“What do we need?” he said.
5
THE BEAT STILL POUNDED at The Rez. The lights still flashed, the bodies still swayed. They had been gone for only a couple of hours, so nothing should have changed. It felt different, though. The lingering breath no longer did anything for him, Mara’s dampened it to nothingness. Or maybe she’d programmed exclusivity into the mod. Either way, he was getting nothing. He’d asked for another breath before they left the Narcs, trying to keep images of a begging junkie out of his head. She had given it—just a touch, and grudgingly—but it was already wearing off. It made him irritable.
Nobody paid any attention as they went in, all lost in the drink, the drugs, or the dance. They went to Hardy’s usual table.
“So who is it?” Mara asked.
Hardy nodded at the other edge of the dance floor. Tony was standing there, perving on the perimeter. He wasn’t the type to get involved. Didn’t have it in him. He was happy to watch, though. There was a visible dent in the line of dancers around him.
“Far edge. The guy not dressed the part.” He was in a heavy leather coat that wouldn’t allow much in the way of dancing. Hardy had never seen him without it. A memory clicked in his mind, the coat bridging the gap. He’d asked him about it once, and had gotten a very honest answer: “It makes me feel cool.”
“And he’s got a key?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what good it will do you. Jack’s paranoid. The key alone isn’t enough to get us in. It works in conjunction with an implant, and I ripped mine out.” That had been an odd discovery, fresh after his memories were wiped.
“Z’s got it all worked out. Don’t worry about it.”
Tony smiled across the dance floor. His eyes met Hardy’s, and his smile slackened. “He’s gonna run.”
Tony was halfway to the door by the time Hardy stood, and slipped through it right before he got there. Hardy ran after him, down the brick-lined alley. Tony wasn’t that fast, so he caught up quick and grabbed the back of his coat. He hadn’t counted on the momentum, so they both fell to the ground, Hardy on top.
They scuffled, but he managed to get Tony’s arms down. As soon as he was pinned, Tony put on the charm. “Hey, Hardy. Long time. How ya been?”
His last dose was running out, and he saw that Mara had disappeared again. He didn’t feel like being chatty. “I need to get in, Tony. You got a key?”
“Look, I don’t want trouble, Hardy. You know how it is. They find out I gave you the key, what happens to me? You wouldn’t want me hurt.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Tony laughed, his head still against the pavement. He was always laughing; it was a defense mechanism. “You’re a funny guy, Hardy. I don’t carry it on me. You’re out of luck.” His eyes darted down to his coat pocket. He wouldn’t give it up, but he’d let Hardy take it. Less liability that way. He’d probably punch himself in the face, too, once Hardy was gone—make it look like he’d beaten it out of him.
Hardy reached into the pocket. The key was just a metal card—battery-operated—that gave off half the signal to open the door. “Don’t have it on you, eh?” He played along. Tony was a spineless pervert, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Not as far as Jack’s men went. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head close. “What did I tell you about lying to me?”
He stood and let Tony get to his feet. “And you won’t be telling anyone, got it?”
“Got it, Hardy.” Tony looked down at the ground. When he raised his head again, he was smiling. “So,” he said, “you and Mara.”
Hardy took him by the coat all over again. “What do you know about her?”
Tony laughed. “That’s not how it works, Hardy. Those memories were hostages. You don’t get them back.”
What a time to grow a spine. He let Tony down. He’d get the information either way.
“Get out of here.” He walked back toward the club, and Tony skittered down the alley.
He hadn’t needed any more proof she had worked for Jack, but it didn’t matter; so had he. She was only part of the game, anyway. He’d save the girl, but there was something he wanted more.
He wanted those memories back.
6
“PERFECT,” Z BEAMED when he brought her the metal card. She had given up choosing a color for her hair, and the fibers alternated throughout the spectrum.
“I don’t know what you can do with it,” he said. “It’s a two-part lock.”
“Yeah.” She lost her chipper glow. “I’ve got it covered.”
“I don’t see—”
“Hardy,” Mara said, “leave her be. She’s got work to do.”
When Hardy turned back to Z, she was facing away, back at her worktable. “Right.”
Mara was sitting by the wall, and he joined her. He didn’t trust her in the slightest, but she at least was warm toward him; he’d get nothing from Les or Simek. “You’ve got an odd crew,” he said.
She nodded. “I guess. I haven’t been with them long. They were just drawn together, you know?”
He was only half paying attention. His head ached again, but he ignored it. He’d gotten over his fear of asking, but there was more to it than that. He’d seen what Mara tried to hide the last time. She was afraid of him.
It didn’t make any sense—she had him in a vice. Every decision he had made to help, he realized, had been right after getting a dose of that breath. The guard in front of Jack’s, tracking down Tony for the key. He couldn’t even trust his own mind now, for fear the breath was making him do things he otherwise wouldn’t.
He did hate Jack, though.
Z pulled something from
