MONOCHROME

It’s foggy tonight. We’re glad, because it provides some cover from the city-wide security camera system.

I’m with Dennis and Janet, driving to a familiar coffee shop called Bohemia. That’s where we’ll meet the rest of our gang. I still can’t believe we’re doing this.

Janet lounges in the passenger seat, wearing thrashed leather pants and a studded bustier. Dennis, hair freshly dyed, has a dark mechanic’s jumpsuit, complete with a name patch proclaiming the name “Oswald”. Must be a thrift store original. Both of them are carrying concealed guns, which they say is only for protection. So far, the gang’s been fortunate. We’ve never been forced to use the firearms.

My only weaponry is my computer, visor, and adapter. We’re not your typical thieves, robbing at gunpoint like sloppy convenience store thugs. We sneak in the dark, and strike when no one expects it. Working together, a pack on the hunt, we bring down much larger prey.

But we can’t get too confident. There’s always the risk of being caught.

I’ve downloaded the bank pass codes into my computer, and I’m looking at them again. Just making sure there’s nothing I’ve missed. I don’t want any surprises tonight. Everything has to be tight, if we’ve any hope of success.

Bohemia’s a trendy little coffee spot, with the typical cultural-exotic decor, and annoying corporate jazz playing softly in the background. It’s alright, I guess. It does have a devoted clientèle, because the coffee’s fantastic. Too bad it’s expensive. The smell of fresh ground beans torments me.

At our usual table, in the far corner, we meet Miguel and Shard.

Shard reminds me of a leprechaun. Heavily freckled, with a stubby nose and close-cropped hair. If I knew what green looked like, I’d imagine him wearing it, sliding down a rainbow into his pot of gold. He grins at me. “Hey, Reiko!”

“Hey.”

“What’s up you guys?” Miguel always makes a point of shaking hands with everyone. Like it’s a business meeting or something. He’s the type that’s leading a double life. Functioning citizen by day, deviant by night. An old friend of Dennis’s, though I’ve never really gotten to know him well. Tonight he’s wearing a nondescript business shirt, and a fedora with a long feather in the band. Some bizarre cross between an accountant and a convict.

“Does anyone want some coffee before we go?” asks Miguel. “My treat.”

I’m the only person who wants some. We order it to go, and head out the door. There’s no time to waste tonight

We all climb into Miguel’s van, our usual transport. The superhighway capability is one of our most important assets. Miguel tells the van’s system to plot the best route to the bank. A few mundane words of confirmation from the bot, and the van starts itself. Miguel drives manual, until we reach the on-ramp to the superhighway. And then the system takes over. The engine accelerates rapidly, propelled by the magnetics built into the road. I’m amazed that superhighways were barely introduced seven years ago, and now they’re as important to city traffic as the stoplight.

“Here we go kiddies!” says Dennis. “Anybody want out? You better say something now!”

Not a word.

Shard leans over me and gives Dennis a high five. “No way can we go back on this! We’re gonna score some divine cash tonight, my man.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dennis laughs. He reaches below his seat for something, a bottle of vodka in a paper bag. He passes it to Shard, who swigs and hands it to me.

“No thanks.”

He nods and passes it on.

Janet has smoked continuously since we left the house. She stares out the window, watching the road. I wonder what she’s thinking. But I don’t dare ask her when she’s this pensive.

Shard puts on music from some techno-tribal band, I forget the name of it, and don’t like it anyways. I’m distracted by the job ahead. I know the basics of the bank’s security system, but I know nothing about the vault. It could be independently wired to discourage hackers. Or it could be encrypted in layers. Layers mean trouble, because my access deck adapter can only handle older and simpler forms of encryption, like the kind at Giovanna’s. Even though I‘ve got the skills, my adapter may fail. But I can’t tell anyone this, not while we’re moving off the superhighway, almost to our destination. I stay quiet, focused on the world in my visor, trying to appear calm.

