Max Collins - Skin Game

Logan managed to hide his amusement at this stoneresque response. “Well, good,” he said. “’Cause now we need your help on the outside.”

“Outside?” Sketch asked. “As in... on the outside?”

“Yeah.”

“ Is there a way out?”

Logan said, “If there was a way to get you out, safely out... would you be willing to help?”

Sketchy shrugged. “I came this far. How?”

“For one thing, as a reporter.”

Brightening, Sketch said, “You’re kidding! That’s what I do, man.”

And that was true — sort of. For most of the last year — in addition to working at Jam Pony — Sketch had taken a job as a stringer and part-time photographer for one of the local tabloid papers. It wasn’t exactly the Washington Post , but Max and Logan — in the coming media war — were in no position to be choosy — they needed all the help they could get.

And they all knew that the rag Sketchy worked for loved nothing more than stories about transgenics.

“I know Eyes Only is trying to help,” Logan said. Only Max and a small handful knew that Logan was Eyes Only; the others, like Sketchy, thought Logan was merely an Eyes Only source. “But Eyes Only is just one man... and he’s not in the print media. You could be a big help.”

Standing just close enough to hear, Max watched as Sketchy’s head seemed about to explode with pride and possibilities.

“I could do that,” Sketch said. “I was born to do that!”

“You think your editor will go along?” Logan asked.

“Why wouldn’t he? Transgenics make great copy!”

“That paper’s been feeding the fear, Sketch. The paranoia. We need to get the real story out.”

Sketchy considered that, then said, “You want positive stories about transgenics, right?”

“Yes. Otherwise, you’re part of the problem.”

“I’m not part of the problem!... Can I get pictures?”

Logan shot a glance at Max, who nodded. “We’ll get whatever we can,” Logan said.

“With exclusive pics,” Sketch said, “I think my editor’ll go along, and be happy to! I mean, if we’re the only protransgenic newspaper in the city, that’s got to sell some copies, right?”

Logan nodded, put a hand on the skinny guy’s shoulder. “Now you’re thinking like a newspaperman.”

Sketchy beamed. “I could get a byline and everything...”

“If this fool can be a help out there,” Original Cindy said, “Original Cindy can do some real shit. What you got in mind?”

Max turned her attention back to her best friend. “You can help get us supplies in, for one thing. And you can get us information, and we may even need you to deal with some hot-property fences and stuff, should we be forced to make our living by... well, less honorable methods than bike messengering.”

“If you mean takin’ down some more dope dealers,” Original Cindy said, “they ain’t nothin’ more honorable than that... Hell yes, I could do all that, girl.”

Max knocked fists with her friend, and felt like one of the weights had at least shifted, if not totally lifted off her shoulders.

That night, she, Logan, and Joshua led Original Cindy and Sketchy to the Medtronics building, down the stairs and into the tunnel. They spoke as they walked, voices echoing a little.

“How we gonna stay hooked up, girl?” Original Cindy asked Max. “You got your cell?”

Max shook her head. “Cell phones are no good. The police will be monitoring all signals coming in or going out of Terminal City.”

“For some messages,” Logan said, “we can use Eyes Only bulletins.”

“Busting in on TV transmissions,” Sketchy said. “Sweet — but you think he’ll help?”

Logan nodded. “I know Eyes Only, and he’s always been on the transgenics’ side.”

“Cool dude,” Sketchy said.

“Yeah, I’d say Eyes Only is a pretty cool dude,” Max said, glancing at Logan and giving him a secret smile.

“So what else we going to do to stay connected?” Original Cindy asked.

Logan asked Max, “You think Cindy and Sketch’ll be watched by the police or White’s people?”

Max shook her head. “I don’t think either White or the cops know that these guys helped us—” She turned toward Cindy and Sketchy. “—so there’s no reason for them to surveil you. But watch your backs.”

“Always,” Original Cindy said.

“Then,” Logan went on, “how about using Joshua’s house as a drop site?”

The house was a condemned, abandoned one, where the mysterious Sandeman — a key figure at Manticore, and by some accounts the “father” of all the transgenics — had once lived. Joshua had squatted there, and then Logan, and its appearance as a run-down derelict structure kept it useful.

“I like that,” Max said with a short nod.

Not missing a beat, Logan kept going. “If the blinds are up, there will be a message inside; if the blinds are down, nothing.”

“Rad,” Original Cindy said.

Sketchy said, “ Not rad — what are you talking about? Joshua’s house...?”

“Original Cindy will show you where it is,” Max said.

“Where exactly will the message be?” Sketch asked.

Logan and Max traded looks.

Then Max said, “There’s a desk in the living room. We’ll put any messages in the top center drawer.”

Sketchy looked perplexed. “Life and death riding on this, and the secret hiding place is a desk drawer?”

Max explained: “There’s no reason to hide anything any more than that. The house looks abandoned, and anyone who’s coming poking around has run into Joshua... and those people usually don’t come back.”

“So,” Sketch said, nodding, concentrating, “best not to overthink it.”

“Truer words,” Max said.

Original Cindy said, “Yeah, Sketch — don’t pop a vein over it, ’kay?”

“As Max would put it,” Logan said, “we better jet — it’s dark, but those cops are going to start getting restless... and we don’t want to get caught on the street.”

Max and Logan had worked out the escape plan during the day. Logan had sent an e-mail message to Bling, his physical therapist and occasional Eyes Only associate, to bring Logan’s car to the end of the second tunnel at precisely nine o’clock. By then Logan would be there with Sketchy and Original Cindy and the three of them would pile into the car and disappear into the night.

Just in case, Max would pick that moment to call the cops and suggest the beginning of negotiations. They figured the police would get so wrapped up in that, they wouldn’t give a civilian car driving out of the neighborhood beyond Terminal City a second glance.

Sketchy gave Max a quick hug. “I’m sorry for all the times I let you down... I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it,” Max interrupted. “When it mattered, you came through.”

Nodding feebly, Sketchy said, “Thanks. I’ll make it up to you — I’ll do the best I can to help.”

She grinned. “Always knew you would. You may be a lard-ass bike messenger, but you got a good heart, Sketch. You should remember that more often.”

The goofus was starting to tear up.

“Don’t even ,” she said, raising a single digit. “Get the hell out of here and get back to work. You’ll be lucky if Normal doesn’t fire your lazy ass.”

Grinning again, Sketchy slipped through the door.

Original Cindy put her arms around Max. “You watch behind you, Boo, ’cause I ain’t got your back.”

“You too.”

Original Cindy’s smirk dug a dimple. “You think Normal’s holding a job for a bitchin’ Nubian princess who just happens to be playin’ for the home team?”

Max grinned. “In a lot of ways I think you scare him more than I do... Oh yeah, he’ll have a job for you.”