Alive
Book 2
Pt11
1
Perhaps it was the heat, and the sting in his eyes from the sweat running off his brow. Perhaps it was the throbbing din of music in his ears and the pulsing, rhythmic swoon of bodies pressed heavily against his own. But David didn't react in time. Not even close.
Myron's fist caught him under his jaw. He'd been about to speak; to try and say something that would avoid the fight he saw stirring in the boy's eyes, so his mouth had been partially opened when Myron swung. The impact rattled his teeth, caused him to bite down on his tongue. The pain was mind numbing, reduced his impulse to strike back to an instant and irresistible urge to flee. He fell backwards, his scream of shock and pain inaudible in the roar of the band. The warbling dancers couldn't hear him. They only parted because of the strength of his collapse. They started pushing at him, shouting complaints that no one could hear. Myron came crashing down after him, swinging and swearing as David tried to push away between the legs of the people on the crowded dance floor.
David felt two more blows hit his midriff and then another on his leg. He kicked blindly and hard. Felt his steel-toed boot, which he'd bought especially for this trip, hit something. He really hoped it was Myron. He didn't want to bring anyone else into this fight.
The forest of legs suddenly parted as more dancers became aware of the fray. David crawled quickly through the cleared space. In seconds he was in the clear, away from the dancers, cupping his painful jaw, feeling his tongue began to throb and tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth.
"Dammit!" he screamed as he rose to his feet. But nobody heard; he could barely hear himself in the blaring sound.
He turned, expecting to see the mob closing in and punches and kicks to rain down on him as they realized a 'Shiny' boy had donned a disguise and dared to pose as one of them. But the opening had closed and the warbling continued without him. It was as if nothing happened.
The band droned on.
David stepped away from the crowd, wiped his hand across his mouth. He was bleeding. Not bad though. His injury was more painful than anything. He began to pace his breathing. His head was clearing. His balance was returning. Where was Frill? He started looking for his friend when he noticed a sweaty, shirtless boy with a familiar face push his way out of the barrier of dancers and look to and fro before his eyes settled on David.
Myron wasn't finished.
But David was ready this time. He crouched into a slight fighting stance; just enough for good footing but not enough that Myron would see that he knew what he was doing. The boy attacked, teeth bared, his battle cry lost in the music. David pressed back on his support leg, preparing to unleash the blow he as sure would end this fight.
That's when somebody grabbed him from behind. He flailed and tried to elbow his captor, but whoever it was also knew what they were doing. David's legs were kicked from underneath him. He fell to the ground, the pain in his jaw flaring anew as he struck the floor. But he kept his senses, pushed the pain away and lashed out with his foot.
Nothing! His captor had moved out of kicking range. There was no time to rise. David flipped on to his back, legs ready to strike. Then he saw who had knocked him to the floor.
Frill?
The boy had apparently been trying to break up the fight. He was now struggling with Myron; had him by the wrists, and seemed to be trying to calm him down. Myron's angry eyes kept darting between his Shiny ex-lover and David, His mouth was moving as he uttered curses that David couldn't make out. But Frill was apparently stronger than David had assumed, and every time Myron tried to free himself to resume his assault, Frill shifted his footing and trapped the boy again.
A few dancers glanced at the dispute but it didn't hold their interest long. Altercations were obviously not such a big deal here. Some black-clad girls had taken a seat nearby to watch the scuffle with casual interest. But that was a far as their involvement went.
"Clam down!" Frill was yelling as he grappling with his enraged ex. It was the only voice David could hear, though just faintly, above the band. But Myron's anger could not be repressed. He managed to break free of Frill's grip and pushed him hard. Frill fell to the floor and Myron rushed at David, a look of feral glee in his eyes.
David started to rise. Myron kicked. David fell, blocked and kicked back. Myron shifted position and kicked again. David blocked and tried to rise… and then fell back down when Myron swiped his support leg. Frill was up again… then immediately back on the floor as Myron tripped him and resumed kicking at David.
