Cyberpunk

would trip some alarm for counterfeit plastic or stolen credit. He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to remember my face so he could describe me to a cop, and then gave the cash card back. The denomination readout said it was still good for $16,381.18.
    I picked out a bench in front of a specialty shop called The Happy Hippo, hiked up my shorts, and poked Carefree into the widest part of my thigh. I took a short, dreamy swim in the sea of tranquillity and when I came back to myself, my guilt had been washed away. But so had my energy. I sat for a while and scoped the display of glass hippos and plastic hippos and fuzzy stuffed hippos, hippo vids and sheets and candles. Down the bench from me a homeless woman dozed. It was still pretty early in the season for a weather gypsy to have come this far north. She wore red shorts and droopy red socks with plastic sandals and four long-sleeved shirts, all unbuttoned, over a Funny Honey halter top. Her hair needed vacuuming and she smelled old. All grown-ups smelled that way to me; it was something I had never gotten used to. No perfume or deodorant could cover up the leathery stink of adulthood. Kids could smell bad too, but usually from something they got on them. It did not come from a rotting body. I rubbed a finger in the dampness under my arm, slicked it, and sniffed. There was a sweetness to kid sweat. I touched the drying finger to my tongue. You could even taste it. If I gave up getting stunted, stopped being Mr. Boy, I would smell like the woman at the end of the bench. I would start to die. I had never understood how grown-ups could live with that.
    The gypsy woke up, stretched, and smiled at me with gummy teeth. “You left Comrade behind?” she said.
    I was startled. “What did you say?”
    “You know what this is?” She twitched her sleeve, and a penlight appeared in her hand.
    My throat tightened. “I know what it looks like.”
    She gave me a wicked smile, aimed the penlight, and burned a pinhole through the bench a few centimeters from my leg. “Maybe I could interest you in some free laser surgery?”
    I could smell scorched plastic. “You’re going to needle me here, in the middle of the Elm Street Mall?” I thought she was bluffing. Probably. I hoped.
    “If that’s the way you want it. Mr. Montross wants to know when you’re delivering the wiseguy to us.”
    “Get away from me.”
    “Not until you do what needs to be done.”
    When I saw Happy Lurdane come out of The Happy Hippo, I waved. A desperation move, but then it was easy to be brave with a head full of Carefree.
    “Mr. Boy.” She veered over to us. “Hi!”
    I scooted farther down the bench to make room for her between me and the gypsy. I knew she would stay to chat. Happy Lurdane was one of those chirpy lightweights who seemed to want lots of friends but did not really try to be one. We tolerated her because she did not mind being snubbed and she threw great parties.
    “Where have you been?” She settled beside me. “Haven’t seen you in ages.” The penlight disappeared, and the gypsy fell back into drowsy character.
    “Around.”
    “Want to see what I just bought?”
    I nodded. My heart was hammering.
    She opened the bag and took out a fist-sized bundle covered with shipping plastic. She unwrapped a statue of a blue hippopotamus. “Be careful.” She handed it to me.
    “Cute.” The hippo had crude flower designs drawn on its body; it was chipped and cracked.
    “Ancient Egyptian. That means it’s even before antique.” She pulled a slip from the bag and read. “Twelfth Dynasty, 19911786 BC Can you believe you can just buy something like that here in the mall? I mean, it must be like a thousand years old or something.”
    “Try four thousand.”
    “No wonder it cost so much. He wasn’t going to sell it to me, so I had to spend some of next month’s allowance.” She took it from me and rewrapped it. “It’s for the smash party tomorrow. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Is something wrong?”
    I ignored that.
    “Hey, where’s Comrade? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart before.”
    I decided to take a chance. “Want to get some doboys?”
    “Sure.” She glanced at me with delighted astonishment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    I took her arm, maneuvering to keep her between me and the gypsy. If Happy got needled, it would be no great loss to Western Civilization. She babbled on about her party as we stepped onto the