groused, disconnected the line a minute later.

/////

Dust motes hung suspended in the golden shafts of late afternoon sun that pierced the warehouse’s skylight. The air was thick with the mingled scents of cardboard, metal, and the sharp tang of electronics still in their packaging. It was easy enough to manipulate my way inside – kids are more direct than adults, their surface thoughts comprising the majority of what bounces around their heads. Through the rafters, I scanned through dozens of minds until finally settling on one that seemed convinced she was second in command.

This was so far out of my comfort zone, the distance was unquantifiable. When it came to negotiations, I preferred the carrot approach. Positive reinforcement was just better long term. Carrot played to greed instead of fear, made people think more about what they could get out of you, rather than how best to get away from you.

Unfortunately, carrot wouldn’t work here, because the person in question had every reason to hate me, and would likely resist any offer of help or direction simply out of spite.

Which left me with stick.

So far, the girl had been completely cordial. She was a civilian, young, between thirteen and fifteen. Went by Cat, though her real name was Caitlyn. Freckles and mousey blonde hair framed hopeful dark eyes. Through a mix of suggestion, and flashing knowledge picked up from other surface scans, I’d led her to believe I’d been in contact with their leader, and was here to help them expand their operations.

We were treading water, trading niceties while we waited for the man himself who was still sleeping, recovering from being out late the previous night. Below us, scattered whispers and footsteps echoed off metal walls as other children moved through the maze of stolen goods. I looked back over the rows of pilfered items and supplies, a significant portion that could have doubled for a small wholesale store. “It’s impressive how much you’ve all managed in such a short time.”

She glowed at the praise, which pained me a little. “It’s all David. He brought us all together. Found us all and gave us a place here, one-by-one. We’re really grateful to him.”

Tour over, we arrived at a small meeting area with a wide table, where Cat informed me we’d discuss business once everyone was present.

She returned to where a metal kettle whistled atop a single butane burner, lifting it from the heat. The steam curled visibly in the cool air. “Tea?”

“Sure.” I took the cup she offered, choking down the grassy, bitter notes of unsweetened matcha. “It’s stout.”

“Sorry. I don’t really know how to mix it.” Cat chuckled sheepishly “Never drank much tea before.”

That made sense. It’s not like she could just look it up on the internet.

“Well, many people enjoy it as is, so technically you did nothing wrong.” I opened the mini-fridge, spotting a small jug of milk, which I cut mine with. “But if you want a different, more Americanized spin on it, granulated sugar goes a long way, along with whole milk or heavy cream.” I altered mine and offered her the same, which she accepted.

Her eyes widened at the taste. “That’s delicious.”

“And significantly less healthy than your version, but you know, minor details.” I joked, and she laughed.

The laughter altered to a shriek as David chose that precise moment to throw the door open, his wand pointed at my head. There was sleep in his eyes, and he’d clearly dressed himself in a hurry. Still, he looked better than the day I’d met him, when he’d been harried and underfed, in hiding with his father at the Galleria.

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With the mask on, it took him a second to place me, but once he did, his expression went dark. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same,” I returned, keeping my voice neutral. When he didn’t pick up on the obvious, I jostled the hand-crossbow beneath the table, making its presence—and who it was trained on—blatantly obvious.

David immediately went pale. He kept the wand deathly still, attention switching to the girl. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No, we were talking about tea, psycho.” Cat hissed, looking between us in confusion. “Put the wand down.”

Minutely, David shook his head, lip curling as he stared at me. “This is the asshole who killed my Dad.”

“Oh.” The blood drained from her face until the pallor of her skin matched his. “He said–I didn’t know.”

Notably, David didn’t mention the crossbow. Which was fine. Given the choice between terrifying one child or two, obviously, I’d prefer the former. We could keep that between us, let the threat stay implicit instead of explicit.

Still, I had to be careful. I’d already irrevocably altered David’s life once. He’d had a chance to take a shot at me that night and didn’t, instead making the smart choice to bide his time, but if I fucked up here, gave him the impression that these drop-ins were going to be a regular thing? There was a good chance he’d change his mind and become the sort of problem I couldn’t ignore.

“Like I told you before.” I stared through him. “Get that wand out of my face.”