through, but it’s too high. Looks for something to stand on, but the inside walls are slippery and there’s nothing to grip. If only he were on the outside looking in, he’d be able to climb up the beveled edges easily enough. Looks for a weapon. Nothing. Scuffling outside. Nowhere to hide, so True reaches for the door. Maybe take the assassin by surprise. Maybe she’ll lose her balance, afford a narrow avenue of escape.
The handle turns and True notices a shadow over the brass knob glint. Odd, True thinks. His legs are wrenched violently from under him. He tastes cold concrete.
“Don’t say a fucking word if you want to live.”
The door creaks open and the robed woman steps inside. Closes the door.
“Okay.” The Rajput pulls down her hood.
“Okay,” Piña says.
“She working with Piña?” True’s sitting up now.
“Duh.”
“Hello, baba,” the Rajput says. “As always, a pleasure.”
Piña nudges True in the ribs. “You’re lucky Piña found you. Word says you into mountains of shit. You look like you landed in it already. Bong Bong really fucked you up, huh? Then that bomb. Piña thought you were dead, but the Rajput saw you leave the building alive.”
The Rajput peers out the porthole. “Some men are difficult to kill. They live their lives while those around perish. It is their karma. Perhaps it is your karma, baba.”
Piña shakes her head. “Don’t get all mystical. He’s just lucky his fucking karma wasn’t blown into the Pacific. You the target? Or that other guy?”
“Me.”
“How you know?”
“There was a hologram of me at the scene.”
“You are fucking lucky. That kind of missile doesn’t make many mistakes.”
“Any ideas who it is?” True asks.
“No. But if they go to that apartment and don’t find any of your DNA dripping down the walls, they’ll come after you again.”
“Or they’ll assume I’m dead already.”
Piña pats True on his head. “Would you?”
“Assume I’m dead?” True holds the thought. Turns to the Rajput. “No. How did you stay in contact with Piña? I scanned you and didn’t pick up anything.”
“There are many forms of communication, baba. There are the tribes that speak through clicks. There are those who speak through their lovemaking. Others speak through art and music. We use sign language, since I do not trust portable transmitters.”
Chalk up a victory for low-tech, True thinks.
“Piña’s got people around. That’s how she knew Bong Bong was waiting for you last night.” She takes True’s hand, her own calloused from years of pavement propulsion and iron hoisting. “Most people just take, but you treat Piña straight up.” She produces a package.
True takes it. Stuffed into a synthetic paper bag, almost weightless. “What’s this?”
“Since you’re not a mindreader...”
He tears it open to reveal a black designer protecto-vest with an ornate tattoo on the back. A snake chewing its own tail, weaving in and out of a fiery wreath. A name on it: Ramos.
“What happened to Ramos?”
“Eh, he don’t need it. Put it on. A boy’s gotta protect himself.” Pina absently plays with her eyebrow ring. “You could stay. Be Piña’s assistant. No one’s going to fuck with you then. And Piña needs someone smart. The bizzing get so big sometimes.”
But True has a better plan. Piña says, “It’s fucking perfect to hide out in. A guy could get lost there for a while.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Pinatubo takes True’s hand and jerks him down to her level. Eye to eye, nose to nose, she kisses him, playfully nips his lower lip. Whispers: “The hologram means it was a professional hit.
PART TWO
THE VIRTUALOSO
CHAPTER 11
Narita airport is redolent with the scent of a desperate people on the move but getting nowhere. The terminal buildings are in jigsaw pieces: glass shards, cement crumbs, twisted sticks of steel laying in hastily swept piles, support beams wrapped in gauze to
The handle turns and True notices a shadow over the brass knob glint. Odd, True thinks. His legs are wrenched violently from under him. He tastes cold concrete.
“Don’t say a fucking word if you want to live.”
The door creaks open and the robed woman steps inside. Closes the door.
“Okay.” The Rajput pulls down her hood.
“Okay,” Piña says.
“She working with Piña?” True’s sitting up now.
“Duh.”
“Hello, baba,” the Rajput says. “As always, a pleasure.”
Piña nudges True in the ribs. “You’re lucky Piña found you. Word says you into mountains of shit. You look like you landed in it already. Bong Bong really fucked you up, huh? Then that bomb. Piña thought you were dead, but the Rajput saw you leave the building alive.”
The Rajput peers out the porthole. “Some men are difficult to kill. They live their lives while those around perish. It is their karma. Perhaps it is your karma, baba.”
Piña shakes her head. “Don’t get all mystical. He’s just lucky his fucking karma wasn’t blown into the Pacific. You the target? Or that other guy?”
“Me.”
“How you know?”
“There was a hologram of me at the scene.”
“You are fucking lucky. That kind of missile doesn’t make many mistakes.”
“Any ideas who it is?” True asks.
“No. But if they go to that apartment and don’t find any of your DNA dripping down the walls, they’ll come after you again.”
“Or they’ll assume I’m dead already.”
Piña pats True on his head. “Would you?”
“Assume I’m dead?” True holds the thought. Turns to the Rajput. “No. How did you stay in contact with Piña? I scanned you and didn’t pick up anything.”
“There are many forms of communication, baba. There are the tribes that speak through clicks. There are those who speak through their lovemaking. Others speak through art and music. We use sign language, since I do not trust portable transmitters.”
Chalk up a victory for low-tech, True thinks.
“Piña’s got people around. That’s how she knew Bong Bong was waiting for you last night.” She takes True’s hand, her own calloused from years of pavement propulsion and iron hoisting. “Most people just take, but you treat Piña straight up.” She produces a package.
True takes it. Stuffed into a synthetic paper bag, almost weightless. “What’s this?”
“Since you’re not a mindreader...”
He tears it open to reveal a black designer protecto-vest with an ornate tattoo on the back. A snake chewing its own tail, weaving in and out of a fiery wreath. A name on it: Ramos.
“What happened to Ramos?”
“Eh, he don’t need it. Put it on. A boy’s gotta protect himself.” Pina absently plays with her eyebrow ring. “You could stay. Be Piña’s assistant. No one’s going to fuck with you then. And Piña needs someone smart. The bizzing get so big sometimes.”
But True has a better plan. Piña says, “It’s fucking perfect to hide out in. A guy could get lost there for a while.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Pinatubo takes True’s hand and jerks him down to her level. Eye to eye, nose to nose, she kisses him, playfully nips his lower lip. Whispers: “The hologram means it was a professional hit.
PART TWO
THE VIRTUALOSO
CHAPTER 11
Narita airport is redolent with the scent of a desperate people on the move but getting nowhere. The terminal buildings are in jigsaw pieces: glass shards, cement crumbs, twisted sticks of steel laying in hastily swept piles, support beams wrapped in gauze to
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