John Adams - Wastelands - Stories of the Apocalipse

Fred smiled at that. The sun made a big gold ball on his head. "I guess we’ll try your girl," he told Del. "’Course we got to see her first. What do you take in trade?"

"Goods as fine as what you’re getting in return."

"I’ve got just the thing." The head actuary winked again. The gesture was starting to irritate Del. Fred nodded, and a friend drew clean white paper from his case. "This here is heavy bond," he told Del, shuffling the edges with his thumb. "Fifty percent linen weave, and we got it by the ream. Won’t find anything like it. You can mark on it good or trade it off. Seventh Mercenary Writers came through a week ago. Whole brigade of mounted horse. Near cleaned us out, but we can spare a few reams. We got pencils too. Mirado twos and threes, unsharpened, with erasers on the end. When’s the last time you saw that? Why, this stuff’s good as gold. We got staples and legal pads. Claim forms, maim forms, forms of every sort. Deals on wheels is what we got. And you got gas under wraps in the wagon behind your van. I can smell it plain from here. Friend, we can sure talk some business with you there. I got seventeen rusty-ass guzzlers runnin’ dry."

A gnat-whisker wire sparked hot in Dels head. He could see it in the underwriter’s eyes. Gasoline greed was what it was, and he knew these men were bent on more than fleshly pleasure. He knew with androidial dread that when they could, they’d make their play.

"Well now, the gas is not for trade," he said as calmly as he could. "Sex and tacos and dangerous drugs is what we sell."

"No problem," the actuary said. "Why, no problem at all. Just an idea, is all it was. You get that little gal out here and I’ll bring in my crew. How’s half a ream a man sound to you?"

"Just as fair as it can be," Del said, thinking that half of that would’ve been fine, knowing dead certain now that Fred intended to take back whatever he gave.

"That Moro fellow was right," Del said. "These insurance boys are bad news. Best thing we can do is take off and let it go."

"Pooh," said Ginny, "that’s just the way men are. They come in mad as foamin’ dogs and go away like cats licking cream. That’s the nature of the fornicatin’ trade. You wait and see. Besides, they won’t get funny with Possum Dark."

"You wouldn’t pray for rain if you were afire," Del muttered. "Well, I’m not unhitching the gas. I’ll set you up a stage over the tarp. You can do your number there."

"Suit yourself," Ginny said, kissing a plastic cheek and scooting him out the door. "Now get on out of here and let me start getting cute."

It seemed to be going well. Cheerleader Barbara Jean awoke forgotten wet dreams, left their mouths as dry as snakes. Set them up for Sally the Teach and Nora Nurse, secret violations of the soul. Maybe Ginny was right, Del decided. Faced with girlie delights, a man’s normally shitty outlook disappeared. When he was done, he didn’t want to wreck a thing for an hour or maybe two. Didn’t care about killing for half a day. Del could only guess at this magic and how it worked. Data was one thing, sweet encounters something else.

He caught Possum’s eye and felt secure. Forty-eight men waited their turns. Possum knew the calibre of their arms, the length of every blade. His black twin-fifties blessed them all.

Fred the actuary sidled up and grinned at Del. "We sure ought to talk about gas. That’s what we ought to do."

"Look," Del said, "gas isn’t for trade, I told you that. Go talk to those boys at the refinery, same as us."

"Tried to. They got no use for office supplies."

"That’s not my problem," Del said.

"Maybe it is."

Del didn’t miss the razor tones. "You got something to say, just say it."

"Half of your gas. We pay our way with the girl and don’t give you any trouble."

"You forget about him?"

Fred studied Possum Dark. "I can afford losses better than you. Listen, I know what you are, friend. I know you’re not a man. Had a CPA droid just like you Tore the War."

"Maybe we can talk," Del said, trying to figure what to do. "Say now, that’s what I like to hear."

Ginny’s fourth customer staggered out, wild-eyed and white around the gills. "Goddamn, try the Nurse," he bawled to the others. "Never had nothin’ like it in my life!"

"Next," Del said, and started stacking bond paper. "Lust is the name of the game, gents, what did I tell you now?"

"The girl plastic, too?" Fred asked.

"Real as you," Del said. "We make some kind of deal, how do I know you’ll keep your word?"

"Jesus," Fred said, "what do you think I am? You got my Life Underwriter’s Oath!"

The next customer exploded through the curtain, tripped and fell on his face. Picked himself up and shook his head. He looked damaged, bleeding around the eyes.

"She’s a tiger," Del announced, wondering what the hell was going on. "’Scuse me a minute," he told Fred, and slipped inside the van. "Just what are you doing in here?" he asked Ginny. "Those boys look like they been through a thrasher."

"Beats me," Ginny said, halfway between Nora and Barbara Jean. "Last old boy jerked around like a snake having a fit. Started pulling out his hair. Somethin’ isn’t right here, Del. It’s gotta be the tapes. I figure that Moro fellow’s a cheat."

"We got trouble inside and out," Del told her. "The head of this bunch wants our gas."

"Well, he sure can’t have it, by God."

"Ginny, the man’s got bug-spit eyes. Says he’ll take his chances with Possum. We better clear out while we can."

"Huh-unh." Ginny shook her head. "That’ll rile ’em for sure. Give me a minute or two. We’ve done a bunch of Noras and a Sally. I’ll switch them all to Barbara Jean and see."

Del slipped back outside. It seemed a dubious answer at best. "That’s some woman," said Fred.

"She’s something else today. Your insurance boys have got her fired." Fred grinned at that. "Guess I better give her a try."

"I wouldn’t," Del said. "Why not?"

"Let her calm down some. Might be more than you want to handle."

He knew at once this wasn’t the thing to say. Fred turned the colour of ketchup pie. "Why, you plastic piece of shit! I can handle any woman born… or put together out of a kit."

"Suit yourself," Del said, feeling the day going down the drain. "No charge at all."

"Damn right there’s not." Fred jerked the next man out of line. "Get ready in there, little lady. 1 am going to handle all your policy needs!"

The men cheered. Possum Dark, who understood at least three-fifths of the trouble down below, shot Del a questioning look. "Got any of those tacos?" someone asked.

"Not likely," Del said.

Del considered turning himself off. Android suicide seemed the answer. But in less than three minutes, unnatural howls began to come from the van. The howls turned to shrieks. Life underwriters went rigid. Then Fred emerged, shattered. He looked like a man who’d kicked a bear with boils. His joints appeared to bend the wrong way. He looked whomper-eyed at Del, dazed and out-of-synch. Everything happened then in seconds thin as wire. Del saw Fred find him, saw the oil-spill eyes catch him clean. Saw the sawed-off barrels match the eyes so fast even electric feet couldn’t snatch him out of the way in time. Del’s arm exploded. He let it go and ran for the van. Possum couldn’t help. The actuary was below and too close. The twin-fifties opened up. Underwriters fled. Possum stitched the sand and sent them flying ragged and dead.

Del reached the driver’s seat as lead peppered the van. He felt slightly silly. Sitting there with one arm, one hand on the wheel.

"Move over," Ginny said, "that isn’t going to work."

I guess not.

Ginny sent them lurching through the scrub. "Never saw anything like it in my life," she said aloud. "Turned that poor fella on, he started twisting out of his socks, bones snapping like sticks. Damndest orgasm I ever saw."