Down in the Zero

video going the whole time, sells it to a TV show.

I guess that makes him famous too.

It's not against the law, selling secrets. Why bother with extortion? Threats to expose are a waste of time when you can score more by actually pulling the trigger.

Save those letters. Tape those calls. When I was first coming up, the worst thing you could be was a rat. Now it's a respected profession.

There's a bull market in betrayal.

But the tape I took from Cherry's hidden safe…I didn't recognize the man in the video— whoever he was, he wasn't that famous. Private blackmail. Leave the cash in a drop and you'll get the negatives…you don't see that stuff much anymore. There's money in it, sure. But not enough to buy fistfuls of gems.

Unless it was a pyramid. Show some sucker who works for the government the tape. You want the tape back? Maybe we need to talk about being the low bidder on a defense contract. Or a judicial appointment. Or…

No, it didn't add up. You can't be sure your target has any particular fetish. It takes years of work to set something like that up.

So why would Fancy show me her video? Why would she talk about kids?

I didn't have enough. Like trying to cross a fifty–foot chasm over a forty–foot bridge— I could be jumping to conclusions.

If I did that, I didn't want it to be an accident.

The kid was outside when I got up the next morning, waiting around downstairs like he had something on his mind.

'I saw your light when I got in last night,' I said. 'You leave it on when you went to sleep, or what?'

'I was awake. I was going over some stuff I had.'

'About race cars?'

'Yeah.' He shot me a smile. 'I was wondering— '

'Look, I gotta make a run into the city, okay? I won't be long, probably be back before this afternoon. Can we talk about it when I get back?'

'Sure, I was just— '

'Randy, is it important, kid?'

'Not that important.'

'You get a call? Somebody say something to you?'

'Nothing like that. It can wait, all right?'

'Sure. Keep the phone with you if you go out.'

'I will. Uh, Burke…?'

'What?'

'Could you take the Lexus? I thought I'd…'

'You got it,' I told him.

The Lexus was right at home in the commuter traffic, common enough among humans who worship products. I took my time, not pushing it. When I turned off at Bruckner Boulevard for Hunts Point, the Lexus fit in just as well— they're as popular with the dope boys as Mercedes used to be.

I motored past the deadfall near the filthy water, watching the rapacious gulls circling. Meat–eaters all, they battle with the wild dog packs for the refuse from the nearby meat market, unafraid of earthbound humans who occasionally trespass.

'Nice car, Burke,' Terry greeted me, running his palm over the sleek flanks of the Lexus. If the dogs noticed the upgrade in my transport, they didn't let on. I told Terry the Lexus wasn't mine, but I'd be driving it for a while. He nodded, holding his eager kid questions, imitating the Mole's way of doing business. I showed him the pistol. He nodded again, sagely pondering the obvious problem. 'I got something that'll work. Wait here, okay?'

I fired up a smoke, watching the dogs work their way across the junkyard in the studied Z–pattern of the predator pack. They were like the Mole too— they were used to humans, but didn't like many of them.

The kid came back with a flat piece of black metal. It had a pair of black rubber grippers bonded to the back, two heavy suction cups on the front. He walked around the Lexus, finally found the place he wanted under the fender— he showed me the exact spot. I fitted the metal piece into the spot, pushed down. Nothing.

'Push real hard, Burke,' he said.

I locked my forearm, shoved with all my strength. I felt it pop home, lock in place.

'You want to take it off, you have to push this little button on the side…see?' He guided my hand to the spot. I pushed, and the metal bar dropped into my hand. I put it back in place, shoved the gun's barrel between the rubber grips. It held like it was welded.

'Can I get the gun out without taking the whole thing off?' I asked him.

'Sure. Just grab the handle and pull in the direction of the barrel— it works like a fulcrum, see?' He pulled it out as easy as drawing from a holster.

'Pretty slick, Terry.'