Iced
Page 27
But theres four feet of a shiny metal problem between us, and its four feet of immense power. And it changes everything. Im not a kid. Im what stands between him and something he wants for all the right reasons. And he isnt so sure he wouldnt do something very wrong for all the right reasons.
My sword and Macs spear are the only two weapons that can kill Fae. That makes them hands-down the hottest Big Ticket items innot just Dublinbut the world. A part of Jayne is like Barrons. He wants to kill Faeand I have the weapon he needs to do it. He cant help himself. Hes a leader. And a good one. Every time he sees me, he will instinctively assess whether he thinks he can take it from me. And one day he might make a move.
I dont hold it against him.
Id do the same.
I see when he decides its not a risk worth taking because hes still not sure I wont kill some of his men, maybe even him. I keep those doubts in his mind. The subconscious part where all this stuff takes place.
He says something nice to me, but I dont absorb it. Jaynes a good man, good as they come. It doesnt make him any less dangerous. Some folks think Im a little psychic along with my other superpowers. Im not. I just see the ways folks telegraph. Pick up on tiny clues other folks dont, like the way their muscles tense in their fingers when they look at my sword like theyre imagining how it would feel to hold it, or how their gaze darts to the side when they say theyre glad its my responsibility not theirs. Funny thing to me is how their conscious and subconscious seem to be so split, like they arent talking to each other at all. Like competing feelings cant possibly coexist inside you. Dude, they do all the time. Im an emotional Ping-Pong ball between paddles: one day I cant wait to have sex, the next I think semens the grossest thing in the world. Monday Im crazy about Dancer, Tuesday I hate him for mattering to me. I just go with it, focus on whichever feeling I have most often and try to keep my mouth shut when its the other. But most folks got Id and Ego living on different floors in their heads house, in different rooms, and theyve locked all the doors between them, and nailed sheets of plywood over that, because they think theyre, like, sworn enemies that cant hang together.
Ro thought the whole subconscious/conscious issue had something to do with why I am the way I am. She said I have the neurological condition synesthesia out the ass, with all kinds of cross regions of my brain talking to each other. Old witch was always psychoanalyzing me (as in she was the psycho and I was being analyzed). She said my Id and Ego are best buds, they dont just live on the same floor, they share a bed.
Im cool with that. Frees up space for other stuff.
I take off, tune out, and do what I dobest.
Kill.
NINE
And it all goes boom, chicka boom,
boom-boom, chicka boom
What is this place? I ask Ryodan.
You got lots of places around the city, kid.
I dont say Yes. Lately, everybody seems to know everything about me anyway. And he doesnt say, Well, I do, too. When Ryodan wastes words, he does it in the worst possible way. He gets all philosophical. Yawn the feck out of me. Theres observation of fact that keeps you alive like understanding Jayne, and theres philosophizing. Way different things. The former is my gig.
Were standing on a concrete loading dock, outside commercial doors at an industrial warehouse on the north side of Dublin. Ryodan drove us here in a military Humvee. Its parked behind us, barely visible in the night, black on black, wheels and everything, with black windows. Its something I wouldve driven. If Id found one. But I didnt. Its pure badass. And I thought Barronss cars were cool.
I begin my investigation. There are no lights on around the building. Dude, got Shade protection?
Dont need it. Nothing alive inside.
What about the folks that come and go?
Only during daylight.
Dude. Night. Im here.
He looks at me, looks at my head, and his lips twitch like hes trying not to bust out laughing. You dont need that whatever the fuck it is.
Aint dying by Shade. Its a MacHalo. First thing I did this morning was swing by Dancers and grab my stuff.
The MacHalo is a brilliant invention. In Dublin alone its saved thousands of lives. Its named after my used-to-be best friend Mac, the person who invented the bike helmet covered with LED lights, front, sides, rear. I added a few brackets to mine for better coverage in fast-mo. (Though Ive always wondered if I could fast-mo through a Shade even without it.) Its the ultimate in Shade protection. I heard theyre going gangbusters around the world. Everybody in Dublins got one. For a while there I was making and delivering them to survivors every day. Some folks say the Shades have left Dublin. Moved on for greener pastures. But Shades are sneaky and it only takes one to kill you instantly. Im not taking any chances.
What does this place have in common with your club? I say.
He gives me a look that says, Dude, if I knew that do you think Id have enlisted your puny help?
