chapter
NINETY

The little blue lights of the drongles zipped by in the spitting rain, and across the street an advertising balloon on an apartment block bobbed and swung. We took a turn down an alley that was choked with garbage.

Eyes watched us from dark windows, but the street was deserted. Somewhere far away, a dog was barking. Perhaps at strangers, perhaps out of fear. A coffee table came sidling out a little way down.

“Want to buy an equity fund?” it said.

“No.”

“What about an index-linked pension with a stock option? Or a juicy portfolio?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay,” it said, and scooted off.

The door to the tube system was painted black and red. And it had vast lettering on the side that said: “New Seattle Police Department. Hookup 489.” It looked stark in the night air.

“How do we get in?” I said, running my hand over the door.

“Plug into a feed and it opens automatically if you have clearance. Most of the cops have clearance. There’s no way we’ll force it.”

I looked down the alley and up to a window where a woman watched with folded arms. She turned away and stepped back out of sight when I met her gaze.

The alley smelled of burnt oil.

“So if we can’t get in now, how would we have gotten in earlier?”

“Maybe we didn’t,” said Gabe.

“Okay. So the leads we’re left with are the bottle from the herb fair and the cop drongle warehouse near the other end of that route. You want to check out the warehouse first? And then the fair? And if we don’t find anything at either, what do you say about heading over to Mending Things with Fire?”

“You still drink mojitos, then?” said Gabe.

“Yeah, some things are never meant to change. And drinking mojitos comes firmly into that category.”

“Sure. You mind if we walk? I need to stretch my bad leg.”