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“Ah.” The stranger lifts his eyebrows. “A Gold, then?”
Stefano looks ashamed. “You know the story.”
“Same gears, new oil.”
“So it goes.”
“So it goes. How long till your pension?”
“Three. They bumped them all back five years.”
“Bastards.”
“Yut. New recruits ain’t up to scratch. Reds and Browns…even an Obsidian. It’s fuckin’ madness. No discipline. So they’re keeping the old dogs in the kennel.”
“Criminal.”
“So it goes.”
The stranger steps close and drops his voice. “Listen…I know you got a job to do, Stefano. I know that. But look around you. Fuse is lit. Cart her away and Vox goes boom. I vouch for this little lady. Told her mother I’d watch out for her. She’s the right sort. It’d get me killed if I had to go back and tell her parents what’s what. You know Reds: small Color, big temper. And you take her to the station, this all gets messy. Especially since she’s done jack all. Any way you could forget to log this one in?” He looks back at the crowd. “Save everyone a headache.”
“Stefano…” Officer Rico starts.
“Quiet, squib.” Officer Stefano looks at me, back to the street, and then at the other older Watchmen who brought the wagon and nods. He jumps in the back of the wagon and disconnects the magnetic coupling on my shackles. I follow warily out the back.
“I owe you a chit,” the strang
er says. “Damn fine of you.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The stranger sticks out his hand. “Semper fratres.”
“Semper fratres.”
The Watchmen shut the wagon and stride off into the crowd, shoving any lowColor that gets too close. The wagon levitates back into the air and merges back into the air traffic, leaving me standing with the stranger. The crowd, robbed of its martyr, evaporates as quickly as it gathered. Some come to ask if I’m all right. I nod, still rattled.
“Pretend like we’re friends,” the man says as he guides me away. “They’re still watching.”
“Why’d you do that?” I ask him when he sits down on a bench to have a smoke. I take one from him and he lights it with a flame from his pinky ring.
“It was another Red who did it,” he says. “Saw the kid make his move.”
“Why didn’t you say something right off?” I ask hotly.
“I don’t know you,” he says. “Trouble starts easy these days.”
“Looks like it,” I mutter.
“Are you always this…aggressive with people who take time out of their day to help you?”
“No…I just…I’m sorry.”
“And no point in my coming to chat with that Gold hovering like a feral wasp. They’ve got nasty stings. Easy way to get into a quagmire.”
“Quagmire?” I ask.
“Messy situation,” he explains. “Philippe.” He sticks out a hand. His voice is lighter, more playful than it was with the Watchmen. He has a wicked face and smart eyes that look bored by most things they’ve seen, but they focus on me intently.
