The Operator
Page 4
Peri snapped a clean towel from the rack, and Jack dropped back to recline against the register. His face was suddenly clean-shaven now, and he was wearing something trendy and expensive that showed off his narrow waist. “Go away,” she muttered, glancing over the coffeehouse as rush-hour traffic began luring her clientele into the slushy streets. “No one needs you anymore.”
“You need me.” Jack followed her gaze to the buses and taxis. “Or I wouldn’t be here. Something is wrong, you just don’t know what yet.”
Carnac, the store’s cat, jumped onto the counter, and Peri absently fondled his ears as she sourly remembered her enthusiasm from her diary’s pages, eager for the chance to prove herself and use her skills to do something no one had done before. She had changed so much that it was like reading someone else’s thoughts.
“You look sexy when you bite your lower lip, you know that?”
Peri’s brow furrowed. “Go. Away.”
Jack blew her a kiss. “You don’t really want me to leave, or I’d be gone already. I’m bringing everything back, babe. So slow it hurts. You want to remember. It’s who you are, who you have to be. This?” He flicked a coffee mug. “This will kill you.”
She knew her face still held her anger when the door chimed a greeting and her attention went over Jack’s shoulder. Breath held, she turned away. Allen. Effin’ fantabulous. That’s why Jack is here.
Sighing, Jack pulled himself straight and turned to the door. “Son of a bitch. Just once I’d like to warn you that you’re in real danger, not that one of your old boyfriends is back.”
“Allen was never my boyfriend.” She was talking to herself, but she couldn’t stop.
“Whatever.”
Jack was gone when she looked up, and Allen had taken a seat at one of the window booths, the snow still on his shoulders. His back was to her to give her the illusion of control, but his neck showing from under his short haircut gave away his tension. She must have seen his silhouette or the car he drove earlier. And Jack, her intuition made real, had come to warn her. Thanks a hell of a lot, Silas. But it was unlikely Silas would have told Allen where she was.
Carnac stared at at the man, tail switching. He’d never liked Allen. Hands steady, she poured a cup of coffee, putting it in a to-go cup because Allen wasn’t staying. Light brew: the man was a wuss when it came to coffee. Damn it, if he was trailing trouble, she was going to be pissed.
“I should have opened a flower shop,” she muttered, weaving through the tables.
Her breath came in fast when a young woman suddenly stood, knocking the coffee. Both of them gasped, Peri from the surprise, the woman from twelve ounces of hot coffee down her pristine white blouse.
At the woman’s flash of pain and shock, instinct kicked in.
The world blinked a sharp-edged blue, and suddenly Peri was three steps back, the woman still sitting as she leaned to get her rolling pen, accidently pushing it just out of her reach. Breathing the blue sparkles of hindsight deep into her lungs, Peri held the unspilled coffee tight to her chest, stepping on the pen to stop it, then giving it a little nudge to roll back to the woman’s reach before she could stand.
“Thanks!” the woman said. Her relief was a little too much for the small courtesy, and Peri’s intuition pinged. But then the world flashed red as time caught up—and she forgot.
Peri blinked, finding herself standing before a woman smiling up at her. She had Allen’s coffee pressed against her chest—and no clue why she’d stopped. “Ah, all set?” she asked, scrambling. She’d drafted and rewrote the last three seconds, maybe four, losing them. Why?
“Yes, thank you,” the woman said, holding her pen up as if it meant something.
From behind the register, Jack put a hand to his forehead, dramatically wailing, “Oh, you spilled coffee all down your front and spotted my brand-new pumps! You stupid coffee girl!”
Half-understanding filled her, and Peri frowned. Great. Allen shows up, and she drafts. He would have seen it, being an anchor and trained to not only remember but bring the rewritten timeline back into her memory as well. Resolute, she crossed the floor as the woman put on her coat and left. Jack didn’t know anything she didn’t, but he—or Peri, rather—was getting good at piecing things together from the smallest of clues.
Silent, she stood across from Allen and set the cup down hard enough to spill. His brown eyes held nothing as he looked from the CNN broadcast at the ceiling to wipe the puddle away, his thin hands knobby from being broken and made strong in hand-to-hand. He was in a suit, but he wore it uncomfortably, as if he’d rather be in a BMX racing kit or a harness to climb a rock or jump out of a plane. His dress shoes were soaked and salt-rimed . . . and he smelled fantastic.
Hand passing once over his snow-damp black hair, he leaned back to look her up and down, no smile on his narrow, long face. “You do know you just drafted?”
She hated looking ignorant. “I didn’t want coffee down my front.”
A smile threatened. “It was her front, but close.” Concern pushed out his hint of pride in her. “Are you okay? How many unfragmented drafts do you have making holes in your brain?”
How about I use a bullet to make a hole in yours?
Her shop was emptying as it grew closer to nine, most of the patrons using the at-table option to settle up using phone cash, the p-cash app made for their high-tech glass devices both easy and secure. He’d timed it perfectly. “How did you find me?”
He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Process of elimination. I know Detroit is your city and you’re sitting over an old medical dump.”
I should have stuck with sipping the barium syrup, she thought, but at least she knew the residual contamination from the illegal dump had covered the radiation marker Opti had given her. Her year would be over come June, and then she’d truly be free.
“I’m not looking right now to hire help to wash dishes,” she said loudly, ticked he might have blown her cover. “Thanks for stopping in. Have a nice day.”
He grabbed her sleeve as she turned, and she stifled the urge to palm-break his nose. She’d only end up drafting to fix it. She’d always been a softie like that.
“Jack is missing,” he said.
