Read Online Liquid Cool: The Cyberpunk Detective Series by Austin Dragon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Austin Dragon
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seized the opportunities I did. Because I knew what the future was, so why not make a different one? There's not a single, solitary thing to lose.
"Cruz, keep your nose clean as you always have and your ticket will come. That much I can promise you. Don't mess it up now. You have too many years invested. You and I both have seen what happens to those who went for the quick-fix or supposed-sure thing instead of being patient."
I always liked talking to Run-Time. He was a born motivational coach and life counselor. It's why we were friends for all these years. He talked the talk and he exuded positivity. That's what I needed. I was too much of a glass-half-empty kind of guy. I needed to surround myself with the Run-Times and Dots of the world to pull myself out of the mind gutter.
"Yeah," I agreed soberly. "It's hard to be patient when everyone is passing you by. An endless rat-race, but I'm not getting anywhere."
"You got solid legacy housing, an amazing girlfriend, and a classic car that everyone wants. The housing and the car are just things, but don't discount Dot in your life. You got a lot more going for you in life than you're acknowledging. Here's the thing, Cruz. Just because people are passing you by, doesn't mean they'll finish the race. Just because they're passing you by doesn't mean they're actually going anywhere. Just remain Cruz, the cool cat that you are, and your ticket will come."
The Concrete Mama was a piece of work--architecturally speaking. It was like chunk of granite set down on Earth from space. It was a no-frills monolith tower of legacy housing. If there was ever a planetary shockwave from a nuclear blast or an asteroid crash, you could bet that the Concrete Mama would still be standing. It was ugly but it would be here until the end of time in its ugliness. It was also my home for fifteen years.
My legacy housing was willed to me from my maternal grandparents. My parents had their own so it was passed to me. Those of us who lived in the Concrete Mama were not rich and we weren't the working-class. We were just legacy babies--laborers. We had free housing for life, made a meager living to cover any other incidentals, and nothing more. I hated it here, but free is free.
Unlike modern buildings, you couldn't take the parking elevators directly to your floor. You had to go up to the lobby first and then take the elevator capsules there to your floor. The lobby was a cesspool of sidewalk johnnies and looky-lous, all minding your business. I despised it. I exited the parking elevators and walked to the residential elevators as fast as I could, ignoring everyone.
I waited as I always did, in a huff. The lobby was always a madhouse. Strangers all over the place, watching you, looking to see what you were carrying, and staring at anyone with you, if there was anyone with you. The indignity of it all. Lobby scum. It was like an episode of the Island of the Doctor Moreau with animal people crawling around, hopping around, chasing their own tails, and sniffing each other's private parts.
"Did that girl of yours find you?"
I turned and it was Punch Judy. I almost didn't answer her.
"She did."
"Tell her not to call me! I am not your personal secretary!"
The elevator arrived and I got in and pushed the button to force-close the doors. Punch Judy got mad and proceeded to curse at me in French.
The other thing I hated was that I was halfway up in the building. If I had been even one more floor up, I'd be in the premium section where the apartments were double the size and almost as good as the penthouse levels. C'est la vie, as Punch Judy would say. Such was my unlucky life.
The hallways were always dimly lit, but I never felt uneasy walking to my place. I reached my suite--apartment 9732. With a sigh of relief, I pulled out my key, fastened by chain to my belt, and unlocked my deadbolt. Immediately, a blast of air and mist enveloped me to eradicate all those external germs (more on that
"Cruz, keep your nose clean as you always have and your ticket will come. That much I can promise you. Don't mess it up now. You have too many years invested. You and I both have seen what happens to those who went for the quick-fix or supposed-sure thing instead of being patient."
I always liked talking to Run-Time. He was a born motivational coach and life counselor. It's why we were friends for all these years. He talked the talk and he exuded positivity. That's what I needed. I was too much of a glass-half-empty kind of guy. I needed to surround myself with the Run-Times and Dots of the world to pull myself out of the mind gutter.
"Yeah," I agreed soberly. "It's hard to be patient when everyone is passing you by. An endless rat-race, but I'm not getting anywhere."
"You got solid legacy housing, an amazing girlfriend, and a classic car that everyone wants. The housing and the car are just things, but don't discount Dot in your life. You got a lot more going for you in life than you're acknowledging. Here's the thing, Cruz. Just because people are passing you by, doesn't mean they'll finish the race. Just because they're passing you by doesn't mean they're actually going anywhere. Just remain Cruz, the cool cat that you are, and your ticket will come."
The Concrete Mama was a piece of work--architecturally speaking. It was like chunk of granite set down on Earth from space. It was a no-frills monolith tower of legacy housing. If there was ever a planetary shockwave from a nuclear blast or an asteroid crash, you could bet that the Concrete Mama would still be standing. It was ugly but it would be here until the end of time in its ugliness. It was also my home for fifteen years.
My legacy housing was willed to me from my maternal grandparents. My parents had their own so it was passed to me. Those of us who lived in the Concrete Mama were not rich and we weren't the working-class. We were just legacy babies--laborers. We had free housing for life, made a meager living to cover any other incidentals, and nothing more. I hated it here, but free is free.
Unlike modern buildings, you couldn't take the parking elevators directly to your floor. You had to go up to the lobby first and then take the elevator capsules there to your floor. The lobby was a cesspool of sidewalk johnnies and looky-lous, all minding your business. I despised it. I exited the parking elevators and walked to the residential elevators as fast as I could, ignoring everyone.
I waited as I always did, in a huff. The lobby was always a madhouse. Strangers all over the place, watching you, looking to see what you were carrying, and staring at anyone with you, if there was anyone with you. The indignity of it all. Lobby scum. It was like an episode of the Island of the Doctor Moreau with animal people crawling around, hopping around, chasing their own tails, and sniffing each other's private parts.
"Did that girl of yours find you?"
I turned and it was Punch Judy. I almost didn't answer her.
"She did."
"Tell her not to call me! I am not your personal secretary!"
The elevator arrived and I got in and pushed the button to force-close the doors. Punch Judy got mad and proceeded to curse at me in French.
The other thing I hated was that I was halfway up in the building. If I had been even one more floor up, I'd be in the premium section where the apartments were double the size and almost as good as the penthouse levels. C'est la vie, as Punch Judy would say. Such was my unlucky life.
The hallways were always dimly lit, but I never felt uneasy walking to my place. I reached my suite--apartment 9732. With a sigh of relief, I pulled out my key, fastened by chain to my belt, and unlocked my deadbolt. Immediately, a blast of air and mist enveloped me to eradicate all those external germs (more on that
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