Miguel resumes the wheel when we’re on the city streets again. A few minutes later, we slow down next to a curb. Miguel parks at the edge of a small cluster of trees. The building’s on a low rise, dimly lit in the foggy glow of streetlights. So this is the Union Bayside Bank. It looks like something out of a horror film, all misty and forebodingly quiet.

With his duffel bag over one shoulder Shard flings the van door open.

“The city cams are along the main walk there,” Dennis says, pointing. “Let’s stay low and close to the outer wall.”

“In the back of the van we’ve got trash bags, pillow cases, everything we need to clean the place out,” says Miguel.

Janet tosses her cigarette butt out the window. “Let’s get it over with.”

We each take as many bags as we can carry. It’ll take a long time just to fill up with the money, let alone to hack the bank’s system. Damn. I realize there’s a lot more against us than I’d originally thought.

We creep low as we can, towards the two-story building. Just a group of young people, carrying guns and hacking hardware, out for a midnight stroll, tra la la. Just a way to make a living in these desperate times.

Once we reach a concealed area, we press ourselves against the wall. Then we begin the crucial search for the exterior access panel. These are always hidden, nearly impossible to locate. But Dennis’s friend, the manager who’s betraying the bank, told us where to look. It doesn’t take long at all. We find it in the back, next to a maintenance door. A smooth section of concrete, one brick in a whole wall of bricks that look just like it

Dennis taps at the little indentation in one side of the brick, the finger-hole that allows it to swing open, and says, “This is it! Eddie said it’s left of the door, near center, adjacent to the frame. You ready, Shard?”

“Yup. Let me at it.”

Shard’s our handyman, his bag full of special tools. Of the whole gang, he’s the most adept at physical breaking and entering, with years of experience as a street thief. No job intimidates him. He sets to work on the brick, tinkering the hidden lock with a tiny cordless drill. It’s a tool unlike anything I’ve seen elsewhere, that he designed himself. And it’s been a vital part of our gang’s success. He drills into the finger-hole for about four seconds, a small wisp of smoke drifting out. And then we hear something snap inside. I smell hot metal. The little door falls open, the access panel finally exposed.

He steps back and says, “All yours, Reiko.”

Miguel’s also a hacker, though he says I’m better at it. He’s got the top of the line in portable hardware. But he always stands back and let’s me have the action. I don’t mind that, but I’ve never seen him take on a super hack. He’s helpful, sometimes. What he does best is break simple lock codes.

The two of us plug in at the same time. I speak the initial command, and Miguel follows suit.

My visor’s on, and all hardware connected and running. Everything around me seems to fade. Only the dataflow matters now. I’m searing in a familiar blaze of adrenaline. Wow, no drug ever felt like this. Not even that bitch heroin. I focus on the visor, ready for the onslaught.

Once I establish the basic matrix of my interface, I speak my way into the correct database. Then I scan at full capacity. An infinite load of data surges into my adapter and filters into my computer. It appears as circulating lines of swift, repetitive code in my visor. This is the dataflow, the river that hackers must swim in. Swim, or drown in.

I manage to locate and access the basic security files. The first thing I do is scramble all the alert channels, anything that might bring the cops on us. With the bank’s own pass codes to verify the commands, it’s a task easily handled. The system just assumes I’m an authorized user.

While I disable the remaining alert channels, Miguel tackles the bank’s locked doors.

“How does the encryption look to you, Miguel? Any layers?”

“Nope. All simple code.”

I can see the sweat on his face. He’s nervous too. I help him out, and together we trick the doors open in minutes.

“All clear! Janet says, scouting around the corner. “Let’s go!”

We sneak towards a side entrance, Dennis in the lead. Just ahead is a glass-paned door, the bank’s logo emblazoned proudly across it. Dennis reaches for the handle. I hold my breath. And thankfully, it opens freely. No alarms. We all express relief that the hack’s working. So far.

It’s dark inside, a single desk lamp aglow in the corner.

Then there’s a shout.

“Stop! Security!”

A security guard rushes Janet, baton raised. Instantly Janet pulls out her gun and fires three shots into the air. The guard shouts, diving to the floor. Bits of plaster board from the ceiling drift down like snowflakes. I watch, dumbfounded, as Dennis leaps onto the guard and restrains him in a half nelson.