And the band droned on.
As the boys kicked back and forth in a heated stalemate, a lone figure broke from the warbling crowd, walked calmly to Myron's side and tapped him on the shoulder. Myron turned, enraged at having his vengeance interrupted.
Grizel swung a perfect punch. Myron whipped around like a mad Whirling Dervish. Then toppled to the floor.
The girl raised her fists above her head triumphantly. She flexed her shoulders, wiped the hair out of her face, blew David a parting kiss, and walked nonchalantly back to the dance.
David waved gratefully as he watched her retreat, wondering what he'd gotten himself into now. He looked at Frill, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughing. The boy glanced back at David and made a comical expression, which seemed to say, 'well, at least we found him'.
David had to concede that much.
A thickly muscled man arrived then, shaking his shaven head as he surveyed the scene. He had a full body of tats, and was wearing a tight black shirt with the number '101' emblazoned in red on the chest. He held his arms out to his sides, as if to say 'what the hell is going on here?' Without waiting for an answer that he couldn't hear anyway, he pointed to the door, as if to say 'get the hell out!'
And the band droned on.
2
When he finally came to, Myron wasn't in much of a mood for fighting. And that was good, for neither was David.
They were outside now, banished for the night, or until they could sneak back in, if they had so desired. The sky had been shrouded for a time, but the overcast was breaking and pinpoint stars were peeking out. David was sitting on the seat of an old and rusty tractor, massaging his aching jaw and spitting the taste of blood from his mouth. His father would have questions. Especially since Lex had been shut off and would have no recollection of how David had been wounded. His plan would probably be uncovered. But he couldn't worry about that now.
Myron was laying where he been left, propped against an old tire. He'd been moaning, fading in and out of consciousness for a few minutes. When he at last opened his eyes, the two glared at each other for a tense moment. Myron finally understood that David wasn't going to attack. He pushed up onto his elbow and rubbed his head.
"Who the hell hit me?" he moaned.
"I think she was a German war Goddess," David replied. Myron shot him a dark look.
"A girl?" he said.
David shrugged.
"Technically speaking," he said
Myron frowned skeptically, and then took in his surroundings. The light was faint, but he could see they were in the gathering of old farming equipment by the fence around the field where the cruisers were parked. The equipment had been tossed outside a few years earlier, when CJ craze was just starting and the 101 had been cleaned out and converted to a club. The ancient equipment was worthless. So it had just been left to sit and rust.
In the distance he could see the band unloading their equipment and the next one lugging theirs inside. A crowd of kids had gathered at the entrance, smoking and drinking as they chatted with the band members. A few CJ kids passed nearby, on their way to their cruisers. They glanced at the strange trio lounging in the old machinery, but obviously had other things on their mind and went on their way.
"How'd I get out here?" Myron said.
"We dragged your sorry ass," said Frill.
Myron whipped his head around to see Frill a few feet away, leaning against the fence. Another moment of silent staring followed. But David could see that it wasn't anger that filled the space between these two. It was something deeper. More complex.
"What are you doing here," Myron said finally. "Why aren't you at the Nexus with your gang of Shiny posers?" He turned his glare back on David. "And why'd you drag Mister Ass-pants along?"
"Nice to see you too," David said.
"We just came to talk," Frill said, rising from the fence to stand at Myron's feet. He offered a helping hand, but Myron batted it away.
"I can get up myself," he said. But when he tried to rise, his legs wobbled and he fell to a sitting position.
"Ahh," he groaned, cupping his head in hands. "Who in the hell was this girl?"
"You're better off not knowing," Frill said. "You might try to get even and that would be an extremely bad idea. Trust me."
David got off the tractor and stood over Myron. The boy looked up with a challenge in his eye. But David could see his uncertainty.
"I don't want to fight anymore," he said. "We don't have to be friends but-"
"Don't worry about that happening, ass-pants" Myron interrupted. David continued calmly.
"…but, we don't have to go at each other every time we meet." He pointed to his bruised jaw. "I scored. You scored. I think that makes us even."
