Market Forces Part 22

'Jesus, look at this,' said Bryant disgustedly. 'Emissions monitoring, my f.u.c.king a.r.s.e. Look at the s.h.i.t coming out of that bus.'

'Yeah, and it's packed. We're going to be here for a while.'

It was true. Armed guards were ordering the pa.s.sengers out of the first bus, lining them up. The first line had already a.s.sumed the position - right hand on the back of the head, pa.s.scard held up in the left. A single guard moved down the line, scrutinising the cards one at a time and swiping them through his hip unit. Every second card needed repeated swipes.

'Don't know why they bother,' Chris yawned with a force that made his jaw creak. 'It's not like there's been anything resembling terrorism in London for the last couple of years.'

'Yeah, and you're looking at the reason why. Don't knock it, man.'

Bryant drummed his fingers on the wheel. 'Still, this is going to take forever. You want to get breakfast?'

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Chris twisted about in his seat.A handful of frontages down the street they had just driven up, a grimed sign said Care. People flowed in and out with paper packets and garishly coloured cans.

'In there?'

'Sure. Cheap and nasty, plenty of grease. Just what you need.'

'Speak for yourself.' Chris still felt slightly queasy when he thought about what Mike had done to Griff Dixon's eye. 'Think I'll stick to coffee.'

'Suit yourself.' Bryant plugged the BMW into reverse and punted it 148back along the street. The engine whined high with unnecessary revs.

Pedestrians scrambled to get out of the way. Level with the cafe, Bryant slewed into the curb and jolted to a halt at a rakish angle. He grinned.

'Man, I love the parking in this part of town.'

They climbed out to hostile stares. Bryant smiled bleakly and alarmed the car with the remote held high and visible. Someone behind Chris rasped something unintelligible and hawked up spit. Twitchy with the events of the night, Chris pivoted about. The phlegm glistened yellow and fresh near his feet. Not what he needed.

He scanned the bystanders' faces. Mostly they shuffled and looked away, but one young black man stood his ground and stared back.

'You got something to say to me?' Chris asked him.

The man stayed silent but he didn't look away. His white companion laid a hand on his arm. Bryant came round the car, yawning and stretching.

'Problem?'

'No problem,' said the white one, pulling his friend away.

'Good, you'd better get cracking then.' Bryant jerked a thumb up the street. 'That's a h.e.l.l of a queue up there. You coming, Chris?'

He shoved back the door of the cafe and they worked their way past the line of people waiting at the take-out counter to the seating area at the back. There were no customers apart from a black-clad old man who sat alone, staring into a mug of tea.

'This'll do.' Mike slid into a booth and beat a drum rift on the tabletop with the flat of both hands. 'I'm starving.'

There was a menu scrawled in luminous purple marker across the quickwipe surface of the table. Chris glanced across it and looked away again, nervous of the standing queue at his back. He knew the food.

He'd eaten in places like this most of his teens, and occasionally, after a mechanic's night out with Carla and the others from Mel's Autofix, he still did. Like prime-time satellite programming, it would be a loudly flavoured blend of low-grade bulking agents seasoned with garishly advertised vitamin and mineral additives. The sausages would average about thirty per cent meat, the bacon came swollen with injected water.

He was glad he had no appet.i.te.

A waitress appeared at the booth.

'Getya?''Coffee,' said Chris. 'White. Gla.s.s of water.'

'I'll have the big breakfast,' said Mike expansively. 'You get eggs with that?'

'They're Qweggs,' said the waitress sullenly.

'Right. Better give me, uh, six of those then. And plenty of toast.

Coffee for me too. Black.'

149The waitress turned her back and strode off. Mike watched her go.

'Friendly here.'

Chris shrugged. 'They know who we are.'

'Yeah, which means a ma.s.sive tip if they can just secrete a little common courtesy. Pretty f.u.c.king short-sighted att.i.tude, if you ask me.'

