Chapter 13: Neighbors
Across the bridge, in a diner on the border of Santo Domingo and Westbrook, Maine toyed with a lighter. He watched Rebecca demolish a synth-meat burger, unable to hold back his question. "You sure she's gonna show?"
"Don't doubt me, Maine. I'm not a screw-up like Pilar," she said, her cheeks puffed out as she chewed, sending a small spray of food particles across the table. A small, grease-stained hand emerged from the sleeve of her oversized black jacket, grabbed a drink, and chugged half of it down.
After a massive swallow, she continued, "She'll be here. And as for how I know her, that's none of your business."
Maine laughed, stood up, and reached out a massive hand to ruffle her green hair until it looked like a bird's nest. "The hell it isn't. When Pilar's not around, I'm your guardian. If you're dealing with someone, I'm gonna check 'em out."
"Guardian my ass, Maine! I'm a goddamn adult! And I'm telling you again, stop making cracks about my height and how I look!" Rebecca swatted his hand away and flipped him a furious middle finger.
Maine pulled his hand back with a look of disgust, wiping the grease off on his pants.
Rebecca was about to lay into him again, but she stopped mid-rant. Her big eyes blinked, and her round face went slack with a cute, vacant expression. She pointed behind Maine. "Yo."
Maine turned around. A tall woman with yellow hair and a steel jaw-mask stood there, a cigarette smoldering in her hand. She was wearing a long trench coat.
"Am I late?" the woman asked, her cool gaze fixed on Rebecca.
Rebecca shook her head, her long pigtails swinging. She patted the empty seat beside her. "Nah, you're just in time. I just finished eating."
"Kiwi, this is Maine, our crew leader. He's the one who wants to recruit you."
"Lookin' sharp, choomba. You already look way more pro than our current deckhead," Maine said with a booming laugh, giving Kiwi a thumbs-up.
Just based on appearances, the woman Rebecca brought was the real deal. Slim, tall, a red trench coat, a red iron mask, and an aura that screamed "stay the hell away." He couldn't help but compare her to his own netrunner, who, when she wasn't jacked in, had a permanent cat-like smile and dressed like a pre-teen. The thought made him chuckle. Of course, he was just messing around. He knew exactly how skilled Sasha was. You'd be hard-pressed to find a better netrunner on the street. Having her on the team was a stroke of incredible luck.
"Talk terms," Kiwi said, unimpressed by the compliment. She sat down next to Rebecca and looked straight at Maine.
"Even splits. You do the work, you get the eddies. I can't guarantee you'll make more with us than you would running solo..." Maine's smile vanished. He took off his sunglasses, his eyes serious as he looked at her.
But his show of respect did nothing to thaw her demeanor. She cut him off. "If I'm not making more than I do solo, why would I join your crew? Am I a gonk?"
She gestured at Rebecca with her thumb. "Or is it for her sake?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Rebecca blinked, confused.
"Easy, I'm not done yet," Maine said, unfazed. He met Kiwi's cold stare. "My crew is on the rise. You know the Afterlife? I don't know if you've got the rep to get in, but if you join us, you're in. On top of that, we just pulled a major gig two days ago. A corporate job. Payout was two-hundred fifty thousand eddies. Had a small complication, but we aced it. Four-way split. That's not pocket change."
A flicker of interest showed in Kiwi's eyes.
Two-hundred fifty grand... Compared to the scattered gigs she was taking now for a few thousand a pop, which were still dangerous and always ended in an argument over the split... Having Rebecca as a reference, Maine's offer was definitely tempting.
"On my team, I can't promise a gig every day. But what I can promise is that you'll be treated like family. You'll never have to worry about a knife in your back," Maine said, spreading his hands with a wide, earnest grin.
The gesture and the speech made Rebecca, sitting next to Kiwi, roll her eyes. It was the same damn pitch Maine used on everyone.
Although... he actually did live up to it. But the speech itself was still so incredibly cheesy. Rebecca and Pilar hadn't believed a word of it at first. If Wakako, who'd looked out for them for years, hadn't suggested they give Maine's crew a shot, they would have walked out the second he started spouting that idiotic "family" crap.
Like family? For Rebecca, her only real family was her brother. After their father disappeared, all his old "friends" had shown their true colors, preying on the two orphaned kids. They'd lost their home, their inheritance "vanished," and a teenage Pilar had to drag his little sister to live in an abandoned car, forcing them onto the same dangerous path their father had walked just to survive. That past had taught Rebecca to never trust anyone, to lock away her empathy.
But Maine and Dorio... well, the only reason she had the personality she did today was because she'd been relentlessly spoiled by Pilar, Maine, and Dorio.
"What's with that look?" Maine had noticed Rebecca's expression.
Rebecca just squeezed her eyes shut and grumbled, "Nothing!"
"Look, joining us has its perks. You've got nowhere else to go anyway, right? Give it a shot. What's a few days?" Maine said, giving Kiwi a conspiratorial wink.
Kiwi stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table and extended a hand to Maine.
"You won't regret this. Trust me," Maine said, immediately standing up to shake it, his laugh booming through the diner.
No... regrets? Kiwi's eyes flickered. If her original jaw was still there, she would have been smiling sardonically beneath the red iron. In this city, she didn't trust anyone.
...
The sun beat down on Santo Domingo. At the afternoon metro station, a teenager in an Arasaka Academy uniform stepped out, hands stuffed in his pockets. He broke into a light jog.
He couldn't afford a taxi, and besides, he liked to run. Running cleared his head, letting all his worries get left behind with each pounding step.
He ran towards Arroyo, soon arriving at the base of his megabuilding. He pursed his lips, feeling the suspicious, dangerous glares of the locals. Right. A Santo Domingo native living in the "slums" but wearing the uniform of the most prestigious corpo academy in the city was bound to attract attention.
What's a rich kid doing in a place like this?
Wonder what he's got on him that's worth eddies?
He knew exactly what they were thinking. It was why he always stuck to the main roads on his way home, even though his mom insisted he take a cab. A cab? Where were they supposed to get the money for that? The washing machine was already offline, and in a few days, he wasn't even sure if they'd be able to get into their own apartment.
He crossed the empty plaza at the building's base, got into the elevator, and selected his floor.
The doors opened to a foul smell, a world away from the clean, filtered air of the academy. NCPD officers were patrolling the hallway, running ID checks on the residents.
He reached his front door and paused, hand on the lock. His mom was home early today?
He opened the door and stepped inside. A pair of yellow boots were by the entrance, socks draped over them. A yellow EMT jacket was hanging on the rack next to them.
He slipped off his shoes and walked barefoot into the apartment. He saw a woman at the counter, her back to him. She wore a gray knit sweater and baggy yellow pants, her red hair tied up. She was tossing various pre-packaged meals into the microwave.
"You're back? Quick, put these on a plate," the woman said, turning around. She had a youthful, pretty face—all organic—but her features were etched with weariness.
"I can make my own dinner. I'm almost sixteen. Why don't you just rest when you get home?"
"Today's different. We have new people moving in next door. We've got neighbors now, and it's important to be on good terms with them," she said with a smile, turning back to the counter. "So, when this is done, you're going to take it over to them."
"Why? We barely have enough for ourselves!"
"I said, we need to be on good terms. When I'm not home, I'm counting on them to keep an eye on you. You're getting more rebellious every day."
She turned back to him, winked, and flashed a peace sign next to her cheek. She grinned.
"I'm right, aren't I? Mr. Never-Answers-My-Calls... David Martinez?"