Chapter 2

Knife didn’t ask follow-up questions, and I was thankful. We speculated about the Enforcer, and I tried to get a hold of Boy Scout, but he wasn’t taking comm calls due to his short leave of absence.

We’d received word from the division to stand down last week, and our hunt for the Boy Scout had officially ended.

The only topics of mutual interest exhausted, Knife and I focused on our meals, and my mind strayed to the blonde-haired, brown-eyed child with clean, but shabby clothes and the determined chin. She reminded me of myself, and days so long gone that I’d prefer to have forgotten about them.

Except I never could really forget when our responsibilities as planet-side HRC law enforcement required picking up street kids or young adults trapped in crime cycles every other month. It wasn’t exactly what I’d signed up for when I applied for HRC.

Polishing off the last of my Shinterran meat pie and kiko grass marinated in fermented tan zee juice, I wadded up my napkin and sat back. My gaze drifted over Knife’s shoulder and through the window across the street where our little pickpocket was at it again.

Shaking my head, I watched as she stood in the narrow alley between buildings and scoped out the people passing by, doubtless looking for easy marks.

“Pickpocket back?” Knife asked, and I raised a brow at him for a second before returning to my study of the thief at work. His uncanny ability to know things unsettled me, to say the least. But I’d long ago given up asking him how he did it.

She looked back into the alley, as if checking with someone, and then stepped into the flow of foot traffic, trailing a white-haired Shinterran with shuffling feet.

“Know what’s odd about her?” Knife asked while I watched the child dither between the elderly Shinterran woman or the preoccupied businessman on a comm call.

I made a noncommittal noise, and Knife continued.

“She didn’t have the logo,” he said, referring to the neon green logo the infamous underground network of pickpockets used on Jeppsit 5. There were a few notorious gangs in scattered cities, and the Jepps populated Vanzee City with smaller satellites in smaller towns. But the pickpockets, known collectively as the Kaz, had overrun every major metropolitan area across the planet. Some wore the logo prominently, others in subtler forms like tattoos or jewelry charms, but every member displayed it. Their notoriety kept things interesting because many people, humans and Shinterrans alike, wore Kaz merch for fun. What started out as a human middle finger to society’s well-off turned into a trend perpetuated by a disaffected subculture of the populace.

I speculated that merch sales might bring in more than their pickpocketing revenue, but I supposed at this point, the thievery was as much about making a political statement as it was about making profit.

Hell, the businessman on the comm call had Kaz cuff links. I saw them glint in a flash of rare Jeppsit 5 sunlight. He was about to experience the Kaz firsthand.

The kid had chosen her mark.

“Hm,” I replied, watching her sleight-of-hand. She’d tossed a silver coin just ahead of the businessman right when the elderly woman shuffled by, making it look like she had dropped it. The man turned to the sound, and when he bent to retrieve the coin, the kid snagged the corner of his wallet peeking out of his back pocket.

It was smooth, professional, diabolical.

“Because she’s not with Kaz,” I said, realizing how right I’d been earlier. She only worked for herself.

But I wasn’t the only one watching her. I let out an involuntary grunt when a gang of hulking Jepps came out of nowhere and snatched the girl up, including the wallet, and spirited her in the other direction, someone’s hand on her mouth, and other hands around her shoulders and waist. For a split second, I saw her huge brown eyes through the restaurant’s window, and it seemed like she could see me, but I knew she couldn’t. Like the other businesses on Mineral Boulevard, the windows were made with damage-resistant Galvanite-infused glass. It was one-way.

“Goddammit,” I muttered and pushed away from the table. “Some Jepps got her.”

Knife frowned. “I’ve got this,” he said, gesturing to the bill and table. “Go.”

Nodding, I was out the door in three strides and headed in the direction where the thugs had gone. She was a little potty-mouthed thief, but she was just a child.

The post-lunch avenue was busy; at just over six feet, I could see over many people, but not the taller Shinterrans. The girl had been across the street when she was taken, so I tried to spot the group of four or five gang members with muted color caps. Unlike the Kaz, the Jepps wore clothing and hats that blended into crowds. Their single distinguishing feature was the thin red cloth tied around their necks in varying lengths.

Crossing the street diagonally, I looked for a grouping of tall males walking faster than everyone else with upturned coat collars or long hair. They would obscure the neck cloths after committing a crime.

When I spotted them, I broke into a jog, dodging pedestrians left and right, until a hard grip on my bicep stopped me. Twirling on them, I saw it was the businessman in the gray suit with Kaz cufflinks.

“What?” I demanded, shaking his hand off and peeling up my sleeve to show my HRC ID.

“I know you’re HRC,” he snapped, his angry dark brows drawn together while his black eyes flashed. “Someone stole my wallet!”

“I’m after them right now,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible when all I wanted to do was tear out. “If you don’t mind,” I said, and dipped my head, but he grabbed my arm again, and his grip was not weak.

“I want to file an official report,” he said, his skin darkening as he stared me down. “If you catch them without an official report, Compliance Patrol will let them out tomorrow! I had fifty-five J credits in that wallet, aside from all my transportation chits and vouchers from several shopping centers!”

“The thief is getting farther away the longer you complain,” I said, struggling to keep my temper in check. “I can return your wallet to you as soon as I catch them, and then you can file your official report.”

“This is unacceptable,” he said, shaking his fist. “I knew allowing HRC jurisdiction in our city was a bad idea. You’re no better than common criminals yourselves, and the way you’re disrespecting me, a longstanding citizen on Jeppsit 5, is a case in point. I’d like to file two reports, now.”

“You’re about to file three,” I growled and grabbed the shirt at his neck when Knife stepped up from the street and took my wrist.

“I’ll take this nice gentleman’s report,” Knife said, his voice anything but solicitous, but I tossed him a grateful smile before sprinting after the gang that was now several meters farther along the walkway.

A rumbling hov-shuttle pulled up beside the sidewalk, and a crowd of drunken Shinterrans stumbled out and onto the pavement, and just like a traveling magician’s hat trick, the stream of them was unending. By the time I reached the shuttle’s stop, the crowd was impenetrable, and the hov-shuttle peeled away, allowing a new one to park in its place.

I couldn’t risk getting hit by one of those vehicles in the street, and I’d lost sight of the Jepps due to the tall Shinterrans in the way.

Cursing, I considered calling it in to Compliance, but they handled things—differently—than I’d planned on handling the girl.

Running my hands through my hair, I backed up against a brick wall and pinched the bridge of my nose.

I hated asking for help, but I was going to need help. I needed to find out all the Jepps’ favorite hangouts and bolt holes. HRC had some records, but Compliance Patrol had a lot more.

Knife showed up at my side and folded his arms. “She’ll be alright until you find her,” he said.

“How do you know that?” I asked, disgusted with myself.

“You said it yourself,” he said, scratching his crooked nose and cocking his head, a lock of his black hair falling over one eye. “She doesn’t have any bruises. Takes care of someone else. And she told you to fuck off. You might be The Babysitter, but you’re still scary as hell to most kids, hiding behind that long-ass beard.”

I snorted and banged the back of my head against the bricks once before sighing. “I’m going to have to …”

Recalling her looking back into the alley as if checking with someone, I realized I had one more avenue to try before contacting Compliance.

“The alley across from the restaurant,” I said, meeting Knife’s emotionless gaze. “Could you check HRC’s logs for Jepps’ known locations?”

“Already on it,” he said, turning away. He looked over his shoulder at me before melting into the throng. “She’ll be fine. And so will you.”

His steady faith brought a lump to my throat, so I nodded, and then I ran toward the alley as fast as I could without knocking innocent, and not so innocent, people to the ground.