Myron analyzed David's face. David shifted so that the boy could see him in the light coming from the club.
"That's mine, eh?" Myron said, a hint of pride in his voice.
David could have pointed out it was a lucky punch; just like the one he'd scored at the Nexus. But diplomacy was the better part of building bridges. He nodded a reluctant admission.
"Satisfied?" he said
"Sure, ass-pants," Myron said. "I guess we can call it even… for now."
"Fair enough," David replied. "But I prefer to be called Blue. I mean, you may think I'm a Shiny wuss, but I'm not the one who got knocked out by a girl."
Myron chewed on this a second.
"Blue?" He said the name like it described some slithering thing. "What a perfect Shiny name. But ok. So what are you doing here, 'Blue'? Got tied of hanging with the squishy boys and decided to get real?"
"Am I supposed to be one of the squishy boys?" Frill said. "Because I remember a time when we were being squishy together."
David tried not to laugh but didn't do a very good job. Myron raised his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright," he said. "I'm just messing with you." He put his hand out to Frill. "Truce?"
Frill hesitated, but then reached down and helped him up. Myron took leaned on him until he caught his balance, and then wiped the sand off his torso. David noticed the bruise where his boot had struck Myron's side. 'So that's two for me' he thought. He didn't say anything though. A balance had been achieved. Best to let it stand.
"My shirt?" Myron said.
"Somewhere on the dance floor, probably" Frill replied. "That security ape didn't let me look for it." Myron sighed and hugged himself against the chill.
"So what do you two want?" he said.
David wasn't sure how to start. But why not cut to the chase? No need to be coy now.
"I know about the snoops," he said.
"What snoops?" Myron replied quickly. It was a noble attempt, but the look that flashed across his face said everything.
"The ones you were paid to plant in the fight at the Nexus One," David replied. "They look sort of like spiders to the untrained eye. Designed to steal passwords for port shields and account numbers. They dissolve if you try to scan them?"
He cocked his head to the side, daring Myron to deny it.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Myron replied.
"I'm no pwerk," David said. "I just want to know where you got them. They're…" he paused, trying to figure an angle. "They're good work and I want to get hold of some." David was instantly proud of this lie. It was one of those moments of true Orga inspiration and he wondered why it hadn't occurred to him earlier..
Myron's face went from denial to suspicion. His gaze shifted from David to Frill, who was quick witted enough to join in on the ruse, and nodded to confirm what David had said. A sly grin broke out on Myron's face.
"You mean 'skike'," he said to David. "Pwerk is what we call regular cops. Skike is the word for snitches."
Then he turned and started walking away, headed towards the club.
David swore to himself. After all he'd gone through to get here, the meeting was dissolving right before his eyes.
"I've got the money," he called, trying not to sound desperate.
But Myron just waved a hand over his shoulder.
"Chill," he said. "I'll be right back. I need to get my shirt and snag a skif, and I can tell by looking you ain't got any."
David cocked a curious brow at Frill.
"He'll come back," Frill said, reassuringly.
"Sure," David said. "But what's a 'skif'?"
3
Myron held up a finger, signaling David to wait a moment before he continued his story. The shirt he had retrieved from the club was jet black and decorated with a crudely drawn boot smashing a Mecha's head. The number '310' was emblazoned in a jagged font on the back. David had seen the number before, on shirts and tattoos and painted on a few cruisers. He had questions about it, but they could wait until Myron was finished.
The boy sniffed, like he was about to sneeze, but managed to keep holding his breath. At last he exhaled, turning his head up to the sky. The smoke streamed from his mouth and billowed like silvery mist in the night.
"Ahhh," Myron sighed. "I needed that. Really helps with the slag."
"Slag?" David said.
But Myron had taken another puff and was holding his breath again. So Frill, who was sitting on the old tire, absentmindedly drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick, answered for him.
