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they were printed up. Because the man in the bed was now stone-cold deaf.
Wormy kept to the back alleys and the service ways, away from the lights. He
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spent the next day in a big recycle dump-ster, not daring to return to the
desal platform. Probably his little cozy had been discovered and vacuumed by
now, its hard-won contents dumped into the Gulf alongside poor Tai-chi-me's
possessions.
They might as well go ahead and dump him, too, Wormy thought bitterly. The kid
was too vit bungoed to last a month in juvie hold. He'd go over the screen
inside, never come out intact. He had been the nearest thing to a real friend
Wormy had had, and now he was gone, too.
There wasn't much left to try to scavenge except maybe a little truth.
He found two of them, Carasco and Gray Leena, outside Compieradas's Emporium.
They were leaning against the wall, sharing a sense stick and laughing and
giggling. Wormy sidled out of the shadows, nervously watching the street for
signs of federates.
"Hey, Carasco?"
The big Tesla turned, frowning. "Who asks?"
"Me. You know me, Carasco." Wormy stepped farther into the streetlight.
"Hey, ain't you the little freak who keeps following Anita around? Paco finds
you, he's gonna grease you good, camaron"
"Wait a minute, Cary." Dragged by the sense stick, Gray Leena was trying to
focus on the new arrival. "How come he ain't in jail?"
'' Yeahhh." Carasco seemed to remember something.'' How come you ain't in
jail?"
"They let me go." Wormy looked past them, eyes on the street. "I got to find
Anita."
Carasco laughed. He was a big kid, full of wildness and the usual juvie sense
of misplaced immortality. Nothing could hurt him; nothing could frighten him.
"Get gone. Waft. Jojobar, camaronJ"
"I got to know. I got to ask her something." As Carasco started to turn away,
Wormy made a desperate grab for his shirt.
Carasco reached around to swat him with the back of his hand, disdaining the
effort required to form his fingers into a fist. Wormy went staggering back,
stung. The bigger boy's expression went mean.
"You touch me again, camaron, and there won't be nothing left for Paco to
grind."
Wormy's lips tightened. He extracted his transmitter. "Tell me where she is.
Tell me now."
Carasco squinted at the device. "Or what? You gonna grease me with your box?"
He took a step forward, reaching out with a massive hand. "About time somebody
got rid of that piece of junk."
Wormy retreated, holding the transmitter in front of his chest like a shield.
"Don't, Carasco. I don' want to hurt you."
The big Tesla laughed and continued to advance.
Wormy touched a contact. Carasco suddenly whipped around almost in midair, as
if he'd been hit by a heavy-caliber slug, to land screaming on his back
holding the sides of his head. Beyond, a couple of patrons about to enter the
Emporium had stopped and were staring in the direction of the noise.
"Jesus!" Gray Leena bent over her neg, who was kicking and crying like an
infant. She stared fearfully up at Wormy G. "What'd you do to him?"
"He was gonna hurt me. Where's Anita?"
"Try the Tiburon pier. She said somethin' about spendin' the noche out there
with Paco." She touched her whimpering boyfriend, drew her fingers back as
though his skin had suddenly acquired toxic properties. "What did you do to
him?"
Wormy spun and ran into the night, leaving behind the lights of the Emporium,
the street sounds, and the whine of an approaching siren.
Tiburon pier extended triple fingers out across a shallow portion of the Gulf.
It was a mixing place, old and seedy but full of life and lights, a grand spot
to stroll away a hot summer night. Rich administrators and cleanies,
assemblers and maskers mixed freely on the pier with ninlocos on good
behavior, poor truck farmers from inland, recycle monkeys and space-basers. On
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the pier, nobody cared who or what you were. Darkness and damp dissolved away
daytime discrimination. All that mattered was the soothing sound of the Golfo
Califor-nio slapping against the pilings beneath your feet, the noise and
laughter and smell of greasy seafood frying in dozens of tiny shops.
Wormy was glad of the crowd. While the pier had its own private security
force, patrolling federates occasionally put in an appearance.
It was busy tonight, active as it always was in the summer season. Plenty of
touristas as well as locals out trying to beat some of the heat. Good pickings
if one were inclined to a little petit larceny. But not this evening. Not for
him.
He found them almost by accident, as he was about to give up and start back
from the tip of the southern finger. They were standing to the left of the
fishermen who methodically cast their lines over the sides of the pier more
for the activity than in hopes of catching anything. Farther out on the dark
sea lay the ambulatory stars that marked the location of cruising ships,
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