Dream Drive Ch. 05

"There aren't any cameras here, sir," Steinson said. "That's correct?"

Charles grinned. "Not a single one."

Chi ran for the door. Steinson was faster. He blocked the door with his body, sealing off her escape. She tried to change direction, but the floor was a nest of plushies; her feet were caught up under her. Steinson shouldered her chest, and she fell back onto the carpet.

Charles's prosthetic left leg stomped down on her abdomen with mechanical force, knocking the breath out of her. Chi grasped and wheezed. Charles pressed his shoe down harder.

"Steinson," Charles said.

"Yes sir?"

"Get in touch with hospital surveillance. Make sure the cameras from here to the closest service elevator see only what they need to see. Come back with as many men as you think you'll need to escort Dr. Chi downstairs."

"Yes sir."

Steinson was back in under a minute. A small letter was sent out to the medical team under Dr. Chi that, as per her request after a long hiatus, she'd been reassigned back to the labs that morning, with a new title: Deputy Vice President of Prosthetics Testing.

Later, Charles was sitting on the couch in the living room. It was short - Rachel-sized. His knees were stretched high, and his pants leg exposed where his black sock rippled over the carbon-steel of his fake leg. He worked from his Ftaps.

Charles had dealt with his injury for several years. George suspected that the hovercar accident was intended for him, not Charles, the son. In any case, Charles survived, but with the loss of a leg. Modern neuro-prosthetics made the loss of a limb more of an improvement than anything else, but nothing had ever quite matched the dexterity of his original leg.

That was when Charles had met Jackson, and, for the first time, he felt like he had his leg back.

Charles could have destroyed Jackson easily, but he'd held back. Even now, he didn't want to really get his old friend in trouble. He just wanted to put him between a rock and a hard place. That would force Jackson to work for Charles, and Charles could then work on him – bring him back into the fold. Convince him that they could build something amazing.

Jackson missed it – he missed them. Charles could see it in his eyes when they crossed paths at the institute. A little research told Charles that Jackson had grown increasingly isolated, increasingly bitter. It was only logical - he was a genius robbed of his dream. Charles had to restore that dream, one way or another.

He didn't usually invest so much in employees. If they didn't work well, employees could simply be replaced. But Jackson was more than that. He was something else.

A friend, maybe?

Charles wasn't sure. He didn't have any friends.

One of Rachel's devices beeped. Charles smiled up at it. A readout told him that Rachel's computers – which had a direct line to the G.A.U. internet – was being hacked by an external source.

He felt bad for whoever was doing the hacking.

****
After Chaki's strange and fear-studded trip through Jackson's odd universe of steel and stone, cars and robots, electric-magic and roaring subways, they had finally returned to Jackson's neighborhood. She was almost looking forward to taking shelter in the dungeon-like apartment block, but first, Jackson wanted to eat.

Chaki was worried after their narrow escape from the police, but after admitting that she was somewhat hungry herself, Jackson dragged her to a place he claimed served the best pizza in the entire Sprawl. The brick shack labeled Al's Pie Co. was crammed in-between another towering apartment block and a place with a flickering neon sign reading Pawn Shop. Chaki was going to ask what pawns were, but the scent coming from the pizza shack drew her attention away.

The inside of the structure was as dilapidated as the outside. A wooden fan on the ceiling circulated fire-heated air. A fat, sweaty man with hands like hockey pucks and puffy cheeks was standing behind a counter, in front of a brick half-circle that was holding fire in the back. "Hey, Jackson, how you doin'?" His voice had a lazy ease to it; he leaned his way into his words the same way he leaned on the counter.

"Hey Al."

The man's eyes took in Chaki. "Escorting your lady friend about town, eh?"

Jackson stopped near Al; Chaki lingered a bit behind his shoulder. There were round objects, spotted with browns, reds, and greens, situated on metal discs under the glass of the counter. The browns looked like meat – they must have been the pizzas. Bright lamps kept them all illuminated.

"Something like that," Jackson said. "Chaki, this is Al, the owner of the restaurant. Al, Chaki."

The fat man stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meetcha."

Chaki gingerly took up the greasy fingers. "A pleasure to know you as well."

"Polite, and pretty," Al said. "You ain't finding that every day. You keep a close eye on her."

Jackson made his small smile. "I plan on it."

Chaki rewarded him by snuggling up a bit closer to his arm. Al grinned at them, then tapped the glass. "What'll it be?"

Jackson looked at Chaki. "Do you like spicy things?" he asked.

