Predators and Prey: A Short Story by Christopher Holliday Page B

a week. The tiny flat the Xeno department provides me was ransacked top to bottom
during an afternoon class. No one guts an apprenticed student's mattress
looking for money; even a Grat would know better.
Someone was searching for drugs, someone who knew I'd vanished back in York,
sometime between making a large pickup and never showing at the delivery. I'd
never taken the University's guarantee about their records system being
confidential and unbreachable very seriously. Where
do they think the best hackers-for-hire come from, anyway?
    Choochi's is down a few steps, stuck between a
bakery (closed) and an adult media store (always open). The door swings heavily
when I push it, a slate-gray hunk of plastic that Choochi swears is a relic from the original colony lander. If one of the Tweedles is tailing me, he's going to be a bit disappointed
with my destination.
    Inside,
the place isn't much wider than a coffin, with a white food counter running the
five-meter length of the place. The only stool is behind the counter and
occupied by Choochi .
    "Hey,
Jimmy. Late night hungries ?" Choochi is Asian, and must be at least ninety years
old. He looks back to the HTV he keeps behind the counter, watches a few more
seconds of his serio -sitcom, chuckles and turns it
off.
    "Crappy
TV," he says, "but good crap, if you know what I mean. All set?"
    "Number
two," I say, picking from the photo menu on the wall. Fish-salad
sandwich and a bowl of veggies and noodles.
    "Good
choice. Lots of protein and carbos." He fiddles
under the counter, removes some wrap from a bowl, puts it in the nuker . While he's at it, he says, "You in some kind of
trouble, Jimmy?"
    What
tipped him off to that? "Nothing I can't handle," I lie.
    "Ah,"
he says, placing a plate with my sandwich and a flowered carrot garnish in
front of me. "Then that explains the very large eye that just peeked in my
door."
    So
Rizzo is keeping a close watch on me.
    The nuker beeps, he pulls out my
noodles and hands the bowl to me with disposable chopsticks.
    "It's
no big deal, Choochi ." I unwrap the sticks, snap them apart and start in on the food.
    "I
see," he says, "sounds like you forgot to make your bed before you
left your home."
    "Huh?"
    "It
doesn't translate well. How about, 'Misfortune often comes through the door you
left open'."
    "What's
that, ancient Chinese wisdom?
    Choochi smiles. "No, axioms of
the Mafia manager. They're a bit more useful than the ancient Chinese."
    I
smirk, eat some more noodles, and think about the time. Even if I had two days,
I doubted I could come up with anything that would satisfy Rizzo, but I always
think better on a full stomach.
    An
unhappy Rizzo is a dangerous thing. Back in York, he was into a lot of dirty
shit. But he was a user, and rumor had it that he blew most
of what he made on any variety of sniff. A smart-ass street kid once
sold him a batch of Wipeout cut with chili powder. The operative word is once.
We all witnessed that example: Rizzo put him up to his neck in a concrete
block; hung him upside down in his warehouse. Every day he told him he was
going to drop him, up until the day he finally starved. The kid was all of
thirteen.
    That
was the day I dumped my last load through a sewer grate, cashed out my savings,
and went on my way.
    I
finish up the food. "Add it to my tab, Chooch ."
    "Sure,
sure," he says, genial as always. "Maybe I should have you pay it off
now, if you're in some kind of trouble."
    "Nothing
I can't handle. I'll pay you Friday, just like always."
    "Okay,
but remember, the best defense is a strong offense."
    "Another
bit of Mafia wisdom?"
    He
chuckles, "No, I learned that growing up in the district 'hoods of Hong
Kong. Just basic street smarts."
    Something
tells me he's right.

 
 
    There's
no sign of the Tweedles when I step out the door. I
look at my watch; just over an hour left. An hour or a year, it doesn't matter.
I walk back toward the lab, the cold moist wind tickling like eyes on the back
of my neck.