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   Chapter 7 No.7

Bypass Gemini By Joseph R. Lallo Characters: 5251

Updated: 2018-01-19 12:02


"Gotta love the luxury class models. Inertial dampeners for a smoother ride. Try that sort of thing in an economy model and we're looking at concussions and/or paralysis."

He eased the limo into a lane, flipped the plate and transponder back to the way they ought to be, and returned it to an unremarkable black color. A few moments later, 3:03, he pulled up at the appropriate gate. There was a little bit of a commotion in the tunnel behind them as the handful of drivers who witnessed the stunt made their way out of the snarl it caused, but when something like that happened, the other drivers almost always, in Lex's experience, fixated on the event itself rather than where the thing went afterward or whether it had changed color. And everyone on foot seemed to be distracted by a tight huddle of bodies off to the side, surrounding some bright lights and flashing cameras.

"Bags!" Nick barked at his men as they stepped out of the car on wobbly legs.

Lex got out of the driver's seat and held the door in standard chauffeur fashion.

"Thank you for choosing Lex Express. First class boarding line is right over there, Mr. Patel. The time is. . . 3:04:12. Best hop on, " he said, holding his white-gloved hand in the universal sign for "Tip me."

"You crazy bastard, " Patel said with a smile and a shake of his head, as though it was princely praise. "Here's your money, and well earned. If you ever need a decent job--"

"I'll stop you right there, " Lex said, holding up a hand. "I've had enough of those kinds of jobs."

Diamond Nick pulled the ha

slow caution only alcohol can inspire, he was at his door.

With the bike powered down on one shoulder, he fumbled for his slidepad and swiped it past the door panel. The only result was a disappointing beep. He tried a few more times with similar results before he was able to force aside enough of the haze of inebriation to notice the message on the screen to go along with the sad little noise. It was not good. It was so not good, in fact, that he decided it must be wrong. He pulled up the building directory on the panel, slurred his landlady's name, and a few minutes later was greeted by a less-than-charming voice.

"What the hell do you want?" came the voice of an aging and irritable woman.

The video on the screen was illuminated only by the light of her display, giving her face the grainy, washed out look that was so popular in the sort of videos that made the careers of porn stars and ruined the reputations of movie starlets. Picturing his landlady in such a performance nearly brought back some of the shrimp cocktail.

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