To Sleep, Perchance To Dream of Tin Futures
We met Foster on a weed-covered street in one of those empty housing developments. We’ve got lots of them in the Valley now, not sure why. We parked beside Foster’s Hummer and hopped out. Bernie was no fan of Hummers, so the look that came over his face didn’t surprise me.
“Hey,” said Foster, “some problem?”
“What makes you say that?” said Bernie.
“You look pissed off,” Foster said.
“You don’t see it?” Bernie said. “The direct connection?”
Bernie glanced around. “Between this place, your ride, blowout preventers that don’t prevent.”
“Not following you,” Foster said.
Neither was I, but I didn’t like the way Foster said it. Hey! Was Foster a perp? I inched a little closer to him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Bernie said. “How come you picked this place?”
Foster shrugged. The human shrug: have we gone into that already? A big subject, no time right now, and maybe it’s in To Fetch A Thief. “I just knew there’d be nobody around. Wouldn’t be good if Albie knew we were talking.”
Bernie glanced around again. Some of the houses were all finished, some not. No signs of life, no trees, no grass, no plants, and lots of scraps blowing in the wind. “Does he own this development?”
“You’re a good guesser,” Foster said.
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