Rimrunners Read Online Free PDF Page B

work," she said.
    She earned her chit. She thought about finding somewhere else to spend the
    night, she was recovered enough to be more fastidious, and Terry gave her the
    chills, but that meant no supper and no breakfast.
    So she went back to Rico's.
    It was that way every day. Every day she got the single chit. Every main-night
    she went back. Terry got stranger. He wanted her to come to his apartment. He
    wanted to show her his place, he said.
    He got to doing weird things, like wanting to tie her up. "Hell if you do," she
    said. "I don't play those games."
    He acted embarrassed. But she was worried about the drinks he gave her after
    that. She was worried about going to sleep with him. He kept fingering her scars
    and asking how she'd gotten this one and that one and being weird, just weird,
    the way he went at sex while he was doing that. "Quit it," she said, finally,
    and shrugged him off. He slammed her back again, her bruised skull hitting the
    tiles and sparking color through her vision. She lay still, because she'd told
    her subconscious she was in trouble—don't react, don't react, he's a fool, is
    all—
    "That night you came here," he said. "That black eye and all."
    He hurt her. She got a hand free and clouted his ear. "Hurts, dammit!" He pawed
    after a hold on that arm and she gave him the knee. He yelled. She got away, off
    the blanket, over where her shoulders hit the corner and the shelves.
    "You damn bitch," he said.
    "Just back off." She levered herself up and sat down on a beer keg. It was cold.
    The air was. The whole place stank. "Back off, friend."
    "Come on back."
    "Hell. Just let me alone. I'm tired. This is my night-time, man, I work mainday.
    Just back off."
    "You and that black eye. That man you say grabbed you—'
    "Just leave me the hell alone. You got your supper's worth."
    The front door chimed. He sat there, ignoring it, breathing hard.
    "You got customers, Terry-lad."
    "Security's looking for some woman, off in Green, same night, same night you
    came here, all marked up. You got no card, no ID, come in here beat up—Don't
    call the meds, you say. Don't want anything to do with the meds—I bet you don't,
    sugar."
    Someone came into the hall. Shouted for service.
    "Get out there, dammit," she hissed. "You want the law in here?"
    "You're the one don't want the law, sugar." He put his hand on her leg. "I do
    what I want. Got that? I know where you hang out at the Registry. I followed
    you. Hear? If I call the law I can tell 'em where to look, even if you aren't in
    the comp, like I bet you aren't, sugar…"
    "You want the law, dammit, get out there and wait on those guys before they call
    security!"
    He stroked her skin. "You be here. You better be here. I got you for a long
    time. You better know I do."
    More shouting. "Just a minute," he yelled. He got up and limped around putting
    his clothes together, staggered out the door fastening his belt.
    She sat there on the beer keg with her arms clenched around her knees. She
    wanted to throw up.
    She thought it through, what her choices were. She listened to the voices in the
    bar and she got up and got her clothes from over the heat-vent, she dressed and
    she walked out into the bar where he was waiting on a rowdy tableful of
    dockworkers.
    He gave her a stark, mad look. She went over to the bar and got a drink for
    herself and listened to the rude comments from the four dockworkers, the
    invitation to have a drink, go to a sleepover with them and do this and that
    exotic number.
    Attractive notion, considering. But the thought that kept coming through cold
    and clear was how fast Terry Ritter-whoever would be on the com to Central.
    And with her fingerprints at the scene, the law just needed to get a look at her
    black eye and those scratches and to know that she was a transient and an
    illegal to get a judge to give a writ for real close questions.
    Under trank.
    She gave a scowl toward the dock workers. Loaders. Lousy lot. But cleaner