Veneer (11 page)

“Why would he do that?” Russo squeezed the egg as hard as he could, but it was solid. When he didn’t get a response, he looked up and saw Jalay staring back at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” warned Russo. “Fucking what?”

“She’s the one that shopped that picture of us, the one that sent you into a ‘tard frenzy. It was all over the school boards today. You didn’t see them?”

“Like I give a shit when the pep rally is.”

Jalay’s mouth dropped open for a moment, followed by a shimmering of his veneer. Shaking his head, he dimmed his palette and stowed it under his arm.

“Where’re you going?”

“Home,” he replied, standing up. “I’m not sitting here all night.”

As he walked away, Russo felt the stifling pressure of betrayal descend on him. Never would he have thought Jalay capable of walking away from him, certainly not in the middle of a conversation. Angry, he stood and followed his former friend down the steps and through the lobby. He caught up with him on the sidewalk outside and pulled at his thick shoulder.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Russo demanded.

Jalay stared back, his veneer blank, his eyes a bit disinterested.

“You don’t walk out on me! You need me!”

“Yeah, like I need someone to beat me half to death when I step on his heel!” Jalay barked the words, as if he had been preparing them for days. “Someone to lose his shit over a fucking
shop
! We’ve been making fun of Deron for years and not once did he ever do anything to us. That was the game! You took it too far. You always do that.”

Russo felt the pain in his teeth spread to his jaw, then his entire face. He was biting down so hard, trying to stem the flow of anger. Every part of his body was primed for a beating, ready to strike out at Jalay and teach him to be more appreciative. There was a lot of history between them, a lot of shared experiences that would cease to mean anything if he laid him out on the sidewalk.

Maybe it was meant to end that way.

Maybe life as he knew it needed to change if he ever wanted to take that next step up. He looked back towards the PD, saw someone exiting the large wooden doors in front, someone he had been expecting for a long time.

“First,” said Russo, buttoning the lower part of his jacket, “fuck you.”

“Not with your mother’s dick,” replied Jalay.

“We don’t know each other anymore, you hear me?” Russo’s voice was calm and steady. “Next time I see you, I treat you like anyone else. So stay out of my fucking way.”

Jalay rolled his eyes. “Thanks for not murdering me,” he said, turning on his heels. As he walked away, he reconciled his clothes into something more befitting a Saturday night on The Drag. And with that superficial change, Russo lost him in the crowd.

That was okay. He wasn’t interested in a talented but mentally deficient reconciler. He wanted the big fish, the gaunt man making his way down the steps of the Easton PD, the one whose veneer changed dramatically as his shoes hit the sidewalk. At that point, he looked just like anyone else. He didn’t even seem that tall anymore. Maybe it was all an act, the way uniforms dressed up when they were out on the street, only in reverse. For the Seer, his work was inside the building, so when he arrived, he changed himself into something other-worldly to inspire fear.

Russo smirked, couldn’t believe he had been fooled so easily. Agent Tavarez wasn’t a cyborg or an alien; he was just a normal guy with a strange veneer. Everything about him was unarguably human, from the way he nodded to strangers, to the slow pace at which he walked.

Human. And easy to follow.

13 - Deron

It took half an hour to clear security at the southern gate leading out of Easton. Even though the bus terminal was right across the street, the same uniforms that watched them get on made them get off again after a mere fifteen second trip. They had to stand beside the bus while men in black camouflage searched their belongings, which they had to leave unlocked on their seats. That wasn’t a problem this time around; neither Deron nor Sebo were carrying anything explicitly illegal. Deron hadn’t even brought a bag, instead relying on his pockets to hold his wallet, music player, and mini-palette. As they stood outside in the cold evening, Deron noticed that Sebo was shivering a little, a natural response that unfortunately made him look nervous.

“If I were any kind of courageous, I would say this is cruel and unusual punishment,” said Sebo, his teeth chattering. “Unlawful detainment,” he added.

“Good thing you’re not,” muttered Deron. It was one thing to question the behavior and motives of the police from the safety of his mind, but to make those questions public would invite unnecessary attention.

“Did I tell you about Gemma Reese?”