'Mike.' Chris leaned across the table. 'What do you expect? The clothes you're wearing cost more than that girl makes in a year. She probably lives in an apartment smaller than my office, damp walls, J.

leaking drains, no security, and about two-thirds her weekly wage just to cover the rent.'

'Oh, and that's my f.u.c.king fault?'

'It isn't about--'

'Look, I'm not her f.u.c.king mother. I didn't pop her out in the zones, just so I could claim breeding benefit. And if she doesn't like it here, she can make her own sweet way out, just like anybody else.'

Chris looked at his friend with sudden dislike. 'Yeah, right.'

'That's right. Listen, Troy was born and bred in the zones, he made it out. James is off to the Scratcher in six weeks, he could end up making more money than both of us. So don't tell me it can't be done.'

'And what about Troy's cousin? The one got raped two nights ago by Dixon and his pals. How come she hasn't made it out?'

'How the f.u.c.k should I know?' Bryant's anger collapsed as rapidly as it had sprouted. He slumped back in his seat. 'Look, all I'm saying, Chris, is some of us have what it takes. Others don't. I mean, this isn't some cut-rate little African horrorshow of a nation. You don't have to live in the zones because of your tribe or something. No one cares what colour you are here, what religion or race. M1 you've got to do is make the money.''They seem to care what colour you are in Dixon's neighbourhood.'

'Yeah, that's f.u.c.king politics, Chris. Some maggots' nest of little local government thugs looking for a way to build a powerbase. It's got nothing to do with the way the real world works.'

'That's not the impression I get from Nick Makin.'

'Makin?'

'Yeah, you heard him in that meeting. He's a f.u.c.king racist, that's why he can't handle Echevarria.'

'Yeah, well.' Mike brooded. 'Might have to do something about Makin.'

The coffee came. It wasn't as bad as Chris had expected. Bryant drained his and asked for another cup.

'There going to be an investigation?' wondered Chris.

'Nah, shouldn't think so.'

'They got you for those jackers at the Falkland.'

150'Yeah, that's a whole different story. Civil rights activists, off the back of grieving family members, my little Jason was a good boy, he only stole cars because social deprivation blah, blah, boo, hoo. That kind of c.r.a.p. This thing with Dixon is different. There's an agenda. Dixon's political friends are on the anti-globalism wing. Britain for the British, immigrants out, f.u.c.k multiculturalism and tear down the international corporate power conspiracy. Right now, the last thing they need is for that to come out into the open. They'll sit on this.'

'But the zone police '

'They'll buy them off. They'll get some paycop outfit to dig the slugs out of Dixon's floor and the street under that other piece of s.h.i.t we wasted, and they'll make them as Nemex load.' Bryant grinned. 'That should send a message.'

Chris frowned. 'Isn't that going to be a whole stack of political capital for them? The big bad corporations, off the leash. They'll milk it 'ill it bleeds.'

'Oh, yeah, on a local level, of course they will. They'll turn Dixon into a f.u.c.king martyr, no doubt. If he lives, they can have him in a wheelchair at the local Young n.a.z.i fundraisers, and if he dies they can have his weeping widow do the same thing. But they aren't about to take on Shorn in the public arena. They know what we'd do to them.'

'And Dixon?'

Mike grinned again. 'Well, I'd say Dixon's got his hands full for the next six months just learning to walk again. And if he ever does, well he's got a family and another eye to worry about before he does anything stupid. Plus, you know what? Somehow, I don't think the civil rights crowd are going to be there for him. Just not the right profile.'

Mike's breakfast arrived on a tray and the waitress set about laying it out. While she worked, Bryant grabbed a Qwegg off the plate with finger and thumb, and popped it in his mouth. He chewed vigorously.

'You going to work today?' he asked through the mouthful.

Chris thought about the house, cold with Carla's absence or, even worse, with her unspeaking presence. He nodded.

'Good.' Mike swallowed the Qwegg, nodded thanks at the departing waitress and picked up his knife and fork. 'Listen, I want you to call Joaquin Lopez. Tell him to catch a flight down to the NAME and start sounding out the names on that list. Today, if possible. We'll pick up the expenses.'