“Help me!” Dennis yells. Shard grabs a roll of wide electrical tape from his bag, and rushes to help Dennis. They wrap it around the guard’s wrists and ankles, the poor guy struggling and yelling.

Oh God. This really sucks. Janet’s never had to use her gun before. I fucking hate guns.

Dennis and Shard tape the guard to a chair as fast as they can, and tape his mouth to shut him up. Then Dennis looks at me, with a panic I’ve never seen on his face before.

“Are you cool? Do you still want to do this, girlfriend?”

I’m about to say let’s get the hell out of here. But I can’t. The challenge is too enticing.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

Dennis smiles “Alright. Go and work your magic!”

“C’mon, Reiko,” Miguel says, plugging into a desk terminaI. “I’m with you. You just tell me what to do, okay?”

“Right.”

This is it. I run to a nearby desk, plug in and activate the terminal there. Two stolen pass codes spoken, and I suddenly have full access to the bank’s administrative system. Why does this all seem too easy?

These programming languages are advanced, but nothing new to me. I proceed, determined that my adapter can handle the load. For a moment I’m afraid it’s going to die. But it’s just a sputter in the dataflow.

And then, there it is. What I’ve been looking for. The executive key--the pass code to manipulate the entire system. The ‘word of God’, as it’s called in programming slang. The word of God for this mainframe, quaintly enough, is ‘CHRYSALIS’. I speak it loudly, almost laughing. A few more simple commands, and I’ve just shut down the entire security grid. All that remains now is the vault. And that’s what I fear most. Please, don’t let there be layers.

“Hurry Reiko!” Dennis says.

“Quiet, I need time!”

“We don’t have it! Open the damn vault so we can get out of here!” Dennis is scared. We all are. I desperately search line after line of flashing digital characters for the lock sequence, but my adapter just recycles worthless code.

This can only mean one thing. Layered encryption.

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” cries Janet.

“Trouble. This thing’s heavily secured. Miguel, check the vault door for independent wiring.”

But then we hear sirens screaming outside.

Dennis runs to a nearby window. “It’s the rollers! Back to the van, now!”

My pulse roars in my head like a speed punk beat. I unplug and follow the others to a back door. But once outside, we find a chopper circling overhead, and an army of police blocking our retreat to the van. Stop. We’re busted.

The classic arrest scene.

A voice booms down from the chopper. “All of you! Down on the ground!”

These cops are in full regalia. Bulletproof helmets, suits of armor almost. Enough weaponry to face a small army. Janet and Dennis slowly lay down their guns. It’s one thing to take on a security guard. Confronting the police would be suicide. We all fall to the ground, hands behind our heads. Pathetic.

The heavy clutter of boots on damp asphalt, as the infamously brutal San Jose rollers descend on us like vultures. Knees in my back, pinning my ribs to the concrete so hard that it knocks out my breath. Damn it! Hands frisking me, groping, leaving no part of me untouched. Of course they discover the adapter and the rest of the hardware in my coat.

One of the cops laughs and says, “Oh, I see! Spikey girl here is the brains, and the rest of the rats are the brawn. Looks like you struck out this time.”

I can’t see him, since I’m flat on my stomach. What an asshole.

“And whose bright idea was it to rob a bank?” Janet mocks Dennis, as we’re all cuffed and thrown in the back of a transport.

“Shut up,” Dennis mumbles. He looks like shit.

“I wonder how they detected us,“ I say. “The only way they could’ve known was if someone sent a backup signal. I’d shut all the security systems down under admin clearance.”

No one speculates on it as we’re taken for the most humiliating ride of our lives.

We arrive at the police station, endure the booking process, and are sent to jail. I’ve never been arrested before, guess I’ve only been waiting for my luck to run out. And it just did.

The police station is everything I dreaded it to be. They have to take my picture twice because, the first time, I can’t resist sticking my tongue out at the camera. Then I have to take all my piercings out. Shit, my new lip piercing is going to close up. This sucks. The guard grimaces when I remove my ear plugs and the larger holes in my ear are exposed. Typically squeamish.