Deron shook his head, listened as the engine behind him changed pitch.

Sebo crossed his arms and put his chin to his chest. “I don’t understand why it has to be so cold.”

“It was fine last night,” said Deron, thinking back to his meeting with Rosalia at Gillock Pond. He didn’t like seeing her so upset, not when their reunion was supposed to be happy.

“Of course it was, because last night I was sitting in my room watching the veneer dry. But the moment we decide to trek to Paramel, it turns arctic.”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Tell that to my balls.”

Down the line, a man in a trench coat was examining the passengers, comparing their faces to the palette in his hand.

“So what about Gemma?” asked Deron.

“Quite a story, that,” said Sebo, effecting an English accent. He cleared his throat. “Twas a night similar in demeanor to tonight with the exception of not being colder than an Icelandic outhouse. Enter one Gemma Reese and her gaggle of vapid chums, all of whom have imbibed more than their fair share of spirits.”

Deron groaned at the act, prompting Sebo to shift voices again.

“Among these chums is the dark-haired vixen Miko Newton. You, ah, remember her from last year, don’t you?”

Miko’s bountiful chest flashed in Deron’s memory, making him nod emphatically.

“As we all know with dames like Miko their brain power is always occupied with the expansion of their, ah, bosoms. I believe it was this deficiency that led her to park her personal conveyance in a tow-away zone. Can you guess what happened when these future ladies of the night returned from their hobnobbing?”

“The car was gone, wasn’t it?”

“And assumed stolen, as any Easton resident who had coasted through high school on their veneer and endowments would. She rings the flatfoots and the one that shows up is a real crumb, you know? He starts talking down to her, making her read the tow-away signs, all six barrels.”

Laughing, Deron could already imagine where the story was going.

Sebo coughed and rubbed at his throat. He continued in his normal voice, “So Gemma tries to stick up for her friend and loses her shit on the uniform. And then all the girls start crying and the uniform is just standing there laughing at them and looking all smug in his veneer.” He blew a plume of hot air as a nonverbal protest against the cold. “Now, before I continue, tell me what you would have done in this situation.”

“Nothing,” said Deron, selecting the only correct answer.

“Exactly. Absolutely nothing. But evidently Gemma is far more courageous than we. The cop tells her to take it up with the towing company and this was her response I shit you not.” He paused for effect. “
Well, just know that karma’s a bitch so you better hope your vest works.
”

Deron licked his lips and blew an ominous whistle. In his mind, he saw the uniform’s veneer flash red and then the baton come flying out of nowhere. He winced at the familiar violence.

“Now, had that been you or I, we’d still be in jail getting backdoored by Drag Rats.”

“What happened to her?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Sebo, shrugging. “I guess all you need to beat a rap is a fine pair of tits.”

“She threatened to shoot him.”

“Right?” His eyes went wide with recollection. “I told her that and you know what she said?”

Deron shook his head.

“
I didn’t even have a gun!
”

“She didn’t.”

“My hand to God’s dick!”

“Having a good evening, gentlemen?” The interruption put a quick stop to their laughter. The man in the trench was much taller up close and though he smiled, he didn’t look all that friendly. On his right, a uniform stood stoically, just along for the ride and to beat any unruly passengers into submission.

“It’s a little cold for our taste,” said Sebo. “You don’t have to be out here all night, do you?”

There was a flicker at the edge of the man’s lips. “Half an hour,” he replied, glancing between the palette and Sebo’s face. “Then I switch off.” He shook his head minutely and shuffled one step over to look at Deron. “Officer Hawkins here, on the other hand, has been toughing it out all night.”

“It’s not right.” Sebo shook his head sympathetically.

The uniform didn’t acknowledge the sentiment. His face held steady in a professional but aggressive veneer. It
was possible that under his mask he was smiling or fuming, but no one outside would ever know it.

“Don’t worry,” said the man, “I’m sure he gets hazard pay...” His sentence trailed off as he took in Deron’s face. The moment of shock was plainly visible, regardless of how brief it was. “What’s your name, son?”

“Deron Bishop.”

