out, they were whimpering. They reminded me of beaten puppies. Ona was, of course, standing in the middle of them, without a hair out of place.
Ona looked at me. ‘‘I promised them a bonus if any of them could last two minutes with me. I wanted to give them a sporting chance.’’
‘‘How nice of you,’’ I said.
‘‘I feel it’s important to treat my employees with respect,’’ Ona said, wiping the tiniest bit of sweat from her brow. ‘‘It builds morale.’’
‘‘Now what can I do for you, Zach?’’
‘‘I need to find your sister Threa.’’
Ona grimaced. ‘‘Now, why would anybody with half a brain, even a tenth of brain, seek out Threa?’’ She thought for a nano. ‘‘This involves Sexy and the Council murders, doesn’t it?’’
‘‘She’s a person of interest,’’ I said.
‘‘Not to the police,’’ Ona replied.
‘‘To me.’’
‘‘Zach, you should forget about Threa,’’ Ona warned. ‘‘She may be crazy but she’d never harm anybody. Or at least not kill them.’’
‘‘Yesterday I fought some of her ogres that she sent after Sexy.’’
Ona lowered her eyes. It was a subtle sign but I caught it nevertheless. ‘‘Yes, that does seem like Threa’s style.’’
‘‘So I need to talk to her.’’
Ona turned away from the camera, I assume to look at a clock. ‘‘Fine, I’ll take it under advisement.’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’
My screen went blank. HARV’s face filled the void.
‘‘When she wants to talk, she’ll find you,’’ he said.
‘‘What the DOS does that mean?’’ I said.
‘‘You have bigger potential problems right now,’’ HARV said.
‘‘Why?’’
HARV pointed behind me, ‘‘There’s been a black sedan following you for the last two kilometers.’’
I turned and looked over my shoulder. (I didn’t have to keep my eyes on the road since HARV was driving.) There it was, bearing down on me, a big black box of a sedan. It looked like a coffin on wheels with a dome on top. The holo-license read: PIS4U. It was DickCo.
The Dicks at DickCo were my archrivals. They stand for everything I can’t stand: big business, glitz, and sizzle over steak. They are a corporation of Dicks for hire. They have a low price tag and lower morals. There’s no job they won’t take and broadcast it over their own reality network.
‘‘Should I outrun them?’’ HARV asked.
I shook my head and pointed to the side of the road. ‘‘Can’t risk a speeding violation. I need the police to like me right now,’’ I said.
HARV slanted his head. ‘‘Not possible.’’
‘‘Hate me less then.’’
‘‘I’m pulling over.’’
HARV pulled the car over to the side. The black coffinlike sedan slid in behind us. I sighed and got out of the car.
The dome on the sedan popped up. Four people, three men and one woman, slid out. I recognized the man, sort of. He was Sidney Whoop, one of DickCo’s top guns. But the Sidney I knew was clean shaven, except for a little mustache, and a fancy dresser. He considered himself a class act. This Sidney had long hair and a scruffy beard. His normal custom-made suit and jacket had been replaced by a ripped T-shirt and a leather jacket. He was flanked by two goons with bald heads who might as well have been the same guy. They were backup muscle, nothing more, nothing less. They were in T-shirts and torn blue jeans and had chains and handcuffs hanging over their belts.
Bringing up the rear was a blond-haired babe. I could see the ambition in her cold blue eyes. She was dressed in tight black leather. This lady had more curves than the last geometry test I had taken. Only her curves looked a lot more fun. I was betting she was a psi.
‘‘Nice outfit,’’ I said to Sidney as he moved toward me.
He held up his arms, modeling for me as he walked. ‘‘Like it? We’re doing bounty hunter month . . .’’
Sidney was good. We’ve tangled on a few occasions. The scoreboard reads in my
Ona looked at me. ‘‘I promised them a bonus if any of them could last two minutes with me. I wanted to give them a sporting chance.’’
‘‘How nice of you,’’ I said.
‘‘I feel it’s important to treat my employees with respect,’’ Ona said, wiping the tiniest bit of sweat from her brow. ‘‘It builds morale.’’
‘‘Now what can I do for you, Zach?’’
‘‘I need to find your sister Threa.’’
Ona grimaced. ‘‘Now, why would anybody with half a brain, even a tenth of brain, seek out Threa?’’ She thought for a nano. ‘‘This involves Sexy and the Council murders, doesn’t it?’’
‘‘She’s a person of interest,’’ I said.
‘‘Not to the police,’’ Ona replied.
‘‘To me.’’
‘‘Zach, you should forget about Threa,’’ Ona warned. ‘‘She may be crazy but she’d never harm anybody. Or at least not kill them.’’
‘‘Yesterday I fought some of her ogres that she sent after Sexy.’’
Ona lowered her eyes. It was a subtle sign but I caught it nevertheless. ‘‘Yes, that does seem like Threa’s style.’’
‘‘So I need to talk to her.’’
Ona turned away from the camera, I assume to look at a clock. ‘‘Fine, I’ll take it under advisement.’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’
My screen went blank. HARV’s face filled the void.
‘‘When she wants to talk, she’ll find you,’’ he said.
‘‘What the DOS does that mean?’’ I said.
‘‘You have bigger potential problems right now,’’ HARV said.
‘‘Why?’’
HARV pointed behind me, ‘‘There’s been a black sedan following you for the last two kilometers.’’
I turned and looked over my shoulder. (I didn’t have to keep my eyes on the road since HARV was driving.) There it was, bearing down on me, a big black box of a sedan. It looked like a coffin on wheels with a dome on top. The holo-license read: PIS4U. It was DickCo.
The Dicks at DickCo were my archrivals. They stand for everything I can’t stand: big business, glitz, and sizzle over steak. They are a corporation of Dicks for hire. They have a low price tag and lower morals. There’s no job they won’t take and broadcast it over their own reality network.
‘‘Should I outrun them?’’ HARV asked.
I shook my head and pointed to the side of the road. ‘‘Can’t risk a speeding violation. I need the police to like me right now,’’ I said.
HARV slanted his head. ‘‘Not possible.’’
‘‘Hate me less then.’’
‘‘I’m pulling over.’’
HARV pulled the car over to the side. The black coffinlike sedan slid in behind us. I sighed and got out of the car.
The dome on the sedan popped up. Four people, three men and one woman, slid out. I recognized the man, sort of. He was Sidney Whoop, one of DickCo’s top guns. But the Sidney I knew was clean shaven, except for a little mustache, and a fancy dresser. He considered himself a class act. This Sidney had long hair and a scruffy beard. His normal custom-made suit and jacket had been replaced by a ripped T-shirt and a leather jacket. He was flanked by two goons with bald heads who might as well have been the same guy. They were backup muscle, nothing more, nothing less. They were in T-shirts and torn blue jeans and had chains and handcuffs hanging over their belts.
Bringing up the rear was a blond-haired babe. I could see the ambition in her cold blue eyes. She was dressed in tight black leather. This lady had more curves than the last geometry test I had taken. Only her curves looked a lot more fun. I was betting she was a psi.
‘‘Nice outfit,’’ I said to Sidney as he moved toward me.
He held up his arms, modeling for me as he walked. ‘‘Like it? We’re doing bounty hunter month . . .’’
Sidney was good. We’ve tangled on a few occasions. The scoreboard reads in my
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