Mindjacker Page 7

  He laughed. “I told you. I don’t lose.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m sorry it took a while to call. I work long hours and things are a little nuts right now, and you probably don’t want a call at two in the morning when I’m free to talk…”

  Quinn chuckled at that. He had no idea that she was often up at two in the morning, that she did her best work in the wee hours. But she couldn’t tell him that. It would raise questions. “Yeah, I suppose two isn’t quite respectable, is it?”

  “Nope. But you know what this means, right? Since you lost and all?”

  Quinn suppressed a giggle at Noah’s chiding. “I owe you a drink.”

  “You do. Are you free tomorrow night?”

  Another Friday night. Someone was hoping for another round of hitting the skins. She could probably use a round herself, after the week she’d had.

  “Tomorrow night works. Same place?”

  “We can go there, or I can come to your neighborhood…”

  Quinn looked down for a moment. “You don’t want to come down here. But tell you what… there are a couple of places I’ve wanted to try. I’ll look ’em up and message you.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Quinn set her phone down, still shaking her head. Sometimes people surprised her. Not often, but now and again. Sure, it was likely that Noah just wanted to win the bet, and maybe get another crack at her as a bonus. If it went anything like last time, she could live with that.

  She turned back to her computer. It was time to search for a tech, the one who would get her through this job and back on track.

  Chapter 13

  Quinn sat in the small, air-conditioned room along with twenty-four other Protectorate trainees. A man in a light gray suit stood at the front of the room, a remote control in his hand and a projected presentation on the screen. It had a picture of a mindjacker, a mind reader attached to his belt and nodes in his hand, next to a tech with her open laptop nearby and a smile on her face.

  “A jacker and tech are a team,” the gray-suited man went on. “The jackers get the most recognition, but a mindjacker cannot succeed without his tech partner. A good partner is absolutely crucial to your success in this job. Moreover, a tech needs more than solid technical skills or the ability to sort and process large amounts of raw neural data—she needs to be a team player, a supporter, and someone who can improvise and offer protection when things don’t go as expected. And often, they don’t.”

  It annoyed Quinn that their instructor kept referring to the jacker as “he” when she and a few other women were sitting right in front of him. But the fact was, most jackers were male.

  The instructor paused, clicking the remote until a new image appeared, showing the same duo again, this time with the jacker sitting down with his eyes closed and nodes attached to his head. “Most importantly, a tech needs to be someone you can trust with your life. That kind of trust doesn’t happen overnight. It’s something you build, with time. But now that you all have completed the apprentice stage and passed your initial tests, it’s time for you to try out different techs and start thinking about finding the right match. I recommend working with at least three different techs on your assigned jobs, and ideally more than that.”

  Quinn listened, glad she didn’t have to undergo the tribulations of auditioning techs to see who she meshed with. She’d made her choice. She had a difficult time imagining anyone but Daria working by her side, and Daria had already agreed.

  After having sent out a request for applications from techs willing to work with her on the Borelli job, Quinn checked her messages for responses.

  She had only three.

  She muttered a curse. At her level, she should get tons of applicants. Working with higher-level Tier Twos meant more money and the possibility of getting partnered with that jacker once she reached Tier One.

  But word had gotten out. Agents weren’t allowed to know the details of other jobs, but everybody knew things. They knew who was what tier and who was slated for promotion. They knew if Quinn was still Tier Two and looking for a tech to work with her on a low-paying job, something had gone terribly wrong. And none of the good techs would touch that.

  Quinn glanced at all three applications, dread coming over her. Two lacked Daria’s experience. The third had plenty of experience, but if he was taking this job it meant he’d fucked up, big time. She stood up and began pacing her apartment in frustration.

  You don’t need the perfect partner, Quinn. You need someone good enough to get you through this job.

  Quinn sighed and sat back down at her computer to notify each of the applicants. By the end of the day, she had three interviews lined up for tomorrow.

  The din of the electronic music at Hole was quieter that day as Quinn sat at a booth in the back, enjoying the cool darkness on another hot, miserable day.

  Just as the clock struck noon, a blonde woman breezed in wearing a cute polka-dot sundress, looking around Hole with slightly judgmental eyes as she chattered away on her phone. Quinn sighed in annoyance. Sara, her first applicant.

  Sara’s clothes and perfectly straightened hair made it clear she was a Midtowner. So did yammering on the phone without regard to her surroundings, something no Downtown woman could risk. Quinn would’ve preferred to work with a Downtownie, but they were hard to come by in the Protectorate.

  Sara spotted her and hung up the phone. She joined Quinn at the table, her gold bracelets jingling together as she shook Quinn’s hand.

  “You must be Sara. I’m Quinn. Thanks for coming all the way down here.”

  “I think this is the first time I’ve ever ridden the subway this far south. Boy, the AC was not working in the station today… and what’s with all the people in there? It was like homeless central.”

  Quinn held her tongue. She didn’t have time to explain that it was always like that, and that there were reasons. “Yeah, the stations down here can get a little… interesting.”

  She made a face. “That’s for sure. And that smell!”

  Quinn gave a begrudging nod. She knew that smell too well. After Sara grabbed a drink and took a seat, Quinn began.

