“Couldn’t say,” Hwa said, scratching the place on her face where Moliter’s scar would be, and winked.
Both women laughed. Coach Alexander tapped her temple with two fingers and then pointed them at Hwa’s specs. Instantly, her personal contact information popped up in Hwa’s vision. “Let me know if you want someone to run with in the mornings,” she said. “We might as well, living so close.”
“Hey, don’t leave me out!” Coach Brandvold shared her information with Hwa, too. Her profile fluttered in on little bird wings. “You should have a housewarming! I want to see your new place!”
Hwa ducked her head and began backing away toward Joel. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
“You might actually have to buy furniture, if you have a housewarming,” Síofra said, in her bones. “Maybe even invest in some plates.”
“I have plates,” she muttered.
“You have one set of dishes that you picked up from the Benevolent Irish Society shop. Those don’t count, just like those farmshare crates you stacked up against the wall don’t really count as shelves.”
“I didn’t realize you were an interior decorator,” Hwa said. “Not all of us have been earning Lynch wages for the past ten years.”
“True.”
“Besides, why should I invest in anything when it might be vaporized by this time next year?”
“It’s an experimental reactor, Hwa, not the apocalypse. You can buy furniture. You’re allowed to be comfortable.”
Ads for sofas blossomed up in her specs. Most of them were too big: apparently Síofra was only looking at furniture that fit his apartment, not her studio.
“You’re shopping for your place, not mine.”
“Not at all,” he said. “I just want a chair that actually fits me when I come by.”
“You plan to come by a lot?”
Silence.
From the mat, Joel huffed air up at his curls. “Can I please get up, now?”
Hwa waved away the ads with a swipe of her hand. She focused on Joel. By now, he’d worked himself down on his forearms. “Yeah. Sure. You should—”
Another message popped up in her vision. Oh, boy.
“Hey. Síofra.”
“You can call me by my name, you know.”
“I can train Joel any way I want, right?”
“Within limits, yes. His father doesn’t want him passing out or hurting himself, obviously.”
“But we don’t have to work out in this gym?”
“No. In fact, I’ve told you numerous times that you should feel comfortable to use the company gym, in Tower Five.”
“The company gym is full of augmented assholes from Security,” Hwa said. “And they all have a staring problem.”
“All I ask is that you go to places where I can see you.”
“Okay. There’s a boat that just pulled up. An old fishing trawler called the Angel from Montgomery. That’s where we’re going. And it’s just about the safest place I know.”
*
Hwa marched them down a rusting flight of stairs and onto the pier. With the Angel from Montgomery had come the birds. They wheeled and squawked overhead. Hwa peered down into the pontoons. She hadn’t been this close to the water in a long time. Not unless she counted going under the girders.
“Nobody’s going to take me for ransom or something, are they?” Joel asked, glaring down at the sailors on the Angel’s main deck.
Hwa smiled, but shook her head. “I’ve seen how these guys tip. Money’s not a problem. And they like this town. This is a favourite stop, for them. They won’t do anything that’ll get ’em blacklisted.”
It took her a moment to find Rivaudais, but being as he was the best-dressed man for miles, it wasn’t difficult. Today he wore a plum-coloured suit with a gold silk tie. It strained across his shoulders as he checked his shoes for what must have been the tenth time in the last two minutes. He toted his tartan umbrella a little higher.
“If you were worried about birdshit, you should have worn different shoes.”
Rivaudais turned and gave her a big smile and a Montréal-style kiss, one for each cheek. But when he spoke, he was still from New Orleans. “You looking healthy.”
“And you keep on not aging. It’s weird.”
“Black don’t crack, baby girl. You know.”
Hwa sucked her teeth. “Joel Lynch, meet étienne Rivaudais, owner and proprietor of the Aviation bar on 4-30.”
Rivaudais’s eyebrows jumped up into his bald forehead. “Joel Lynch? As in père Zachariah Lynch?”
“Oui.” Joel held out his hand and Rivaudais shook it. He looked a little confused. Probably because Joel was still wearing his gym clothes and wasn’t surrounded by skullcaps.
“I’m Joel’s bodyguard,” Hwa said. “And part of my job is physical training. So I thought I’d bring him along.”
Rivaudais glanced at Joel. “And you’re all good with this plan?”
“I’m still not entirely sure what’s involved.”
Rivaudais laughed. He had a big laugh, one that rocked him back on his heels and caused his umbrella to tip back a little.
“And the rest?” Rivaudais gestured at his skull and looked at Hwa. “Good?”
Hwa shrugged. “Mostly.”