Before long they’ve taken everything I own, even my underwear. The strip search is humiliating, but it’s over soon enough. Now I have to put on the jail coveralls. The smallest size that they have is too baggy on me, so I roll up the pant legs, hoping I won’t trip and fall on my ass. I’m led down a number of dark hallways, still in cuffs. Then they open a heavy door with one small window set into it. Ominous light spills into the hall as I walk through. And the door slams shut. Click. That sound seals fate behind me.

Janet’s here. We’ve ended up as cellmates, at least for now. She’s lying on one of the bunks with her back turned to me, doesn’t say a word. It’s so quiet. I sit down on the bunk until I’m restless. Then I pace a bit, whistling, until Janet mumbles, “Stop that, please.”

“Sorry.” I keep quiet after that. I’m cold as hell in these coveralls. I sit on the floor with my back to the hard wall, staring at the floor. I haven’t felt this low since I was smacked up and drifting on the streets with Alphonse. Once again, my life returns to shit. If only I‘d listened to my gut, and backed out when I had the chance. I might be at home right now, with plans to seek a new job. Some real progress in my life. Kiss all that goodbye.

I wish I had my computer. The police confiscated it. I won’t get my adapter back, since it’s illegal hardware. But the computer is my rightful property, and they’d better give it back. Whenever I manage to get out of here. That’s going to be a long, long time.

There’s nothing to do but go to bed. I lie on the bunk, curled with a heavy pit in my stomach. It keeps me awake for several hours. Below me, Janet talks in her sleep. Something like, “Watch out, don’t fall!” I’m not sure. But it’s not long before I join her in a night of troubled dreams.

First thing in the morning Janet has her court hearing. Time to pay our debt to society. Information crime’s considered worse than attempted robbery or assault, so, out of the gang, Miguel and I will get the stiffest punishment.

Breakfast is rather unpleasant. I sit by myself and keep quiet. I can feel the other inmates staring, their eyes bulging like the sunny-side up eggs on my plate. Yeah, that’s her. The freaky new girl. What’s she in for? I can hear the unspoken questions, though no one talks to me. It’s all better that way. I’m glad when meal time is over and I’m taken back to the sheltering fortress of my cell.

About two hours later, Janet returns, her fists clenched and her eyes glistening with tears.

The guard locks the door behind her, and suddenly she crumples to the floor, sobbing. I kneel beside her. Enormous tears flood her cheeks.

“Janet? What happened?”

“I killed someone,” she says weakly. “I shot another security guard who was upstairs. In the wrong place, at the wrong time. He lived long enough to send that backup signal you mentioned. And then he died.” She buries her face in her hands. “Can you believe it? Involuntary manslaughter! That means twenty-one months in a penitentiary. Prison, Reiko! Fucking prison. I’ll be shipped out of here at the end of the week.”

This is terrible. At least I know how the cops detected us. That unfortunate guard upstairs, it was just his time to die. If he hadn’t been there, maybe the robbery would’ve succeeded.

Poor Janet. I lay a hand on her shoulder, while she smokes her last cigarette in silence.

Maybe tomorrow I can write Dennis a letter. Just touch bases, and try to make him smile. They won’t let me see any of the guys. I only hope Dennis isn’t blaming himself. We all chose to rob the bank, so this isn’t his fault. I believe now that nothing could’ve prevented our being caught. It was destined to happen, like fate. Perhaps it’s the same cosmic injustice that’s now made Janet a murderer. The older I get, the more I realize life is inherently unfair.

The rest of the day drags by. The routine of jail life is predictable, exactly as I imagined. I’m just glad that I’m with Janet, and not some other thug-bitch with a chip on her shoulder and me on her menu. A few of the bitches in here give me the creeps that way. I don’t know how long I’ll last in this place. I’m actually glad for bedtime, when I know I’m relatively safe and can rest, and close my eyes on the shit surrounding me.

