A Fire in the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

pumping through him day and night; it's called RPM, and even though I'm pretty experienced with drugs of all nations, I never want to take that stuff again. Bill, on the other hand, swears that it has opened his eyes to the hidden nature of the real world. I guess so; he can see fire demons and I can't. The only problem with the drug—and Bill will be the first to admit this—is that he can't remember a goddamn thing from one minute to the next.
    So it wasn't surprising that he didn't recognize me. I've had to go through the same conversation with him a hundred times. "It's me, Bill. Marîd. I want you to take me to Friedlander Bey's."
    He squinted back at me. "Can't say I ever seen you before, buddy."
    "Well, you have. Lots of times."
    "That's easy for you to say," he muttered. He jabbed the ignition and pulled away from the curb. We were headed in the wrong direction. "Where did you say you wanted to go?" he asked.
    "Papa's."
    "Yeah, you right. I got this afrit sitting up here with me today, and he's been tossing hot coals in my lap all afternoon. It's a big distraction. I can't do nothing about it, though. You can't punch out an afrit. They like to mess with your head like that. I'm thinking of getting some holy water from Lourdes. Maybe that would spook 'em. Where the hell is Lourdes, anyway?"
    "The Caliphate of Gascony," I said. "Hell of a long drive. They do mail orders?" I told him I didn't have the slightest idea, and sat back against the upholstery. I watched the landscape slash by— Bill's driving is as crazy as he is—and I thought about what I was going to say to Friedlander Bey. I wondered how I should approach him about what I'd found out, what my mother had told me, and what I suspected. I decided to wait. There was a good chance that the information in the computers linking me to Papa had been planted there, a devious means of winning my cooperation. In the past, I'd carefully avoided any direct transactions with Papa, because taking his coin for any reason meant that he owned you forever. But when he paid for my cranial implants, he made an investment that I'd be paying back for the rest of my life. I didn't want to be working for him, but there was no escape. Not yet. I maintained the hope that I'd find a way to buy my way out, or coerce him into giving me my freedom. In the meantime, it pleased him to pile responsibility on my unwilling shoulders, and gift me with ever-larger rewards.
    Bill pulled through the gate in the high white wall around Friedlander Bey's estate and drove up the long, curved driveway. He came to a stop at the foot of the wide marble stairs. Papa's butler opened the polished front door and stood waiting for me. I paid the fare and slipped Bill an extra ten kiam. His lunatic eyes narrowed and he glanced from the money to me. "What's this?" he asked suspiciously.
    "It's a tip. You're supposed to keep that." "What's it for?" "For your excellent driving." "You ain't trying to buy me off, are you?" I sighed. "No. I admire the way you steer with all those red-hot charcoals in your drawers. I know I couldn't do it-He shrugged. "It's a gift," he said simply. "So's the ten kiam."
    His eyes widened again. "Oh," he said, smiling, "now I get it!"
     "Sure you do. See you around, Bill."
    "See ya, buddy." He gunned the cab and the tires spat gravel. I turned and went up the stairs.
    "Good afternoon, yaa Sidi," said the butler.
    "Hello, Youssef. I'd like to see Friedlander Bey."
    "Yes, of course. It's good to have you home, sir."
    "Yeah, thanks." We walked along a thickly carpeted corridor toward Papa's offices. The air was cool and dry, and I felt the gentle kiss of many fans. There was the fragrance of incense on the air, subtle and inviting. The light was muted through screens made of narrow strips of wood. From somewhere I heard the liquid trickle of falling water, a fountain splashing in one of the courtyards.
    Before we got to the waiting room, a tall, well-dressed woman crossed the hall and