Sugar Skulls (19 page)

I have to get her out of here.
“Just miscounted, that’s all. Turned out I had extra vitapep shots instead, so I did a quick restock.”

With a few mumbled words accepting my explanation, he sends me on my way. My jaw aches from clenching it. Vee hurries over to meet me, looking concerned but keeping mum. She’s waiting until we’re outside to talk.

Scrappy has to roll the door up for us because Fire Plug’s still on the ground. Vee shudders a little when she looks at the prone asshole. At a jog, we put the warehouse behind us. A few blocks away, Vee grabs my arm hard and stops me.

“Micah.”

When I spin around, she gets a grip on my elbows, holding me there. I meet her gaze, replaying her knockout of Fire Plug in my head, the question already halfway out. “Vee, what happened back—”

“Rete knows who I am, doesn’t he?” she demands, gritting her teeth.

“He hasn’t gotten that far yet.” I shake my head, thrown by the change in subject. “
I’m
the one he suspects, enough to make trouble. And he wasn’t surprised at all that I brought you with me. Usually, he’s so paranoid that just showing up with someone would’ve set off alarms. He knew beforehand, had his recruitment speech ready. Ludo probably ran back to tell him right after we ‘bumped into’ him at Mercette.”

Little weasel. Though, if a tweaker like Ludo is hanging around, maybe I’m right about Rete running more than music and booze.
“If I had to guess, Rete probably thinks the extra Rivitocin and your sudden appearance mean I’m building my own crew to challenge him. That’s why he wants you making drops, too. Claiming you as part of
his
crew, ensuring you won’t be at my beck and call for drops of my own.” When Vee squeezes my arms, I can’t tell if she’s angry or trying to comfort me. “I never should’ve brought you here.”

“Like I gave you a choice.” Flipping her sunglasses down once more, she shoots a look at me over the frames. “The more drops we make for that dipshit, the more chances you have to gather the information you need.”

Knowing that she’s right doesn’t make it any less frustrating. “Then let’s move. We need to get out of sight so we can check these parcels before we deliver them.”

A few blocks down, we find a quiet alley shaded from view. The perfect spot to do a little recon.

I look over each package carefully, noting any marks or distinguishing characteristics I’ll have to duplicate with my own supplies. Then I slice one open, check the contents—all illicit, but nothing that troubles my conscience—and reseal it in a new envelope I brought, complete with packing tape.

Vee grabs the next one and follows suit. The whole thing takes only a few minutes. She’s a quick study.

“Tricks of the trade,” she says. “I’ll be a master by midday.”

I bundle up our gear and hand her the first parcel. She opens up the envelope taped to it and looks at our instructions. There’s a time, coordinates, and what to do when we arrive.

We take off down the street together. As Vee keeps pace with me, a weight settles into the pit of my stomach. Whatever happens, she’s a part of this now, with all the ugliness and danger that comes with it.

What have I done?

V

Why the hell did I hit that guy?

He was about as intimidating as a Chihuahua, had barely brushed up against me. I didn’t even register hitting him until the impact traveled up my arm, then it was like the Sugar Skulls’ hasty retreat out of Hellcat Maggie’s all over again.

I punched that girl in the face, too. My go-to move is straight to the jaw.

I try to shake it off because we have enough to deal with at the moment. Following Micah, I’m expecting filthy back rooms, dark corners, and maybe . . . yeah, I’ll admit it, the chance to step over a dead body. What I get instead is an alley on the edge of the Odeaglow. Access doors to three separate nightclubs open off to either side, explaining the reasoning behind the drop point. The area isn’t remotely seedy, but it certainly isn’t anywhere I’ve visited before.

“It’ll be
fine
,” I tell Micah again, trying to get him to let go of my belt loop.

“Take it slow. First few runs, you always move faster than you think. Breathe, move, assess. Then haul ass back here.” He puts the parcel in my hand, and the paper is damp with sweat.

This seems like a lot of work for over-the-Wall music. I’m still game, but all of Micah’s poise and grace evaporate as I approach my first drop. Even though he’s keeping his mouth clamped shut, I can imagine him squeaking out advice every few footsteps. The muscle in his jaw jumps; he’s clenching his teeth
and
his fist.

