The Artificial Mirage Read Online Free Page B

small screen of her phone. She kept them on without protest. Outside, the air was moist and crisp; it felt more like early spring than summer. They slouched into opposing couches at a café in the middle of the wide sidewalk. The table umbrellas were not covered in solar cells blasting frigid outdoor AC down on the table in steamy swirls because it simply wasn’t necessary. Natural comfort. Pure luxury. Drinking the espresso, he savored the distinction between its heat and the naturally chilled ambient air brimming with ionic activity. Everything was dead in the desert, but there every molecule was allowed to flourish. He took in every person’s passing: what they were wearing, how they smelled, the colors and cuts and hairstyles so differentiated from a world of flowing white and black gowns that obscured everything. He wondered to himself where they were going; there were places to go that inspired all of the senses. But the smells, more than anything, brought back memories of a life that didn’t involve the protection of oil-processing plants in the desert. He could pick up traces of the damp, electrically infused stench that emanated from the subway and contrasted with the heavy, sweet aroma from the bakery. And there were the lingering smells of foods like pâté and ham being served freely and legally.
    “I never want to leave this place,” he said to her as he followed a passing bus with his eyes. She was busy with her stylus comparing the brands and prices of the clothing passing women were wearing.
    “Then you should stay,” she said as she continued her fashion searches.
    “I can’t.”
    “Why not? There are many Chinese staying here.”
    “I have visa problems.”
    “Oh?”
    “And money…”
    “You’re planning to pay me, right?”
    “You want your money now?”
    “I stayed the night.”
    “Yes, you did. And now I’m buying you breakfast,” he said, pointing to the croissant on her plate.
    “You know that’s not enough.”
    “How much is enough? What do you think you’re worth?”
    “More than a croissant.”
    “Here,” he said, handing her a neat stack of currency. “And you can keep the soap you stole from my hotel room.”
    “OK,” she said as she casually placed the money into her purse without counting it. As she stood up, she handed him his AR glasses and stuffed the last corner of her croissant into her mouth. He watched her walk away and waited for her to look back. She didn’t. They never did.

4
    C harlie arrived in front of the smoky glass and brushed steel lobby on the back of a taxi scooter. He was wearing a black poncho that the driver had handed him when it had started raining. He remembered the place. The last time he had been here was with Tonya and some brokers from Chi. They’d bought several rounds of vintage Grand Marnier for everyone at the bar and run up a tab far greater than his current net worth. He took off the glossy black poncho and handed it to the driver along with some bills to cover the fare and walked into the lobby without making eye contact with anyone. There was an elevator to the right of the others with
Chemical X
projected on the doors. When he got to the roof, the downpour had ended. He spotted Tonya sitting at a table under a large umbrella at the edge of the roof. The clear glass barrier at its edge was only knee-high.
    “Nice view,” Charlie said as he sat down.
    “Yup. Sure is,” Tonya said.
    “Interesting choice of place…a little pricey for me these days…so, Chemical X…they mean opium, right?”
    “The largest refinery in town used to stand here, but that was a long time ago. Anyway, I’m paying. Relax. It’s OK. I already ordered mango fois gras. I know how you love the fusion stuff.”
    “That’s funny. You’re funny. Really.”
    “You know Lauren went to work for Keith, right?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They’re together, Charlie.”
    “No, I didn’t know that.” Charlie felt the barometric pressure