"I always pick the spiced wasna," Chaki said. "It's the only kind Shaka and Palla both don't like, so I don't have to worry about them eating it all."

"I'll take four slices of the pepperoni and sausage you got there. Throw some red pepper on it."

"You got it." Al started sliding triangular hunks of the pizza out onto a tray he produced from under the glass. "You want some drinks?"

"I want a beer," Jackson said. "Make that two beers. I'm tired."

" Jackson," Al said, walking to a white container in the corner, "you're not 21." He popped open the trunk. Cool air wafted out in a small mist. "So what kind you want?"

"One Guinness - and a Studly Monk, if Jake made another batch."

"Just got it in this morning. Chaki, you want something?"

"...um..." She looked at Jackson, then back at Al. "I think I will simply have water," she said.

"Hey, gotta love the agua. Cleanse the palate and all that jazz." Al shut the container and plopped three bottles next to their pizza – two dark looking glass containers and a single clear plastic container that looked to hold water. "You want me to just charge your card?"

"Sure."

"Alrighty."

"Let's sit," Jackson said. They took a scratched up table with two wooden stools near it. Jackson bit into his pizza voraciously, then snapped off the cap of one of his beers and drank deeply. He thumped it on the table and smacked his lips. "Jeeze. I needed that."

"So...I just hold it, like this." Chaki mimicked him, propping up the slice with both hands.

Al made a big belly laugh from behind the counter. "You new around here?"

Chaki nodded. "I've never had pizza before."

"Oh yeah?" Al said. "Go on, let me know what you think. I got so many fawning pricks like Jackson I don't know what's shit or not anymore."

"Hey," Jackson said through a mouthful of pizza-mush, "I pray your shalary."

"Muh-ma-mugmumb-mab?"

Jackson swallowed. "Shut up."

Chaki grinned, then took a bite of her pizza.

Flavors erupted in her mouth. It was warm, rich, spicy, sweet, savory, all at once and all together. She coughed slightly, but closed her mouth – she didn't want to lose any of it. She chewed it slowly, relishing the mixture of flavors, then gulped it down. "What is this made out of?"

Al frowned. "Not good?"

"It's amazing," Chaki said. "I've never had anything like it."

"Can't tell you the details. Trade secret."

Chaki gave him a single nod of respect. "I understand."

Al grinned. "Finally someone that takes pizza as seriously as I do. Hey, Chaki, you watch out for this knucklehead over here, okay?"

"I plan on it," Chaki said.

"Ah, to be young again." Al moved through a black door behind the counter that swung wide as he pushed through. She heard his deep voice begin to bellow a song. She knew the words were all different, but as before, thanks to Shakhan's blessing, she simply understood the words.

Oh, to have that first piece – of love on the street,
Another sweet beat, with a song we will meet!
Under the stars! Under the staaaarrrs!

His last word echoed out over the eating room, the note wavering up and down. "...heh," Jackson said. "I never knew what he was singing until now."

"That was another language, wasn't it?"

"Italian," Jackson said.

Chaki took another bite of pizza. "This ish gud."

"See?" Jackson tilted his beer at her, then took another big gulp. "Told you it'd be worth it."

"I thought having all the pizzas out there was a waste," Chaki said. "I think I realize why he does that. He expects to sell them all, doesn't he?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. He's got to make them constantly throughout the day. I'm surprised we're alone right now."

"What is your drink, exactly?" Chaki asked.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, then put the glass down near her hand. "Have some."

Chaki lifted the bottle. The color of the liquid was dark, almost black. She raised it to her mouth and took a sip.

She almost spat it out. Her lips mashed together. It was incredibly, disgustingly bitter. "Ugh!"

Jackson laughed and snatched it away from her. He took a long, thirsty swig. "Good, huh?"

Chaki shook her head. "How can you stomach that?"

"It's an acquired taste," he said.

Chaki used a combination of water and pizza to try to get the bitterness out of her mouth, but a film of the stuff sat on her tongue. She rubbed it along the roof of her mouth, trying to dislodge the sensation. "Blegh."

"The look on your face was hilarious."

"I'll get you back for that," Chaki said. "Mark me well."

Jackson smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Chaki looked back over the counter. "Al seems like a good man."

"He is."

"Are you friends with him?"

Jackson shrugged. "I come here to eat and drink. He makes polite conversation and then leaves me in peace. So I guess he gets me, on some level. I respect him. He does his thing, he does it well, and he doesn't care about the drinking age."

"Perhaps you should get to know him better."

