~Part Two~
Pretty Pictures
Max wheeled her bike down the ramp at Jam Pony, inhaling the sent of bike tires and stale coffee. It was good to be back. Complain as she did, Max actually missed the place. The work wasn't that bad when Normal was having a good day, and all of her friends were there. She'd missed them during the past week.
Now what was she going to say to get her job back this time?
Normal saved her the trouble. "Hot run, 725A Bleeker," he said, thrusting a package into her hands. "Welcome back, Max, now be off with you."
Max shrugged, but didn't question it. It must be one of his good days. Before Normal could say "Bip bip bip" she had the package tucked safely in her bag and had turned the bike around, walking it up the ramp one-handed.
When she returned and showed Normal the signature, he waved her off, saying, "Fine, fine, you'll get your check next week like the rest of your compatriots."
Max shrugged and walked over to the couch. She plopped herself down on the couch next to Cindy. "What up, Boo?" Cindy asked, "Everything good with Mr. Moneybags? Original Cindy was worried when you just disappeared without a word."
"Things are good," Max said, pushing the Karen issue to the back of her head.
"What's with the new Normal? He meet "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" or somethin?"
"No, we all got this thing goin' where he don't call us morons and idiots, telling us we got IQ's smaller than our shoe sizes, and we show a little R-e-s-p-e-c-t."
"Thank you, Aretha."
Cindy rolled her eyes, "Say what you will, Miss Cynical, but it works. Original Cindy don't even mind the bip-bip-bipping."
"Sure you don't," Max laughed, digging into her bag, "I got pictures from Jace this morning."
"Ooh! Lemme see that cute little nephew of my boo," Cindy squealed.
Max dug lower and lower into her bag, tossing all sorts of items on to the coffee table: gum, lip gloss, keys, pager, pens, an old pre-Pulse walkman Logan had given her, a hair brush, lock picks . . .
"Damn, they're not in here," she said, "I could have sworn I put them in here this morning." She grabbed handfuls of stuff and shoved them back in her bag, disappointed.
"Guys, I got an advance copy!" Sketchy cried, running down the ramp and climbing over the back of the sofa to wedge himself between Cindy and Max. He was brandishing a magazine. Max caught the title, Better Bikes and Messengers.
"You got the article?" Herbal asked in his thick Jamaican accent. He joined them at the couch. Sketchy started to flip through the magazine, but Cindy grabbed it from his hands. "Let Cindy find it." She quickly flipped past ads and other things, then triumphantly held up a picture of her and "Lickety Chick" talking between runs. "Damn, she look fine. Original Cindy's gonna need this in life-size to hang on her wall."
Max soon found herself pressed into the far end of the couch as the other riders, attracted by Cindy, Sketchy, and Herbal's fight over the magazine, crowded around to get a peek. She couldn't help but feel left out, like she'd missed out on something. But she caught sight of Cindy and Herbal standing next to her locker with it's nameplate reading Max in one picture and smiled, knowing she'd been remembered in her absence.
Meanwhile, back at the penthouse, Logan took a break from the hack he was putting together to get some orange juice. While he drank, he sifted through the mail that Max had left on the counter before she headed to work. Nothing interesting really. At the bottom of the pile he found a large white envelope with a return address in Germany. It was from Jace, re-routed through some people that were part of the Informant Net so it couldn't be traced.
Max must have already opened it, because when he picked it up, a small envelop fell onto the clean kitchen tile. He bent and picked it up. It was pictures of Little Max. The kid was like a nephew to Logan. After all, Jace was Max's sister, and any member of Max's family was his family. Except . . . nah, he wouldn't go there. He looked at all the pictures, reflecting over Maxito's big grin and innocent face of a kid who would never know the horror his mother had.
There was something in those pictures that made Logan wonder, however, but he couldn't place his finger on it . . .
Pretty Pictures
Max wheeled her bike down the ramp at Jam Pony, inhaling the sent of bike tires and stale coffee. It was good to be back. Complain as she did, Max actually missed the place. The work wasn't that bad when Normal was having a good day, and all of her friends were there. She'd missed them during the past week.
Now what was she going to say to get her job back this time?
Normal saved her the trouble. "Hot run, 725A Bleeker," he said, thrusting a package into her hands. "Welcome back, Max, now be off with you."
Max shrugged, but didn't question it. It must be one of his good days. Before Normal could say "Bip bip bip" she had the package tucked safely in her bag and had turned the bike around, walking it up the ramp one-handed.
When she returned and showed Normal the signature, he waved her off, saying, "Fine, fine, you'll get your check next week like the rest of your compatriots."
Max shrugged and walked over to the couch. She plopped herself down on the couch next to Cindy. "What up, Boo?" Cindy asked, "Everything good with Mr. Moneybags? Original Cindy was worried when you just disappeared without a word."
"Things are good," Max said, pushing the Karen issue to the back of her head.
"What's with the new Normal? He meet "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" or somethin?"
"No, we all got this thing goin' where he don't call us morons and idiots, telling us we got IQ's smaller than our shoe sizes, and we show a little R-e-s-p-e-c-t."
"Thank you, Aretha."
Cindy rolled her eyes, "Say what you will, Miss Cynical, but it works. Original Cindy don't even mind the bip-bip-bipping."
"Sure you don't," Max laughed, digging into her bag, "I got pictures from Jace this morning."
"Ooh! Lemme see that cute little nephew of my boo," Cindy squealed.
Max dug lower and lower into her bag, tossing all sorts of items on to the coffee table: gum, lip gloss, keys, pager, pens, an old pre-Pulse walkman Logan had given her, a hair brush, lock picks . . .
"Damn, they're not in here," she said, "I could have sworn I put them in here this morning." She grabbed handfuls of stuff and shoved them back in her bag, disappointed.
"Guys, I got an advance copy!" Sketchy cried, running down the ramp and climbing over the back of the sofa to wedge himself between Cindy and Max. He was brandishing a magazine. Max caught the title, Better Bikes and Messengers.
"You got the article?" Herbal asked in his thick Jamaican accent. He joined them at the couch. Sketchy started to flip through the magazine, but Cindy grabbed it from his hands. "Let Cindy find it." She quickly flipped past ads and other things, then triumphantly held up a picture of her and "Lickety Chick" talking between runs. "Damn, she look fine. Original Cindy's gonna need this in life-size to hang on her wall."
Max soon found herself pressed into the far end of the couch as the other riders, attracted by Cindy, Sketchy, and Herbal's fight over the magazine, crowded around to get a peek. She couldn't help but feel left out, like she'd missed out on something. But she caught sight of Cindy and Herbal standing next to her locker with it's nameplate reading Max in one picture and smiled, knowing she'd been remembered in her absence.
Meanwhile, back at the penthouse, Logan took a break from the hack he was putting together to get some orange juice. While he drank, he sifted through the mail that Max had left on the counter before she headed to work. Nothing interesting really. At the bottom of the pile he found a large white envelope with a return address in Germany. It was from Jace, re-routed through some people that were part of the Informant Net so it couldn't be traced.
Max must have already opened it, because when he picked it up, a small envelop fell onto the clean kitchen tile. He bent and picked it up. It was pictures of Little Max. The kid was like a nephew to Logan. After all, Jace was Max's sister, and any member of Max's family was his family. Except . . . nah, he wouldn't go there. He looked at all the pictures, reflecting over Maxito's big grin and innocent face of a kid who would never know the horror his mother had.
There was something in those pictures that made Logan wonder, however, but he couldn't place his finger on it . . .
