I return to the house and head for security, where I find Carmen in a trance and TJ sprawled in one of the sim chairs. He’s not hooked up, though, just lolling there.
“TJ.”
“Hey Gat,” he says, a sleepy smile smearing across his broad face.
“Everything quiet.”
“As a fucken’ church man. I could go to sleep.”
His smile widens. TJ – short for Thomas James – would sooner kill his mother than fall asleep on duty. He’s a mellow guy with a quick grin, the kind who can talk with just about anyone, whether the other person is homeless or the New York ambassador, always at his ease. But appearances are deceiving. TJ can go from joking to killing and back to joking again in the space of second – I’ve seen it. Still, he’s no Felon. He’s fully human, just very effective at what he does. His smile is real.
“Nighty night then, TJ, enjoy your nap. I have to make a run. I’ll check in. Call me if anything pops, ok?”
“Aye aye. You’ll be the first.”
“Thanks for doing this TJ. I know Pileggi was a lot more interesting.”
He shakes his head, looking like a puppy.
“No man, thank you. Quality time with Carmen. I save her life, maybe she’ll finally go out with me.”
Carmen’s deep in her trance and can’t hear us, not that TJ would care if she did. He’s been asking her out for two years now and for two years she’s been saying no. After that long it either turns nasty or becomes a joke, and with TJ of course it became a joke.
“In that case I hope something pops. You’re gonna die of heartbreak one of these days.”
He heaves a sigh, playing along, but I suspect it’s partly real.
“Don’t I know it. Sooner, Gat.”
“Sooner, amigo.”
I leave the two of them together. Or rather I leave the two of them in the same room, Carmen with her head in the clouds and TJ with his heart on his sleeve. Finding my way through the ghostly, lifeless house, I leave. Out front I start up my bike and drive down to the gate. Despite the efficacy of the L.A.P.D., I can’t just sit around and leave things in their hands, and it occurs to me that there’s some investigating I can do on my own.
It’s obvious that the men who attacked me weren’t really homeless, but it’s still possible that they posed as homeless for a while before the attack, waiting for the right opportunity to take me out. If they did, then someone in L.A.’s genuine homeless population might know something about them. It’s a slim chance, but I can’t afford to ignore any possibility and at the moment and I have no other leads to follow.
The thing is, I can’t just start approaching homeless people in the street and asking them if they know anything. First, they wouldn’t talk to me. They are rightfully both resentful and afraid of people from my world. Second, there are simply too many of them. I could question people for a decade and never find the person I was looking for, the one person who knows something helpful.
There might be a way, though. The homeless aren’t a cohesive unit, god knows, but they aren’t just scattered individuals either. They have their small societies, their friendships, families, and networks. They are interconnected by their desperate need and their limited resources. They share information with each other about food, shelter, and threats. There are even, to some extent, leaders amongst them, and there are a few points where their world actually intersects with the L.A. that I know and live in.
YOU ARE READING
Luck and Death at the Edge of the World
Science FictionSecurity specialist Gat Burroughs died once and he'll be damned if he lets it happen again. Unfortunately, somebody is determined to kill his client, a washed-up star named Max Prince, and isn't afraid to go through Gat to do it. Is it Max's debauch...
