Dead Mann Walking Read Online Free PDF Page A

thought in extremes. He was either a self-styled superhero or a bug lying against the wall too worthless to crush. I don’t know if that was a result of being ripped or if he was bipolar beforehand, too.
    â€œMy birthday? Hah. I don’t even remember that! I had a . . . uh, professional setback. One that interfaced negatively with my life plan.”
    I gave him a look. His grin widened, his roller coaster on a definite climb.
    â€œFine, my after life plan. Two livebloods in a blue SUV stole my stash. I lost a half gram of meth. I tried to picture a positive outcome, focused, meditated, tried to make it real, y’know? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t face my supplier. He says I’m the only chak in the world he can count on, and I just couldn’t go there, not with him. I crawled in here to meditate and . . . zoned out.”
    â€œSix days ago. Ever happen before? The feral thing, I mean.”
    His brow crunched. “What feral thing?”
    I gave him another look. My memory wasn’t that bad yet.
    The grin faded a bit. “No. That was the first time. I swear.”
    He was lying, but I let it go. Making him think about it too much could send him off again.
    â€œAnything I can do? I’ve got some cash these days.”
    â€œReally? Good for you! I knew you could do it. Were you putting the vibes out there? Acting as if? Faking it until you make it?”
    â€œSure. Something like that.”
    He pushed his head around like he was trying to snap it back into place. “Spot me five for a double espresso? Helps me focus. I know those two addicts. I know where they live. If I really bring the right attitude toward it I can talk them into giving me the stash back, or at least paying something for it. If not, at least I can go feral on someone who deserves it, right?”
    â€œRight. Espresso, huh? That . . . you know, work?”
    He shrugged. “Seems to. Maybe it just reminds me.” He tapped his temple. “Head game. But it’s all head games, right?”
    Head was the wrong word to use around me at the moment. I pulled out the photo, if only to change the subject. “This is why I was trying to find you. Know him?”
    He took it between his fingers, moved it around in the scant light.
    â€œHair’s a little different, and he doesn’t have all that flesh anymore, but . . . of course I do. What was it? Pimple. Boyle. Frank Boyle. Lives in Bedland. Last I heard, anyway. You got that five?”
    I pulled out a crumpled bill, the last I had on me, and stuffed it in his pocket.
    â€œI thought the doubles were only four bucks.”
    â€œI like to tip the barista,” he said. “Keep a good thought, Mann!”
    I watched him shamble off, hoping he didn’t go feral in Starbucks.
    Then again, he wouldn’t be the first.

3
    M r. Turgeon was full of surprises.
    â€œTonight? You want to go tonight ?”
    He could laugh his wobbly ass off at my last name all he wanted, but I wasn’t getting maimed for a few bucks, even for a lot of bucks. I tried to put it politely. “Look, Mr. Turgeon, I admire your tenacity, but even armed liveblood cops don’t go to Bedland after sunset on a Friday.”
    â€œI understand the risk.”
    â€œNo, sir. I don’t think you do. Every meathead in Fort Hammer gets the weekend off from his shitty job. They spend it looking for more exciting ways to get off, and hakking is the number one sport. If the hakkers don’t kill us, the ferals they leave behind will. Add to that the fact that we don’t even know if your boy can still answer to his name. . . .”
    Pursing his lips, he looked out the window. The flighty evening glow had vanished into a more honest dark. “I told you. We have to find him before his siblings. There are four shantytowns, aren’t there? And the hakkers only attack one? Doesn’t that put the odds in our favor?”
    One in four. I looked