Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

suddenly feel his eyes, a tingling in his throat, and a juvenile sense of hopelessness. “Here we go: ‘I am not a good parent’. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Some people would spend millions on a shrink before they could say something like that.”

“You haven’t had my fee yet.”

David laughed and bounced out of his self-pity. “What about your own parents?”

“Ah, the psychiatrist cannot talk about herself. It’s a rule.”

“You have rules?”

“Of course. Let’s be professional. What happen to her mother? Did she leave you?”

David felt off-balanced. His smile weakened. “Her mother was killed a few months after she was born. There was an accident where we both worked. She died in my arms.”

“Bollocks.”

“Nope. It’s true.”

She leaned closer. Half-chewed food lay in one side of her mouth, forgotten. “Did she wake up just before she died, like in the pictures? They usually do that.”

“No. She was lying in corridor when I found her. It was dark, you know, really dark. But I found her anyway. She’d been hit on the head by something.”

“Someone?”

“Something.”

Inside, he was silent, his mind just listening dumbly to his mouth. “She was sleeping. Or rather, she seemed to be asleep. I tried to wake her but her mouth just fell open. She wasn’t breathing. I remember screaming, then someone led me out of the building. I kept thinking that she had died alone. I thought that was the worst part.”

“Hmm,” Janine said. Her fish was nearly gone. His was hardly touched. “Did you work in the World Trade Center?”

“You remember that. No. It was the year after.”

“Oh.”

“You want some more fish?”

“No thanks.”

David took his own fish and plonked it on hers. “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed. “I don’t want your fucking leftovers.”

He smiled and watched her eat it. “Stop fucking smiling,” she said, spitting fish.

“Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. Again, so adult. Jennifer could roll her eyes like that.

“Guess what?” he said.

She stopped mid-chew. “Wha’?”

“I’m on the run from the police.”

Her relief was evident. She resumed her chewing. “I see.”

“They want me for murder.”

“They want me for shoplifting. Small world. Stop watching me. What are you, a fucking perv?”

David asked mildly, “What would you do without the word ‘fuck’?”

“That comes under the heading ‘philosophy’. I’m a street kid. Don’t you read Dickens? We’re more practical.”

“You’re –” David said, but interrupted himself.

Janine read his mind. She said, “I don’t really do it, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Have it off with people. For money. Like I thought you wanted.”

Something swept through David. Was it relief that he had been talking – playing Dr Bernardo, hero for a day – to the worst example of society’s failure, only to find that she had beaten him at his own game? She had played on his pity, eaten her meal, and now revealed the trick behind her sleight of hand.

And haven’t I done the same to her? Disguised myself as lowlife, and gotten what I wanted? A dry run at reconciliation?

“So you do what do you?” he asked.

“I lure them in and take ’em round somewhere. Back of the Horse ’n Groom. Down to the canal. Or Blackboy Road. Somewhere. Then me mates grab them and we rob them for money. Or cigarettes.” She stopped eating. “Sorry.”

David sighed and tried to push his chair from the table. It was stuck to the floor. He wormed his way out and put on his gloves. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m going to sleep. In the morning I’ll ride on.” He leaned closer and winked. “Remember, I’m on the run.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, playing along. “I forgot. But what about your life story?”

“Life stories are boring. You should be thankful you only got the edited highlights.”

She shrugged.

David was motionless for the while. Then he said, “Janine, you want your money?”

She burped and nodded. “Oh, yeah. That. Make it a thousand.” She said it casually, too casually, ready for David to protest and rant. He did not.

“Got a card?”

She had it ready and handed it over. He connected the two and there was a little beep as the transaction was made. He gave hers back and pocketed his own. “Can I ask you something without you getting angry or saying ‘fuck’?”

“Maybe.”

He placed a gloved hand on her head. He didn’t ruffle her hair or pat her head. “Take care of yourself.”

“We’ll see.”

He walked out and Janine watched him leave. McCabe was smiling at the scene. Father and daughter eating out. He did not find it strange that the father had left without the daughter. He whistled a tune and went out back. Janine waited, picking at her fish bones, until she could wait no longer. She grabbed her card and checked the balance. Her eyes widened.

“Fucking bastardain fucker.”

David opened his rucksack and spilled the contents on his bed. Outside, it began to rain. He was glad to be warm and dry. He worried about the next day’s travelling. His coat and the rest of his clothes hung on the back of a wooden chair next to the mini desk and coffee-making utensils.

He ripped open the brown envelope. He smiled. Inside was an object the size of a bankcard but a little thicker. An Ego personal computer. There was an earpiece taped to the back. The warmth of his fingertips caused the surface to assume the shape of a woman’s face.

“Hello, Ego.”

“Who are you?”

“Professor David Proctor, at your service.”

There was a beep as his voice was identified. “No, I am at yours.”

“Oh, you.” David fitted the earpiece. “Switch to earpiece.”

“Done,” said the voice in his ear. He slid Ego into his wallet. There was some cash in envelope too. This he put into his coat’s inner pocket.

“Do you have any instructions for me, Ego?”

“Yes. Get to London Heathrow Terminal Five and open baggage locker J327.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

David walked into his bathroom and turned the taps. A trombone sounded and under-pressurised water fell into the bathtub. “Who arranged my escape?”

“I have been asked to withhold that information.”

He nodded and began to scheme. The Ego model used a so-called