"It's the stuff they put in the food in lock-up," he said. "Keeps the inmates tired so they won't get in fights." He raised his head and shot a sly look at Myron. "Keeps 'em from doing 'other stuff' too."
Myron ignored the tease as he exhaled.
"Yeah, it's some kifed up crap," he said. "I was only in for a week, man, and I'm just now getting over it. You never been slagged?"
"Never been in lock-up," David said.
Myron nodded to acknowledge David's successful evasion of the law. He leaned forward and held out the 'skif'. But David waved it away.
"I'll pass," he said, trying to sound like this was a common occurrence.
"You sure?" Myron said, a disappointed look on his face. "It's not that off-the-shelf commercial crap. This is primo. Vag grown. Fresh Appalachian crop."
"Nah," David insisted. "I'm alright."
"I'm not alright," Frill said, and snatched the skif from Myron's hand. He took a huge puff and blew the smoke up into the air, like Myron had done.
David noticed the glance that passed between them, and the way Myron looked away when he saw David watching. Without the angry snarl, he looked rather innocent. Handsome even. His face had a faint cherubic quality His dark hair was shortly cropped on the side, but hung over his forehead and dangled into his dark eyes when he lowered his head, giving him a mysterious air. It was easier to imagine he and Frill being together now that David saw him this way.
And there was something else David noticed as he gazed on Myron's face. Just for an instant he seemed faintly familiar. But the feeling was gone as quick as it had come.
"So, you were telling me your story," Myron said
"Oh, yes," David said, trying to remember where he was in the tale. He hadn't smoked anything himself. But just being around the skif was having an effect.
"Anyway, we did hustles along the southern Jersey rim, " David said, surprised at how easily he had adopted the posture and attitude that he'd used to fit in with the gang. "Ashwood. Southampton. Lindenwood. Lots of Clubs and Holo shows. Concerts. Stuff like that." He had been sharing a highly edited tale about his short time as a boy criminal, hoping to gain Myron's trust by assuring him that he was 'in the game'. But he made no mention of scamming people at Flesh Fairs. That might not go over well with a Crash kid.
"We played role games to bring the marks and place snoops on their sleeves. When they scanned for entry, the snoop would kipe the data and we'd have a few hours to break into their accounts before their server's security caught the pattern of withdrawals and automatically locked us out."
Myron hummed knowingly, and reached out for the skif. But Frill turned away to take another puff. Myron frowned but didn't make an issue of it.
"That's pretty old skool," he said to David. "Hustlers been using spiders for years, man. You must have been a little kid back then."
"Yeah, it was a while ago," David admitted. "But I wasn't really a kid. I've never really been a kid."
David flinched even as the words left his mouth. The calm mood and second-hand smoke had had made him speak a little more freely than he'd intended. But Myron just nodded at the cryptic remark, as if it made complete sense to him. And maybe it did. Maybe in his world even the Orga children had to grow up fast.
"Yeah, it's not all about the money anymore," Myron said, as if speaking to a partner in crime. "There's the game, and there's the cause. The game supports the cause. Not the other way around."
"The cause?" David said.
Myron made a Crash Jam sign over his chest.
"Three Ten," he said. "Kife the fibe."
310? There it was again. David wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew 'kife the fibe'. 'F*ck the Mecha'. He kept a stoic face, though. Not agreeing or disagreeing. He needed Myron to trust him and wanted to see where the boy's peaceful mood would lead.
"So you're really into this whole scene," David said. "It's not just for fun?"
Myron reached out for the skif again. Frill finally passed what was left of it, and Myron took a last toke.
"There's a war coming," he said softly, dropping the butt of the skif to the ground and snuffing it under his boot. "Better take some time from your Shiny parties to figure out what side you're on."
"A war between the Shiny's and CJs?" David said.
"Between Orga and Mecha," Myron replied.
"Oh, not this again," Frill said, placing his head in his hands. "I had to listen to this crap for months."
"You might have listened, but you never really heard," Myron shot back.
