Take all that and figure one last thing. Figure Predo's applied the stick and now all he has to do is wait for me to come to him thirsty and ragged and he can offer me the carrot, and then he'll have me in his back pocket. He can tell me just how to handle the carrier and the Horde kid and he can lock me up for a long way down the line. 'Cause restocking my stash is gonna cost and he'll make me pay with my balls. So I may as well hop on an uptown train and go get it over with. Except I don't.

I rush between patches of shade until I get to the L. I take it back across town and hurry to my pad. I still haven't called Evie to tell her I'm OK. For that matter, I still haven't cleaned up after sleeping on the sidewalk.

Out of the shower I call Evie.

– Hey, baby.

– You OK?

– Yeah, sure, babe, I'm fine.

– Was there any trouble?

Piles of it.

– Could've been, but Terry took care of it.

– Hope that was OK, me calling him. I didn't want to cause a fuss over nothing, but after that stuff with poor Lep I figured…

– No, it's cool. You did right.

We hang on the phone for a second, listening to each other thinking. I'm thinking this is new territory for us. She's always made a point of staying out of my business and I've always made a point of keeping her out. I don't know what to think of her talking to Terry on her own, but I don't like it much. As for her, I don't have a clue what she's thinking about.

I hear her shift the phone, her short fingernails clicking against the mouthpiece as she brushes her hair out of the way.

– I'm off tonight.

Tuesday, one of her nights off. Date night for us.

– Yeah, babe, probably not a good night for it.

She makes a little sucking sound, her tongue pulling down from the roof of her mouth. It's the sound she makes when she's starting to get bugged.

– Right. 'Cause you got the thing you're working on.

– Yeah.

– 'The thing that got Leprosy killed.

– Evie.

– That you won't tell me about.

– Not now, OK?

– Even though I was the one washing Lep's blood off you.

– I said not now.

– OK, then when, Joe? When do I ever get to know what you're up to?

– Just. Not now.

– Not now. Where have I heard that before?

She pushes all the air out of her lungs; it's the sound a person makes when they're trying to keep their cool, the one Evie makes when her cool's already been lost.

– There's only so much a girl will take, Joe. Even a girl you can't fuck.

She hangs up. And can you blame her?

So that's one more thing for me to deal with. I'd like it to be at the top of my list, but it's not. Instead my list reads something like this:

1) Find carrier.

2) Find Horde girl.

3) Find out who is spying on me.

4) Call Terry.

5) Deal with Predo.

6) Make up with girlfriend.

Oh, and at the top of that list you can add, GET SOME BLOOD. But the phone call is the only one that looks doable right now, so I call Terry.

– Joe, I really wanted to talk to you, man.

– We're talking, Terry.

– Yeah, but the phone. Not the same as sitting down face-to-face, you know.

– I could see you later tonight.

– No, no good, I have to go uptown tonight.

– Uptown?

– Above a hundred and tenth.

– Hood?

– Grave Digga is talking war parties again and I want to see if I can mellow him out.

– Tomorrow night, then.

– I may have to crash up there a couple nights. I got transit on a boat, but the pilot can't guarantee a return trip. And the way things are with the Coalition these days, I don't think they'll be laying any passes on me to cross their turf.

He's right about that. At the best of times the Coalition wouldn't be looking to do Terry any favors, but with all the dust being kicked up down here they'll be twice as hardcase about it. And that's assuming they don't know he's going to talk to the Hood.

The Hood is an offshoot of the Coalition. Back in the sixties, about the same time Terry was organizing the Society, Luther X organized all the blacks and Latinos in the Coalition, split them off and took control of everything above One Tenth. A truce was negotiated and the Coalition ceded the territory, but they didn't like it. All the same, things were pretty peaceful between them until last year. Last year someone stuck a couple knives through Luther's eyes and his warlord DJ Grave Digga took over the Hood. He went on a purge and claimed he found Coalition agents in the Hood who had assassinated Luther. Since then he's been sending raiding parties below the border and trying to get Terry and the Society to hook up with him to wipe out the Coalition. Not my problem.

– Then I guess we'll just have to talk now. What do you want?

– Just wanted to talk with you, have a little communication about everything that's been going down.

– I mean, what do you want for getting the Dusters to pick me up?

– Hey, Joe. That was an act of humanity. I know what it's like up there. Your girl calls me and tells me you went to meet some client and you're not back? Then she tells me the meet was uptown? What am I gonna do, not care? And from what I hear, you needed the help. Christian tells me you were zonked out on the sidewalk with a bunch of homeless people, getting ready to work on your tan.

– Yeah, so what do you want?

– What I want, what I wanted, man, was to rap, make sure you're OK. You don't want to come over, that's your business- We're all free to do as we please.

– I don't like open accounts, Terry. What do you want?

He chuckles.

– I know. Joe don't take nothing from nobody, good or bad. I was just trying to do the right thing by a guy who used to be my friend. A guy, by the way, I still think of as a friend.

– Funny, last time this friend saw you, he ended up getting a couple ribs cracked by your mick thug.

– That wasn't personal, Joe, that was politics. I needed to throw Tom a bone to keep him from going radical on us. That was for the greater good. And I'd prefer it if you didn't use terms like mick.

– OK, Terry, you'll let me know when you want to collect. In the meantime I'll throw you this. Tom was right, someone else was poking around at the school, looking into what happened with those shamblers.

– Victims of Zomb-

– The fucking walking corpses, whatever you want to call them. Someone else was taking an interest.

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