the memory banks, that’s all.”
“What?”
“I noticed somebody had gotten into it before. These Paqils, they come completely welded. No removable panels. But somebody had cut it open and then sealed it back up. I thought ... maybe ...”
I saw where he was going, and I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You thought maybe somebody was hiding something.”
“Yeah. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Or you were looking for something to blackmail somebody with.”
The look in his eyes confirmed my theory, but he shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that. I just—”
“Did you get it to play?”
“No, no, I couldn’t—”
“Are you lying?”
“No! I’m telling the truth. I—”
My anger got the best of me. Thump, thump—just like that, I hit him with two swift punches to his face. Then it took everything I had to stop myself from hitting him again. It was always there, the anger, swelling inside of me, waiting for its chance. To break a bone. To hear a scream. To make sure my opponent didn’t just respect me, but feared me.
When I was with the Calfan mafia, it was my ruthlessness that made me such a useful part of their organization. But it wasn’t ruthlessness, not really. It was a lack of self-control. When the anger took over, it took over completely. And it was that same lack of self-control, when the son of one of the bosses wanted to try to prove himself by taking me on in a fistfight, that got me in so much trouble.
After the son ended up a vegetable, they killed my wife and daughter as punishment. I got my revenge, eventually liquefying everyone involved, including the bosses who gave the order, but it didn’t make losing the only two people that mattered to me hurt any less. The reason they were dead was because of my own weakness. I had to live with that.
The greasy-haired man went down hard, his nose a bloody mess. I loomed over him. He raised his arms in a protective shield.
“All right, all right!” he cried. “I got it to play. But I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I swear. Just take it. I don’t want anything. Just—just don’t hurt me!”
I squatted so we were at eye level. It was a moment before he realized I wasn’t going to hit him, then he lowered his arms.
“Play it for me,” I said.
***
In the dark storeroom, I watched what the bear saw play out on the handheld’s tiny screen. A lot of the footage was just the girl, the two of them playing together, or the bear watching her sleep, but my greasy-haired friend was able to fast forward to more disturbing images: Strawn screaming at his wife, his wife running away, Strawn catching her and beating her. It happened many times, all of it seen from the vantage point close to the floor.
During one of the fights, the bear looked to his right, and there, crouched on the other side of the doorway, was Strawn’s daughter. She had seen everything. I realized I had never seen Strawn hit her.
“He never put a finger on the girl,” the storekeeper said, his voice nasally because of the wad of tissues he held up to his nose. “Not in the stuff that’s on here, anyway.”
“How much has been erased?”
“No way to know. But there’s only a few months filled in the memory banks, and this bear’s a lot older than that.” He shook his head. “I used to work on these back in my old life. I’d heard of these Paqils doing this kind of stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, running away when they see something bad.” He hesitated. “You work for him?”
“I was just doing this one job.”
“Oh. You know, I can erase that stuff if he wants. For a price.”
I looked at him.
“Or for free,” he said. “I’d do it for free.”
“Just put it back together,” I said. Then, as he reached for the bear, I grabbed his arm. “Wait. I want you to do one more thing for me.”
***
After giving the storekeeper a little vernilon for his trouble, I boarded
“What?”
“I noticed somebody had gotten into it before. These Paqils, they come completely welded. No removable panels. But somebody had cut it open and then sealed it back up. I thought ... maybe ...”
I saw where he was going, and I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You thought maybe somebody was hiding something.”
“Yeah. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Or you were looking for something to blackmail somebody with.”
The look in his eyes confirmed my theory, but he shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I wouldn’t do that. I just—”
“Did you get it to play?”
“No, no, I couldn’t—”
“Are you lying?”
“No! I’m telling the truth. I—”
My anger got the best of me. Thump, thump—just like that, I hit him with two swift punches to his face. Then it took everything I had to stop myself from hitting him again. It was always there, the anger, swelling inside of me, waiting for its chance. To break a bone. To hear a scream. To make sure my opponent didn’t just respect me, but feared me.
When I was with the Calfan mafia, it was my ruthlessness that made me such a useful part of their organization. But it wasn’t ruthlessness, not really. It was a lack of self-control. When the anger took over, it took over completely. And it was that same lack of self-control, when the son of one of the bosses wanted to try to prove himself by taking me on in a fistfight, that got me in so much trouble.
After the son ended up a vegetable, they killed my wife and daughter as punishment. I got my revenge, eventually liquefying everyone involved, including the bosses who gave the order, but it didn’t make losing the only two people that mattered to me hurt any less. The reason they were dead was because of my own weakness. I had to live with that.
The greasy-haired man went down hard, his nose a bloody mess. I loomed over him. He raised his arms in a protective shield.
“All right, all right!” he cried. “I got it to play. But I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I swear. Just take it. I don’t want anything. Just—just don’t hurt me!”
I squatted so we were at eye level. It was a moment before he realized I wasn’t going to hit him, then he lowered his arms.
“Play it for me,” I said.
***
In the dark storeroom, I watched what the bear saw play out on the handheld’s tiny screen. A lot of the footage was just the girl, the two of them playing together, or the bear watching her sleep, but my greasy-haired friend was able to fast forward to more disturbing images: Strawn screaming at his wife, his wife running away, Strawn catching her and beating her. It happened many times, all of it seen from the vantage point close to the floor.
During one of the fights, the bear looked to his right, and there, crouched on the other side of the doorway, was Strawn’s daughter. She had seen everything. I realized I had never seen Strawn hit her.
“He never put a finger on the girl,” the storekeeper said, his voice nasally because of the wad of tissues he held up to his nose. “Not in the stuff that’s on here, anyway.”
“How much has been erased?”
“No way to know. But there’s only a few months filled in the memory banks, and this bear’s a lot older than that.” He shook his head. “I used to work on these back in my old life. I’d heard of these Paqils doing this kind of stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, running away when they see something bad.” He hesitated. “You work for him?”
“I was just doing this one job.”
“Oh. You know, I can erase that stuff if he wants. For a price.”
I looked at him.
“Or for free,” he said. “I’d do it for free.”
“Just put it back together,” I said. Then, as he reached for the bear, I grabbed his arm. “Wait. I want you to do one more thing for me.”
***
After giving the storekeeper a little vernilon for his trouble, I boarded
Similar Books