Next morning at seven, we’re led to breakfast as always. Something very much like school about the way things are here. We do what we’re told, stay within our allotted boundaries, wait in a straight line, and conform like little sheep. Or else the Gestapo-wannabe guards will pound us into the floor.

Janet and I sit at a round stainless steel table with four other women. Neither of us want to interact with the other inmates. But it’s impossible to remain aloof when someone’s elbow is poking you in the ribs. The woman next to me hits me once, twice with her elbow, causing me to choke on a bite of bland oatmeal. I cough and gag uncontrollably till my windpipe clears. Of course everyone in the room’s looking at me. My throat’s burning, eyes watering. I can’t see well for a few seconds.

“Reiko! Are you alright?” Janet pats me on the back, makes me look her in the eye. I nod. Then I turn to the woman who elbowed me, a middle-aged white woman with an odd smirk on her face.

“You know, you can apologize,” I tell her, my voice raw as my throat.

She glares at me. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

If I was Loki, I’d have fangs bared. Suddenly I don’t care about the guards, the other inmates, anyone. “You fucking bitch! You know what you did to me.”

The three guards are hurrying over, as I know they must.

“Quiet!” The big one shouts. “One more word out of you, Yamaguchi, or any of you, and it’s lockdown Understand?”

They loom over our table threateningly, hands on their stunners as a warning. I behave for the rest of the meal, and so does the woman beside me. Hurray. Life in jail is going to be so much fun. Fights every day. Janet leaving for prison. I’ll be in here alone. The thought makes me cringe.

Right after lunch, I’m taken away for my own hearing. The system works pretty fast these days.

I plead no contest to all the charges--attempted robbery, unlawful accessing of information, and possession of contraband computer hardware. There’s no way I can deny it, since they found all the evidence on me. But instead of receiving a sentence, the judge tells me I’ll be due for another hearing in two days. Great, they’re going to let me hang painfully for a while, then they’ll drop the conviction on me like several tons of shit. I wish they’d just get it over with.

When I get back, I tell Janet what happened.

“So much of our lives is gonna be wasted in here!” She groans. “God I need a cigarette.” Janet’s a bitch when she’s fiending, so I don’t want to irritate her. Maybe I’ll just take another nap.

Then a guard comes to our cell. “Reiko Yamaguchi?” This one never pronounces my name right.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“You’ve been freed on bail. Step out please.” She unlocks the door, holds it open.

“This has to be a joke.”

The guard shakes her head. “It’s not. Step out of the cell, now.”

“Well, well. Someone has a rich friend. Or a sugar daddy,” says Janet, smirking. “How’d you manage this?”

“I don’t know. My bail was almost 300,000! I don’t have any rich friends. Definitely no sugar daddy, trust me.”

The guard doesn’t even bother to cuff me this time. How strange. Now that I’m free I guess I’m no longer a threat.

Janet waves, shouting, “Take care of Loki for me, okay?”

I shout back that I will.

Another guard hands me a sack containing my belongings, and reminds me that I must be back for my next hearing, or a warrant will be issued against me. I may be out of jail, but my troubles are far from over. What a bizarre turn of events this is.

I change out of the ugly inmate coveralls, and then look to see if my computer is in the sack with the rest of my stuff. It’s not. Damn them. I’m getting it back no matter what. It’s mine by right.

I storm across the lobby, and command the desk clerk to return my property. He ignores me, but I won’t leave until he gets it. It takes about ten minutes of glaring, sitting on his desk, and threatening legal action against him. But I know when he’s had enough. Eventually he gets up, and waddles away to the back office. He returns with my computer and visor in a plastic bag.

“Yamaguchi?”

I stick out my hand impatiently.

“Yeah. Just give it to me.”

“Here you are. They did an inspection of your system, and all illicit components were removed. Have a nice day.”

How I’d love to drive my fist through his fat face.

As I’m walking away, he yells, “By the way, the men who paid your bail want to see you. They said they’d wait for you in the parking garage.”

“What? Who are they?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives me the same self-satisfied grin. Bastard. I don’t thank him for the information.

So the cops stripped my computer, as I knew they would. It’ll have to be re-wired with hacking tools, and I’ll need a new adapter. Oh well. This isn’t the end of my hacking career.

