The Peripheral

19

The drone, the size of a robin, had a single rotor. As it matched her speed, under a streetlight on that level stretch of Porter Road, she’d spotted a one-inch square of aquamarine duct tape on its side.

Leon came home from a swap meet with a big roll of the stuff, about the time Burton moved into the trailer, a shade none of them had seen before in duct tape. He and Burton used it as a sort of team badge for their toys, when they played drone games. She didn’t think they were playing one now, but they seemed to be seeing her home from Jimmy’s, which meant they were back from Davisville.

She had a headache, but getting Conner Penske out of Jimmy’s parking lot seemed to have lightened her shitty mood. She wouldn’t fill in for Burton on the game anymore; she’d help Shaylene fab things, or find something else to do.

Burton was going to have to find out what that was that Conner had mounted on the back of the Tarantula, though. That wasn’t good. She hoped it was just a laser, but she doubted it.

She was pedaling fast, helping the hub build up the battery, but also because she wanted to tire herself out, get a good night’s sleep. Looked up, under the next light, and saw the drone again. Not that much bigger than the paparazzi in the game, but probably printed at Fab.

She swung into the curving downhill stretch of Porter, and there was Burton, and Leon, under the next light, waiting beside a cardboard Chinese car they must have rented for the trip to Davisville. Burton in his white t-shirt and Leon in an old jean jacket most people wouldn’t wear to mow the lawn. Leon wasn’t a believer in Burton’s idea of getting dressed for work, or for anything else. She saw him reach up, plucking the drone out of the air, as she braked in front of them.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself,” said Burton. “Get in. Leon’ll bring your bike.”

“Why? He won’t pedal. I need the juice.”

“It’s serious,” said Burton.

“Not Mom-”

“She’s fine. Sleeping. We need to talk.”

“I’ll pedal some,” Leon promised.

She got off the bike, Leon holding it up with one hand on the bars.

“Tell you in the car,” Burton said. “Come on.”

She got into the two-seater their mother would have called an egg box, its paper shell nanoproofed against water and oil. It smelled of buttered popcorn. The floor on the passenger side was littered with food wrappers.

“What happened?” Burton asked, as soon as he’d closed his door.

“At Jimmy’s?” Leon had mounted her bike, was wobbling, the drone in one hand, then finding his balance.

“On the goddamn job, Flynne. They called me.”

“Who?”

“Coldiron. What happened?”

“What happened is it’s just another shitty game. Saw somebody murder a woman. Some kind of nanotech chainsaw fantasy. You can have it, Burton. I’m done.”

He was looking at her. “Somebody killed?”

“Eaten alive. From inside out.”

“You saw who did it?”

“Burton, it’s a game.”

“Leon doesn’t know,” he said.

“Doesn’t know what? You said he was getting the Hefty Pal for you.”

“Doesn’t know what it is, exactly. Just that I’m making some money.”

“Why’d they call?”

“Because they want to know what happened, on the shift. But I didn’t know.”

“Why don’t they know? Don’t they capture it all?”

“Don’t seem to, do they?” He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “I had to tell them about you.”

“They going to fire you?”

“They say somebody took out a hit on me tonight, on a snuff board, out of Memphis. Eight million.”

“Bullshit. Who?”

“Say they don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Somebody thinks I saw whatever you saw. You see who did it? Who did you see, Flynne?”

“How would I know? Some asshole, Burton. In a game. Set her up for it. He knew.”

“The money’s real.”

“What money?”

“Ten million. In Leon’s Hefty Pal.”

“If Leon has ten million dollars in his Hefty Pal, he’s going to hear from the IRS tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t have it yet. He’ll win a state lottery, next draw. Has to buy a ticket, then I give them the number.”

“I don’t know what Homes did to you, but I know you’re crazy now.”

“They need to talk to you,” he said, starting the car.

“Homes?” And now she was frightened, not just confused.

“Coldiron. It’s all set up.” And they were headed down Porter, Burton driving with the headlights off, his big shoulders hunched over the fragile-looking wheel.