Peri reached for the table, slowly sitting as vertigo threatened. Missing? The real Jack, not the hallucination based on him. Possibilities she’d denied pushed to the forefront, and she shoved them back down. “H-how long?” she stammered, putting a cold hand to her warm face.
“You need me.” Jack followed her gaze to the buses and taxis. “Or I wouldn’t be here. Something is wrong, you just don’t know what yet.”
Carnac, the store’s cat, jumped onto the counter, and Peri absently fondled his ears as she sourly remembered her enthusiasm from her diary’s pages, eager for the chance to prove herself and use her skills to do something no one had done before. She had changed so much that it was like reading someone else’s thoughts.
“You look sexy when you bite your lower lip, you know that?”
Peri’s brow furrowed. “Go. Away.”
Jack blew her a kiss. “You don’t really want me to leave, or I’d be gone already. I’m bringing everything back, babe. So slow it hurts. You want to remember. It’s who you are, who you have to be. This?” He flicked a coffee mug. “This will kill you.”
She knew her face still held her anger when the door chimed a greeting and her attention went over Jack’s shoulder. Breath held, she turned away. Allen. Effin’ fantabulous. That’s why Jack is here.
Sighing, Jack pulled himself straight and turned to the door. “Son of a bitch. Just once I’d like to warn you that you’re in real danger, not that one of your old boyfriends is back.”
“Allen was never my boyfriend.” She was talking to herself, but she couldn’t stop.
“Whatever.”
Jack was gone when she looked up, and Allen had taken a seat at one of the window booths, the snow still on his shoulders. His back was to her to give her the illusion of control, but his neck showing from under his short haircut gave away his tension. She must have seen his silhouette or the car he drove earlier. And Jack, her intuition made real, had come to warn her. Thanks a hell of a lot, Silas. But it was unlikely Silas would have told Allen where she was.
Carnac stared at at the man, tail switching. He’d never liked Allen. Hands steady, she poured a cup of coffee, putting it in a to-go cup because Allen wasn’t staying. Light brew: the man was a wuss when it came to coffee. Damn it, if he was trailing trouble, she was going to be pissed.
“I should have opened a flower shop,” she muttered, weaving through the tables.
Her breath came in fast when a young woman suddenly stood, knocking the coffee. Both of them gasped, Peri from the surprise, the woman from twelve ounces of hot coffee down her pristine white blouse.
At the woman’s flash of pain and shock, instinct kicked in.
The world blinked a sharp-edged blue, and suddenly Peri was three steps back, the woman still sitting as she leaned to get her rolling pen, accidently pushing it just out of her reach. Breathing the blue sparkles of hindsight deep into her lungs, Peri held the unspilled coffee tight to her chest, stepping on the pen to stop it, then giving it a little nudge to roll back to the woman’s reach before she could stand.
“Thanks!” the woman said. Her relief was a little too much for the small courtesy, and Peri’s intuition pinged. But then the world flashed red as time caught up—and she forgot.
Peri blinked, finding herself standing before a woman smiling up at her. She had Allen’s coffee pressed against her chest—and no clue why she’d stopped. “Ah, all set?” she asked, scrambling. She’d drafted and rewrote the last three seconds, maybe four, losing them. Why?
“Yes, thank you,” the woman said, holding her pen up as if it meant something.
From behind the register, Jack put a hand to his forehead, dramatically wailing, “Oh, you spilled coffee all down your front and spotted my brand-new pumps! You stupid coffee girl!”
Half-understanding filled her, and Peri frowned. Great. Allen shows up, and she drafts. He would have seen it, being an anchor and trained to not only remember but bring the rewritten timeline back into her memory as well. Resolute, she crossed the floor as the woman put on her coat and left. Jack didn’t know anything she didn’t, but he—or Peri, rather—was getting good at piecing things together from the smallest of clues.
Silent, she stood across from Allen and set the cup down hard enough to spill. His brown eyes held nothing as he looked from the CNN broadcast at the ceiling to wipe the puddle away, his thin hands knobby from being broken and made strong in hand-to-hand. He was in a suit, but he wore it uncomfortably, as if he’d rather be in a BMX racing kit or a harness to climb a rock or jump out of a plane. His dress shoes were soaked and salt-rimed . . . and he smelled fantastic.
Hand passing once over his snow-damp black hair, he leaned back to look her up and down, no smile on his narrow, long face. “You do know you just drafted?”
She hated looking ignorant. “I didn’t want coffee down my front.”
A smile threatened. “It was her front, but close.” Concern pushed out his hint of pride in her. “Are you okay? How many unfragmented drafts do you have making holes in your brain?”
How about I use a bullet to make a hole in yours?
Her shop was emptying as it grew closer to nine, most of the patrons using the at-table option to settle up using phone cash, the p-cash app made for their high-tech glass devices both easy and secure. He’d timed it perfectly. “How did you find me?”
He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Process of elimination. I know Detroit is your city and you’re sitting over an old medical dump.”
I should have stuck with sipping the barium syrup, she thought, but at least she knew the residual contamination from the illegal dump had covered the radiation marker Opti had given her. Her year would be over come June, and then she’d truly be free.
“I’m not looking right now to hire help to wash dishes,” she said loudly, ticked he might have blown her cover. “Thanks for stopping in. Have a nice day.”
He grabbed her sleeve as she turned, and she stifled the urge to palm-break his nose. She’d only end up drafting to fix it. She’d always been a softie like that.
“Jack is missing,” he said.
Peri reached for the table, slowly sitting as vertigo threatened. Missing? The real Jack, not the hallucination based on him. Possibilities she’d denied pushed to the forefront, and she shoved them back down. “H-how long?” she stammered, putting a cold hand to her warm face.
