Page 54 of The Only Way Out Is Up

[Distaste: spikes would impede my mobility. And skulls and flames are apparently a marker of inferior status. My decorations should be more elegant.]

Well, I tell him as Venci and I shake hands, I’ll see what I can do.

In between fights, I can spend time with my family. I still don’t fill them in on exactly what I’m doing—residual paranoia, maybe—but they can see that it’s working by the gifts I bring home. I find a new journal for Spike, a nice leatherbound one, and grab whatever books Weslai has lying around for Somi. The selection is eclectic, but his face lights up with delight every time.

There’s one stop I’m almost eager to make when the time comes. I don’t have to go looking for Rekas. I just stroll around the market for a while, and he finds me. The Clawmark enforcer falls in beside me, as though we were old friends, a horrible grin on his battered features.

“Hello, Taj,” he rumbles. “Once again you’re looking well.”

“Rekas,” I say. “You’re still bald and ugly.”

“Can’t deny it.” He chuckles and runs a hand over his stubbled scalp. “From what I hear, you’ve had a bit of an upswing in your fortunes. Been seeing you at the market more, picking up some nice things. Hit some good scavenge lately, have you?”

“Something like that.” My hands itch to close into fists.

“I’m happy for you,” he says. “Really. Just, in your newfound prosperity, make sure you don’t forget good old Uncle Claw, who makes it all possible. No use scavenging without peace, after all, and peace is what Uncle Claw provides, first and foremost—”

I can’t stand to listen to him talk anymore. “Here.”

He stops, staring at the bag in my outthrust hand. “What’s this?”

“Our shortfall, plus next month.”

“Is it, now?” He takes the bag carefully, as though expecting a trap. Bits clink inside.

“Take it and go. I don’t have to listen to you blather.”

“Hmm.” He tightens his fingers on the bag. “Uncle Claw certainly appreciates the contribution. But I must say I’m curious. Where, exactly, have you been doing so very well for yourself?”

“I’m sucking cocks in back alleys, what the fuck do you care? Now are you going to get lost, or do I need to go to Uncle Claw and tell him you’re hassling a friend who’s paid up and then some?”

“Careful, Taj.” His smile has faded. “You don’t just owe your uncle money. You owe him respect.”

He’s right. I should be careful. But every time I look at him, all I can see is Spike, one eye swollen shut, crying over the shredded bits of her journal. If I bend to kiss this thug’s boots, I feel like it will break me in half.

“I have plenty of respect,” I say. “For him.”

“Hmm.” There’s a long pause, and then Rekas tucks the bag away. “Well. I can only hope your good fortune continues.”

Something in his face says he’s not hoping very hard.

NINETEEN

Back in the waiting room behind the pit, the crowd’s roar is numbing my ears. On the other side this time, the champion’s side. Star, installed in the Mark 4, is now painted a bold green and gold. I tried decorating him, but he pronounced my wobbly attempt embarrassing. Instead he did it himself, with the fine manipulators of the thief body; pity Lorrimer wasn’t around to see that.

“We’ve got four challengers,” Venci says, crunching another of her seeds. “You only have to fight one, though.”

“Do we get more money if I fight them all?”

“Fuck yes,” she says. “And I sell more booze, so go crazy if you feel up for it. You can make the call after each match.”

I exchange a look with Star and grin.

“Ready to go?” Venci says.

“Don’t see why not.”

She matches my smile. “You’re getting cocky, kid. Keep backing it up, and we’ll all be rich.”