BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

over his tattered shoes. He gave a short gasp at the sudden coldbetween his toes.

What was happening over there?

The mandroids blocked his father's path, one in front and theother behind. When he moved, they moved. He seemed more alert now. He wanted toget away. He needed to. The boy needed him to.

A side door from the nightclub opened into the alley. A tuxedowith an umbrella stepped out alone. He said something to the boy's father, saida few things which didn't seem to be understood completely. Then he saidsomething to the mandroids and turned his back, reentering The Pearl. The doorswung shut behind him.

The mandroids grabbed hold of the boy's father and tore him in twopieces. Blood gushed like black oil in the moonlight.

The boy screamed with all that was in him and charged into thestreet.

A strong hand clamped his shoulder and jerked him backward,sending him sprawling across the slick sidewalk. He fell hard, bracing himselfagainst the brick building. For a split-second, he stopped screaming. He staredup at the silhouette of the man who'd thrown him down. The man stood facing him, backlit by the glareof The Pearl and the passing automobiles. He didn't move.

"Get out of my way!" The boy charged forward.

"You don't want them to see you." The man caught himeasily and held him by the arms. His voice was quiet but strong, like hishands.

The boy kept screaming to be let go, drawing attention from theumbrellas that passed. But their looks were fleeting. They didn't care enoughto be all that interested.

The man kept his back to the alley across the street. The trafficsplashing behind him might have drowned out some of the boy's racket. Butthe mandroids would still be able to hear and see him, if they turned this way.

"Shut up, kid." He looked down at the boy, rain spillingfrom the brim of his fedora and landing in the kid's face.

The boy stopped screaming for a moment and sputtered instead,cursing the man. "Did you see what they did?"

"Yeah." He'd seen it before—folks on the wrong end ofpeople with power. It was never pretty. "If you don't want them to comeover here and do the same to you, you'd better keep quiet."

That did the trick. The kid went rigid, staring up at him.

He relaxed his hold on the boy's shoulders, but kept him in place.Then he turned his head to the side, and his hat cast a shadow across hisfacial features. He glanced at the scene across the busy street.

The mandroids were gone. What remained of the boy's father lay onthe slick filth of the alley floor in two motionless lumps. Rainwater mixedwith the blood and carried it into the gutters. Just a few meters away from thecarnage, umbrellas chattered in line while they waited under The Pearl's frontawning. They hadn't seen a thing. But even if they had, it wouldn't havemattered. None of them would have done athing about it.

"Can't you...Link up the police?" the boy said.

Sure he could. "They wouldn't care, kid."

The boy wept then, his tears mingling with the rain that streameddown his cheeks. He hung his head, all out of fury. He knew it was true. Thesedays, cops were never around when you needed them. Only when they wanted to getyou into some kind of trouble.

The man let go of his quaking shoulders and looked down at him.Twice he opened his mouth to say something to the boy, but no words emerged.

"You hungry?" he finally managed.

Hungry? The boy's stomach was probably inside-out. How could hethink of eating? His father was gone. The scene from the alley replayed in slowmotion in the man's mind, blood streaming out in every direction...

The boy pitched forward and vomited onto the man's shoes.

Guess not.

Then the kid crumpled to the sidewalk, out cold. The man cursedunder his breath, a sudden desire to flee surging within him. This wasn't hisproblem. Maybe he shouldn't have kept the boy from charging into traffic. He could haveminded his own business, like the rest of these mindless umbrellas.

What was he supposed to do now?

The small ashen face lay at his feet, sodden clumps of dark hairplastered across the boy's brow. He looked...familiar, somehow. But that was crazy. Impossible. Justanother kid who'd lost his father. The world was full of them.

Rain pelted down without mercy, splattering, dribbling. Blackshiny shoes splashed past without heed. It wouldn't be long until a pair or twokicked this young undesirable into the gutter to drown. It was the way ofthings.

Glancing once more across the street, toward the alley, the manknelt down and hefted the boy up over his shoulder in a single movement.Rainwater sloshed down from the brim of his hat. Then he rose. Without a wordto any of them, with his face still in shadow, he carried the boy through theoncoming foot traffic, ignoring the curses hurled at him from the umbrellas hisshoulders pushed aside. They needed to get over themselves.

But he couldn't draw too much attention. He needed to get the kidoff the street, away from here. He didn't know what he would do after that, butthis was a start.

His black hat bobbed alone among curved, glistening octagons. Likea fish swimming upstream as the tide flowed toward The Pearl, temporarily confusedby anything moving in the opposite direction. He reached the end of the blockand turned left, down a side street. Here, the lights gradually dimmed toblack. The sidewalks were silent and vacant, cracked and neglected. The rainfollowed, but there were no splashes from automobiles or honking horns, onlythe sound of water rushing through storm drains.

One dark block of tenements passed, followed by another.Intermittent streetlights flickered, barely alive, leaving shadows to overtake anypassersby. The man's eyes roved as he walked. It was habit. He knew this areaand what to expect lurking in the dark.

In another life, he might have been born here.

Eventually, this part of town would be torn down to make way forluxury apartments, funded by the owner of The Pearl. It would be touted as anew age for the heart of the city, a reconstruction of the civic spirit. Theever-present