Fiction River: Moonscapes by Fiction River

there—he gave me the shop’s location.
    I told myself I wasn’t doing this because of the girl. Rule number one was never to let emotions dictate the jobs. It was always about the money. But try as I might, I couldn’t shake the look on that girl’s face when she showed me the picture of the bear.
    The shop’s location was in a bazaar of sorts—not in one of the sun-bleached tents, but in one of the gray buildings surrounding the area. The upper windows all gaped black, but there were a few occupied stores in the bottom floors.
    Throngs of emaciated people packed the street, some carrying straw baskets or herding dirty-faced children. Beggars crowded the aisles and pawed at me with bony fingers. The placed reeked of sewage and rot. Outside the shop I was looking for was a front display that amounted to nothing more than a white cloth on a folding table, filled with dozens of tiny pieces of electronics, all useless junk.
    Inside it was so dark it took my eyes a moment to adjust, the place lit by only a few exposed bulbs. The humid air smelled of burnt metal. A pasty-faced man with long greasy red and gray hair was seated at a table in the rear, head bent down as he examined some small bit of electronics. He wore a black lens over one eye, something homemade—a camera lens fastened to a pair of goggles. He looked up. The black lens made his right eye appear enormous. He had enough gray in his hair that I guessed he was old enough to have lived through the war with the Dulnari.
    “Don’t got no money,” he said.
    “I’m not here to rob you,” I said. “I’m looking for something—a toy bear. Somebody told me you had one.”
    He slipped the goggles onto his forehead. He regarded me silently, chewing on his bottom lip. His pale forehead glistened. His body odor—a mix of garlic and layered sweat—was so overpowering it made me wince.
    “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, I, uh, did have it a week ago. But it’s gone. Sold it.”
    I walked to the table. “You sure? Because I’d pay a good price for it.”
    He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”
    “So if I was to look around in your store for it, I wouldn’t find it?”
    “Uh ...”
    “Because if I found it, after you saying you didn’t have it, I wouldn’t be very happy.”
    He swallowed so hard his fleshly neck jiggled. “Well ... I might have it. What does it look like?”
    I described it for him.
    “Oh, that one,” he said. “Yeah. I was thinking of a different bear. That one’s in the back. I was trying to fix it.”
    “Fix it?”
    “I didn’t break it. It was broken when the old guy sold it to me.”
    He stood abruptly, his belly bumping the table, and scurried to a metal door at the back. I followed. The door led to a cluttered storeroom, a narrow aisle between metal shelves filled with wooden crates. It was dark except for the light coming from the main part of the store, but the man shuffled ahead, disappearing into darkness. I placed my hand over my gun, in its holster beneath my jacket, and followed.
    A light attached to a metal arm clicked on, illuminating a workbench, crates piled high on all sides. The man hustled to the table and reached for something.
    “Hold on a minute,” I said.
    He froze. When I got closer, I saw the bear. Dirt coated its fluffy tan fur. Its paws and muzzle were the same color as its eyes—a deep, rich brown. It sat lifeless on the workbench, stubby arms and legs spread wide. A square area of its chest had been removed and placed next to it, exposing the circuitry within the bear. A blue wire led from the inside of the bear to a small handheld.
    “What were you doing?” I asked.
    “I told you. I was trying to fix—”
    “Don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve got it hooked up to some kind of device. Why?”
    He blinked a few times. I took a step toward him, and he retreated, holding up his hands.
    “Wait!” he said. “I was just trying to play