out his last fare. The parrot on his shoulder squawked.
‘What’s the matter, Priscilla?’ he asked the bird. ‘Don’t you think we should pick this guy up?’
‘Taxi!’ the old guy yelled.
The parrot squawked a second time.
Fred shook his head as he eased the taxi forward. 'Sorry, Priscilla. A fare is a fare.’
The old man scrambled into the back seat of the cab, muttering something about ‘two hick flies' or something like that. Maybe, Fred thought, this guy was a weirdo after all.
The oldster pointed a quivering finger at a sleek silver car that was just taking off overhead.
‘Follow that DeLorean!’ he croaked.
Follow that DeLorean? That was the sort of thing people said in old, 2-D movies! Where was this old guy coming from?
Still, a fare was a fare. Fred eased the cab out and up.
The old guy kept muttering something about ‘time’ and he'd show them!' and stuff like that. Yep. He was a definite weirdo.
Fred sighed. After all this time, he should have known enough to trust his parrot.
Chapter Six
Officer Foley had to admit it. There were some parts of her job she liked a lot less than others. And taking tranks and addicts home had to be on the bottom of her list. She scanned the street as they landed - hard to believe this neighbourhood had once been a nice place to live.
‘Hilldale'.' Her partner, Reese, spat the name out in disgust. ‘They ought to tear this whole place down. Nothing more than a breeding ground for tranks, Lo-bos, and zipheads.'
At least, Foley thought, she and Reese agreed on something for a change. Sometimes, her partner's fanaticism about rules and regulations got to her. According to Reese, everything and anything had to be done by the book. Stop for coffee and donuts? See Section 8. sub-paragraph C. Reese had been a cop so long that all her human feelings were gone. Maybe. Foley reflected, she would end up like Reese, too, one of these days, her emotions buried under years of working slag-heaps like Hilldale.
Foley and Reese picked up the woman between them - she looked so young, Foley kept wanting to think of her as a girl. She must have spent a bundle at one of those cosmetic factories. And she lived in a place like this. Foley wondered if there might be something else going on here, the sort of thing a good police officer should investigate.
But she didn’t even mention her thoughts to her partner. She already knew what Reese would say. Pure conjecture, Foley. There’s no place in police procedure for conjecture. And Foley knew they didn t have time to investigate, either. They were too busy dealing with tranks and Lo-bos.
They pulled the girl - woman - from the car and carried her across what passed for a lawn, putting her down on the doorstep. Foley decided they might as well get this over with. She rang the doorbell. They waited for a moment in silence. There didn't seem to be anybody home. She noticed a thumb plate by the door.
‘They’ve got identipad,’ she said to her partner, pointing at the plate. ‘We could just take her in.'
‘Are you kirgo?’ Reese asked with a harsh laugh. ‘That’s a violation of the privacy act! We could get our crags numped!' She shook her head in that brusque, official way she had. ‘If we can’t revive her, we leave her here.’
Leave her out here? On the doorstep? Someone looking as young and innocent as that? In Hilldale, now, while dusk was falling? Foley hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Sometimes she hated her job.
Reese gently but firmly patted the sleeping woman's face.
‘Miss? Miss?’
The woman started to come around. She blinked her eyes, having obvious trouble focusing on anything. Not at all unusual for a trank.
‘Uhhhh,’ she groaned. ‘Where am I?’
You're home. Miss,' Reese replied matter-of-factly.
You got a little tranked, but everything's fine. Can you walk?’
The citizen still seemed a little disoriented.
‘I - I don’t know,’ she managed after a moment.
'Would you
‘What’s the matter, Priscilla?’ he asked the bird. ‘Don’t you think we should pick this guy up?’
‘Taxi!’ the old guy yelled.
The parrot squawked a second time.
Fred shook his head as he eased the taxi forward. 'Sorry, Priscilla. A fare is a fare.’
The old man scrambled into the back seat of the cab, muttering something about ‘two hick flies' or something like that. Maybe, Fred thought, this guy was a weirdo after all.
The oldster pointed a quivering finger at a sleek silver car that was just taking off overhead.
‘Follow that DeLorean!’ he croaked.
Follow that DeLorean? That was the sort of thing people said in old, 2-D movies! Where was this old guy coming from?
Still, a fare was a fare. Fred eased the cab out and up.
The old guy kept muttering something about ‘time’ and he'd show them!' and stuff like that. Yep. He was a definite weirdo.
Fred sighed. After all this time, he should have known enough to trust his parrot.
Chapter Six
Officer Foley had to admit it. There were some parts of her job she liked a lot less than others. And taking tranks and addicts home had to be on the bottom of her list. She scanned the street as they landed - hard to believe this neighbourhood had once been a nice place to live.
‘Hilldale'.' Her partner, Reese, spat the name out in disgust. ‘They ought to tear this whole place down. Nothing more than a breeding ground for tranks, Lo-bos, and zipheads.'
At least, Foley thought, she and Reese agreed on something for a change. Sometimes, her partner's fanaticism about rules and regulations got to her. According to Reese, everything and anything had to be done by the book. Stop for coffee and donuts? See Section 8. sub-paragraph C. Reese had been a cop so long that all her human feelings were gone. Maybe. Foley reflected, she would end up like Reese, too, one of these days, her emotions buried under years of working slag-heaps like Hilldale.
Foley and Reese picked up the woman between them - she looked so young, Foley kept wanting to think of her as a girl. She must have spent a bundle at one of those cosmetic factories. And she lived in a place like this. Foley wondered if there might be something else going on here, the sort of thing a good police officer should investigate.
But she didn’t even mention her thoughts to her partner. She already knew what Reese would say. Pure conjecture, Foley. There’s no place in police procedure for conjecture. And Foley knew they didn t have time to investigate, either. They were too busy dealing with tranks and Lo-bos.
They pulled the girl - woman - from the car and carried her across what passed for a lawn, putting her down on the doorstep. Foley decided they might as well get this over with. She rang the doorbell. They waited for a moment in silence. There didn't seem to be anybody home. She noticed a thumb plate by the door.
‘They’ve got identipad,’ she said to her partner, pointing at the plate. ‘We could just take her in.'
‘Are you kirgo?’ Reese asked with a harsh laugh. ‘That’s a violation of the privacy act! We could get our crags numped!' She shook her head in that brusque, official way she had. ‘If we can’t revive her, we leave her here.’
Leave her out here? On the doorstep? Someone looking as young and innocent as that? In Hilldale, now, while dusk was falling? Foley hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Sometimes she hated her job.
Reese gently but firmly patted the sleeping woman's face.
‘Miss? Miss?’
The woman started to come around. She blinked her eyes, having obvious trouble focusing on anything. Not at all unusual for a trank.
‘Uhhhh,’ she groaned. ‘Where am I?’
You're home. Miss,' Reese replied matter-of-factly.
You got a little tranked, but everything's fine. Can you walk?’
The citizen still seemed a little disoriented.
‘I - I don’t know,’ she managed after a moment.
'Would you
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