Friday's Coming

(Robert W Castello)

Friday's Coming

1 - Tears of an Angel


In all of the greater Boston Metro Area, indeed in all of the city of East New England there wasn’t a bigger asshole than Lenny Bosco. And now he was dead. And I had killed him. And it turned out that he was a cop.

The moment his heart stopped, the monitor implant sent out the alert “Officer Down” on all freeks and all bands. Every cop in the city knew who and where. Civilians who cared to check the tone would know, and had I bothered to check mine I would have known too. But even as Boston’s Finest were converging on the building I had my hands full trying to siphon what Angel Tears I could from the port in the man’s brain.

Lenny had always been a real jerk. He was a Touch-Head and an easy mark. When I couldn’t score tears from heads at the usual clubs he was my fallback. He liked my body and his price was just a giggle dance. I didn’t mind that. What I hated was his attitude. He would lord over me like he was a somebody, and he’d have me dance down to my slippery pretties while he got a bone on and used his toy to get off, right there in front of me.

It was pretty gross, but it would stimulate his brain. Capillaries would flush and the path down the port would be so much easier. I could always easily get a quarter dram from the man and we’d both be happy.

But that night he’d been drinking more than usual. He took a long time to climax and he was squirrely. I saw that and I should have stepped away. But I was pissed. I’d worked for the fix and I wasn’t going to go away empty.

I slammed him into a chair. I should have tied him up or something, but by that time I was hurting. I parted his hair and found the port on the crown of his head. I worked him from behind as I started the probe. He giggled.

“Don’t move,” I said.

“Yes Ma’am.”

“I mean it and you know it.”

My micro tube followed the wire lead. It was all touch and feel, but I’d done that so many, many times and I knew my way around Lenny’s brain. The probe glided smoothly centimeter by centimeter, deep into the grey.

“Almost home, baby,” I said.

“Oh, baby.”

That should have tipped me. My wrists were resting on his head as I worked. I hit a snag. I had to draw the thing back a little and then go forward a couple of times. I was getting frustrated. I hadn’t realized that my boobs were cradling his head. I felt him shudder, but I didn’t see his hand creeping up. I finally got past the hitch and the probe slid straight into the sack.

Deep in the center of his brain, nestled comfortably in the nucleus accumbens there was a micro implant. A wire threaded through the grey matter to a port on the surface of the skull. When that port was plugged into an Angel he’d get a trickle of micro-amps, the massaging would start and his touch-head brain would be bathed in dopamine sending him into euphoria.

The beauty side was that, beyond the initial operation, there were no physical harms to the body. There was no liver pickling, no lungs rotting, no chance of an overdose. It was an addict’s dream.

The down side was that a byproduct fluid would build up around the implant. Held in a sack by surface tension, the buildup was microscopic and harmless --unless it built up too much and the sack ruptured. That would be very bad for the brain. The upside was that the fluid was easily removed, and the liquid was itself gold for the biotechs.

For me, the stuff was life.

But this time it was death.

I had just begun drawing the tears when the idiot started stroking my tit. I jerked. The siphon responded and the sack ruptured. The next thing I knew Lenny was on the floor convulsing, my precious tears seeping into his hair. I wanted to scream.

I was on him like that. There was no more need for care or caution. The guy was already dead. Moments after the blood flow stopped the brain would collapse in a cascade. I reattached the syringe and drew the plunger. I got a full dram, but there was a lot of blood in there. At that point I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there. That’s when I heard the sirens.

By then it was too late.