Fresca seemed hurt by her kidding. “I don't know… I just… kinda hoped… you know… ”
She reached over and patted his hand. “Relax, mongrel. You know I won't let you starve.”
He brightened and, as if keeping up Fresca's end of the conversation, his stomach growled.
A waitress came up to them with all the urgency of a stroke victim using a walker. She was in her late forties, early fifties, skinny as a straw, with a tight, narrow face. She was not thrilled to see them. “Save me a trip— tell me you don't need a menu.”
Fresca shook his head. “I don't need one! I'll have two waffles and a large chocolate milk. Oh, and some bacon too.”
“We been out of bacon for a week now.”
“You got sausage?”
“Link.”
“Okay! Double order.”
Max looked sideways at him. “How big a score you think I pulled off?”
His face fell. “Uh, Max, I'm sorry, I, uh… ”
“Kidding. I'm kidding.”
“Chitchat on your own time, honey,” the waitress said, and she wasn't kidding. “You need a menu?”
“Waffle, sausage, coffee with milk,” Max said.
The waitress sighed, as if this burden were nearly too much to bear, turned and left. Max and Fresca settled in to watch the news. Max was not particularly interested— Moody had made it clear to her that the news was controlled, and not to be believed— but Fresca enjoyed the clips of fires and shootings and other mayhem.
While Fresca sat riveted to the screen, waiting for the next disaster, Max reconsidered her meeting with Moody. He seemed to be pushing her to take a step she wasn't ready to take… a step into a personal relationship. Seemed the king of the Clan was in the market for a queen…
Oh, he'd been subtle about it— no direct mention; but she could read the man… she could feel the pressure.
Over and above that, she knew he was right about Kafelnikov, the Brood, and some of the other gangs she'd ripped off over the years: she was building a reputation, attracting attention, and this made her uneasy. Maybe it was time to move on…
Although the Clan had become her family, she would get over it. She'd lost family before; sometimes, it seemed losing families, and moving on, was the only thing she did with any regularity… that the only thing permanent about her life was its impermanence.
She glanced at Fresca. Her leaving would break that redheaded, oversized ragamuffin's heart; but eventually he would get over it and find someone his own age to fall in love with. And besides, if her being gone took some heat off the Chinese Clan, that probably wouldn't be a bad thing, either.
The waitress showed up with their food, glancing at them as if disgusted by their need to eat, and Fresca immediately drowned his two waffles in syrup and butter, and dug in, scarfing the stuff like he hadn't had food for weeks.
Max thought;
is
Max sipped her coffee and picked at her food; she was never very hungry after a big score. Fresca chugged his chocolate milk and asked the waitress for seconds. On the TV, a series of commercials ended and a news cycle started. The doe-eyed Hispanic woman reading the headlines had straight black hair, high cheekbones, and wore a sharply cut charcoal business suit.
Max glanced up to see video of the curly-haired mayor speaking to a gathering of citizens in front of City Hall, delivering the same old b.s. Max, like every other resident of southern California, knew he was talking through his ass. The clans and gangs had the police outnumbered nearly three to one and the city's only hope was to declare martial law and call in the National Guard.
And maybe that would finally happen… which was just one more reason to hit the road, she thought.
The Hispanic woman started a new story.
Max watched idly; politics bored her.
the newswoman continued,
Courtesy of amateur video, Max watched as a brown-haired young man in jeans and a denim jacket— surrounded by Seattle police officers— suddenly sprang to life.
A straight kick to the groin dropped the cop in front of him and, even before that one fell, the young man did a back flip that took him easily eight feet into the air before nailing a landing behind the officer who a moment before had been facing him. When the officer turned with nightstick raised, the young man hit him with a straight right to the throat that dropped him.
One of the remaining three rushed at the rebel with a Tazer, and the young man leapt out of the way at the last second, so that the cop shot one of his fellow officers. As the officer who had fired the Tazer stood in astonishment, the young man spun and kicked him twice in the face before the officer fell.
The remaining cop drew his service pistol and emptied the clip at the young man, whose response was to cartwheel, spin, and dodge until the officer's pistol was empty. When the last round missed him, the young man stepped forward and hit the cop with half a dozen alternating lefts and rights, before he mercifully let the public servant drop to the ground unconscious.
Max sat as wide-eyed and amazed as the boy's victims.
Even though she'd only eaten a tiny amount of her breakfast, the food began to roil in her stomach. She had just witnessed superhuman feats that few on the planet could have accomplished: and the only humans she knew of capable of such things had been bred and trained at Manticore…
The video was grainy, shot from a distance, and she was reasonably sure it wasn't Zack; but the young man who took out the five cops could definitely have been one of her sibs. He looked vaguely like Seth, but Seth hadn't made it out that night… had he? The picture was so lousy, even with her enhanced vision, she couldn't tell much of anything, for sure.
This gifted guy just had to be one of her sibs… didn't he? Who else could do what they could do? Or were there other places like Manticore, turning out supersoldiers?
“Max. Max!”
She turned to look numbly at Fresca. “What?”
“Why… why are you
Max?”
She blinked. She didn't know she had been, but those were tears, all right, running down her cheeks; the streaks of moisture felt warm. “It's nothing, Fres,” she said. “How you doing with your chow?”
“I'm gonna blow up soon.”
“Then why don't you stop eating?”
“After you treated me to this feast? I would never insult you that way, Max!”
She couldn't help but smile through the tears. As she sat watching the boy shovel in the food, she knew her course was clear: a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
But she knew when she left, she'd miss Fresca most of all. “You ready to go then, waffle boy?”
