GID hung out near the perimeter of Swinton’s audio department, spying on her new friend Bruce over in viewscreens. The screens didn’t do much for her view, but luckily Bruce was a big guy so it wasn’t hard to keep track of him even with several square yards of plastic casings and crystal displays trying to spoil her fun.
Plus, Bruce wasn’t really doing anything Gid couldn’t decipher without seeing his every move. Walking the floor. Talking to customers. Closing a sale every once in a while. All the things he was supposed to be doing. So far, Gid had learned that Bruce was really tall and that he could sell viewscreens just by smiling at people. And he did have a nice smile, sort of gentle and full of warmth and dimples. Made Gid half want to buy a viewscreen herself, and she never paid for anything.
According to the employee records Gid had sneaked a peek at, Bruce was a quota-buster. He lived over near West Tower.
And that was it. Public records revealed nothing out of line. The picture Gid had gotten so far was that Bruce was quiet and clean-living and never did anything wrong.
So if he’s such a straight arrow, why did he help me not get busted?
Gid’s hip thumped plexi as she parked it against an implant display case and combed magenta nails through purple-streaked hair. She ignored a circling customer in favor of continuing to watch Bruce prowl his department.
Despite his nice smile, Bruce had thus far deflected Gid’s every friendly overture. Unless he thought a grunted “hello” in response to chipper get-to-know-you questions equated to social interaction, in which case they were best buddies.
Bruce stopped mid-stride and glanced down at his hip. A second later he reached down.
Palm device, Gid noted, as Bruce fished it out of his pocket. No flashy tech for the non-flashy guy. Not a huge surprise—West Tower wasn’t the richest part of town, and Bruce was apparently not interested in the criminal acts that might otherwise provide him with something more expensive.
Bruce looked at the palm’s screen, and everything about him changed. His spine stiffened. His shoulders dropped. His jaw clenched.
Gid took her hip off the display case and stood up straight.
Bruce shoved the palm back into his pocket. He didn’t even glance around, just headed straight for the back of the store. He was moving fast enough that Gid could practically hear his shoes on the squeaky clean floor.
Break room or manager’s office? Only one way to find out. Gid dodged around the implant case, avoided eye contact with the shopper trying to get her attention, and aimed for the back of the store herself.