The man looked away, did some quick tapping on his palette. “I see you were recently released from Easton General. Just yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to Paramel for some run and gun action,” Sebo explained. “He’s been bed-ridden for three weeks.”

“It’s a shame you haven’t pressed charges against your attacker.”

“My head’s fuzzy,” admitted Deron. “All I remember is Sebo’s jacket.”

“Did
you
assault him?”

Sebo raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see. I’ve shot him, exploded him, set him on fire, pushed him out a window, decapitated him in front of his teammates, and even questioned his hygiene. But no, ours is not what you would call a physical relationship.” He put his hand on Deron’s shoulder.

“Alright, boys, keep it in your pants.”

Once the man had moved down the line, Sebo said in a low voice, “You see, that’s how you handle a uniform.”

“That guy’s not with the police.” Deron kept glancing down the line, watching the tall man go about his business, whatever that was.

“No, but the one that was. Yes sir, no sir. Notice that I didn’t threaten to test his bulletproof vest.”

“Sebo, that was a haiku,” said Deron, absently.

Sebo pursed his lips thoughtfully. “No, no it wasn’t.” Something clicked behind his amber eyes. “We have just wasted, ten minutes of our lives; what, do you think that means?”

Deron ignored the stilted speech and said, “I wonder who he’s looking for.”

“Criminals, con artists, synth pushers, people on the lam.”

At last, the inquisitor stopped in front of the bus driver and Deron was surprised to see him get the same treatment as everyone else. After a few moments of inspection, the man slipped his palette into his leather jacket and began walking back down the line. He stopped in front of Deron and extended a business card.

“When you remember,” he said, his eyes exploring Deron’s face again.

Deron took the card with a gracious nod of his head. He eyed it for a moment, saw the man’s name was Memo Ruiz, Special Agent for the Consolidated Easton Territory. That put him above the uniforms, above local government. He was part of the agency responsible for keeping Easton safe from whatever dwelled outside its borders. They were the ones who built the walls, trained the guns, and set up the roadblocks.

Slipping the card into his back pocket, Deron tried to ignore the stares from the other passengers as they filed back onto the bus. He knew from rumor that agents didn’t have much interaction with the locals and evidently, they didn’t hand out their cards to just anyone.

“Are we not going to discuss the absurdity of what just happened?” asked Sebo as he unraveled the earbuds from his music player.

“We could just ignore it,” replied Deron.

The engine revved up to a soothing electrical hum. Under the bus, hydraulics hissed as they lifted the chassis into its travel configuration.

“How did he know you were in the hospital?” In his hands, Sebo’s music player came to life. Its display was a miniature palette that he could use to browse through his songs or select playlists. When idle, it showed a photo stream of album art and stills from music videos.

“He’s an agent. Maybe he has access to medical records.”

Sebo chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give for ten minutes alone with his palette.”

Deron nodded in agreement and slipped his own earbuds into place. He selected a playlist of old ambient cuts that went along with anything, especially the recent feeling that life was just a movie and with the right soundtrack, anything, even a mundane bus ride, could take on higher meaning. A soft pulsating beat filled his ears, something low on the clef, joined later by a casual tapping of a cymbal. As the bus rolled through the gate and into the outland, the music swelled, creating the perfect traveling music.

The land beyond Easton wasn’t much to look at; it was mostly undeveloped, owned by the government for future expansion of the city-states. Ostensibly, people couldn’t live there or even visit. The bus would not make any stops between Easton and Paramel and if it did, the militarized SUV trailing them would ensure no one disembarked. Locking down a good reason for the quarantine wasn’t easy, not when the info on the network disagreed with the info in the textbooks. The official story was that of governmental providence, but the conspiracies told stories of nuclear fallout, of wars that began and ended long before Deron was born.

A small display in the lower right-hand corner of the window showed their speed, estimated arrival time, and the current time. It was dark out, with the moon barely visible through the clouds. It reminded him of Rosalia and he thought about what she was doing at that moment, how she was coping with being abandoned so easily. She had told him not to think on it, that he needed to spend time with Sebo and blow off some steam in Paramel. That was all well and good, but Deron wanted to be back in his room or back at Gillock pond—either way, with Rosalia nearby.