"Oh please," Frill snapped. "Smashing up butlers and roadway service bots? Posting videos of your stupidity. Is that your war? It's just thuggery, Myron."
"That's just where we start," Myron said, his ire rising. "You don't climb a ladder from the top, Frill."
"Ladder to what? King of CJ Mountain? What do you win? Jail time?"
"You Shinys never get it!" Myron was shouting now, his anger returning with a vengeance. "They're pushing us out. Taking our jobs, our future. They're in everything. They run everything. They know how much you make. How much you owe. Where you spend it, what you spend it on. You can't even take a piss without some fibe scooping you out."
"So why attack us," Frill said. "If it all about the Mecha why start fights with the Shinys?"
Myron sighed as if the question was beneath him.
"You think we hate you, but that not it, man!" he said. Then he leaned back and spread his arms out as a soft breeze rolled over them. "Feel that on your skin, man!" he said. "It the breath of the world! No Mecha can understand that! Only we feel it , man. It's in our souls. Because we're alive! Human. Orga. We're all brothers and sisters! Flesh and bone! We eat. We sleep. We love and hate! We screw!
"But you Shiny's live your life in the machine; for the machine. It thinks for you. Makes decisions for you. Plays your music! Tell you when to pay your bills. What time of day to eat and sleep and crap! How many kids you can have!"
Myron stopped suddenly. He seemed to have realized his anger was getting the best of him, and tried to collect himself. He continued softer.
"Sometimes you have to knock people out to wake them up," he said when he was in control.
But Frill hadn't calmed down.
"Oh, don't pretend this has anything to do with your stupid war fantasy, Myron!" he said. "This Crash Jam crap is just a tired fad. Next year you'll find something else to obsess about and then you'll be telling all the CJ kids they're the idiots! "
"Don't start with me, Franklin!" Myron said.
"You're the one who started it!" Frill yelled.
"And you're the one who cheated on me!"
Myron stopped himself again, and covered his mouth. He'd said more than he intended. Frill looked away, his face red with embarrassment. David was beginning to understand now. Is this what had happened? Was it was Frill's infidelity as much as Myron's involvement with the violent Crash kids that had driven them apart? He remembered how quickly Frill had been willing to arrange what he assumed was a date when Zee had been indisposed.
But this subject matter was not why David was here. It was taking the conversation towards a pointless dead end. He had to change direction quick.
"Three Ten, Myron," he said. "What's that mean?"
Myron took a moment to compose himself.
"The cause," he said. "C is the third letter. J, the tenth. 3-10. Crash Jam. It's just another way of saying it."
"Oh," David said. Well, that was simple. It should have been obvious. Then something stuck him.
"And 101?" he said. "That means something too, doesn't it?"
Myron leaned back and regarded David coolly for a moment.
"You said you ran with a crew," he said, sizing David up. "Whose crew?"
David hesitated. He had intentionally not shared that information. Crews had disputes. Disputes sometimes turned into wars. He had no idea who Myron had been working with when he'd joined the raid at the Nexus. It could have been one of Sy's enemies. And if it did turn out to be Dreven Olmier, there was still no telling if mentioning Sy would help. But he had to chance it. He really had no choice.
"His name was Sy," he said.
Myron's eyes squinted, like he was thinking hard.
"Southwood Sy? Sy Cleve?" he said. "Big black guy. Bald head?"
"Didn't know his last name, but yeah, that describes him."
"Nobody knew his last name," Myron said. "Not until he got busted and it was all over the news feeds."
David knew this was a test. He proceeded cautiously.
"I never heard about that," he replied.
"Yeah. Happened a few years back," Myron said. "Before I was in the game."
"Sorry to hear it," David said. It was a sincere sentiment. "Sy was good to me. Took me under his wing. Taught me the game. How to hustle. How to rumble. But that was a long time ago."
Myron's features softened. "Guess there's more to you than meets the eye," he said. "I was too young for the game back then. But Sy's crew is bit of a legend. Never heard of you though."
"Why would you? I didn't get busted." David said. Myron conceded that this was a logical point.
