Dark Angel: Skin Game by Max Allan Collins Read Free Book Online
Authors: Max Allan Collins
somebody to wake us at dawn?"
Dix nodded. "Take my room," he said, pointing to a door off to the right.
She took a few steps then turned back to Logan. "You comin'?"
A small smile appeared and he said, "Yeah."
Dix's room was a far cry from the penthouse apartment
where not so long ago Logan had lived, or even Max's condemned-building crib, for that matter; but it would do, for tonight anyway. About as big as a good-sized bathroom and illuminated by a single lightbulb dangling from a cord, it had an old double mattress on the floor in one corner, some bookshelves with a few volumes on the opposite wall to the left, a small round table near them with two chairs, and in the front left corner—below some steam pipes that Logan had to duck beneath—an old leather recliner that had been salvaged from God knew where.
"You take the bed," Max said. "I'll take this." She patted the recliner.
"No," Logan said. "You take the bed...."
She gave him a sharp look. "When was the last time you slept?"
He shrugged, but said, "Can't you let me be a gentleman about it?"
She waggled a ringer at him. "Who's a genetically enhanced killing machine that can go days without sleep?"
"You are," he said hopelessly.
She knew she had him now.
Without any more argument, he spilled into the bed, took off his glasses, and instantly fell asleep. He hadn't even bothered to take off the exoskeleton—the device affixed to the lower half of him that allowed him to walk. His wheelchair, the contraption he'd spent so much time in the last two years, lay in the pile of rubble that had been his apartment before White's people trashed it.
Logan Cale was, after all, Eyes Only—the cyber freedom fighter, a terrorist to the authorities, an identity secret to most (but not Max). Scion of a wealthy family, Logan used his inherited money to help those less fortunate than himself—like the transgenics; these efforts had led to the bullets that had put him into a wheelchair.
Plopping onto the recliner, Max kicked back and listened
as Logan started to snore softly. She couldn't think of a prettier sound. Pulling the string on the light and grinning, she looked over at this man who she loved and adored, asleep in the darkness. "I love you," she said quietly.
He snorted a snore in response, and Max suddenly realized this was what they all wanted, what they were all fighting for—just a little peace and quiet in this big, noisy world.
Logan's snoring grew louder, and Max decided that even peace without quiet was good enough for her. Closing her eyes, she drifted off in a cloud of hope that carried over into sweet dreams.
Which, when so many of her days were waking nightmares, was one small blessing, anyway.
Chapter THREE
SIEGING IS BELIEVING
TERMINALCITY.7:35 A.M.
SATURDAY, MAY 8, 2021
The next morning, rested and refreshed, Max and Logan joined a number of their fellow outcasts in the Terminal City media center and watched the early morning news on KIPR. The picture showed a dozen police cars layered in front of the main gate in multiple barricades, their light bars flashing red and blue, heavily armed and armored officers running around behind the barricade. "Tell me something I don't know," Max said dryly. "Maybe she will," Logan said, with a nod to the screen. The camera had settled on a female newscaster wearing too much lipstick. "As dawn breaks on the siege at Terminal City, the situation is tense but unchanged. While several hundred transgenics remain barricaded inside the restricted area, police and National Guard stand an uneasy watch at the perimeter, each side seemingly waiting to see what the other will do next." "No kidding," Max said to the TV "You think they're coming in?"
Logan asked. She shook her head. "I don't think they're that stupid." Logan shot her a quick grin. "What about White?" They exchanged glances—neither really considered Ames
White stupid, but both knew him to be incredibly ruthless
and reckless, with other
Dix nodded. "Take my room," he said, pointing to a door off to the right.
She took a few steps then turned back to Logan. "You comin'?"
A small smile appeared and he said, "Yeah."
Dix's room was a far cry from the penthouse apartment
where not so long ago Logan had lived, or even Max's condemned-building crib, for that matter; but it would do, for tonight anyway. About as big as a good-sized bathroom and illuminated by a single lightbulb dangling from a cord, it had an old double mattress on the floor in one corner, some bookshelves with a few volumes on the opposite wall to the left, a small round table near them with two chairs, and in the front left corner—below some steam pipes that Logan had to duck beneath—an old leather recliner that had been salvaged from God knew where.
"You take the bed," Max said. "I'll take this." She patted the recliner.
"No," Logan said. "You take the bed...."
She gave him a sharp look. "When was the last time you slept?"
He shrugged, but said, "Can't you let me be a gentleman about it?"
She waggled a ringer at him. "Who's a genetically enhanced killing machine that can go days without sleep?"
"You are," he said hopelessly.
She knew she had him now.
Without any more argument, he spilled into the bed, took off his glasses, and instantly fell asleep. He hadn't even bothered to take off the exoskeleton—the device affixed to the lower half of him that allowed him to walk. His wheelchair, the contraption he'd spent so much time in the last two years, lay in the pile of rubble that had been his apartment before White's people trashed it.
Logan Cale was, after all, Eyes Only—the cyber freedom fighter, a terrorist to the authorities, an identity secret to most (but not Max). Scion of a wealthy family, Logan used his inherited money to help those less fortunate than himself—like the transgenics; these efforts had led to the bullets that had put him into a wheelchair.
Plopping onto the recliner, Max kicked back and listened
as Logan started to snore softly. She couldn't think of a prettier sound. Pulling the string on the light and grinning, she looked over at this man who she loved and adored, asleep in the darkness. "I love you," she said quietly.
He snorted a snore in response, and Max suddenly realized this was what they all wanted, what they were all fighting for—just a little peace and quiet in this big, noisy world.
Logan's snoring grew louder, and Max decided that even peace without quiet was good enough for her. Closing her eyes, she drifted off in a cloud of hope that carried over into sweet dreams.
Which, when so many of her days were waking nightmares, was one small blessing, anyway.
Chapter THREE
SIEGING IS BELIEVING
TERMINALCITY.7:35 A.M.
SATURDAY, MAY 8, 2021
The next morning, rested and refreshed, Max and Logan joined a number of their fellow outcasts in the Terminal City media center and watched the early morning news on KIPR. The picture showed a dozen police cars layered in front of the main gate in multiple barricades, their light bars flashing red and blue, heavily armed and armored officers running around behind the barricade. "Tell me something I don't know," Max said dryly. "Maybe she will," Logan said, with a nod to the screen. The camera had settled on a female newscaster wearing too much lipstick. "As dawn breaks on the siege at Terminal City, the situation is tense but unchanged. While several hundred transgenics remain barricaded inside the restricted area, police and National Guard stand an uneasy watch at the perimeter, each side seemingly waiting to see what the other will do next." "No kidding," Max said to the TV "You think they're coming in?"
Logan asked. She shook her head. "I don't think they're that stupid." Logan shot her a quick grin. "What about White?" They exchanged glances—neither really considered Ames
White stupid, but both knew him to be incredibly ruthless
and reckless, with other
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