The Drafter

The microwave dinged, and Peri took the hot chocolate to the window to watch the dark street for Taf, currently out getting Howard a circuit. Silas had agreed to help Peri get her talisman and bring back what had happened at Global Genetics, but there was a reluctance in him, a big “however” that kept tweaking her confidence—and it was beginning to get on her nerves.

It might be that Opti car at her apartment in Lloyd Park. Breaking in, immobilizing, and leaving before Opti could react might be an issue, but the five thousand under the silverware caddy meant she had more resources and didn’t have to rely on Silas anymore. Maybe that’s what is bothering him, she thought, sipping her drink as Silas jumped, jerking his finger away from Howard’s motherboard and scowling.

“Taf is back,” she said, and Howard looked up, brightening.

“Good. I could use her little fingers,” he said, but Peri didn’t think it was just her hands he was glad to see. Thinking their past must be thicker than she’d first thought, Peri shifted the blind to keep the young woman in sight. Even lit by streetlight and the oncoming cars, she was the picture of privilege, a blond goddess with that swagger of hers and a little bag dangling from her hand. She fit right in with the other Motown shoppers. Letting the blind fall, Peri listened to the guys downstairs flirt with her, and then the creaking of her steps on the stairs. There was no way up them except noisy.

Bright-eyed and cheerful, Taf strode in, looking sharp in her “rescue attire.” Peri rubbed ruefully at her new jeans. They’d gone shopping this morning, but remembering what Allen had said about the ease of finding her, she’d left everything she liked on the rack. The faded fabric and sweater felt untidy, but since “not her” had been her goal, it would do.

“I think I got what you wanted, Howie,” Taf said as she shoved Silas farther down the table and upended the bag. “Smartphone-to-glass compatible chips. Gawwd, these things are expensive. They were going to charge me full price until I poured on the southern charm. That and I paid cash. This town loves its cash.”

Yes, it does, Peri thought, hot mug in hand as she sat at the kitchen table before the half-knitted scarf she’d found tucked among the throw cushions.

“That’s it. Thanks,” Howard said as he ripped the plastic off, and pleased, Taf took her coat off and slipped in where Silas had been. Seeing her ponytail inches from his dreadlocks made Peri smile. They were so unlike, but they complemented each other perfectly.

Shoulders bunching, Silas stood, looking massive next to Taf’s petite bounciness. Clearly the odd man out, he went to the dusty shelves to eye the titles of the books and movies.

“Howard and I will swing by your apartment tonight to see if Opti is still there,” Silas said as he pushed the button on the SS Enterprise model to make Spock tell him to live long and prosper.

Peri’s brow furrowed. She didn’t like him touching her stuff. “Don’t bother. They aren’t going anywhere,” she said as she set her knitting down and joined Silas. “Getting in might be an issue.”

Howard hissed in pain, shaking his hand as the smell of solder rose again, and Taf laughed. “Taf and I can help,” he said, glaring at her mirth. “Distract them. Draw them off.”

“And have you end up in an Opti cell?” Peri protested. “No. We’ll find another way.”

Taf snorted as she used a pencil to hold something for Howard to solder. “We won’t get caught. I know someone in Detroit with a sweet bike. Totally uncatchable.”

Howard looked up, blinking. “I’ve never driven a bike before.”

“And that’s not going to change,” Taf said. “You sit behind me, dreadlock man. Real men don’t mind their women driving.”

Silas frowned. “No,” Peri said, agreeing with him. “No one is going to be a distraction. Opti kills people,” she added. Opti kills people. I kill people.

“What the blazes are we here for, then?” Taf complained.

“Extraction.” Peri plucked the picture of twelve ten-year-olds in tutus out of Silas’s hand before he picked her out of the group, setting it next to the autographed picture of Putin riding a Photoshopped bear where it belonged. “Three g’s, and an r: Get in, get the info, get out, relocate.” They weren’t her words, but Jack’s. She didn’t remember—she just knew.

“Extraction?” Taf sighed. “I can do more than drive. I can shoot, too. All us debutantes learn how to shoot before we get our first push-up bras.”

“Extraction is where someone who almost minored in evasive driving belongs,” Howard said, his head low over his work, and Silas snorted.

“You’ve got the entire Buffy series on disk?” he said, and Peri flushed, embarrassed to admit she didn’t remember watching them. The feeling that she loved the people on the covers was undeniable, though.

“Oh, cool. Let’s watch a few tonight,” Taf said, looking at the dusty Blu-ray player under the obsolete gen-one glass monitor beside the TV. “It works, doesn’t it?”

“Sure, right after we sneak into Peri’s apartment, outwit the government-funded bad guys, and save the world,” Silas grumped as he fiddled with the biker’s cap on her Goth American Girl doll. “Maybe we can stop to pick up popcorn on the way.”

“You don’t have to be so snide about it,” Peri muttered, suddenly not liking that she’d brought them here. Her comic book apartment had been a refuge from her mother’s demands since she was eighteen, filled with the things she loved and wanted never to forget. It had always felt like a tree clubhouse to her, and Silas was poking about like it was a junk shop.