A girl, maybe a year younger than Ko, drifted up to them. She wore stylised magistrate’s robes cut to reveal legs and cleavage. “Mr Wu? Mr Lam will receive you upstairs in the gallery.” She pointed to a hooded balcony on one of the upper levels.
“Lam, huh?” Ko glanced at Fixx. “He’s not expecting two of us. ”
The operative nodded, a curious, distant expression on his face. “You settle what you gotta.”
“You just going to stand here and sniff the air?”
Fixx walked away like he knew exacdy where he was going. “Don’t worry ’bout me. I’ll be around.”
In the depths of the shadowed booth, Juno sipped her drink and gave Frankie an artificial, purse-lipped smile. He met her eyes and hesitated.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning in. “If you don’t like it here, we can go someplace else after-”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I’m just… just tired.”
Frankie’s expression didn’t change, and Juno felt cold inside, as if something was pushing at the cage of her ribs but couldn’t get to her throat. Why can’t I tell him? The question burned in her, the embers of her dreams and the echoes of the conversation in the church still drifting around her mind like windborne ash. Her mouth opened and closed, but each time she tried to frame the thoughts, speech fled her. Juno could not make herself tell him, as hard as she tried.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to come if you weren’t up to it. ”
She forced another smile. “No. No, this is a great club. The Han is one of the few places I can go where I’m not hounded by drones and people who want autographs.” Juno squeezed his hand. “Can we just not talk about it? Just be together for a while?” The moment the words left her mouth and she turned her mind’s eye from the darker thoughts, she felt calmer, tension ebbing.
“Sure,” he said, a frown threatening to form at the edges of his expression.
It was Juno’s turn to be concerned. “What about you? What’s bothering you, Frankie?”
He seemed on the verge of telling her, but then a screen set into the top of their table lifted itself up and chimed. “Your guest has arrived, Mr Lam,” it announced.
“I, uh, have to-”
She waved him away. “That’s fine, go ahead.”
He reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, as if he needed to make sure she was still real. Frankie stepped out of the booth, straightening his tie.
A boy cruised past, bearing a tray with dozens of small jewelled containers. Juno caught his eye and he paused. She threw a glance to make sure Frankie wasn’t looking back at her and beckoned the waiter closer. “I need some blue,” she told him, the sudden need licking at her gut. The words felt new and strange, as if she had never said them before.
The boy gave her a beautiful cloisonne box in green and gold; inside were dozens of dot-sized tabs, glistening like sapphires.
On the upper galleries there were rows of doors leading off to VIP suites and chillout rooms. Frankie kept his attention away from them as he passed, memories of the activities in the tower returning to him in blinks of smell and sight.
There was a figure arched over the balcony, tapping the brass rail with nervous energy. Turning to face him, the executive saw the youth’s drawn, serious face and almost smiled. Hell. He’s a damn kid.
“Mr Lam?” he drawled, the affected sneer on his lips just failing to give the effect of cocksure arrogance he was aiming for.
Frankie shook his head. “Steal any good cars lately?”
The thief’s face soured. “Fuck you, wageslave.”
He nodded. “Right. Guess that proves who you are.”
“You got the, uh, payment?”
He pulled two smartcards from his pocket. “Here. All-access flight vouchers for Raumhansa Transcontinental. These’ll take you anywhere but orbit.”
Suspicion bloomed on the younger man’s face. “Where’s the money? No cash, no deal-”
“Relax,” said Frankie, as much to himself as to the youth. He produced a ticket. “The money is in a case in the cloakroom. This is the check for it.”
The kid began to back away. “That’s not what we agreed.”
Frankie stood his ground. “Hey, I got no reason to trust you either. How do I know that what you’ve got for me isn’t bogus?” He wiped his hand across his brow. The tension in the gallery was draining him. He sat heavily in a chair. “Ah shit, look. Just give me the name and you can take the stuff and go. I’m not interested in anything else.” He put the ticket and the cards down on a table. “I don’t have time to play these games, kid.”
“My name is Ko,” said the thief, with irritation. He stood his ground, tense and ready to fight. Fists balled, shoulders set, ready to go to the mat with anyone.
Frankie studied him, and saw the mirror of himself there, a decade ago, standing in the corridor of a detention centre…
Brother, listen to me! If you don’t do this, you’ll go to prison, and you know what will happen in there: indentured work service on the mainland, maybe even sending you to the rad-zone reconstruction projects! You won’t survive in there! Look, my supervisor at the academy knows the judge and he’s willing to put in a good word for you. I vouched for you, Frankie. I told him you didn’t want to be in a gangcult, you just fell in with the wrong crowd! Come on! If not for me, then for Mum and Dad! I have faith in you, I know you can be more than this.
I don’t wanna be a damn corp, Alan! I’m not like you, the good boy with the great grades.
It’s not about that, Frankie! It’s about surviving! You gotta trust me, brother! Please!
“Why the hell should I trust you?” said Ko, and abruptly the executive realised he’d been thinking aloud.
Frankie eyes him. “Because, I’m guessing here, that both of us have something to lose. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” came the reluctant, distant reply. “I got someone… something to lose.” Ko took the cards and the ticket. “The dead guy, his name was Lam?”
“Family,” said Frankie, staring at the floor. He could hear the blood singing in his ears.
Ko nodded gravely. “It was a couple of Wo Shing Wo hitters. It wasn’t mistaken identity, an accident or any of that shit. They were paid to do it. ”
“The name?” Frankie felt sick with anticipation and dread.
Ko told him.
The cool, crystalline hit was coming on strong when the apparition rose into her vision. Juno stiffened with fright as he took solidity there, at the mouth of the alcove. He blocked the light from the rest of the club like an eclipse dulling the sun.
“Miss,” came a voice, rich and smooth. “Might I presume to take a moment of your time?”
Juno nodded woodenly, and the man shifted into the booth with her, taking the place where Frankie had been sitting. She felt very small in his presence-or was that just the Z3N? The capsules were supposed to make her feel better, make the shades and dreams go away. Lately they seemed to do the opposite.
He said something and she caught only a little of it; was he asking if something was broken, asking to share the hit? Looking for a, a fix?
“But you can call me Joshua.” He took off his shades and studied her in a caring way, a brotherly way. “You remember me, Juno? Newer Orleans? Under the ’dome?”
She had that memory somewhere, but it shrank from her whenever she tried to hold on to it. Confusion creased her face. “I… am not sure we’ve met.”
“I know the feelin’,” he admitted. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I won’t hurt you, you understand that?”
She nodded; the mere idea that he would harm her seemed laughable. It seemed to her that she’d always known that about him. “Of course not. That’s not why you’re here.” And if Juno thought very hard, she could just about understand why he had come. What it was he wanted. What it was he was offering her.
“The dreams, they happen in the day,” he said, careful and matter-of-fact. “Angels in the glass and the snakes, sometimes.” He gave a shudder. “Stronger now.”
Juno’s hand reached out and took his. It seemed like the right thing to do. “The days… When I’m in the now it’s all so clear and vivid, but the days before are cloudy and dull. The further back I try to see, the darker-” Her breath caught. “I don’t want to look back.”