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Authors: John Twelve Hawks
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Office buildings."
"I hope so, darling. I'll cut out his tongue if he drags you into something illegal."
"What's going on?"
"I work with an ex-cop turned security consultant. He helps me out if some crazy person is stalking one of my clients. Yesterday we were talking on the phone and, all of sudden, this man says: 'Don't you know a motorcycle messenger named Gabriel? I met him at your birthday party.' And, of course, I say, 'Yes.' And then, he says, `Some friends of mine asked me about him. Where he works. Where he lives.' "
"Who are these people?"
"He wouldn't tell me," Maggie said. "But you should watch out, darling. Someone powerful is interested in you. Were you involved in a car accident?"
"No."
"Any kind of lawsuit?"
"Of course not."
"What about girlfriends?" She stared at him intently. "Anyone wealthy? Some woman with a husband?"
"I took out that girl I met at your party. Andrea—"
"Andrea Scofield? Her father owns four wineries up in NapaValley." Maggie laughed. "That's it. Dan Scofield is making sure you're all right."
"We went riding a few times."
"Don't worry, Gabriel. I'll talk to Dan and tell him not to be so protective. Now get out of here. I've got to prepare for an arraignment."
***
AS HE WALKED through the basement garage, Gabriel felt afraid and suspicious. Was someone watching him right now? The two men in the SUV? The woman with the briefcase walking to the elevators? He reached into his messenger bag and touched the heavy adjustable wrench. If necessary, he could use it as a weapon.
His parents would have run away the moment they heard someone was asking about them. But he had lived in Los Angeles for five years and no one had kicked in his door. Perhaps he should follow Maggie's advice: go to school and get a real job. If you were connected with the Grid, your life would become more substantial.
As he kick-started the motorcycle, his mother's story returned to him with all its comforting power. He and Michael were the lost princes, disguised in rags, but resourceful and brave. Gabriel roared up the exit ramp, merged into traffic, and cut around a pickup truck. Second gear. Third gear. Faster. And he was moving again, always moving, a small spark of consciousness surrounded by machines.
Chapter 5
Michael Corrigan believed that the world was a battlefield in a continual state of war. This war included the high-tech military campaigns organized by America and its allies, but there were also smaller conflicts between Third World countries and genocidal attacks against various tribes, races, and religions. There were terrorist bombings and assassinations, crazy snipers shooting people for crazy reasons, street gangs, cults, and disgruntled scientists mailing out anthrax to strangers. Immigrants from the southern countries flooded across the borders to northern countries bringing horrible new viruses and bacteria that ate your flesh. Nature was so annoyed by overpopulation and pollution that it was fighting back with droughts and hurricanes. The ice cap was melting and the sea was rising while the ozone layer was being shredded by jet planes. Sometimes Michael lost track of a particular threat but stayed aware of the general danger. The war would never end. It was only growing larger and more pervasive, claiming new victims in subtle ways.
***
MICHAEL LIVED ON the eighth floor of a high-rise condominium in West Los Angeles. It had taken him four hours to decorate the place. The day he signed the lease, he drove over to a huge furniture store on
Venice Boulevard
and picked out the suggested arrangements for a living room, a bedroom, and a home office. Michael had offered to rent an identical apartment for his brother in the same building and fill it with similar furniture, but Gabriel rejected the proposal. For some perverse reason, his younger brother wanted to live in what was probably the ugliest home in Los Angeles and breathe the exhaust from the freeway.
If Michael stepped out
"I hope so, darling. I'll cut out his tongue if he drags you into something illegal."
"What's going on?"
"I work with an ex-cop turned security consultant. He helps me out if some crazy person is stalking one of my clients. Yesterday we were talking on the phone and, all of sudden, this man says: 'Don't you know a motorcycle messenger named Gabriel? I met him at your birthday party.' And, of course, I say, 'Yes.' And then, he says, `Some friends of mine asked me about him. Where he works. Where he lives.' "
"Who are these people?"
"He wouldn't tell me," Maggie said. "But you should watch out, darling. Someone powerful is interested in you. Were you involved in a car accident?"
"No."
"Any kind of lawsuit?"
"Of course not."
"What about girlfriends?" She stared at him intently. "Anyone wealthy? Some woman with a husband?"
"I took out that girl I met at your party. Andrea—"
"Andrea Scofield? Her father owns four wineries up in NapaValley." Maggie laughed. "That's it. Dan Scofield is making sure you're all right."
"We went riding a few times."
"Don't worry, Gabriel. I'll talk to Dan and tell him not to be so protective. Now get out of here. I've got to prepare for an arraignment."
***
AS HE WALKED through the basement garage, Gabriel felt afraid and suspicious. Was someone watching him right now? The two men in the SUV? The woman with the briefcase walking to the elevators? He reached into his messenger bag and touched the heavy adjustable wrench. If necessary, he could use it as a weapon.
His parents would have run away the moment they heard someone was asking about them. But he had lived in Los Angeles for five years and no one had kicked in his door. Perhaps he should follow Maggie's advice: go to school and get a real job. If you were connected with the Grid, your life would become more substantial.
As he kick-started the motorcycle, his mother's story returned to him with all its comforting power. He and Michael were the lost princes, disguised in rags, but resourceful and brave. Gabriel roared up the exit ramp, merged into traffic, and cut around a pickup truck. Second gear. Third gear. Faster. And he was moving again, always moving, a small spark of consciousness surrounded by machines.
Chapter 5
Michael Corrigan believed that the world was a battlefield in a continual state of war. This war included the high-tech military campaigns organized by America and its allies, but there were also smaller conflicts between Third World countries and genocidal attacks against various tribes, races, and religions. There were terrorist bombings and assassinations, crazy snipers shooting people for crazy reasons, street gangs, cults, and disgruntled scientists mailing out anthrax to strangers. Immigrants from the southern countries flooded across the borders to northern countries bringing horrible new viruses and bacteria that ate your flesh. Nature was so annoyed by overpopulation and pollution that it was fighting back with droughts and hurricanes. The ice cap was melting and the sea was rising while the ozone layer was being shredded by jet planes. Sometimes Michael lost track of a particular threat but stayed aware of the general danger. The war would never end. It was only growing larger and more pervasive, claiming new victims in subtle ways.
***
MICHAEL LIVED ON the eighth floor of a high-rise condominium in West Los Angeles. It had taken him four hours to decorate the place. The day he signed the lease, he drove over to a huge furniture store on
Venice Boulevard
and picked out the suggested arrangements for a living room, a bedroom, and a home office. Michael had offered to rent an identical apartment for his brother in the same building and fill it with similar furniture, but Gabriel rejected the proposal. For some perverse reason, his younger brother wanted to live in what was probably the ugliest home in Los Angeles and breathe the exhaust from the freeway.
If Michael stepped out
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