fast. Time enough for confusion
to linger. This wasn’t an adult prison, wasn’t maximum-security
nada.
The guard led him through the gate, into the jail’s outer offices. Danny Mendez, Wormy told himself. The name blazed itself
into his brain. I am Danny Mendez, and I need, want, deserve to get the hell out of here.
He tried to keep his head down without being obvious about it. The checkout clerk was equally busy, didn’t bother to look
up from her box screen. She assumed that the guard knew what he was doing. The guard assumed likewise of the clerk.
They had him sign for the personal effects of the innocent Mendez. Wormy accepted them without protest. A little money, a
credcard he could jerk around, a cheap Indonesian watch. A packet of thermosensitive condoms, a half-pack of sense sticks.
He pocketed it all.
The guard led him to the back door of the jail, mumbled something about staying out of trouble, and nudged him out into the
night.
Wormy stood there a moment, staring at the damp, humid back street. Then he started walking. Not too fast. Probably they wouldn’t
discover the mistake until Mendez awoke or somebody expecting him on the outside started making inquiries.
Only after he hit the alleys did he start running. He ran until his heart threatened to burst through his sallow chest, ran
until he had to stop because the pain in his throat was choking him. Then he cautiously began to retrace his steps, until
he was back at the scene of the fight.
The feds were gone, along with the corpse of the unfortunateSangre. The transmitter was where he had secreted it, untouched and unharmed. He slipped it back into the front pocket of
his shorts and headed for the beach.
Taichi-me found him in his pipe, working under a battery-powered light. “Hey, G, I ain’t seen you in days, homber? What you
doin’?”
Wormy said nothing, did not look up. He didn’t have the right equipment, didn’t have decent parts, and it was hard doing what
he was trying to do. But he’d thought about it a lot. It was possible. He could do it. Paco was his inspiration. Taichi-me
moved close to peer over his friend’s shoulder.
“That’s your girl toy, ain’t it?”
“Shut up,” Wormy muttered.
The younger man backed off. “Take it easy. Didn’t mean nothing.” He looked hurt. Wormy sighed.
“It’s Okay. I’m just having a hard time.” He turned back to the improvised workbench. “I’m going looking for somebody. Not
Anita.”
“Sure.” Taichi-me shrugged. “You let me know if I can help, okay?”
“You can’t. Not with this. I just need time.”
“Sure, homber. I’ll wait. Vit you later.”
“Yeah, right.”
He knew the feds would find him eventually if he stayed in Penasco. After they realized their mistake, they’d start broadcasting
the holos they’d taken of him. Sooner or later somebody would recognize one and call him in. Except for Taichi-me, he knew
he couldn’t rely on the discretion of the desal plant’s inhabitants. Not where real reward money was involved. He had to find
out what he needed to know before that happened, had to finish some things while he still had time.
It took him plenty days and still he wasn’t sure it would work. But he didn’t see how he could make it any better. He went
looking for the Teslas.
He didn’t find them, and when he went later that night to talk it over with Taichi-me, his friend was gone. Where thebig float that the kid had converted into a home had hung, there was only a frayed cable, dangling in the humidity like a
severed nerve. Flying fish darted through the Promethean pilings below while the moon hinted at the ghostly presence of mantas.
“Taichi-me! Goddamn it!” He wrung his hands. Had they pried him out first or just cut him free, not realizing that there might
be a living, breathing human being inside? Had the float been salvaged or just dumped?
“He’s okay,
ninño.”
Wormy whirled. Two big desal
to linger. This wasn’t an adult prison, wasn’t maximum-security
nada.
The guard led him through the gate, into the jail’s outer offices. Danny Mendez, Wormy told himself. The name blazed itself
into his brain. I am Danny Mendez, and I need, want, deserve to get the hell out of here.
He tried to keep his head down without being obvious about it. The checkout clerk was equally busy, didn’t bother to look
up from her box screen. She assumed that the guard knew what he was doing. The guard assumed likewise of the clerk.
They had him sign for the personal effects of the innocent Mendez. Wormy accepted them without protest. A little money, a
credcard he could jerk around, a cheap Indonesian watch. A packet of thermosensitive condoms, a half-pack of sense sticks.
He pocketed it all.
The guard led him to the back door of the jail, mumbled something about staying out of trouble, and nudged him out into the
night.
Wormy stood there a moment, staring at the damp, humid back street. Then he started walking. Not too fast. Probably they wouldn’t
discover the mistake until Mendez awoke or somebody expecting him on the outside started making inquiries.
Only after he hit the alleys did he start running. He ran until his heart threatened to burst through his sallow chest, ran
until he had to stop because the pain in his throat was choking him. Then he cautiously began to retrace his steps, until
he was back at the scene of the fight.
The feds were gone, along with the corpse of the unfortunateSangre. The transmitter was where he had secreted it, untouched and unharmed. He slipped it back into the front pocket of
his shorts and headed for the beach.
Taichi-me found him in his pipe, working under a battery-powered light. “Hey, G, I ain’t seen you in days, homber? What you
doin’?”
Wormy said nothing, did not look up. He didn’t have the right equipment, didn’t have decent parts, and it was hard doing what
he was trying to do. But he’d thought about it a lot. It was possible. He could do it. Paco was his inspiration. Taichi-me
moved close to peer over his friend’s shoulder.
“That’s your girl toy, ain’t it?”
“Shut up,” Wormy muttered.
The younger man backed off. “Take it easy. Didn’t mean nothing.” He looked hurt. Wormy sighed.
“It’s Okay. I’m just having a hard time.” He turned back to the improvised workbench. “I’m going looking for somebody. Not
Anita.”
“Sure.” Taichi-me shrugged. “You let me know if I can help, okay?”
“You can’t. Not with this. I just need time.”
“Sure, homber. I’ll wait. Vit you later.”
“Yeah, right.”
He knew the feds would find him eventually if he stayed in Penasco. After they realized their mistake, they’d start broadcasting
the holos they’d taken of him. Sooner or later somebody would recognize one and call him in. Except for Taichi-me, he knew
he couldn’t rely on the discretion of the desal plant’s inhabitants. Not where real reward money was involved. He had to find
out what he needed to know before that happened, had to finish some things while he still had time.
It took him plenty days and still he wasn’t sure it would work. But he didn’t see how he could make it any better. He went
looking for the Teslas.
He didn’t find them, and when he went later that night to talk it over with Taichi-me, his friend was gone. Where thebig float that the kid had converted into a home had hung, there was only a frayed cable, dangling in the humidity like a
severed nerve. Flying fish darted through the Promethean pilings below while the moon hinted at the ghostly presence of mantas.
“Taichi-me! Goddamn it!” He wrung his hands. Had they pried him out first or just cut him free, not realizing that there might
be a living, breathing human being inside? Had the float been salvaged or just dumped?
“He’s okay,
ninño.”
Wormy whirled. Two big desal
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