"Was it official?" he said. "I mean, did you get jumped into the crew?"
"I ran the gauntlet, if that's what you mean. Hustled with them for a few months."
"And then?"
"Then I had to move on."
Myron's eyes bore into David. David returned the gaze unflinching, knowing he was looking at the last wall, the last barrier to what the boy knew. He had to get past it.
"I jumped ship over five years ago," David said. "Sy was getting hooked up with some people I didn't trust. Looks like he shouldn't have trusted him either."
"Who?" Myron said.
"Some big money guy who was running scams in Rouge City," David said. "I think he's still around." David was being coy, hoping the comment would steer the conversation towards Olmier. He didn't want to mention the man's name himself. Not just yet. But Myron went another direction.
"Name some of Sy's crew," Myron said. It was another test.
It had been half a decade, and David's Orga memory was nothing like the digital one he'd abandoned. But the crew had been the closest thing to family he'd had back then. He remembered them well.
"Dareck. Badger. Kyle. Lonnie." David said, tossing out every name he could recall and describing the faces of the ones he couldn't. "Nance took care of us. I think she was Sy's woman but I never really knew. She had full body ink and an old beat up klunk named Neville to do all the chores." He paused for a moment, hesitant about mentioning the last name. It was the only one that made him nostalgic.
"And there was The Wiz Kid," he said, unable to repress his smile. "We used to work The Little Cuz scam together. She was the best…. and a good friend."
Myron was nodding his head. Listening carefully, but giving no indication of what he was thinking.
"Oh, and there was a guy name Animal," David remembered. "But he was older and wore a lot of ink. So Sy didn't use him for scams anymore. He played security and ran the numbers sometimes."
This name seemed to take Myron aback. He looked away for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought. Then he rose and beckoned David.
"Come with me," he said.
"Where?" David said, hesitantly.
"You want in on those spiders or not?" Myron said. " I don't give a crap either way."
David wasn't sure he could trust the boy. But he'd come this far. So much at stake. He stood and signaled he was ready to go.
Frill rose too, but Myron held up his hand.
"Wait here for us, ok?" he said. Frill crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. Sensing the beginning of another fight, Myron held his palms out in a sign of surrender.
"Sorry I yelled at you," he said. "And sorry for all that crap I said, alright? We had a thing, it was good. And now it's over. What's done is done. It's nobody's fault."
Frill glared at him, lips pursed. The silence stretched out for a time. Then Myron surprised them both by reaching out to embrace Frill. After a moment's hesitation, Frill returned the hug. Then it suddenly turned into a kiss.
David looked away; at his feet, at the club, at the sky, at anything but the raw emotion of their embrace. It seemed to go on forever. People passed by, going to and from the club. They didn't seem to notice or to care.
When Myron finally pulled away, Frill was smiling. It was a warm smile, not the sardonic or sarcastic one he was used to. So this is what they had been like before, David thought; before whatever had come between them.
"Back in twenty," Myron said. Then he tapped David on the shoulder and they began walking towards the dark rows of dilapidated houses that lined the broken roadways.
David looked back and waved as he left. But Frill wasn't watching. He was sitting on the old tire again, arms crossed, staring up at the sky. His expression seemed lost in a moment of nostalgic regret.
4
Myron strode quickly across the field. David walked beside him, glancing at him now and then. Even in the scant light he could see the purpose in Myron's face. The certainty. This was not at all what he had expected. He had pegged the boy as a reckless blow-hard; an unsatisfied and insatiable 'rebel without a clue', who had joined up with the CJ kids just for the wild ride. But there was something different going on in this boy's head. All that nonsense about a Mecha vs Orga war aside, Myron did have some kind of purpose. As crazy as his ideas seemed, he believed the things he said. But why? Why was he so sure? Where did he get this stuff from?
"I thought you two were finished," David said, trying to start a conversation. "You and Frill."
"We are," Myron said.
"Then what was that all about?" David said. "Back there?"
