Two enormous, heavily armed guards stood at either side of an entrance to a weathered wood enclosure about the size of Joe’s room back at Flights of Fantasy. Past the open doorway, a few rows of merchandise-stacked shelves were visible. A small wooden sign over the left-side guard’s head read Poc Store.
“So go buy one.”
Aria cursed and stepped a bit closer to Joe. She was blushing. “I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t have a money chip?” Flix asked. “I thought everyone had those.”
“Yeah, well, Liliana and Navi took care of that stuff.” She stared at Flix, then Joe, probably waiting for the verbal slap Joe wanted to give her.
Did she even remember how lucky she had been, having Lil and Navarro? What Joe would have given to have someone in his life who loved him enough to hide him, keep him safe, the way Lil and Navarro had done for Aria and Sadie. He swallowed what he wanted to say and headed toward the enclosure. “Fine. Let’s go.”
One of the guards, a heavy-set white man with a row of gold teeth, stepped forward as they approached. “No weapons allowed.”
Joe removed the rifle from his back. “How do I know this will be returned to me?”
The guards looked at each other and laughed. Gold Teeth pulled his own gun, some sleek metal monstrosity the length of Joe’s arm, and held it in front of him. “Son, the magazine on this baby holds two hundred rounds. How much does that antique you’re carrying hold? One? Two?”
Joe shrugged, and the men laughed some more.
“Here, kid,” said the other guard. He tapped a spot on his bulky forearm, and a projection of a keyboard spread out from there. Above it, a hologram screen hung suspended in the air. “Your old-fashioned toy has a serial number. We input that and your name, and then when you come out, we’ll check that they match up and give you back your weapon.”
Joe didn’t have much choice. He couldn’t ask Flix to pay for Aria’s needs; he couldn’t leave Flix outside alone with the rifle because Flix wasn’t aware enough to keep himself safe; he couldn’t leave Aria outside alone with the rifle because she’d run off with it; and he couldn’t leave them out there together with the gun and without him because they might kill each other. He hated babysitting almost more than being laughed at.
The serial number was easy enough to find on the stock. Joe memorized it, then handed the gun over and made sure the guard input the number correctly. He started forward, only for Mr. Bulky to step in front of him.
“Son, how about the weapon in your pocket, or are you just happy to see the missus?” Bulky leered a bit at Aria.
Joe wrapped his arm around Aria and drew her close, then leered back at the guard. “It has been a while.” He chuckled and motioned for the guard to step aside.
Gold Teeth moved quickly, and before Joe could do anything, he was twisted around so his back pressed against the guard’s belly and a heavy arm crushed his ribs and pinned his arms to his sides.
“I am not fucking around, son.” Gold Teeth jammed his hand into Joe’s pocket and withdrew the VICE-shot. “Now this is a much better weapon. Recent issue, too. You got anything else?”
Joe shook his head and cursed his stupidity. He should have left the VICE-shot with Devin. Security guards would treat Devin’s pale skin with respect. Joe said, “Wait. I need to read the serial number.”
Bulky laughed. “For what? You didn’t give us nothing else.”
If Devin were in this situation, the security guards would treat his white skin with respect. Joe would never see the damned VICE-shot again. He could argue or struggle, but what good would that do in a place where he wasn’t even allowed to enter a building? He’d just end up dead or sold to someone like Boggs. Even Aria didn’t argue.
Joe stood still while Gold Teeth patted him down efficiently. Even the obligatory grope of his balls was carried out with professional detachment. Joe couldn’t even appreciate the courtesy. If this was the way he’d be treated in New America, no wonder his dad had never come back for him. Who would want an embarrassment for a son?
The guards patted down Flix and Aria before gesturing them into the store. On his way past, Gold Teeth stopped Joe with a hand to his shoulder. “Keep your nose clean, son.”
Joe shook off the touch. “I’m no one’s son.”
***
Devin sucked in a ragged breath that snapped a spike of pain across his already aching head and watched Joe’s back as Joe walked around to the rear of the building toward the tents. He struggled not to chase after him, not to crush him to his chest like a stuffed animal and whisper “I’m sorry” into his neck a million times over until the pain went away. How had he said such ugly things to Joe, even if it was for show? How many times here in New America would he have to do it again?
“That was jagged, man.” Peter’s voice was equal parts awe and revulsion. “At home, they think plastic boys are soft, but you —”
“Fuck off, Petey. Let’s get our shit and get out of here.”
Devin made it to the porch before he remembered he had no idea how the damned store worked. He’d never been shopping. That restaurant last week was only the second time he’d ever paid for anything. Did you pay an item at a time? Gather everything up and then pay? Pay first? Joe would know. Hell, Flix probably knew. The old resentment toward Tanner flared. Those long years of isolation may have kept Devin safe, but they’d also robbed him of so many experiences.
He didn’t want to admit his ignorance to Peter, so he barreled into the store and started pulling items off the shelves. Backpacks. Insta-food bars. Two more collapsible water jugs and
