Metrophage | Page 7

who, like Easy, always kept a metaphorical
ear to the ground, that the Los Santos Atomicos gang's particular vice
was free-basing cocaine. Easy located their safe-house with information
from a rival gang. He also found that the Los Santos Atomicos liked to
buy the ether they used to treat the coke, in bulk. They kept big tanks of
the stuff hidden under the floor.
As he was fond of saying, from there it was easy money.
Like some stoned Prometheus, Easy brought fire to the Los Santos
Atomicos in the form of a red Navy signal flare which he fired into
their lab from the roof of a Catholic mission across the street. The
explosion literally ripped the roof off the ether-filled building. The
fireball boiled down onto many of the adjoining buildings, igniting
them, too.
Besides the Los Santos Atomicos, at least a dozen other people, mainly
junkies and prostitutes, died in the fires that engulfed the grimy
neighborhood. And Easy Money moved up a rung in the hierarchy of
the movers and shakers in their little world. Looking back, none of it
had seemed important to Jonny at the time. When he heard of the
deaths it seemed somehow normal. Just one more senseless act in the
long series of senseless acts that made up their lives. However,
Raquin's death had moved events from the abstract into a personal
affront. He knew Raquin. And he knew Easy had killed him. Jonny
would finish Easy Money simply because nobody else would and
because the little prick deserved it.
Jonny slowed his breathing, counted each intake of breath, centering
himself as his roshi had taught him. Visions of horned, tattooed Easy
swam before him as he hunted for that savage part of himself he had
sought before whenever he had to kill.
But the passion was gone, seemed pointless now. The speed had been
cut with something unpleasant. It was wearing off already, leaving him
feeling numb and stupid. Jonny gulped down the rest of his beer and

tried to get into the buzz from the liquor.
He wondered if perhaps he had figured things wrong. If the smuggler
lords really were after Easy maybe he was not needed, after all. There
was always work to do, money to be made. He had to establish a new
connection. Something bothered Jonny, though. He could not figure out
who, besides the Committee, would be looking for him. Had he trod on
someone's toes in the last few days looking for Easy? He could not
remember.
The bar seemed to tip slightly as Jonny downed his second Asahi and
gin. When he wiped a hand across his brow it came away cool and
covered in sweat. He left the bar, pushing carelessly through a tight
knot of nervous teenagers from the Valley made up to look like they
had grafts and implants. Near the restroom, a Zombie Analytic flashed
Jonny in quick succession: Marilyn Monroe, Jim Morrison and Aoki
Vega. He ignored her.
Inside the restroom, Jonny splashed rusty water onto his face. The
room stank of human waste, and the paper towel dispenser was empty.
On the floor he found half a copy of Twilight of the Gods". The toilet
was full of Nietzsche. Jonny dried his hands with the few remaining
pages. The water made him feel a little better. However, the come
down from the speed had left him jumpy and nervous.
When Jonny left the restroom, a hand clamped on his arm.
"Jonny, how's it going?" asked a short man that Jonny did not recognize.
The man's smile was wide and toothy, intended to give the impression
that he was a very dangerous character. He wore shades whose lenses
were dichromatic holograms depicting some cavern. Where his eyes
should have been were twin bottomless pits.
"That's a good way to lose some teeth or an eye," Jonny said evenly.
The little man's smile faded only slightly. He relaxed his grip on
Jonny's arm, but did not release him.

"Sorry Jonny," he said. Look, "could I buy you a drink or something?"
"No."
Jonny shook off the little man's grip and headed back to the bar to get
drunk. But again, strong fingers caught him.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" the little man asked. "Let's talk.
I've got a deal for you."
Jonny jammed his elbow into the little man's midsection, spun and
pressed the barrel of the Futukoro into the man's throat.
"If you ever grab me again, I will kill you. Do you understand that?"
Jonny whispered.
The little man released Jonny's arm and stepped back, his hands held in
front of his chest, palms out. "It's cool," the little man said giddily. "It's
cool."
Jonny pushed the man away roughly and left him chattering to