Chris felt a small surge go through his guts, not unlike the feeling he'd had talking to Liz Linshaw the nightbefore. He nursed his coffee and watched Mike eat for a while.

'You think we're going to have to do it?' he asked finally.

'Do what?'

151'Blow Echevarria out of the water.'

'Well,' Bryant chased another Qwegg around his plate and after some effort managed to puncture it with his fork. 'Believe me, I'd love to. But in this case, you know how it goes. Regime change is our worst-case scenario. We'll only go that way if we absolutely have to.'

He gestured at Chris with his fork.

'You just get Lopez on the case. Get the names to Maldn, make sure there's a clear strategy locked down for the uplincon next week.'

'You want me in on that?'

Bryant shook his head, chewing. He swallowed.

'Nab, you stay out of it. I want a clean break between current negotiations and whatever we need you to do. Echevarria doesn't know about you, he doesn't know about your contacts. There's no line for him to follow. Better that way.'

'Right.'

Bryant grinned. 'Don't look so disappointed, man. I'm doing you a favour. I tell you, every time I have to shake hands with that piece of s.h.i.t, I feel like I need to disinfect. Murderous old luck.'

They gave it another half hour to let the queues subside, then paid and left. Despite his grouching, Bryant left a tip almost as much as the cost of the whole meal. Outside, he yawned and stretched and pivoted about, face turned up to the sun. He seemed in no hurry to get in the car.

'We going to work?' asked Chris.

'Yeah, in a minute.' Mike yawned again. 'Don't feel much like it, tell you the truth. Day like this, I should be home playing with Ariana.

Playing with Suki, come to that. Christ, you know, we haven't f.u.c.ked in nearly two weeks.'

'Tell me about it.'

Bryant c.o.c.ked his head. 'Carla giving you grief about that?'

'Only all the time.' Chris considered the reflexive lie. 'Well, recentlynot so much. We're both tired, you know. Don't see a lot of ea.ch other.'

'Yeah. Got to watch that s.h.i.t. Come the end of quarter, you ought to take some time out. Maybe get out to the island for a week.'

'You see Hewitt signing off on that?' il 'She'll have to, Chris, the profile you've got on Cambodia. It's turning into the year's premium contract. Shorn owe us all some serious i downtime before the end of this year. Hey, who knows, maybe me and i Suki'll get out there the same time as you guys. That'd be cool, huh?'

'Yeah. Cool.'

,'Well, don't sound so f.u.c.king enthusiastic about it.'

Chris laughed. 'Sorry. I'm wasted.'

'Yeah, let's kick this in gear.' Bryant disarmed the BMW's alarm and ,!.

152 :icracked the driver's side door. 'Sooner we get out of here, sooner we can get home and act like we have a life.'

They cleared the checkpoint without incident, threaded onto the approach road to the bridge and accelerated up across the river. Sunlight turned the water to hammered bronze on either side of them.

Chris fought down a wave of tiredness and promised himself a take-out from Louie Louie's as soon as they hit the Shorn tower.

'Be good to get some real coffee,' he muttered.

'That coffee wasn't bad.'

'Ah, come on. It was about as real as the eggs. I'm talking about something with a pedigree here. Not f.u.c.king Malsanto's Miracle beans.

Something with a hit you can feel.'

'f.u.c.king speedfreak.'

They both laughed, as if on cue. The BMW filled up with the sound as they left the river behind and cruised into the gold-mirrored canyons beyond. To Chris, groggy with no sleep and the events and chemicals of the night before, it felt good at a level deeper than he could find words to explain.

153NINETEEN.

Mike dropped him outside Louie Louie k and drove off into the car decks with a wave. Chris shot himself full of espresso at the counter, then ordered take-out and another coffee to carry up to his office. Shorn was unusually quiet for a Sat.u.r.day, and he barely saw anyone on his way in.