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.
“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.
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
By then it was too late.