  “So, Sara, what got you into our business?”

  It was a test, an attempt to glean some insight into who Sara really was. Quinn didn’t care how Sara or anyone found out about the Protectorate and decided to pursue mindjacking; she cared about why they did so.

  Sara shrugged. “To piss off my dad, who wanted me to go to university.” Then she smiled, one of those purse-lipped smiles higher-class women had perfected. “I’m mostly kidding. To be honest, I wanted the challenge. And to make the world a better place…”

  Quinn nodded. “I understand.”

  She understood, alright. She understood that only someone from privilege would choose a career like theirs for the challenge. She also understood that Sara’s mention of improving the condition of the world was nothing more than an attempt to impress Quinn. Quinn could tell when people were bothered by the injustices of the world and wanted to do their part to right them. She knew Sara didn’t care much about justice, but she decided not to hold that against her.

  As Sara sipped her drink, Quinn asked a few more questions. She got the answers she needed to hear, for the most part. Sara had decent tech skills and a good record with the Protectorate… and she was a woman. Quinn preferred a female partner. She had nothing against men, especially since, in her experience, all humans were untrustworthy. But in their line of work, being female made targets, cops, and bystanders less suspicious. Few people expected mindjackers to be female. And Quinn could fight well enough for the both of them.

  “Last question,” Quinn said, taking a sip of her diablo. “Why are you willing to work with me, when it’s clear this isn’t a great job?”

  She looked surprised by the question. “I… I guess I’m hoping to advance.”

  Quinn nodded. “I can understand that.” She held out her hand again. “Tha
nk you for coming down and meeting with me. I’ll let you know within twenty-four hours.”

  Sara shook her hand and left.

  Quinn sat there for a moment. She had a few minutes before her next candidate arrived, so she went to the restroom. In the mirror, her facial bruises looked back at her. They’d faded quite a bit, but injuries like that took time.

  When the next candidate arrived, Quinn smiled. She was tall and had a warm smile that reminded her of Daria.

  “Sitting in the corner where it’s quiet, and reading…” the woman said. “I’m guessing you’re Quinn.”

  Quinn stuck out her hand. “You must be Annie.”

  Annie sat down and Quinn asked her a few questions. Even Annie’s communication style reminded her of Daria. Daria on her good days, anyway.

  “I’m curious,” Quinn finally said. “Where did you grow up?”

  “Here, in El Diablo. But you’re probably wondering which neighborhood. We lived in Westgate for a few years, but then we moved to Mayfair.”

  Quinn blinked a couple of times. She too had grown up in Westgate, and Mayfair was the neighborhood she hoped to move to after she advanced to Tier One. “And what got you into our line of work?”

  “At first, curiosity, to be honest.” A shadow fell over her face. “But then I saw so many injustices on the job. More than I ever did in Mayfair, that’s for sure. And I realized that I wanted to be part of a solution, even if it was an unconventional solution.” She smiled. “I hope that makes sense. I imagine growing up Downtown gives you different motives.”

  Quinn smiled at that. “It can. Last question: why work with me, given that this is a crappy job that doesn’t pay well?”

  Annie gave a friendly shrug. “I’m looking for more experience, and this job provides that. Plus… you have a strong reputation. Whatever happened with that last job, I’m sure it was a fluke. And I believe everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn said, liking Annie more by the second. She stuck out her hand. “Thanks for coming down here, Annie. I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

  When Annie was gone, Quinn sat there for a moment, sipping her drink and feeling relieved. She had a good feeling about Annie. She seemed… perfect. Quinn had wanted to hire her on the spot, but she held back. She only had one chance with the Protectorate, and a job like this needed the right tech. She needed to think on it. Besides, she still had one more candidate to interview.

  Quinn resumed reading on her phone, until someone approached.

  “You Quinn?” came a deep voice.

  Quinn looked up to find a tall, solidly built guy standing there. He had tattoos on nearly every exposed bit of skin, including his shaven head, and a half-mean, half-bored look on his face. He was a thug, and he looked just like the thugs she grew up with.

  She hated those guys.

  She reined in her desire to tell him no thanks, and motioned to the empty seat. It would be a shit move to call him here and immediately dismiss him, although from the looks of him, he didn’t have to come far to meet her. With tats like his, he was from Medford, or maybe White Sands.

  Thug Man sat his muscular body in the chair, spreading his legs out and taking up space. Just like thugs did.

  “So,” Quinn began. “Hammond Jones, twenty-eight years old, five years with the organization, good tech skills… what got you into the business?”

  “Why does anyone get into this business?”

  Quinn let out an impatient breath. “For different reasons, actually. And I want to know yours.”

  “Got bored with dealing sand.”

  Sand was El Diablo speak for drugs. Powdery drugs: coke, heroin… dry and damaging like the sand that surrounded their city and blew through almost every day.

  Quinn stared back at green-blue eyes that were surprisingly probing. “Seriously? You’re going to waste my fucking time by being a wiseass?”

  He shrugged. “Look. I can give you a bunch of answers you wanna hear, if that’ll make you happy, but in the end, what difference does it make what my reasons are?”

