“You’re kidding,” said Marisa. “Who uses cash?”
“It’s the only way to keep a transaction private,” said Saif. “If we pay in credits, suddenly the banks know where the money came from, and where it’s going, and even where we were standing when we exchanged it—digital currency has a trail you can never erase.”
“Makes sense,” said Marisa.
“I started hitting that new neighborhood today,” said Gomez. “It worked out pretty well.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Kindred. “Lal says to make sure you lay low; we can’t afford to attract any attention right now.”
“What’s going on?” asked Gomez.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Kindred. “Keep selling, but stay out of trouble.”
“Who’s Lal?” asked Marisa.
“Never heard of him,” said Saif.
“They’re expanding their territory,” Marisa murmured. “Which new neighborhoods are they moving into? Beverly Hills?”
“Probably,” said Saif.
“Wouldn’t they already be there?” asked Marisa. “Why would they be in Brentwood and not Beverly Hills?”
“I . . . don’t know. Look, they’re leaving.”
Gomez took the bag of drives and walked back to his car. Kindred went to his, and both vehicles started moving.
They’re leaving, sent Marisa. Do you have that nuli yet?
We’re working on it, sent Sahara.
We’re going to lose him, sent Marisa.
“They’re coming toward me,” said Bao. “I’m going to hide and wait for both cars to leave the Center.” His video and audio feeds shut off, and the tablet screen went blank.
Mari, sent Sahara, we need the Goblins.
I’m not on my djinni, sent Marisa. I don’t have them.
“We’ve got to hide,” said Saif.
We’re not going to make it in time, sent Sahara.
“He’s coming toward us,” said Saif. “Come on!”
Go! sent Sahara. Saif grabbed Marisa’s hand and sprinted back toward the strip mall. She turned off the tablet as she ran, just in case one of the storefronts managed to read a useful ID from it. They reached the first restaurant, a crowded neon diner called Taco Riendo, and Saif put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and hiding their faces from the road, facing the window as if they were reading a menu. Marisa longed to know what was happening—had they gotten away cleanly? Had Bao been seen? Had Sahara hacked the nuli in time, or had Kindred gotten away?
“Here he comes,” said Saif, and he leaned in closer; she smelled his sweat from the run and his blood from the wound on his face; she felt the faint rasp of his stubbled chin on her cheek, like a thrill of electricity. Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly it felt impossible to think about anything but the heat of his body. He pointed to the window, and Marisa forced herself to look at a reflection in the brightly lit glass: the street behind them, and the warped outline of Kindred’s car as it slid by on the road. Marisa waited, motionless in the curve of his arm, trying to concentrate on the car instead of him, and only when the car moved completely past them did she dare to turn her head and watch as it drove away, past the strip mall and into the city . . .
. . . and right then, in the final second, a small nuli flew out from the fast food place and followed the car, a tiny glowing dot in the neon sky.
“Got him,” she breathed, and gripped Saif’s arm in triumph.
Saif shook his head in disbelief. “You stole a nuli from a restaurant and tailed a drug dealer with it, all in . . . what was that, five minutes?”
“I think four,” said Marisa, smiling from ear to ear. “I didn’t think we’d make it.” She made a fist and pumped it forcefully. “Cherry Dogs!”
“I didn’t even think that was possible,” said Saif. Marisa turned back from the street, looking at him, and found him staring at her, considering her with a face he hadn’t used before. He was impressed, and . . . something else she couldn’t pin down. It made her heart beat faster, and she looked away. He spoke again, softly. “What else can you do, Marisa Carneseca?”
She slowly turned back toward him, doing everything she could to maintain her cool. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m amazing in every reality.”
“I think . . .” He paused. “I think you’re one of the only people I’ve ever met who could say that and not sound arrogant.”
Marisa felt like she didn’t know how to respond, though when she finally spoke it seemed obvious, and she didn’t know what had seemed so complicated. “Thanks.” She looked back at the restaurant window, on the verge of asking him to step inside for a drink, but her eyes lit on a clock and she cursed. “Ten thirty? I’ve got to go.”