"I just wanted to shut him up," Myron replied flatly. "He was always too emotional."
He said it like it was an insult. David was about to point out that emotions were also what Orga shared; what made them unique. If Myron was going to take such pride in being Orga, shouldn't he also celebrate emotions? But he could tell by the tone of the boy's voice it would be better to change the subject.
"Where are we going?" he said as they stepped onto the cracked asphalt of the old road. The dark rows of ancient houses lie silent just across the other side. Myron didn't respond at first.
"I thought you were just a poser at first," he said after a thoughtful silence. "The way you were talking. Hell, anyone with a good subnet sleuth could have pieced that story together. But…"
"But what?" David said when he didn't continue.
Myron stopped suddenly. Looked up and down the road and then behind them, like he was making sure they weren't being followed. It was an absurd gesture in the dark, but David played along, and looked to and fro a few times.
"But, there was one thing you said that was really interesting," Myron said as he began walking again.
"And that was?".
"The Wiz Kid."
"What about her?" David asked.
"Well, that's the thing," Myron said with a chuckle. "How'd you know she was a girl?"
David slapped a palm against his forehead. Of course! Wizzy had always posed as a boy. Nobody on the outside would have known any better. Even he had not figure it out until Nance had told him. David realized he had inadvertently validated his own story.
"And how did you know he was really a she?" he said.
Myron didn't reply, but David saw his head turn briefly as he eyed him in the dark. He wasn't going to get an answer.
"What ever happened to her?" he asked instead.
"I'm not really the one to ask," Myron replied.
They passed between two old houses and into a wooded area, following a path that had been worn though the overgrown weeds and brush. The sound of crickets was even louder here, and the raw smell of the woodland was strong. From the across roadway the houses had appeared dark and empty. But as they passed behind them, David saw soft candlelight coming from the few windows that weren't boarded up, and the shadows of people moving about inside.
"People live here," he said.
"Well, aren't you the sharp one," Myron muttered.
David decided to keep any further observations to himself.
They finally came to an old two-story house that stood beneath a gathering of trees at the point where the woods grew dense. With no human intervention the branches had grown to cover the roof like a giant leafy canopy. The place looked like something from an old 20th century haunted house film.
Myron opened the gate of the creaking iron fence. David paused, suddenly skeptical about the boy's intentions.
"I have to know what we're doing here before I go inside," he said.
"Getting squishy on me, eh?" Myron laughed. But when David stood his ground, the boy turned and called out.
"Yo! It's me!"
The house was quiet. But David thought he saw a small flash of dim light through a window. Someone must have pushed the curtains aside to see who was calling. A moment later the front door opened. David heard it more than saw it; rusty hinges creaking in the night, then the floorboards of the old porch groaning as someone passed over. A figure was approaching. It seemed too tall for a kid, and when it came closer, he could see it was a man.
He was lanky and tall, walked with slow cocky gait. But David couldn't make out the man's features. If he'd still been a Mecha, he would have been able to… David stopped himself. He had to quit thinking that way. Those days were long gone.
"Wazzup, little man," the stranger said. He was talking to Myron, but David had the immediate feeling he'd heard that voice before.
"You know this guy?" Myron said.
A sudden beam of light shot into David eyes, blinding him. He stepped back and held his hand up to block it.
"If I was gonna hurt you, it would already be done." The man said. "Let me see your face." It was more of an order than a request.
David slowly dropped his hand and let himself be scrutinized. Then the light clicked off.
"Well, I'll be damned," the man said. Now David was certain he knew that voice. But from where?
The light flashed on again, but this time the man was pointing it at his own face. He was older now, had shaved his head and grown a thick goatee to cover the marks left by the lip piercings he no longer wore. But he still had the same tattoos. And the same dark calculating eyes.
"Animal!" David said, surprised at his own excitement.
"Wazzup Pork Chop?" his old partner in crime said with a hearty laugh. "Where the hell you been, boy? We thought you was dead."
(cont…)