Jackson shrugged again in the sort of way that told Chaki he would think about it for a few minutes, and then put it at the bottom of his list of priorities. Jackson just wasn't a people person. She smiled to herself, then went back to her food.

It was a good moment. A calm moment. There they were, taking their time, eating delicious food, sharing easy conversation. The building was old, but it was warm. There was a slight thumping in the background as the ceiling fan turned and creaked. Snatches of sung Italian words drifted over their heads as Al worked in his back room and shuffled behind the counter.

Jackson's hand found Chaki's on the table. She squeezed it back, and they watched each other, smiling. Her worries seemed to slip out of her.

She wished it was always like this; that every day was so easy. No need to hunt to survive; no press for strength, or worry about Shakhan's mission, or the threat of demons. No past to cower from; no bad memories to wish away. Just letting time tiptoe by, holding the hand of a man that looked at her as if she were the sole star in a dark sky.

The bell over the door rang. Jackson and Chaki both looked up. Chaki cringed – the men were wearing dark suits and ties. They looked official, uniformed; on their heads rested something that was not as bulky as the police helmets, but more substantial than Jackson's jamming headbands. Thin black visors rested in front of their faces.

"They aren't here about us," Jackson said quietly. "Focus on your drink. It's none of our business."

Chaki did as she was told, but her eyes kept flicking to the two men as they approached the counter. One of them called out. "Hey, Al! It's Friday!"

Al emerged from his back room. He stiffened when he saw the two men, nodded. "Yeah. Hold on a sec." He went back into his room and came out with a small plastic card. "It's charged."

The speaker took the card and turned it over in his hand. "So I see. Thanks." He pointed under the counter. "That pepperoni pie looks pretty good."

Al moved quickly and quietly. He slid the pizza out from its spot, into a cardboard box, and handed it to the men. "On the house."

"Thanks Al. You're alright."

"No problem." Al's voice was mechanical. "You fellas take care."

"See you next week." The men turned and started back toward the entrance.

The one without the pizza stopped when he saw Chaki. "Hey, Shot. Check out what we got here."

Shot stopped, looked at Chaki and Jackson. Chaki stared at her bottle of water. "Hansen, I'm hungry."

"Try the X-ray setting. You'll change your mind." Hansen stepped over. He was a young man with a neatly combed brown beard. His hair was neat, too, but it was mostly covered by the half-visor on his head. "Hey there. You're pretty cute."

Chaki wasn't sure how to react. She looked at Jackson. He was staring at a bit of crust on his plate.

"Hey, don't be shy," Hansen said. "People around here call me Hansen. What's your name?"

Chaki hesitated. Not returning her name would be extremely rude. She cleared her throat. "I am Chaki."

"Chaki. I like it. Kinda suits you."

"Thank you."

"You want to come back with us?" Hansen said.

"I just ate."

Hansen smiled. "We're gonna do stuff besides eating."

"No, thank you." Chaki noticed that Al was watching from the edge of his counter. He looked nervous.

"You got plans or something? This your boyfriend?" Hansen pushed two fingers on Jackson's shoulder, moving him slightly. Jackson did not respond. "Looks kinda scrawny to me. He's probably a Roomer."

"...Roomer?"

"Keeps in his room all day because he doesn't have a life," Hansen said. "You been baffling her with bullshit, right? Come on. Thirty Vitcoins says you still live at home with mommy."

Jackson turned his head away.

Hansen chuckled. "Wow. We got a tough guy over here. Chaki, come on. You gonna go with us or drag this brick around by the neck?"

"He is not a brick, and I do not drag him," Chaki said. "Jackson, say something."

Jackson frowned. His eyes darted to Chaki, then the corner of the room. He bit his lip.

"He won't say anything," Hansen said. "He's shaking like a little leaf. You should spend time with real men. You'd probably wise up real fast."

"I have all the wisdom I need, I think."

"I got my car parked outside," he said. "Why don't we take a little ride?"

"I am getting tired," Chaki said, "of strange men trying to impress me with things I don't care about. Leave us alone."

"Don't play hard to get on me," Hansen said. He lowered his hand and rubbed Chaki's shoulder.

Chaki grabbed his wrist and squeezed. "Do not touch me without my permission."

Hansen grinned. "Oh man, Shot, we got a serious firecracker over here."

"Hansen," Shot said, "my pizza is getting cold."

Hansen looked back at Chaki. "I like things hot, too. You coming, or do I have to rough up wimpy over here to convince you?"

"Hansen," Al called. "Not in the restaurant."