My rescuers, whoever they are, are waiting for me below in the parking garage. Kind of creepy. People I don’t know? Or don’t remember enough to care about. One thing’s certain, they have a lot of cash.

And then, a frightening realization hits me--what if Alphonse has found me? Maybe he’s bailed me out, to try and lure me back into working for him. I shudder.

Alphonse was my first employer, to use the term loosely. A ruthless mid-rank gang lord. He and his cronies still prowl the streets of the Tenderloin. Always hunting for new faces. And young girls my age are Alphonse’s favorites.

Not long after I arrived in San Francisco, teenage vigilante I thought I was, I went to a sort of party at Alphonse’s apartment. I was hanging with four other street kids at that time, whom I naively assumed were loyal friends. We ended up crashing there a few days. But without warning, I woke up and found my friends had all ditched me, left me alone there. I had nowhere to go. No one else to look to for help.

Alphonse said I could stay, if I worked for him in exchange. How his eyes had roamed down my body. At first, he tried to convince me to turn tricks with his stable of runaways and addicts. But I made it clear, that wasn’t for me. So it was I got a job selling his illicit substances. It was alright for a while, I didn’t mind running the small-time drugs like weed and prescription pills. But then Alphonse introduced me to the smack. At first I just delivered it. But gradually Alphonse wore down my resistances, and soon I was using it too. Alphonse was a master of slavery, sealing me to him in a way even more sinister than prostitution.

Lucky for him, there was only one time that he tried to touch me. He was fifty-something, and I was only seventeen at the time, scummy pedophilic asshole. We were alone in his apartment, and he grabbed my breasts from behind He wasn’t prepared for my violent reaction, an instinctive power that even I didn’t know I had. I’ve never taken martial arts, never even had to fight in that kind of situation before. But somehow I managed to slip away from him and give him a solid kick in the kneecap. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t realize what I’d done, until I heard him cry out in pain and fall to the floor. I didn’t look back. And I swore I never would.

But, being the junkie that I was, I found myself on his doorstep again a few days later. His leg was in a brace, and his face held a wary sort of respect for me now. Served him right. He offered to give me my job back, as long as I told no one what he’d done.

I still can’t believe I went back to him that time. Junkies have no common sense. But even I had my limits. Smacked up or not, I knew when it was time to leave forever. A few months later, when I found out that Alphonse dealt in kiddie porn as well as smack, it was too much. I walked away for good, with him shouting at me that I’d never amount to anything, and that within a month I’d be back, same as always. But that time was for real. And I mean to keep it that way. If this is Alphonse’s good deed, bailing me out, I’d rather go back to jail.

I’m tempted to just go home. But in the end, my curiosity gets the better of me. I just have to know who’d care enough about me to do this. I ride an elevator that smells of urine to the sub-level. The door opens, and nothing. I see no one waiting here. Just a silent parking garage. Maybe these people already left. It wouldn’t surprise me at all.

Then I hear the sound of car doors slamming, and two men approach from the opposite side of the lot.

I‘ve never seen anyone like them. They look a few years older than me, mid-twenties maybe, both about my height. The taller one smiles, sharply handsome, with cheekbones that could etch glass. A long sophisticated business coat, and hair that splinters into thin dark braids down his back. Around his neck is a beautiful choker of beads and small seed hulls.

The other guy looks completely the opposite of his companion. His clothing's unremarkable--just jeans, a World Cup soccer T-shirt, and a pair of plastic flip-flops. There’s a dark stripe painted across both his eyes. His face is boyish, and he has a primitive wooden piercing poked all the way through his nose. Both nostrils and septum. It looks really cool.

“Hello, Reiko,” says the one with the braids. He extends a hand politely, soft skin and a perfect manicure.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Victor Lenex. And my companion here is Jona.”

Jona shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

They both look foreign. Jona has an accent, I can’t place where it’s from. But Victor has a perfect American accent.

“I guess you two are the ones who got me out of there.”

Vector nods politely. “Of course.”

