Sleeping pad, blankets on the floor. Small box of clothes. Dark curtains pinned in place. It was vacant of people and tools, so I ducked, twirled and went for the other room.
Tools. Boxes. Clothing. Printer for ID. Pocket coordinate machine on a table. Cut scraps of several materials in a box in one corner. No Randall. I swept and cleared and checked under a cabinet to be sure, then pocketed the pistol and went for evidence. No comm, no coder, no high-tech tools, but I did grab a handful of scraps and pocket them, along with a sheet that might be an invoice, though he should have burned that if so. It was worth checking.
A buzz of message tingled me. I took a quick glance. It read, Incoming.
That’s when I heard the front door being worked.
I assumed front and rear entrance, coordinated.
I made it back across to the sleeping room, quickly determined nothing was of note, and leaned to glance behind the curtain. I couldn’t see anyone holding an overwatch, so they had men front and rear but I could clear the window.
I Boosted.
They yanked the outer door and jumped through. I had a long, leisurely second to reach through the curtain, pop the latch, place my fingers on the window lip, and snap my arm. The pressure tossed it open a good fifteen centimeters, I flicked it with the other hand, stepped up, out and down, pulled to reclose it, turned and ran as I heard them rustle and shift into the room I’d just vacated. I cleared the drive, hopped the hole in the fence, and moved for more shadow.
The area was quickly filling with a lot of cops, and someone would question me at length if they saw me now. I had what I hoped was good intel, figured he would be leaving system, and had to plan ahead for that. He wouldn’t rush. He’d arrange three routes if he could, switch between at least two of them and possibly improv another.
I slipped out through bushes and was behind this entire row of buildings, on the broad verge to a main road. I kept the growth as visual blocks. I shifted around and zigged back north, slipped aside, then again. It was something I’d learned early in my training, and it was fun as well as useful, the tension adding spice. I dropped down, duckwalked around one, and kept easing back, watching the arc in front and periodically behind.
In a couple of minutes I was free, crouching through a shallow drain cut on the east side, just a landscaping feature, not really a ditch. Once on the sidewalk I stood and walked as if I belonged. I clicked my phone and called Silver.
“East side, bushes, heading north on walk. Come get me.”
“Rog.”
Pedestrians weren’t common in this area, but I was dressed like a laborer returning from work, and believable in context. Ordinarily, no one would have given me a glance. With the heightened security, though, I got tagged.
I saw the lights shift in the mist, knew it was a car, and clicked the phone again.
“Yes?”
“Hey, lovey, I’m on my way home now. It was a long night, eh? Lots of customers.” I kept an eye on the lights’ approach, and knew the car was stopping.
She said, “How long are you going to be? Any stops?”
“No, I should be home on the bus.” I heard the door, turned slowly enough to not be any kind of threat, and said, “Oh, wait, there’s a connie needs to talk about summin’. Lemme call back, okay, lovey?”
“Okay,” she said, and we cut.
That should give her enough lead to come bail me.
The cop kept fair distance. While he wasn’t handling his stunner, he looked very ready.
He said, “Good evenin’, sir. May I see your ID, please?”
“Surely,” I agreed, and slid it out of my pocket. “Is summin’ up?”
“Nothin’ serious,” he lied, “I just need to verify people in the area due to an investigation.”
“Oh, right, then,” I agreed. My accent wasn’t perfect, so I kept my answers short.
Of course the card was fake, and made so it scanned FAULT. The question was, would he accept that? Laborer with a work pack, not the suspect. I shouldn’t look a lot like the me they wanted, given what they had. I didn’t fit Randall’s assumed description.
Then he said, “Sir, I’m reading a fault on this ID. You are also in an investigation area, and it’s quite late. Where are you coming from?”
“Work,” I said.
“Work where?”
I hadn’t had time to develop a cover, of course, so I had to bluff. “Garden Estates. I just hired on in the kitchen.”
Of course he pinged that, queried the employee list, and found no one matching both my name and description.
“Sir, please step over and place your hands on the hood of my car.”
I could take him easily, but it would be more discreet to go along. Their lockup couldn’t be that bad, and it would hide my motives behind something less obvious, perhaps petty theft.