Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

noise. I’d angled the gun so the ricochet wouldn’t hit me, but the moment after I did it, I realized it had been a dumb, impulsive move.
    McKesson roared in pain, twisting around.
    “You shot me. I can’t believe it. You shot me.”
    “Calm down. You’re not hit, and the bullet could’ve just as easily hit me. And look…”
    I held the picture up. It was perfect. There wasn’t even a crease. McKesson stared. He looked down at his shoulder. There was no hole—no blood.
    “Where’d the bullet go?”
    I pointed to the windshield. There was a new star of shattered glass there, right in front of his face.
    “It bounced off the picture then punched through the glass. You’ll have a bruise, but you’ll be fine.”
    McKesson stared at me, fear battling with anger. Then, finally, he broke into laughter. It was the laughter of a manreprieved. “You’re crazy,” he said, but there was a look almost like admiration on his face.
    I shrugged. “I just have nothing left to lose.”
    “You know how much a windshield costs?” McKesson asked, shaking his head and nursing his shoulder.
    “So you believe me now?” I said.
    “Yeah, but you didn’t have to shoot me.”
    “Remember those two dry clicks?” I asked him. “Now we’re even.”
    We glared at each other quietly for a second.
    “Those dry clicks were a cop’s reflex,” he said finally.
    “I’ve felt the same urge. But now we have to work together.”
    “So how many damned objects do you have?”
    “One too many. I don’t know what this picture does, but I know it was the one I started with.”
    McKesson eyed me. “I’ll give you some new information about these things.”
    “What?”
    “Uncuff me, and I’ll tell you.”
    I thought about it, and then nodded. “Truce, though, right? No more guns?”
    “OK, Scout’s honor.”
    I didn’t trust him worth a damn, and I didn’t think he’d ever been a Scout, but I figured we were even now. I put my gun in my pocket and released him. I watched him warily, expecting to get punched. He rubbed his wrists and his bruised shoulder.
    “No wonder the perps hate cuffs,” he muttered.
    “Do you have something to tell me, or was that bullshit?” I asked.
    “I don’t know that much. I only have one, and I know how to use it. Most of the time, I try to avoid them, or eliminatethem, or return them to their powerful owners. That’s my job. I’m a peacekeeper and for that, the Community likes me and gives me—special considerations.”
    “Go on.”
    “The objects are all trouble. Every one of them will give you bad luck in the end, and using them is like bad karma. The main reason for this is they tend to attract one another. Power draws power to itself—no one I’ve talked to knows why. That’s one reason why you’ll tend to meet people with only one object. The more objects you have, the more bad things tend to be attracted to you. Like gravity.”
    “I don’t follow,” I said, although it sounded a lot like what Jenna had told me before. “You should still run into people with more than one object. I mean, if they attract one another, then someone is bound to mug someone else and have two objects.”
    “Right. But the thing is, those people usually end up dead—really fast.”

We cruised for a time, but McKesson’s watch ticked away normally, showing the proper time rather than indicating a new rip in space. Deciding to call it a night, I talked McKesson into dropping me off on the Strip. It was getting late, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep for hours. I thought about visiting Holly and Jenna, but I figured they were probably safer on their own than hanging around with me and my load of objects. Besides, I wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
    The gaudy lights were still on, but the Strip was relatively quiet. During the day, all six lanes were buzzing with tourists. After 2:00 a.m., the sparse traffic consisted largely of cabs and cop cars. Walking north, I passed the Miracle Mile shopping mall and continued on to the mini Eiffel Tower, where construction projects were underway. They always seemed to be building something new along the Strip. Besides the cabs, tourists, and cops, there was a significant population of…unusual people. I passed a man wearinga well-used backpack. He had a bushman’s beard that was shot with gray-white stripes. His glasses were shaded green, but appeared to be prescription. Despite the cool night sky, his face was leathery from a thousand sunburns