Max Collins - Skin Game

Hanging onto the cart, the guard looked stricken at having shot his boss.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Max said to him, and the aghast guard beat a hasty retreat out the door.

Kelpy watched as Max leaned down over the bleeding blonde woman — was she dying?

“This virus thing you put in me,” Max said, “how do I get rid of it?”

The woman managed, “You can’t,” and coughed blood.

“You just ate bullets for me — mind telling me why?”

Reaching up and stroking Max’s face, the blonde said, “You’re the one... the one we’ve been looking for.”

Max gazed at the woman, astounded, uncomprehending.

“Sandeman,” the woman said, her voice barely above a whisper now, Kelpy straining to hear her. “Find Sandeman.”

The woman’s hand fell away and she died.

Max wasted no time — how bold she was! How forceful!

Rising, she ran from the burning building, over fences, up the hill, with Kelpy behind her, out of sight. At the top of the hill she paused, grinning with obvious self-satisfaction as she watched the conflagration that was the Manticore facility.

Then she ran off into the woods.

Kelpy kept her in sight as he followed her through the brush and trees. When she piled into a van with some of the other transgenics, he had grabbed the bumper and jumped on the back.

He rode like that all the way back to Seattle.

Once in the city, Kelpy kept following Max, until he figured out that she worked at the bike messenger service, Jam Pony. Taking a cue from her, Kelpy knew he would need a new name. He heard a passing woman call her child Bobby and that gave him a first name. Looking around, he read the first word he saw. It was painted on the gas tank of a motorcycle: KAWASAKI. And now he had a last name.

Knowing it would take something extraordinary for him to find the nerve even to talk to her — let alone try to tell her of his love for her — the newly christened Bobby Kawasaki did the only thing he could, to stay close to his true love: he got a job at Jam Pony, as a bike messenger.

Though many months had passed, Max had still not recognized Kelpy — or rather, Bobby — even though she’d looked right at him the night she’d helped him escape. Nor had he forged a new relationship with her, as Bobby, not a friendship, not even an acquaintance.

The closest Bobby had come was about six months ago when Max had run into him, literally, coming out of the bathroom. They bumped and she grabbed his arm to keep him from falling down.

She looked him dead in the eye and said, “Watch it, bro.”

He said nothing.

Max started to walk away, then paused and turned back. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“That’s right, you do,” Normal interrupted, handing Max a package. “His name’s Bobby, he’s worked here for six months, and you’re both part of the great big wonderful Jam Pony family... Now get this package over to Sector Nine, Missy. Bip bip bip.”

“I thought I’d seen him before,” she said, rather absently, then turned and followed Normal, giving her boss some shit — typical of her, what spirit she had!

Bobby was thrilled, but also — disturbed. She’d seen him, and he got so excited he blended into the lockers and didn’t dare come out until everyone had gone home... only by then Normal had locked him in.

It had been both the best and worst day of his life. She’d noticed him... but, typically, he’d made no impression.

That day was the catalyst, the day Bobby’s vision of what he wanted his life to be had crystallized. He wanted to be loved by Max and now, more than ever, he wanted to be human — ordinary, like that Logan Cale person she seemed so close to. Logan — she liked him; did she love him?

Bobby had already been using Tryptophan at that point, buying, in fact, from the same Asian woman that Max bought from. But if he was going to be really human, he’d have to up the dosage; and in order to make ends meet he’d have to find a new source.

It had taken a while to find someone affordable, but finally Bobby found a new dealer at Harbor Lights Hospital. She was a nurse and she seemed more than willing to give him all the Tryptophan he wanted — and for next to nothing!

A tall, thin woman, Nurse Betty had short auburn hair that barely covered her ears, big brown eyes, and thin lips that were like a razor cut in an otherwise pleasant face.

“Why are you helping me?” he’d asked her.

The dealer smiled at him and said, “You look like you could use the help... and I get the pills for nothing. So I’m helping you, and I’m making a little money to supplement my income. Win win situation.”

He thanked her, but he didn’t understand how she got the pills for nothing. If she was stealing them — from the hospital dispensary, maybe — sooner or later she would get caught; and if she wasn’t stealing them, where was she getting them?

In February his question seemed to be answered. She hadn’t shown for a scheduled meeting and his subsequent phone calls had gone unreturned. Anticipating that she’d get caught sooner or later, Bobby had another dealer lined up, through his old street connections; but before he could call the guy, his own phone rang.

“Hello.” Bobby rarely received phone calls from anyone, so his voice was tentative.

“Bobby?”

A male voice.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“I’m a friend of a friend.”

Bobby had no friends, so he asked, “Are you sure you have the right Bobby?”

“I’m talking about Nurse Betty.”

Instantly suspicious, Bobby considered hanging up — the guy kind of sounded like a cop — but decided to see what this was about. “That so?”

“I know about your problem.”

“Betty said I had a problem?”

“Yeah... and that if anything happened to her, you’d need a new supplier.”

“I’ve gotta go now.”

“Wait,” the voice on the other end said. “You don’t want to do that. I’m taking over Betty’s customers. And I can make you the same good deal she did.”

“We didn’t have a deal,” Bobby said, his voice rising in fright. “I’m hanging up.”

“I’ll give you the first hundred for free.”

“... Free?”

“Call it a good faith offer.”

That easily, Bobby had a new Tryptophan supplier. After the first couple of transactions, he never saw or even talked to the guy again. They had a prearranged drop site. Bobby went there, collected his pills, left payment in an envelope, and went about his business.

Having already gotten his goals clear, he now needed a plan. The first shopping trip had been an accident. Bobby had been on his way home from a bar. Too many drinks mixed with the Tryptophan had him feeling no pain and had dulled his senses enough that he could barely walk a straight line.

Two blocks from the bar, a guy fell in behind Bobby and — when Bobby turned down a particularly dark street — the would-be assailant made his move, up fast from behind, arm outstretched, knife waving frantically in a shaking hand.

Even completely stoned, Bobby had heard the guy coming. Too wasted to blend, however, he simply turned when the attacker got close, broke the man’s hand, twisted away the knife, knocked the guy to the pavement, and then rammed the blade into the man’s carotid artery.

Wrecked as he was, Bobby still managed to see his plan coming together. It seemed so clear he wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. Although the mugger was smaller than him, he still liked the idea and did his best with his new project.

The mugger had even supplied a knife.

Looking back, that first shopping excursion had been a complete botch. By the time he was done, the material had been so tattered that it was worthless. He’d left the body in an old warehouse near his place. It was like the guy simply disappeared. No news reports of a missing man on either the TV or the radio. No one seemed to be looking for him and no one seemed to care if the guy ever turned up.