"Shut up, Al," Hansen said. He let Chaki go and looked at Jackson again. "What's your name, kid?"

Jackson looked up at him. He said nothing.

Hansen cracked his knuckles. "You don't want to make me ask again."

"That's my customer, Hansen," Al said. The plump man had moved closer, but was still a few feet away.

"So?"

"Be reasonable. If it gets around that my guests get assaulted, I won't be able to pay the fee much longer. Jonathan wouldn't like that."

"Jonathan's not here."

"Hansen," Shot said. "He's right. Leave the damn kid be. There's plenty of women."

"Hey," Jackson said.

It was the first word Jackson had volunteered. Everyone looked at him for a moment. "...what?" Hansen asked.

Jackson smiled. It was not the small, warm smile that he reserved for Chaki. It was a cold, calculating smile. "You think you're tougher than me, right? Basically, you're stronger, so what you say goes. Is that it?"

Hansen pursed his lips, shrugged, nodded. "Yeah, you know what, that's basically it."

"Let's bet on it."

"The hell are you talking about?"

Jackson slid his chair back and stood up. He faced Hansen and raised his hand, stretching his fingers. "You get five punches," Jackson said. "Five free punches, anywhere on my body. If you can knock me out in five punches, you win. It's not like I'd be able to complain at that point, anyway."

Hansen laughed. "So what if I lose?"

"Then you just go on your way and enjoy Al's pizza."

"Hansen," Shot said. "Can we fucking leave already? I don't want to get tangled up with a schizophrenic."

"Jackson," Al said, "I'm agreeing with, uh, Shot's assessment here."

"Jack," Chaki said. "This is ridiculous. Let us deal with them and be done with it. Why are you hesitating?"

"Deal with me?" Hansen said. "You're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?"

"I don't know the appropriate social reaction," Chaki said. "But I find myself rapidly no longer caring. Jackson, if you don't act, I will."

"You keep your cute ass in that chair, babe. The kid's a man, he can make his own bets. If he's serious."

"I'm deadly serious," Jackson said. "Five punches. No low blows, though. I haven't tested that yet."

Hansen squinted, then shrugged. "I can live with that." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strange, curved piece of metal. He slipped it over his fingers.

"Hansen," Shot said. His voice had changed – it was a warning. "Don't push it."

"Just enough to knock him out." Hansen raised his iron-knuckled fist to Jackson's eye level. "Too bad you didn't say what kind of punch it could be. That's a damn shame."

Jackson shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

Hansen drew his fist back.

His punch caught Jackson clear across the jaw with the ugly smack of steel impacting flesh. Jackson's head snapped down in the direction of the blow. Chaki tensed.

Jackson shook himself, stood straight, and cocked an eyebrow. "What, that's it?"

Al's eyes were wider than a bison's. Hansen looked at his fist, up at Jackson, back at his fist. Shot was frowning deeply.

"...I get it," Hansen said. "You moved with the punch. I thought it didn't feel right."

"Uh-huh," Jackson said.

The next punch came in under Jackson's chin, snapping his head back. He went back a step, catching himself, and then leveled his head. He rubbed his jaw. "That one stung. Two down, three to –"

Hansen's third punch interrupted Jackson's words, catching and crushing his lips to his teeth straight on. Chaki winced. Not expecting the blow, Jackson fell to the ground.

Hansen leaned down, grabbed Jackson by the collar of his hoodie, picked him up, then slammed his fist into Jackson's face once, twice, three more times. After the fourth punch, Shot was there, pulling him off of Jackson. Hansen was breathing rapidly; his eyes were wide.

Jackson slowly picked himself up, dusted himself off. He moved his lips around, as if working feeling back into them. "You cheated. Oh well. I win."

"What the fuck is this?" Hansen asked. "Al, if you're fucking in on this, I'll –"

"Al's not in on it," Jackson said. "Just look at him."

Al was visibly shocked. He stepped back under Hansen's scrutiny, raising his hands and shaking his head. "I'm not involved, okay?"

"You're not involved," Shot said. "Hey, kid. How'd you do that?"

Jackson looked at Al, then Chaki, and then back at Shot and Hansen. "Trade secret."

Shot started chuckling. "I think I like you."

"Shot, the fuck? Let go of me so I can beat some respect into him."

Shot stopped laughing. "I don't know what that kid's got going on, but he'd kick your ass eight ways to Sunday." Shot shoved Hansen back. "Take the pizza to the car." Hansen opened his mouth to say something. "Now," Shot said. Hansen's mouth closed. He grabbed the pizza and left the building.