“Would you mind telling me why you’ve bailed out a complete stranger?”

“You’re not a stranger. I knew you as a child. And I’ve searched for years to find you.”

I laugh so hard that I make an unattractive snort. “Okay...this is way too much Listen. If you guys are selling anything, or from some weird tribal cult, I’m not interested. Thanks for getting me out of jail, but I have to go now.”

I turn my back on them and start to walk away. Fast.

But Vector’s voice is pleading. “No, Reiko! Please. We’ve spoken to your father, Mitsekuni Yamaguchi.”

“My…father? Huh?”

“Yes. He was the one who told us where to look for you.”

I haven’t spoken to my father in over a year. And we’re not on speaking terms now. Who do these guys think they are? Are they telling the truth? If they are...

Suddenly, I feel dizzy.

“Are you alright?” Jonah suddenly reaches out to me.

I have to get out of here. My vision clouds as I back away, blood pounding. They must be crazy. When I run, blackness engulfs me. Last thing I see is both of them rushing towards me, Vector calling my name, as I fall and never seem to hit the ground.

Everything is enclosed in a humming darkness. My awareness returns slowly. I can hear them talking, their voices sound distant, like they’re at the end of a long tunnel.

“Is she alright? Look at how thin she is. Is she sick?”

“No, I think she’s alright, maybe a little malnourished. She’s tough. I think we just startled her. Give her a moment to recover.”

“We’ve found her at last, Jona.”

“Yes. It’s definitely Reiko Yamaguchi.”

“Do you think she’ll come with us? After we tell her what’s happened?”

“I don’t know. She’s a stubborn one, just like her father said.”

They both laugh.

“Quiet! She’s waking.”

I wake to find myself lying on the concrete, my head in Jona’s lap. He gazes down at me with a look of worried affection, fanning me with something that looks like a bird’s wing. Weird. But it feels good. I allow myself to relax as I regain my bearings.

Victor leans into view, long braids cascading around his face like a tattered veil, the tips nearly brushing the ground. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “You scared us with that little stunt, you know.”

“I feel terrible.”

“Lie still a moment,” Jona says. “Don’t rush yourself.”

Victor fetches a handful of water from a nearby drinking fountain, and brushes it over my face with two fingertips. The moisture is wonderful, cooled by the breeze from Jona’s fan. Victor’s fingers are gentle against my skin. After a while I sit up.

“I’m sorry,” Victor says. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh, that’s okay, I guess. Thanks...for helping me out there”

They both smile. Victor pats my shoulder. “Of course.”

If they were psychos who wanted to rape me, they’d certainly be doing it now. But I still don’t trust them fully.

“So, let’s get right to it, then. Why’d you bail me out? And how do you know my father?”

They look at each other, and Victor shakes his head. “We have a long story to tell you,” he says. “And I think we should wait until you feel better. What you need now is to go home and rest.”

Jona helps me to my feet. I still feel a bit dizzy, but I can manage to stand by myself now.

“This is my contact number,” Victor says. He hands me a business card. “Call me tomorrow evening, and we can arrange a meeting.”

“Alright.”

Victor’s wristcom suddenly rings, and he answers, speaking another language. Is it Spanish? No, something similar, but I can’t tell. He disconnects quickly, after a terse exchange of words, and glances over the parking garage as if he’s looking for something. Or someone.

“We have to go,” he says, shooting Jona an urgent look. “Please, call us tomorrow, Reiko. It’s very important.”

“I said I would.”

Jona’s already walking away, looking worried. He whistles. “Vic! Hurry!”

With only a nod of farewell, Victor hurries after, those pristine braids and coat billowing in his wake. Wonder if his hair is really that long, or if they’re extensions. Fake hair is stupid.

“Bye.” I shout. Numb. I don’t know whether to wave, or run away.

Jona turns to look at me one more time, smiling shyly just before he gets in the car. Then they drive off, out of my sight. And I find myself wondering if they were real, or a dream.

I crush Victor’s business card into my pocket, evidence that they were all too real. I’m glad they’re giving me a night to absorb all this.