Page 15 of Shadow Ticket
“Thing is, is if I’d ever connected, I would’ve killed somebody.”
“Someone who was trying to kill you?”
“Yes, maybe no…”
“Well, and this vanishing beavertail, did it ever come back?”
“A little later that night. Looked in my pocket and there it was again.”
“Again? Or there all the time?”
“No, that’s how I knew to look, was I could feel the extra weight, when it came back.”
“Narrows it down to temporary amnesia, or ass and app. Less likely, maybe something out there didn’t want you to commit the assault, some unnamed force. Grace of God, another technical term we use.”
“Presbyterian, myself.”
“Well, and the beavertail—how about the next time you had occasion to use it?”
“Never did. That was around the time I pretty much quit working strikes. Ended up hiring on at the U-Ops instead.”
“Where now you get to pack a revolver instead of a sap. Nice career step.”
“Sure, but I still have to sign for it, plus ammo.” It took Hicks a while to get comfortable carrying heat. First time Boynt sent him off on a case, handing over a little S&W .32, “These li’l Smiths here, Federal B of I loves ’em. Better set aside some room in your pocket.”
“Loose in my pocket? What if I have an accident?”
“Good to see you respect that—here, this is called the safety, OK?”
“Thanks, Boynt.”
“Now,” Thessalie continuing, “I can look this up, but since you’ve been with the U-Ops, how many rounds would you say you’ve fired, total?”
“Hmm, ten, twelve maybe, haven’t been keeping count, who wants to know?”
“Hit anybody?”
“Hard to say.” Explaining how he tries not to show up heavy but if he has to, never to aim that straight. Usually it’s been at night, or during some fog, once or twice returning fire, but mostly just expending ammo into an unlighted distance. Maybe a couple of over-the-shoulder type blind shots while he was running the other way.
“And the sap, you still don’t have it around by any chance.”
“Long gone, sorry.”
“Too bad. Sometimes it takes no more than lightly touching an object to read the traces of where it’s been and who with and what they’ve been up to. We want to believe that objects are pure, innocent, when the truth is that they lie open to every vibration that comes their way, law-abiding, criminal, everything in between…”
“Wait, you’re saying an object can have a living personality? Same as you and me?”
“Same as me, I hope not. Same as you, maybeyoubetter hope not. But if a human soul can be defined as a structure of memories, if to ‘read’ an object is somehow to gain access to what it remembers, then how can we begrudge it a soul?”
“Lemme think about that.” Soon as he figures out what it means, ofcourse. “And this ass ’n’ app, now, this instant skip, are these objects doing it all on their own? or is there somebody doing it to them?”
“Some apportists believe that it’s all them—others think of themselves only as go-betweens, mediums, stooging for unseen forces.”
“Like some special…gift, or…”
“Not the word that comes to mind, a gift is usually free, whatever this is has a price tag stuck onto it whose amount might surprise you. Speaking of which, including the professional discount, this’ll be ten dollars U.S.”
“What? Where am I supposed to find—”
