“No... yes... fuck, I don't know. I want to start by talking to her. Nathan, I never knew why she disappeared from my life. I just went to school one day and the teacher said that Katrina had transferred schools. I wasn't into reading the news back then, I just rolled with it. But it hurt, and what she did last night hurt, too. I need to know. I need to look her in the eyes when I ask her why she did it.”
Nathan considers me for a long moment, then nods. “All right. Perhaps I've grown weary of death myself in my old age. When a man reaches fifty, the Reaper's a lot closer of a friend than you like to admit when you're twenty-two. Or hell, maybe I'm just trying to balance some old debts. I'll find Katrina, but I won't eliminate her. I'll report her whereabouts to you instead. If Peter asks... well, I doubt any woman who was able to put together the PSYOP that was done on you last night is going to be easy to find. It wouldn't be the first time someone's twisted Peter DeLaCoeur's tail and ran like a jackrabbit afterward.”
“Thank you, Nathan,” I say quietly. Nathan nods and sets a mug in front of me. He picks up his teapot and swirls it three times, then gives me a small half-smile.
“You're welcome. Care for some tea?”
Chapter 5
Kat
“You know, the Ghetto Goth look kinda went out fifteen years ago,” Darcy says as we exchange hugs outside Cafe Du Monde. They've got great beignets, which Darcy only got used to eating after she got married. I sometimes tease that marrying a cop has changed her in more ways than one, but it's all good. I love her for who she is. “You know, right about when Aaliyah passed?” she says.
“She's more from your time, not mine, even if you and Virginia gave me an appreciation for Baby Girl. Besides, if I went with just a sports bra, people'd stare, even here in New Orleans,” I reply, looking down at my outfit. I'm wearing a pair of lightweight black BDU pants, a slate gray sports bra, and a navy blue shirt I've left unbuttoned and untucked so my skin can breathe in this humidity. Black sunglasses and a pair of black lightweight mid top boots round out my look, although I'm not wearing a hat today. It's a little cloudy, so I don't need it. “You know how it is,” I say.
“Yeah, I know,” Darcy says, looking for all the world like any other average thirty-two-year-old mother in jeans and a tank top. “I mean, I think this little bit of color on my shirt here might be peas, but it might be pee. I'm not too sure.”
I laugh softly and sit back, sipping my coffee. Darcy insists on covering the costs for our little trips out into the world, what she calls my “social training,” since it's the only way she can convince me to leave the loft except for my mission or work. “You always did have a good sense of color. So, what's up?”
Darcy, who is also one of only five people in the world with my permanent phone number, reaches into her purse and pulls out a thumb drive. “Thought you might like this. My friends finished the translations for you.”
“No shit?” I say with a grin, sitting forward and taking the drive from her outstretched hand. “Took them long enough.”
“Hey, the Osaka police are behind on digitizing their files, and this literally took some... clandestine activities that you're probably more trained for than I am,” Darcy replies. “Some of the people involved... well, let's just say that finding anti-government anarchists in Japan is a lot harder than finding them here in the States or in Europe.”
“At least ones who have the skills I need,” I reply with a chuckle, thinking about some of the Japanese hackers I know online. They're definitely a... unique group. “So did you take a look?”
Darcy nods, watching as our waitress brings her a plate with two beignets dusted with powdered sugar. “You know Kat, you can indulge in these every once in a while. You don't need to live on health food all the time.”
“Performance food,” I correct her, looking wistfully at the fried and glistening puffs of dough. “Maybe when this is over, I'll take you up on that offer for the second one. Till then, give it to Jeff with my compliments.”
Darcy rolls her eyes and takes a big bite of the treat. Some of the powdered sugar puffs up as she lifts it to her face and settles on her chocolate-colored skin. But a bit goes up her nose, and it makes Darcy sneeze. She sets the beignet down and wipes at her face with a napkin, getting most of it. “There's a reason us black folk don't usually eat this way,” she grumbles. “You white girls got it lucky.”
“Right... meanwhile, black don't crack,” I return, falling into some of the old racial jokes that I learned in Virginia's house. She never let the difference in our races be a factor between us, but she also didn't let us ignore them either. “So what's it say?”