Wild Thing (39 page)

Provided they all survived this year's episode.
  With an effort, he forced the thought aside.

But later that night, Leeth thought how pleased Keepie would be if she found a teacher all by herself.  After all, she was practically an adult, now.  It was nice he wanted the very best teacher for her, but that could take
weeks.

A few minutes searching on the net turned up the
Red Fist Dojo.
  It sounded
almost
perfect, and was real close, too.

He'd be so pleased!  She giggled in delight, then carefully memorized the address.  She should put on some fancy clothes, too.  After all, she'd be going into the city.

And for the first time ever, she'd be going on her own!  A little thrill ran through her at just the thought.  This was going to be
so
cool.
 

Chapter 46 

'Faith,
no
, I need space.  And stop bumping my arm, you'll make me slip and then I'll get in trouble.'

She pushed the dog to one side as she hammered the metal spike into the bitumen before taping the cosmetics-mirror to it.  The next step took her ten minutes; first, checking that the angle of the mirror was roughly correct via her small laser pointer, then taping the laser onto the infra-red emitter at the left side of the gate.  Using it, she fine-tuned the position of the mirror, trotting back and forth as she adjusted its angle.  It would have been
so
much easier if the infra-red light wasn't coded: she could have just taped a light straight onto the photo-receptor.  And Faith's persistent “help” wasn't making things any easier.

It hadn't been too hard to learn about the non-magical security – it was amazing how much you could find out on the net if you knew the names or part-numbers of the actual equipment.  After that, she'd just researched how to bypass “coded photo-electric sensors.”  She'd quickly decided it'd be much easier to reposition the one on the gate rather than any of the ones on top of the razor-wire wall.  And she only needed to tilt the bottom one of the pair, since she only needed a little space to work in, to bend the bars enough to squeeze through.  She had a car-jack in case she wasn't strong enough herself – though she was pretty sure she was, the bars weren't
that
thick – and also a rope and a metal rod so she could
un
bend the bars when she sneaked back in, later.

She giggled, then had to push Faith away again as she licked her upside the face.  'Stop it, Faith!  I'm spy-girling, this isn't play!  Go and patrol or something!'

Faith, though, thought this was all far too interesting, and instead settled back on her haunches to watch.

'Well, all right.  But you're not to tell Mr Shanahan when I go out, alright?'

Faith just grinned.

'Okay, this is the tricky part.  Mr Shanahan said that a second of “outage” is okay, so I gotta bend this around real quick.  Here goes!'

She kept her eyes glued to the small white paper disk she'd put around the receiving-unit, then twisted the infra-red emitter – with the laser-pointer now taped to it – toward the mirror until the red dot glowed back from the target.  Fortunately, the infra-red light wasn't a laser, so it had a broader beam.

Holding her breath, she waited for any alarms to start.  Then with a grin stepped over the invisible beam and crouched down at the front gate.

'And
you
stay back there, like a good dog.  Stay!'

Turning back to the gate, she gripped the bars and pulled with all her might; the car-jack ready just in case.

Leeth watched the car speed away into the darkness.  W
ell,
that
was weird
.  She'd been getting on just great with the man.  Alan.  He was good-looking, healthy,
really
affectionate, and kind, too: stopping for her like that, to give her a ride all the way into the city.  He'd seemed real honest and open, too, and judging by the way he'd stroked its material, he even seemed to appreciate the nice navy dress she'd chosen, even though she'd mainly picked it ’cause it left her legs free.

She frowned.  Odd that his wife didn't understand him.  He didn't seem all that complex.

On the other hand, he
had
behaved pretty strangely when she'd mentioned she'd just snuck out of the Institute for Paranormal Dysfunction.  All at once, his whole attitude completely changed.  He'd taken his hand off her thigh – where it had been doing interesting things – pulled over, and practically
made
her get out of the car.

Weird.  Maybe he did that kind of stuff to his wife, too.