I need to hurry, before a car backfires or a door slams open and he loses his shit completely.

Walking—chin up, with just enough ass-shake to signal a
fuck off
to anyone watching—I trail one hand along the brickwork.

Act like you’re supposed to be here.

Halfway down the alley, there’s a series of multipaned windows, the glass soaped over, the molding frosted with bird crap. I count them off, stopping in front of the third set. The ledge under it is hollowed out. For a second, I wonder if I can really stick my hand into the recess, but a glance back at Micah tells me I have all of three seconds before he starts after me.

Get it done, Vee.

The bravado lasts until my hand clamps down on something fur-squishy, and I have to swallow what could’ve been the girliest shriek on the planet. Just next to the dead thing is a paper-wrapped packet. I pull it out, repressing the urge to wipe my hand on my borrowed pants, and stuff the other parcel in its place. Shoving the pickup into my pocket, I pull away from the wall and circle back around to Micah at a reluctant saunter.

He heaves a major sigh of relief. “You did terrific, babe. Really, really great. Really great. Just—”

“Thanks, love, but shut up.” I grab him with my clean hand, trying to avoid thinking about whatever germs are already crawling up my other arm and devouring bits of my flesh. Headed out of the alley, I pick up the pace. He’s going to think the adrenaline got to me, but I’ll explain after I boil myself in hot water. “I need a restroom
now
.”

He gestures down the street, brushing my contaminated hand as he points. “Take it easy. There’s a coffee and stimshot place—”

I don’t even let him finish the sentence before taking off at a run. “Come on. You’re gonna need some soap, too.”

Between gasps for breath, I explain what happened, and the line cutting down the middle of his forehead is replaced with crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“No problem dropping a guy with a set of Brights,” he teases, “but a dead mouse throws you off your game?”

A glance down at my hand reveals there’s something matted under my fingernails. Fresh panic puts wind in my sails. “Fuck, fuck, ew, ew, fuck. Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Micah races to keep up with me, probably thinking this is my way of demanding another hot shower.

I’ll just have to see if I can fit both of us in the sink.

M

The first job was a gimme, and Vee passed with flying colors, checking the parcel, repackaging it, and making the drop in a marked mail slot a dozen streets away from our brief bathroom detour. The sky-high pickup, however, ups the ante. We have to be careful and a little lucky, because we’re well into the Jobalign District, surrounded by over-21s, and we’re headed up.

For nostalgia’s sake, I’m guessing, one of the Corporate apartment complexes has a wooden water tower on the roof, about nine feet off the ground and twenty feet around. It’s certainly not utilitarian. The only water this puppy has seen is rain.

I tell Vee she can hang back and keep an eye out for anyone too curious, but that suggestion gets rejected. Instead, she puts her newfound climbing skills to the test and scales the rickety fire escape with plenty of style. I keep glancing back, but every time, Vee pushes me to keep going.

Once she crests the roof’s lip and climbs onto the dusty, gritty surface, I’m up and charging toward the tower. I vault onto a storage shed and sprint across its weatherproofed shingles, running the numbers in my head: six-and-a-half feet up, twelve feet across, and a full head of steam add up to a successful leap, so I go for it.

Sure, I could’ve climbed the water tower itself, braving splinters and gravity, but honestly, this way is faster.
And more fun.

I glide across the distance, legs tucked like a cannonball, arms straight behind me like a comet’s tail. At the last second, I reach forward and my hands catch the lip of the platform; buckling down, I manage to pull myself up and onto the tower.

No time to gloat. Gotta find the packet.

I check the drain faucet leading to the roof, then feel around the body of the tower until I hear a click, and a piece of the wooden wall swings open. Inside is a thick white envelope, taped shut. I stash it in my bag before scrambling over the side and sliding down one of the supports.

Vee hustles over the raised partitions dividing the roof into sections. “That was impressive.”

