entry into Hennington Hills should be anything other than a pleasant, worry-free experience for both of us. Come. Give me the tape.
Odom drank again, then slowly reached in his pocket and pulled out a micro-recorder.
—How did you know?
—It’s not uncommon. Trying to get me to say the first questionable thing and so forth.
—It was for the second reason, by the way, my own protection. I’m not undercover or anything.
—I know.
—How?
—Is it really important? What’s important is that you’re here, that we’ve gotten past these awkward formalities, and that you begin to learn all the wonderful things we can offer you at Hennington Hills.
—So what they say is true?
—Where have you been, my good man? I thought I’d at least gotten past the level of mere hearsay.
—And I can join?
—Mr Odom, I wouldn’t think of letting you leave without joining.
Thomas smiled as Tracy set down an already-completed application form in front of Mr Odom.
—You’ll see the membership fees are a bit steep, but we think they’re worth it. I’m sure you’ll agree.
Odom took the pen lying next to the application and signed it without another word. He set down the pen and took another drink.
—I’m sorry about the tape.
—Already forgotten.
—It’s just, you see—
—Say no more, Mr Odom. You were merely protecting yourself. It was admirable.
—So … I’m in?
—Irretrievably.
—When can I start?
—You’re almost there, Mr Odom. You just need to answer me one simple question.
Thomas took a last long drag and extinguished the end with a slow turn in the ashtray.
—What’s the question?
—I want you to think about this clearly, Mr Odom – may I call you Armand? – Armand, because it’s the most important part of your application, the most important question we have here at Hennington Hills. The question is.
—Yes?
—What do you like?
25. Maggerty in the City.
The young man in the apron swept the sidewalk in front of the store with a petulant snap of his wrists. He was the son of the owner and would naturally have rather been doing anything else in the world than sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store. It was hours before noon, but the sun was already promising another hot day, perfect for the illegal No Margin Surfing off of Darius Point that the young man, whose name was Jay, loved to sneak away to with his friends. NMS was a sport for those who thought themselves invincible, hence only those under twenty were ever interested. You paddled your board out over currents that could grab you and pull you down three hundred feet, collapsing your lungs before you even had a chance to scream, but that was only if the sharks, which were everywhere, didn’t get you first, which they would eventually. Jay had already lost three fingers on his left hand down the gullet of a hammerhead. No big deal. Forty-one stitches didn’t take all that long to heal. But the currents and the sharks were only the beginning. If you managed to make it around the Point alive, what awaited were waves sixty feet high traveling at forty nautical miles an hour. If you then actually managed to catch one of these monstrosities, you still had to navigate it perfectly to expel yourself out the end of the tube and into open water before the wave slammed you into the solid rock cliffs that comprised the western side of Darius Point. None of this was at all possible without being thoroughly twinged on itch which, if it didn’t help your navigation much, at least got you out on the water in the first place. No Margin. Meaning no mistakes.
Jay ran his hand absentmindedly over the flat packet of itch in his back pocket. He looked up at the sun again andfrowned. Fuck, man, it wasn’t fair. He went back to pushing the broom angrily across the concrete. He was just about finished and ready to go back inside (and maybe, just maybe, say sayonara to the old man and take off for some NMS anyway, maybe if the old man was
Odom drank again, then slowly reached in his pocket and pulled out a micro-recorder.
—How did you know?
—It’s not uncommon. Trying to get me to say the first questionable thing and so forth.
—It was for the second reason, by the way, my own protection. I’m not undercover or anything.
—I know.
—How?
—Is it really important? What’s important is that you’re here, that we’ve gotten past these awkward formalities, and that you begin to learn all the wonderful things we can offer you at Hennington Hills.
—So what they say is true?
—Where have you been, my good man? I thought I’d at least gotten past the level of mere hearsay.
—And I can join?
—Mr Odom, I wouldn’t think of letting you leave without joining.
Thomas smiled as Tracy set down an already-completed application form in front of Mr Odom.
—You’ll see the membership fees are a bit steep, but we think they’re worth it. I’m sure you’ll agree.
Odom took the pen lying next to the application and signed it without another word. He set down the pen and took another drink.
—I’m sorry about the tape.
—Already forgotten.
—It’s just, you see—
—Say no more, Mr Odom. You were merely protecting yourself. It was admirable.
—So … I’m in?
—Irretrievably.
—When can I start?
—You’re almost there, Mr Odom. You just need to answer me one simple question.
Thomas took a last long drag and extinguished the end with a slow turn in the ashtray.
—What’s the question?
—I want you to think about this clearly, Mr Odom – may I call you Armand? – Armand, because it’s the most important part of your application, the most important question we have here at Hennington Hills. The question is.
—Yes?
—What do you like?
25. Maggerty in the City.
The young man in the apron swept the sidewalk in front of the store with a petulant snap of his wrists. He was the son of the owner and would naturally have rather been doing anything else in the world than sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store. It was hours before noon, but the sun was already promising another hot day, perfect for the illegal No Margin Surfing off of Darius Point that the young man, whose name was Jay, loved to sneak away to with his friends. NMS was a sport for those who thought themselves invincible, hence only those under twenty were ever interested. You paddled your board out over currents that could grab you and pull you down three hundred feet, collapsing your lungs before you even had a chance to scream, but that was only if the sharks, which were everywhere, didn’t get you first, which they would eventually. Jay had already lost three fingers on his left hand down the gullet of a hammerhead. No big deal. Forty-one stitches didn’t take all that long to heal. But the currents and the sharks were only the beginning. If you managed to make it around the Point alive, what awaited were waves sixty feet high traveling at forty nautical miles an hour. If you then actually managed to catch one of these monstrosities, you still had to navigate it perfectly to expel yourself out the end of the tube and into open water before the wave slammed you into the solid rock cliffs that comprised the western side of Darius Point. None of this was at all possible without being thoroughly twinged on itch which, if it didn’t help your navigation much, at least got you out on the water in the first place. No Margin. Meaning no mistakes.
Jay ran his hand absentmindedly over the flat packet of itch in his back pocket. He looked up at the sun again andfrowned. Fuck, man, it wasn’t fair. He went back to pushing the broom angrily across the concrete. He was just about finished and ready to go back inside (and maybe, just maybe, say sayonara to the old man and take off for some NMS anyway, maybe if the old man was
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