Shrugging, she looked around until she saw a street sign, then got out her reader and called up the city map.  A minute later she'd slipped off her high heels and was laughing with delight as she flew down the hill, seeing how fast she could go, each foot coming close to skidding out from beneath her as she plunged down the roller-coaster hill toward the lights and activity of Union Square.

For some strange reason, the people at the bottom of that long hill were staring at her.  Panting, she ignored them, spinning around so she could take it all in, laughing in delight.  That made them
really
stare at her, she saw.  Remembering her uncle's words about fitting in, she took a hold of herself.  She had to blend in; look ordinary.

She put her heels back on.  Then started threading her way through the scintillating puzzle that was New Francisco by night.

The dojo had moved.  She'd been surprised there'd been no sign displayed at the address she'd gotten from the net.  But the guy who eventually answered the door had been real friendly.  He seemed nice, especially the way he'd invited her in like that.  She would have liked to stay, but she had to find the dojo and organize things, then get back to the Institute before Uncle missed her.  She giggled as she thought how cross he'd be if he knew she was here.  And how pleased he'd be that she'd found a teacher all by herself!

Two passersby glanced suspiciously at her, then hurried on.  She laughed out loud.  Her uncle was right about people – they really
did
seem timid.  Even the guy, Alan, that she'd hitched a ride with.

She tilted her head, considering Hunting one of them.  But then remembered her promise to Keepie.  Besides, she wasn't here to
play.

Actually, she was glad the Red Fist Dojo had moved.  It gave her a chance to dive into the hurrying streams of people that flowed into and around the brilliant façades of the city's nightspots.  Though, admittedly, the streams were thinning as her route took her away from the bright lights and into quieter, darker parts.

The fluoro-etchings of the street-signs on the buildings at the next corner had cracked and peeled away, but it didn't seem strange to her that she could read them, even so.  She'd finally worked out why the horror-trids she sometimes watched always made everything go so black when they got to the good bits, so you could only see vague shapes and outlines.  When she was younger, the nights
had
been like that.  Dark and obscuring, like a heavy black cloak.  Like the trids.  And then she'd realized – that's what it was like for most people.  Even Uncle – she'd watched him fumble around in her room at night, not seeing her, his hands stretched out in front of him.  She giggled again at the memory of creeping up round behind him, as if
she
were the invisible monster.

Anyway, this was Folsom and Eighth, so the Red Fist Dojo shouldn't be far.  She wondered why they'd moved.  Maybe they didn't like all the bright lights of Downtown?  They probably got better people in this part of the city – people who weren't scared of the dark.

The sound of her high heels echoed and re-echoed down the now-deserted street.  Her feet ached.  Maybe she shouldn't have dressed up so much.  But she wanted to look good when she met her teacher for the first time.  And the clingy navy dress showed off her body nicely, without really restricting her movements, since it was quite short.  She'd just slip off her shoes if she had time for a quick lesson tonight.

Something moved, in a doorway up ahead, and she stopped abruptly.  It was low, on the ground, like an enormous grub…

Someone in a
sleeping bag?
  She looked around, puzzled.  Why would anyone get into a sleeping bag on the street?

Maybe it wasn't a some
one
.  She moved closer, frowning, trying to stay quiet despite her high-heels.

Dark hair, middle-aged, dark complexion, and – 'Whew!'  she muttered, taking a step away – a very strong masculine smell.  She blinked.  Considered walking on.  But it was just too strange to ignore.

'Hello!' she called, loudly enough to wake him.

'Unh?  Wa’s d’n?'

She blinked again.  Did he just ask what she was doing?  'Are you all right?'

He sat up, one hand reaching into his jacket and pulling out a battered-looking cashstick which he held up to her.

'Dum’ a few creds?'

'Huh?'

'Slot me some change, miz?'  he elaborated, waving the cashstick more determinedly in her face.

'Oh.  You want some money?'

He rolled his eyes.  'Yeah, gratz.'

The ’stick waved stolidly in the air before her.  She knew cashsticks were like credsticks, except you didn't need a CID.  She also knew you used your thumbprint somehow, and touched it to the other person's ’stick.  But she didn't actually know how to operate one herself. 
Or
why he wanted her to give him credits.

