Part 11 (1/2)
But it was the eyes that gave the experienced maid pause. No way to tell what they'd seen. What they'd done. Abby started to credit them with what she'd known at ten or so.
Then shook that thought off.
Five Corners had been going to h.e.l.l fifteen years ago. And it had gotten worse. No, this kid had seen worse than what drove Abby out of here.
There really was no reason to trust her. Certainly not her and a smart kid with connections to all the gangs.
It was time to walk...fast.
”You see that corner down the way,” the girl said, pointing. ”The one with two stores on it and a couple of good-looking houses. One's even got some gra.s.s they cut.”
Abby looked and saw it.
”Uncle Joe and Auntie Mong don't allow no drug sales on their corner. No nothing. And they got shotguns to back them up. That's neutral territory. You go there. I'll bring Bronc there, so you can talk, and maybe Bronc will help you.”
”How about Uncle Joe. Could he help me?”
”Uncle Joe don't know nothing. You can ask him if you want, but all he ever says is that he don't know nothing.”
”Smart man.” Abby had known Uncle Joe's in her time. She sauntered that way.
A second later, when she looked back, the cat was cleaning its paws, but the girl had vanished.
Uncle Joe's provided shade, and a lazy fan only slightly disturbing the warm air.
An old man of dusky origins took her measure, said, ”You're not from around here,” and pointed Abby at a soda cooler when she agreed she wasn't.
Abby paid her rent for taking up s.p.a.ce in the store by buying an orange soda.
”I'm adding a deposit on the bottle. You drink it here, you can turn it in for the deposit.”
”Sounds fair,” Abby said, paid, and turned away to examine the merchandise. It was mostly food and essential items for the home. Or the hovel. Abby noticed a good supply of Sterno stoves and candles. Oh, and one entire wall was taken up with cheap wines and fortified beers.
It wasn't much different from the stores Abby'd spent her quarters and dimes at. Only now, everything was a buck or more.
Uncle Joe's ”You start any trouble and I'll finish it” told Abby she was no longer alone in the store. The girl was back, but no one was with her.
”You want an orange soda?” Abby asked.
”I like the grape kind better,” the kid said, her face intent as she checked out the store.
”It's just me and Uncle Joe,” Abby offered.
”She lying?”
”Not that I can see,” Uncle Joe said, but quickly turned his attention to stocking cigarettes on the shelves behind him.
The kid sidled up to Abby. ”Bronc says your rig is making all kinds of music. Stuff he don't know how to work.”
Abby glanced at her wrist unit. ”Is it making music like a cop or jawbreaker?”
”No, or we'd have run. Then again, Bronc says you might be some kind of superbreaker. How's he to know?”
”I work out on the Rim. We got better stuff than the fools who think they're running Eden.”
Brown eyes went wide. ”The Rim! You been in s.p.a.ce?”
”It ain't all the stories crack it up to be.”
”What part of the Rim you from?” a young man's voice asked, cracking on ”Rim.” He was a head taller than his girlfriend. Maybe a shade cleaner, at least his elbows weren't scabbed. His eyes were an intense blue that seemed to overflow with questions.
”Wardhaven,” Abby said. ”And other places.”
”Didn't they just have a big s.p.a.ce battle around Wardhaven?” the youth asked.
”I wasn't in that fight. Some of my friends were. Some of them died.”
The two youths seemed to put their heads together over that one. Now, seeing two samples together, Abby figured the boy for thirteen, fourteen. The girl for maybe twelve, tops.
”What kind of work you do?” Bronc finally asked.
”Interesting stuff,” Abby said. ”A little of this. A little of that. The less said about it the more I like it.”
”And you're from here?”
”Not in the last fifteen years.”
”It would be nice to be fifteen years away from here,” the boy muttered.
”And she wants to find her 'mother,'” the girl added.
”Everyone's got a mother. You get away from yours for fifteen years and even you might want to see her again. Maybe even your gram.”
”I'd be happy if I never saw Granny Ganna ever again.”
Abby let herself blink twice at that name. She also made a point of not skipping a breath. ”You two want a drink? What's her name asked for a grape soda. What do you want, Bronc?”
”I'll have a beer,” he said, pulling himself up to his full height.
”He likes a strawberry soda,” Uncle Joe snapped from two rows over. ”And that's all he'll have from my place.”
”Auntie Mong would sell me a beer,” the boy said in not quite a whine.
”Over her cold, dead body. Don't you kids think us gray heads talk to each other?”
Grateful for the distraction, Abby pulled a grape and a strawberry soda from the cooler, and headed her two, ah, unreliable information sources to the counter. Business done, and more deposits made, Abby quick marched the youngsters to a couple of chairs around a dusty s.p.a.ce heater.