I snicker.
Something funny here.
You. All prickly and pissed cause theres something you dont know. Got to call on the megaservices of the Mega.
My sword and Macs spear are the only two weapons that can kill Fae. That makes them hands-down the hottest Big Ticket items innot just Dublinbut the world. A part of Jayne is like Barrons. He wants to kill Faeand I have the weapon he needs to do it. He cant help himself. Hes a leader. And a good one. Every time he sees me, he will instinctively assess whether he thinks he can take it from me. And one day he might make a move.
I dont hold it against him.
Id do the same.
I see when he decides its not a risk worth taking because hes still not sure I wont kill some of his men, maybe even him. I keep those doubts in his mind. The subconscious part where all this stuff takes place.
He says something nice to me, but I dont absorb it. Jaynes a good man, good as they come. It doesnt make him any less dangerous. Some folks think Im a little psychic along with my other superpowers. Im not. I just see the ways folks telegraph. Pick up on tiny clues other folks dont, like the way their muscles tense in their fingers when they look at my sword like theyre imagining how it would feel to hold it, or how their gaze darts to the side when they say theyre glad its my responsibility not theirs. Funny thing to me is how their conscious and subconscious seem to be so split, like they arent talking to each other at all. Like competing feelings cant possibly coexist inside you. Dude, they do all the time. Im an emotional Ping-Pong ball between paddles: one day I cant wait to have sex, the next I think semens the grossest thing in the world. Monday Im crazy about Dancer, Tuesday I hate him for mattering to me. I just go with it, focus on whichever feeling I have most often and try to keep my mouth shut when its the other. But most folks got Id and Ego living on different floors in their heads house, in different rooms, and theyve locked all the doors between them, and nailed sheets of plywood over that, because they think theyre, like, sworn enemies that cant hang together.
Ro thought the whole subconscious/conscious issue had something to do with why I am the way I am. She said I have the neurological condition synesthesia out the ass, with all kinds of cross regions of my brain talking to each other. Old witch was always psychoanalyzing me (as in she was the psycho and I was being analyzed). She said my Id and Ego are best buds, they dont just live on the same floor, they share a bed.
Im cool with that. Frees up space for other stuff.
I take off, tune out, and do what I dobest.
Kill.
NINE
And it all goes boom, chicka boom,
boom-boom, chicka boom
What is this place? I ask Ryodan.
You got lots of places around the city, kid.
I dont say Yes. Lately, everybody seems to know everything about me anyway. And he doesnt say, Well, I do, too. When Ryodan wastes words, he does it in the worst possible way. He gets all philosophical. Yawn the feck out of me. Theres observation of fact that keeps you alive like understanding Jayne, and theres philosophizing. Way different things. The former is my gig.
Were standing on a concrete loading dock, outside commercial doors at an industrial warehouse on the north side of Dublin. Ryodan drove us here in a military Humvee. Its parked behind us, barely visible in the night, black on black, wheels and everything, with black windows. Its something I wouldve driven. If Id found one. But I didnt. Its pure badass. And I thought Barronss cars were cool.
I begin my investigation. There are no lights on around the building. Dude, got Shade protection?
Dont need it. Nothing alive inside.
What about the folks that come and go?
Only during daylight.
Dude. Night. Im here.
He looks at me, looks at my head, and his lips twitch like hes trying not to bust out laughing. You dont need that whatever the fuck it is.
Aint dying by Shade. Its a MacHalo. First thing I did this morning was swing by Dancers and grab my stuff.
The MacHalo is a brilliant invention. In Dublin alone its saved thousands of lives. Its named after my used-to-be best friend Mac, the person who invented the bike helmet covered with LED lights, front, sides, rear. I added a few brackets to mine for better coverage in fast-mo. (Though Ive always wondered if I could fast-mo through a Shade even without it.) Its the ultimate in Shade protection. I heard theyre going gangbusters around the world. Everybody in Dublins got one. For a while there I was making and delivering them to survivors every day. Some folks say the Shades have left Dublin. Moved on for greener pastures. But Shades are sneaky and it only takes one to kill you instantly. Im not taking any chances.
What does this place have in common with your club? I say.
He gives me a look that says, Dude, if I knew that do you think Id have enlisted your puny help?
I snicker.
Something funny here.
You. All prickly and pissed cause theres something you dont know. Got to call on the megaservices of the Mega.