A thought made her suddenly a little unsure of herself: should
she
have a ’stick?  How did you even get them?  Would she have trouble getting back to the Institute later, without money, if it got too late to hitch?

It'd take
hours
if she had to
run
back!

He was still waving his greasy cashstick at her.  'Uh, I don't have a cashstick on me,' she apologized.

He muttered something that sounded like “flashin’ null bim” as he rummaged about, the ’stick vanishing.  He held up a plastifoam cup, rattled it.

'Tokens, then, Lady?'

She looked at the cup in confusion for a moment.  Did he just call her a bimbo, then expect her to give him
money
?

'Look, I just stopped to see if you were all right.  I don't have any money, I just wondered why you were sleeping in this doorway.'  She thought it better not to say that part of her, the childish part, had really kind of hoped he was some sort of giant larval mutant.

He stared at her a moment, then the cup slowly lowered.  His enunciation suddenly became much clearer.

'Well, frick.  Guess it just got too hot in my room at the Hilton.  Came out here for some fresh air.'

He stretched back out on the ground and awkwardly humped over onto his side, muttering as he pulled the grubby sleeping bag up around him again.  'Frickin’ dumb bim.  No-money, no-brain.  Wake a man ’a see if he's ’sleep.  Dumb sliv null…'

Leeth scowled, spun round, and stalked off.  She didn't know what a “sliv” was, but she was pretty sure it was insulting. 
And
she still didn't know why he was sleeping there.

She strode on quickly, angry now, her good mood evaporated.  She had half a mind to go back there and shove his sleeping bag down his throat.  If it wasn't for the smell.  Maybe he was some new type of mutant, one that was allergic to
water
.

She stomped on, not quite muttering to herself.  Then halted, startled, when a figure stepped from a recessed doorway to stand directly in front of her.

'Slow
down,
badette!'

Still cross, she'd almost walked into him.  Khaki jacket, black sweatshirt, black jeans.  Very thin.  She looked him up and down, grimacing, before stepping round him and continuing on.

'
Mean
little minx,' she heard him mutter from behind, then noted his footsteps as he started following her.  Up ahead, sprawled against a burnt-out Electrikar rammed diagonally up on the pavement, three more men watched her approach with interest.  Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she saw that the one on the trunk was an ogre.  It looked mis-grown, over-sized – bony brows sticking out too far, teeth and jaws too big.  Piggy little eyes.  Completely hairless too, with dead-looking whitish skin.  It stood and approached from her right.  She moved a little left to give it a wide berth.  Uncle had never really made it clear exactly how infectious they were, but she didn't want to take any chances.

'Hey, sliv, what's the race?  Grab a break.'

The speaker, a human, leaned forward off the car, dusting down his vacated place on the front fender and bowing low as he offered it to her.  When he straightened up, light gleamed off the bands of the healthy, muscled abs visible under his unfastened denim shirt and the biceps revealed by the torn-off sleeves.  Mmm.  He was pretty good-looking.  And the way
he
said it, “sliv” didn't sound like an insult.

She stopped.  'What does “sliv” mean?'

He smiled a wolfish smile that made her like him a little bit more.  'Means “sliver”.' At her confused look, he waved up and down her body.  'Just means ya young.'  He eyed her up and done, speculatively.  'How age, enway?'

She lifted her chin.  'Eighteen,' she lied.  'Almost nineteen.'

His eyes narrowed in an interesting kind of way and she heard the thin one moving quietly up behind her for some reason. 
If he got too close…
  She smiled innocently.  'I'm trying to find the Red Fist Dojo, actually.  One-oh-two-oh on Seventh Street, isn't it?'

His eyebrows raised and he grinned. 
Nice teeth, too,
she thought.

'Yeah, that's true.  Meeting someone there?  Or you taking self-defense classes?'

The others laughed.

'Self-defense?'  She frowned.  'Maybe.  Sort of, I guess.'

'Good idea,' growled a deep voice to her right.  As the ogre approached, she turned and backed away a little, making sure it couldn't touch her.