asks.
"Yeah, you know, the instrument? I play four days a week and tomorrow I've got a lesson at 1300 and I'm not about to miss it over a stupid assassination job. So give me the deets and let's do this."
They are stunned silent now.
"Who are you?" An older man across the room, sitting quietly through all this, is the one speaking. His hair is pure white but since this whole family is Texican, I suppose it used to be jet black like everyone else's.
"Semaj Prodigy, I fucking told you. Why'd you let me in if you're not sure of who I am? Am I wasting my time here? Because I could be riding right now. Michael is already pissed off I missed yesterday's lesson and James is the only reason I got out of it today. So let's go. Make up your mind or I'm leaving."
"Riding lessons?" Vincent again.
"What is it with you and my personal life? Do you have a job for me or not?"
In the end they most certainly did have a job for me. I killed seven people that first night, with Hand's help of course, then got lost in his eyes as he took me over to the planet pad. We never did have any time for sleep but that was OK with me. Him too, I think.
I dreamed about him all the way home.
It was the best fucking dream I ever had.
I take another drag of the cigarette and look across the street to the pawn shop. It's got a twenty-five-foot perimeter wall that surrounds twelve entire city blocks which reminds me a little of the Stag, but that's where the similarities end. This place has never seen the sun and the sun was the only bright thing about the Stag. And the Stag was a place for secrets and hiding, while this place right here, even with the razor wire and overzealous weapons system mounted on the perimeter wall, practically reeks of family and love.
I can hear the bustle of activity inside the compound even as people and traffic whizz past me on the dark street. I get a few looks, some boys call at me, egging me on with dirty names and promises of sex, but I ignore them.
If they want a fight they can come get it.
But they don't.
It's funny how people from the street automatically know if you're a victim or not. No one, and I do mean no one , has ever fucked with me down in the belly of Dallas. And I've walked some pretty fucking scary neighborhoods down here alone in my Dallas days.
I toss the smoke and head towards the pawn shop. Its most distinguishing feature, besides the wall and razor wire, is the sign out front that blinks in yellow neon announcing bail bonds and gold bought and sold.
I press and hold the buzzer for six seconds and wait.
It takes six minutes of me standing still and silent before a crackly voice addresses me over the wired comm affixed to the outside of the gate with a sloppy epoxy job.
"Yes?"
"Reporting in."
"Verification?"
I have a moment of jitters as I pull up the old code, but push it down and answer the man before any sort of detectable pause can be identified. "Semaj Prodigy."
I hear a distant laugh on the other end before the comm cuts out and I stand for a few more seconds in silence.
"Who?" A familiar voice this time.
I repeat myself. "Semaj Prodigy. Standing down ."
They pause as I pivot and smile and salute up at each of the six security checkpoints surrounding me in the doorway.
A light flashes down and I close my eyes and let it wash over me. The scan feels good, reminding me of all the weekends I spent here in Dallas with these people.
The gate clicks. I pull it open and enter the next vestibule. The door behind me closes, then another click and I open the second door which takes me into a small interior room with two-way glass on all sides. The lights go off and I hear the door open.
My heart jumps a little as the footsteps make their way towards me.
"Junco?"
I zero in on his artificially lit-up face, courtesy of my newly enhanced vision screen. "Hand?"
He pulls me towards him and the lights come on at the same moment. His night-vision goggles bump up against my head as I
"Yeah, you know, the instrument? I play four days a week and tomorrow I've got a lesson at 1300 and I'm not about to miss it over a stupid assassination job. So give me the deets and let's do this."
They are stunned silent now.
"Who are you?" An older man across the room, sitting quietly through all this, is the one speaking. His hair is pure white but since this whole family is Texican, I suppose it used to be jet black like everyone else's.
"Semaj Prodigy, I fucking told you. Why'd you let me in if you're not sure of who I am? Am I wasting my time here? Because I could be riding right now. Michael is already pissed off I missed yesterday's lesson and James is the only reason I got out of it today. So let's go. Make up your mind or I'm leaving."
"Riding lessons?" Vincent again.
"What is it with you and my personal life? Do you have a job for me or not?"
In the end they most certainly did have a job for me. I killed seven people that first night, with Hand's help of course, then got lost in his eyes as he took me over to the planet pad. We never did have any time for sleep but that was OK with me. Him too, I think.
I dreamed about him all the way home.
It was the best fucking dream I ever had.
I take another drag of the cigarette and look across the street to the pawn shop. It's got a twenty-five-foot perimeter wall that surrounds twelve entire city blocks which reminds me a little of the Stag, but that's where the similarities end. This place has never seen the sun and the sun was the only bright thing about the Stag. And the Stag was a place for secrets and hiding, while this place right here, even with the razor wire and overzealous weapons system mounted on the perimeter wall, practically reeks of family and love.
I can hear the bustle of activity inside the compound even as people and traffic whizz past me on the dark street. I get a few looks, some boys call at me, egging me on with dirty names and promises of sex, but I ignore them.
If they want a fight they can come get it.
But they don't.
It's funny how people from the street automatically know if you're a victim or not. No one, and I do mean no one , has ever fucked with me down in the belly of Dallas. And I've walked some pretty fucking scary neighborhoods down here alone in my Dallas days.
I toss the smoke and head towards the pawn shop. Its most distinguishing feature, besides the wall and razor wire, is the sign out front that blinks in yellow neon announcing bail bonds and gold bought and sold.
I press and hold the buzzer for six seconds and wait.
It takes six minutes of me standing still and silent before a crackly voice addresses me over the wired comm affixed to the outside of the gate with a sloppy epoxy job.
"Yes?"
"Reporting in."
"Verification?"
I have a moment of jitters as I pull up the old code, but push it down and answer the man before any sort of detectable pause can be identified. "Semaj Prodigy."
I hear a distant laugh on the other end before the comm cuts out and I stand for a few more seconds in silence.
"Who?" A familiar voice this time.
I repeat myself. "Semaj Prodigy. Standing down ."
They pause as I pivot and smile and salute up at each of the six security checkpoints surrounding me in the doorway.
A light flashes down and I close my eyes and let it wash over me. The scan feels good, reminding me of all the weekends I spent here in Dallas with these people.
The gate clicks. I pull it open and enter the next vestibule. The door behind me closes, then another click and I open the second door which takes me into a small interior room with two-way glass on all sides. The lights go off and I hear the door open.
My heart jumps a little as the footsteps make their way towards me.
"Junco?"
I zero in on his artificially lit-up face, courtesy of my newly enhanced vision screen. "Hand?"
He pulls me towards him and the lights come on at the same moment. His night-vision goggles bump up against my head as I
Similar Books
