The Churn by James S.A. Corey Read Free Book Online Page B

starting a two-day riot that ended with half of her people hospitalized or in custody, eighteen local businesses looted or set afire, and the goodwill of her client base permanently damaged. Burton understood. He wasn’t a man without passions. If someone hurt him, of course he wanted to hurt them back. Phrases like “even the score” or “blood for blood” came to mind, and each time they did, he made the practice of tearing them apart to himself. “Even the score” was the metaphor of a game, and this wasn’t a a game. “Blood for blood” made it sound as if through more violence, past wrongs could be balanced, and they couldn’t. The hardest lesson Burton had ever learned was to endure the blows, accept the damage, and let someone else strike back. Soon, very soon, the crackdown would shift from its great, overwhelming force to individual struggles. It was in his interests to see that those struggles were with the Loca Griega and Tamara Sluydan, not with him. As soon as the enemy was clearly defined in the collective mind of Star Helix and Burton’s name and organization were not central to their plans, the storm would move on and he could begin to reopen the folded fronds of his business.
    In the meantime, he moved from one place to the next. He told people he would go one place, and then arrived at another. He considered all his habits with the uncompromising eye of a predator, and killed the ones with flaws. Anything that connected him with the patterns of the past was a vulnerability, and wherever possible, he chose to be invulnerable. It wasn’t the first time he’d been through this. He was good at it.
    And so when it took Timmy the better part of a week to find him, Burton’s annoyance was balanced against a certain self-centered pride.
    The office was raw brick and mortar, newsfeeds playing on five different screens. A sliding wooden door stood half open, the futon where Burton had slept the the night before half visible through it. Oestra, whose safe house it was, sat by the window looking down at the street. The automatic shotgun across his legs seemed unremarkable. Timmy had been searched by three guards on the street, and he’d been clean. Even if he’d swallowed a tracking device they would have found it, and the big slab of human meat would have been bleeding out in a gutter instead of smiling amiably and gawking at the exposed ductwork.
    â€œTimmy, right?” Burton said, pretending uncertainty. Let the boy feel lucky he’d remembered that much.
    â€œYeah, chief. That’s me.” The openness and amiability was annoying. Burton glanced toward Oestra, but the lieutenant was squinting at the brightness of the day. Burton scratched his leg idly, his fingernails hissing against the fabric of his pants.
    â€œYou got something for me?”
    Timmy’s face fell a little. “Just news. I mean, I didn’t have any stuff. Nothing to deliver or anything.”
    â€œAll right, then,” Burton said. “What’s the news, Tiny?”
    Timmy grinned at the irony of the nickname, then sobered and began his report. Burton leaned forward, drinking in all the words as fast as they spilled from Timmy’s lips. When Oestra risked a glance back, it was like watching a bird singing away while a cat stood in the too-still pose of a carnivore waiting to pounce. The details came out in no particular order: Erich was in a safe place, Timmy had been taking food to him, the fake profile deal had been interrupted by the security crackdown, Erich’s original deck was gone but he had a replacement, the police probably had his DNA profile now. Oestra sighed to himself and looked back out the window. On the street, a half dozen young men who hadn’t just condemned their friends to death slouched down the street together.
    â€œHe’s sure about that?” Burton asked.
    â€œNah,” Timmy said. “We didn’t