Department of Public Health of all things, and grinning at him just like I would if I was in the mood to murder someone in order to let off some steam.
Then Jabali offered me a wide, sloppy grin. “Well, Mistah Cates,” he said, stressing the last syllable of mister to make it a little less a sign of respect, “what’s your pleasure? Seeing as I’m your entire entourage this evening.”
I grimaced. I couldn’t fuck with someone this cheerful. I looked out into the night. The boat was already invisible, the two miserable girls gone. “Take me to Gleason,” I said, swallowing. “I want to see her.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “Shit, boss,” he said, “I don’t know. Better take you back to the bar, let brighter folks help you out.”
I nodded, and we started walking east, skirting the stadium. There weren’t a lot of people in the area, normally, aside from the squatters, but it felt unusually quiet. Even in this godforsaken area there were usually a few bums, a few pocket slicers looking to roll you, a couple of menacing Augment junkies trying to intimidate you long-range. As we ate up blocks we saw almost no one, little rainbow puddles of slick, oily melted snow everywhere.
I waited a few minutes, feeling like a coward. “How’d she die?” I finally managed, my heart pounding, my throat swollen.
He shrugged. “Something goin’ around. A lot of people down at Pick’s are coming down with it. It’s fucking nasty.” I kept my eyes grimly ahead, but saw him glance nervously at me as we walked. “Uh, she went fast, boss. When she came in, lookin’ like a drowned rat and telling us how you got scooped uptown, she was pretty bad. Was like that for an hour or two, and then just got … worse.” He shook his head. “Nasty.” I saw him look back at me. “You know, boss, you maybe don’t want to see her. You maybe shouldn’t even come by Pick’s, seeing as there’s this shit going around. A bunch of people around the place come down sick. I started to think I was startin’ to feel shitty, but I feel okay now.” He grinned. “Take more than a little bug to take down Jabali. Jabali’s got the strength. ”
I pictured Glee back at the restaurant. She’d looked a little sick, a little feverish. What the fuck killed you in a damn day? I tried to remember when I’d noticed her coughing, had it been the day before? Right after we’d gotten back from Newark. I reached up and touched the swollen spot on my neck, still refusing to heal up.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time we were near Pickering’s the streets felt almost normal again, with the usual crush of people moving discontentedly up and down the street, the smell of sweat pushing into everything. The Vids we passed on their high poles were silently beaming the news to us: a spontaneous peace demonstration had broken out in Tokyo celebrating the upcoming thirtieth anniversary of Unification. This complete with video footage of smiling Japanese holding signs and chanting. It sure gave me the warm fuzzies. Then a good-looking brunette was smiling far too widely as she silently informed us that fifty-five thousand people were assumed dead after a landslide in the slums of New Delhi. A square of video in the corner showed people screaming, intercut with some jackass Undersecretary making a speech that involved waving his arms quite a bit.
For a few steps I just contemplated the crowd, the spoiling blood of the System. There was a small commotion up the block, a sudden swirling of people that drew my eye. I opened my stance a little, getting my coat out of the way, and watched as a small hollow appeared in the stream of traffic, giving someone a lot of room. I just stared as he got nearer. Even without the blue-black bruises up and down his arms and on his face, one look told you this bastard was dead—he just hadn’t realized it yet. He had that wasted-thin look, his skin yellowish and papery, stretched tight over his
Then Jabali offered me a wide, sloppy grin. “Well, Mistah Cates,” he said, stressing the last syllable of mister to make it a little less a sign of respect, “what’s your pleasure? Seeing as I’m your entire entourage this evening.”
I grimaced. I couldn’t fuck with someone this cheerful. I looked out into the night. The boat was already invisible, the two miserable girls gone. “Take me to Gleason,” I said, swallowing. “I want to see her.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “Shit, boss,” he said, “I don’t know. Better take you back to the bar, let brighter folks help you out.”
I nodded, and we started walking east, skirting the stadium. There weren’t a lot of people in the area, normally, aside from the squatters, but it felt unusually quiet. Even in this godforsaken area there were usually a few bums, a few pocket slicers looking to roll you, a couple of menacing Augment junkies trying to intimidate you long-range. As we ate up blocks we saw almost no one, little rainbow puddles of slick, oily melted snow everywhere.
I waited a few minutes, feeling like a coward. “How’d she die?” I finally managed, my heart pounding, my throat swollen.
He shrugged. “Something goin’ around. A lot of people down at Pick’s are coming down with it. It’s fucking nasty.” I kept my eyes grimly ahead, but saw him glance nervously at me as we walked. “Uh, she went fast, boss. When she came in, lookin’ like a drowned rat and telling us how you got scooped uptown, she was pretty bad. Was like that for an hour or two, and then just got … worse.” He shook his head. “Nasty.” I saw him look back at me. “You know, boss, you maybe don’t want to see her. You maybe shouldn’t even come by Pick’s, seeing as there’s this shit going around. A bunch of people around the place come down sick. I started to think I was startin’ to feel shitty, but I feel okay now.” He grinned. “Take more than a little bug to take down Jabali. Jabali’s got the strength. ”
I pictured Glee back at the restaurant. She’d looked a little sick, a little feverish. What the fuck killed you in a damn day? I tried to remember when I’d noticed her coughing, had it been the day before? Right after we’d gotten back from Newark. I reached up and touched the swollen spot on my neck, still refusing to heal up.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time we were near Pickering’s the streets felt almost normal again, with the usual crush of people moving discontentedly up and down the street, the smell of sweat pushing into everything. The Vids we passed on their high poles were silently beaming the news to us: a spontaneous peace demonstration had broken out in Tokyo celebrating the upcoming thirtieth anniversary of Unification. This complete with video footage of smiling Japanese holding signs and chanting. It sure gave me the warm fuzzies. Then a good-looking brunette was smiling far too widely as she silently informed us that fifty-five thousand people were assumed dead after a landslide in the slums of New Delhi. A square of video in the corner showed people screaming, intercut with some jackass Undersecretary making a speech that involved waving his arms quite a bit.
For a few steps I just contemplated the crowd, the spoiling blood of the System. There was a small commotion up the block, a sudden swirling of people that drew my eye. I opened my stance a little, getting my coat out of the way, and watched as a small hollow appeared in the stream of traffic, giving someone a lot of room. I just stared as he got nearer. Even without the blue-black bruises up and down his arms and on his face, one look told you this bastard was dead—he just hadn’t realized it yet. He had that wasted-thin look, his skin yellowish and papery, stretched tight over his
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