I do my best to keep from posing with pride. Not sure how successful I am. As we make for the fire escape and work our way down the side of the building, I think about the packets we’ve gotten from Rete so far. They’ve all been run-of-the-mill drops. No swerves, no traps. Except for that power play with Vee, he hasn’t tried anything.

Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me at all.

V

Micah and I take the long way back to Rete’s. His two goons keep their distance this time, so there’s no need to flash any knuckle jewelry.
Amazing how a simple set of Brights can change your whole outlook.

The short and ugly one gives me the stink eye, a bruise already spreading along his jaw.
Whatever.
Stripped down on top to a grubby wifebeater, he’s sprawled on a crate with a 72-ounce convenience store cup pressed to his face. Eyeing his tats, I realize they’re old-school ink under the skin, not the newer magnetic ones that Rete sports. I trace over my forearms with my fingernails just hard enough to feel them through the cotton of my hoodie.

“
Puta
,” he mutters at me.

“
Pendejo
,” I fire back, another knee-jerk response.

His matchstick partner cuts between us and jerks a thumb at the office. “Rete’s in there.”

“You speak Spanish,” Micah notes under his breath as we head toward the inner sanctum.

“Enough to be mouthy, apparently.” I stick close to him, wondering what other surprises I’m going to pull today.

Not that we need any more complications. Inside, Rete’s got his feet on the desk and his fingers steepled; no phone call, no papers, no distractions. No doubt he’s been watching us since we came into the building.

He probably has cameras set up all around the warehouse.

“Punctual with a capital
punk
,” he drawls. “Just how I like it.”

I don’t answer because there’s no point in rising to cheap bait. The way he looks at me makes me want to take another shower.

Micah tosses the repackaged water tower parcel onto the desk. “As requested. Made the first drop, here’s the second.”

Rete sets the package aside for a moment, pulling two black cases from a desk drawer and sliding them toward us. “Here. I know you said you’re all set on Rivitocin, but based on the runs you’ve made since your last pickup and your new shadow here, you’re due for a restock.”

Like a dog with a bone.
He can smell something’s off, even if he’s not smart enough to figure out what, and he’s not going to let this go. I decide to cut in before things get stickier. “Thanks, Rete. Very thoughtful of you.” I grab the twin cases and stash them in Micah’s messenger bag.

“Think nothing of it.” Slightly upset I broke his rhythm, Rete flicks his gaze from me to Micah. “It is odd, though, that I can’t find
anything
in Maggie’s files about your ’tocin use.”

Micah’s jaw is tight, his voice measured. “Wouldn’t know anything about that. Maggie handled all the bookkeeping.”

Rete sits up, planting both feet on the floor and feigning satisfaction with the reply. “Of course, of course. Well, now that that’s settled . . .” He turns and reaches for two packets on a nearby shelf, tossing one to Micah and one to me. Both have coordinates written on the envelope. “Errands for tomorrow. First one’s a clean drop, second one’s an exchange, and follow the instructions on the new package.” Rete flutters his hand when he adds, “Oh, and drop numero three is person-to-person, and he likes his couriers pretty. You’re up, strawberry.”

Micah goes very still, his fists clenching as he looks to me. I shake my head, trying to be subtle.
I’ve got this, love.

Rete leans forward far enough to scrawl an address on the water-tower envelope. “Don’t leave quite yet, pets. Not done for the day. Going to have you run this, too.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick stack of prepaids. Tossing one on top of the envelope, he jerks his chin at me. “There’s a dress code at the club, and ‘Teen Runaway’ isn’t going to cut it.” He tilts his head to the side. “Something short to show off the legs, maybe.”

If Rete keeps this shit up, Micah’s going to knock his teeth down his throat. And while I’d appreciate such a thoughtful gesture, this guy’s attempt at innuendo is honestly pathetic. Never mind that every snake who’s slithered through the Cyrene music scene has tried at least once to play grab-ass with me, and that goes double for most of Corporate’s execs. On an ordinary night, I would have handed Rete his balls in a bag.

Different tactics might yield better results. I start with a slow smile and follow that up with a hand reaching down to indicate midthigh. “About here?”