The Lucifer Deck by Lisa Smedman Read Free Book Online Page A

to do much but sit and cry.
    "Governor Schultz glosses over the whole thing now, and talks about our current ‘racial harmony.’ She seems to think the Night of Rage could never happen again." Yao’s smile tightened. "Well, she’s soon going to find out just how wrong she is. When your interview hits the air, the sparks will fly."

6
    The street kids were clustered near the base of the Space Needle, listening to a simsense deck, and it looked to Carla like a Sony Beautiful Dreamer. Two of the teenagers were simming the music directly, via datajacks slotted into their temples. They jerked in time with the music, eyes focused on some distant point as the deck pumped sights, sounds, and other sensory input directly into their brains. The rest of the kids heard only the music that blared from the speakers. Some lounged about, smoking, too chill to acknowledge the driving staccato beat. Others danced, arms flailing, occasionally knocking foreheads together like wild rams. One of the kids—a troll dressed in black leather pants and a Japanese kimono hacked off at the waist—even had the curling horns necessary to complete the picture. Overhead, the night sky was a solid black, devoid of stars.
    Carla shouted over the din from the speakers. "Do any of you know an ork girl named Pita? She came looking for me at my office the other day, but left before I had a chance to really talk with her. The last bunch of kids I talked to told me she hangs somewhere down here, at
Seattle
Center
. Have any of you seen her? This is what she looks like." She held out a playback imager. Its flatscreen showed a still of Pita sitting in the KKRU lobby.
    The teenagers stared at the imager, their eyes a mixture of boredom and suspicion. "You her social worker?" one asked. By the way his nose flared as he looked up and down Carla’s expensive Armante jacket, he wasn’t impressed with her corporate image. Maybe she should have dressed down before trying to interview street kids. But the Armante was bullet-proof as well as stylish.
    "I’m not a social worker." Carla answered. "I’m a reporter. Carla Harris of KKRU Trideo News. Pita had a story for me. A story we’re willing to get behind. Be sure to tell her that if you see her."
    The troll stopped dancing and ambled over to stand behind Carla. He loomed over her like a building, throwing her into shadow. She resisted the urge to back away, even though he reeked of sweat. Never let a dog see that you’re afraid of him, she thought. It only encourages him to bite .
    "Unless you got some credit to spend right here, lady, you’d better just frag off." he grumbled.
    Across the parking lot, a car horn beeped twice. That would be Masaki. He had cut the tint on the windows of his car, and was gesturing frantically inside it.
    Carla met the troll’s eyes and smiled. "I’d love to stay and chat." she told him. "But my father doesn’t like it when I stay out late, and he’s quite particular about which boys I talk to. That’s him in the car over there. Perhaps you’d like to meet him?"
    Carla almost hoped the troll would call her bluff and say yes. If Masaki saw the huge brute shambling toward his car, he’d wet himself. He’d been working the lifestyles beat too long, and had gone soft. He’d rather spend the evening behind the multiple locks of his apartment door than chasing down stories. Carla had practically dragged him out tonight. She would have gone on her own, except that Masaki knew more about the background to the piece, including the background of the mage who’d wanted to spill the beans on Mitsuhama’s special project. But the way Masaki was acting, she wasn’t sure if her fellow so-calle d "reporter" still deserved a byline on the story.
    The troll shifted his kimono slightly so that Carla got a good look at the Streetline Special pistol tucked into the top of his pants. She knew better than to flinch.
    "You got cojones coming out here at night, lady." he said grudgingly at