  “Because you can tell a lot about a person by their why. Just like you can tell a lot about a person by how they handle interviews.”

  “Can I get you something?” came a voice, interrupting them. It was Soo.

  Thug Man shook his head. “Nah. I ain’t stayin’ more than a few minutes.”

  Soo nodded and moved on. Quinn scowled. This guy. He didn’t even order a drink. He was too busy trying to prove he didn’t play along with anyone he didn’t want to, not with her, not with their server. Just like a thug.

  He leaned back in his chair and gave her the bored look again. “To answer your question: people like us—people from around here—we don’t got a lot of choices, do we?”

  Quinn nodded at that, reluctantly giving him credit for a decent answer. “The tats. They make you easy to dime.”

  “I cover up for jobs. Never been a problem.”

  “And you’re comfortable working with a female jacker?”

  “You mean ’cause women are weak?”

  Quinn gave him a withering look. He was messing with her again. Testing her.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” he said.

  Jesus. She needed to end this. “Alright. I think I got everything I need. I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

  And she would. She would let him know that he was never going to work with her. She didn’t do thugs. Period.

  He nodded, then got up and left.

  The next morning, Quinn sat down at her computer to contact the three candidates and let them know her decision. She pulled up Annie’s application to find her phone number, looking her information over one last time to make sure she didn’t miss anything. Yup, Annie was perfect for the job. And for the first time since everything went to shit, Quinn felt hope.

  Then she saw it. The “3” on the line indicating her tier designation at the Protectorate. Annie was Tier Three.

  How the hell did she miss that?

  But Quinn knew exactly how. She’d been so desperate to find someone she liked, and so happy at how much Annie reminded her of Daria, that she’d completely overlooked it. And she’d never expected a Tier Three to even apply for the job! That’s what Annie had meant when she said she wanted to learn. She was a senior apprentice, hoping for a lesson from someone experienced.

  But that couldn’t happen now. A Tier Three tech, no matter how eager, wasn’t ready for the complexities of a job like this. Quinn couldn’t take the risk.

  “Damn it!” Quinn said, slapping her desk and getting up.

  She began to pace, circling her apartment. What now? It was down to the lesser of two evils: Sara the Midtowner or Hammond the Thug. A privileged girl who was nice enough and had adequate skills, but valued nothing that mattered… or a Downtown thug with more experience, but a bad attitude that got under her skin.

  Yeah, she’d rather work with a girl from Easy Street than an asshole she couldn’t trust.

  Quinn sat down and emailed Sara.

  Chapter 14

  The subway lights whizzed by as the A train headed north to the Mesquite neighborhood in lower Midtown, a halfway point between Quinn and Sara’s apartments. Sara had suggested a quiet coffee shop for them to meet and start planning the job, and Quinn was happy to get out of Downtown. She’d felt cooped up without the distraction of a job, and she longed to get back to doing what she did best.

  When the train squealed to a stop at 39th Street, Quinn exited and made her way up the escalator. Outside, the broiling sun glared overhead and the blowing sand snuck its way behind her sunglasses, but she walked briskly to ensure she wasn’t late. Thanks to the conditions that day, the sidewalks of Mesquite were quiet. There were no moms in white sundresses pushing their children in strollers, or boys in shorts and t-shirts playing catch in Mesquite Park. The park’s fake turf grass, basketball courts, and benches shaded by concrete arches remained empty.

  Soon she arrived at Perk Coffee, a l
ittle place with round cafe tables and pictures of cacti on the walls. Quinn ordered an iced coffee and sat down. She was ten minutes early, which gave her a chance to look over her notes again. She had a preliminary plan for the Borelli job, but still hadn’t nailed the best way to approach it.

  When it was ten minutes after the hour and Sara still hadn’t shown, Quinn checked her phone and her messages. She’d gotten the time and place correct, right? She sent Sara a quick message. A couple minutes later, she got a reply.

  On my way. Sorry. Five minutes.

  Quinn frowned. On her way? Five minutes would put her at seventeen minutes late, which was beyond Quinn’s zone of acceptability. In her book, lateness was never okay, but she’d learned to tolerate a few minutes here and there, especially when train travel was involved.

  At thirty after the hour, Sara arrived, offering an apologetic smile. “Shit!” She laughed. “I’m so sorry. The A train can be so slow…”

  Quinn bit back a nasty comment. “Where do you live?”

  “Commons,” she said sitting down.

  Quinn’s face grew hot. Commons was just north of where they were. Sara could’ve walked to Perk and arrived sooner.

  “What time did you leave the house?” Quinn pressed.

  Sara raised her eyebrows. “What time did I leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because it shows that if you would have left in time to meet me, you wouldn’t be so fucking late.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Sara said, looking utterly baffled at Quinn’s annoyance. Which was a problem in itself.

  “Who cares? If you can’t be on time, if you can’t even respect your partner, how the hell am I supposed to trust you with my life?”

  “It’s one job,” Sara said, rolling her eyes. “We aren’t partners.”

  “So? The stakes are still the same—”

  “I was late this one time,” Sara said, exasperated. “You need to quit stressing so much if we’re going to do this.”