The Forever Man: A Near-Future Thriller Read Online Free

into view a foot above the desk. A duplicate logo appears and does its serpentine fold in three dimensions as the clerk watches. The card is legit. Then a column of figures materializes, with a blinking line at the bottom showing the card’s balance.
    “Five bucks,” the clerk announces. His voice is picked up by an invisible microphone, and the figures change on the screen to show a zero balance. At the same time, the logo image unknots, and a whirring sound comes from inside the desk. At the front, five bills in crow money spit out into a curved trough.
    Sabrina turns away and starts out. “Say, how much pussy does five bucks buy?” the clerk asks with a leering grin. “Can you tell me that, sweetheart? I don’t get out much anymore.”
    The two Bad Boys respond with minor grunts that approximate a chuckle and the clerkbelches out a disgusting giggle. Sabrina ignores it, walks past Lane and on down the hall. She’s done. She’s gone.
    “Okay, big boy,” the clerk says to Lane. “Whaddya got?”
    Lane already has his card out as he shuffles through the metal detector. The Bad Boy with the glasses comes out of his slouch and straightens in his chair. His hands stay in his coat pockets, one of which undoubtedly holds a cocked pistol of medium caliber. Lane senses trouble, but can’t pin it down. He puts the card in the slot and watches the display come up with its contorted logo dance.
    “Seventy-five bucks,” the clerk announces. “Big guy, big money.” He looks up at Lane as the cash lands in the trough. “Big guy. Right?”
    Rather than acknowledge the humor of this little clerical martinet and prolong the exchange, Lane simply puts on a faint grin and reaches for the money. Then it all goes wrong.
    “Hey, buddy,” the Bad Boy with glasses says as he comes to his feet. “Where’s your lobe? How come you ain’t sportin’ the lobe?”
    Lane’s heart jumps, a quick pre-atrial contraction. He knows immediately what’s happened. He’s forgotten to put on his cover lobe after removing his real one. The cover lobe was issued by the department and recovered at the end of the assignment. It was, of course, a vast work of data fiction. A square centimeter of false information polished to high gloss, installed in a fashionable setting of platinum and worn as an earring. Birth records, school records, medical records, résumés, taxes, finances, felonies, genome profile. It was all there.
    But somehow Lane had forgotten, and his naked earlobe was screaming trouble to the Bad Boy. But no time to worry. He gauges the distance between himself and his adversary. Too far. And now the other one is coming to his feet. He has to stall until the position is right. His best move is to go on the offensive.
    “You didn’t scan the girl. How come you gotta scan me?”
    The clerk smiles and settles back like someone anticipating a critically acclaimed piece of entertainment. “Seen the girl around,” he smugly explains. “Never seen you around.”
    “Doesn’t mean I haven’t been around,” Lane shoots back. “Just means you haven’t seen me.”
    “Don’t think so,” the clerk replies. “Think I’ve seen just about everybody.” He turns to the Bad Boy with the glasses, who stands several feet to Lane’s right. “Wouldn’t you say so, boy?”
    “Yeah, I’d say so,” Mr. Glasses offers. He shoots Lane a nasty smile and moves forward. “I think we better have a little talk about this, friend. And I think we’ll start with you putting your hands behind your head.”
    Because of the metal detector, they’ve assumed Lane isn’t armed. As he crosses his handsbehind his neck, his thumb and forefinger reach down his shirt collar and close on a slender plastic cylinder holding a single charge of pressurized pepper spray.
    Lane glances to his left and sees the second Bad Boy on his feet, hand jammed in his gun pocket but not moving. It’ll be close but he can do it. If he doesn’t, he’s a dead man. The