The Flight of the Silvers (Silvers #1)(43)

Evan launched a swift kick into his ribs.

“Well, I like it a little. So do us both a favor. Waddle your ass over to that wall and stay there. I’ll be gone soon enough. I just need to do a little convenience shopping.”

Snorting through bloody nostrils, Nico crawled to his checkout stand and sat up as best he could.

Evan unwrapped an epallay and stuck it to his chest. “Oof. Mama. These reboots never tickle. My head’s all fourped. But who am I to complain? I’m alive, right?”

Nico eyed the silent alarm button at the floor of his station. It was so easy when he could just step on it. Now it was five feet away—a mile in his condition.

Evan sauntered over to Nico’s sparse selection of clothing. He threw on a black Viva San Diego T-shirt and cheap bresin sandals.

“Since I last saw you, Nico-Nico . . . well, I’ll be honest. This last round sucked. Everyone was extra annoying. The Pelletiers. The Gothams. The Deps. And don’t even get me started on You-Know-Who. Hannah had her tits in such a wringer, I had to kill her to keep her from killing me. And then her sister came looking for blood. Nearly killed me with her goddamn tempis.”

Evan grabbed a handbasket and filled it with items: a quart of rubbing alcohol, a pint of orange juice, a hammer, a hunting knife. He stopped at the soda/vim dispenser and grabbed a large drinking cup.

“Between you, me, and the green beans, Nico, I’m still kinda pissed about it. So now I have two Givens at the top of my shit list.”

Evan retrieved a near-empty tube of Crest from the floor. It had traveled with him from his father’s bathroom and was now a one-of-a-kind relic. He stashed it in his basket.

“I don’t know, Nico. Part of me’s tempted to sit this one out. Maybe find an island somewhere and sip margaritas while the idiots do their idiot dance. I haven’t written myself out of the story since . . . God, what round was it? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Oh, hey. That reminds me.”

Evan unwrapped a magic marker and drew a large “55” on the back of his right hand. It was a mnemonic device, a way to help organize his multiple sets of memories. He’d eventually hit the laser-brand parlor and get a more lasting reminder. For now, this would do.

“Aw, who am I kidding? I can’t stay away from the fun and games. You didn’t believe it for a second. You know me too well.”

Nico had managed to halve the distance between himself and the alarm trigger. He shuffled another inch to the right, then froze when he spotted Evan’s smirking face above the dog food bags.

“Pathetic, man. You’re usually within slapping distance of the button by now. Are you even trying?”

“Please. I have children . . .”

“No you don’t. Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Evan doubled back to the checkout stand and emptied his goods into a knapsack. He popped open the cash register, then arranged the crisp blue bills into a folded pile. There was no need to count it. It was $212, just like always.

“All righty. The power’s coming back and I have a date with a sweet Georgia peach. So this is where we . . . wait! The synchron! May I have your watch, parakalo? I need it more than you do.”

Nico hurriedly removed his timepiece and held it out to Evan. He snatched it away and wrapped it around his wrist.

“Thanks. Now we’re ready.”

He checked the ammo in the shotgun, then blew dust off the barrel. Nico crawled backward.

“No! Please!”

Evan aimed the gun at his face. “You know, I remember a time, long ago, when I was the one crying and begging for my life. You didn’t kill me but you still weren’t nice. I’m just saying.”

“Please, sir! Please!”

Evan lowered the weapon. “‘Sir’? Did you just call me sir?” He laughed in amazement. “Wow. Fifty-four times and you never called me sir. I’m not sure how to feel. I mean I like it, obviously. I love it. But how much?”

Staring ahead in whimsical thought, he opened the shotgun. Two fat shells dropped to the floor.

“That much, it seems. Good job, Nico, you silver-tongued devil. You just charmed your way to a minor life extension.”

Just as he tossed the gun over his shoulder, the overhead lights flickered back to life.

“Hey, look at that. Right on cue.”

Evan turned the keylock next to the register, causing the tempic barrier to vanish. Cars and pedestrians became visible on the other side of the glass.

He grabbed his bag and patted Nico’s cheek. “Always a pleasure, my friend. Until next time.”

Evan ventured outside to a City Heights West that—unlike its shabby, old-world counterpart—actually resembled a city. Split-level houses had become replaced with sprawling office complexes. Trees had given way to animated lumic billboards. He chuckled at how he noted the difference every single time.

Soon his smile disappeared and he stopped cold. Evan didn’t let Nico Mundis live very often, and he just remembered why. The fat man’s testimony to the local police would enter the national law enforcement database, where certain key phrases would ring bells among the eagle-eyed federales in DP-9. Most of the Deps were easy enough to evade, but some, like the exotic Melissa Masaad, were annoyingly sharp. She could make Evan’s life that much harder.

He closed his eyes in concentration until his head went light and he felt a full-body tingle, as if swimming in seltzer. Wild colors streaked all around him as the clock of his life reversed ninety-two seconds. Soon Evan found himself back inside the store, back behind the barrier, back with a loaded shotgun aimed at Nico Mundis.