Zero History

Milgrim looked up, there were no buildings. A bridge, he guessed. Slowing, turning. Into
buildings, lower, more ragged. The Subaru bumped over something, up, then stopped.
Fiona shut off the engine and got out. Milgrim, flicking the drapes aside, glimpsed
Benny’s cycle yard. Benny himself approaching. Fiona opened the rear door and grabbed
one of Voytek’s Pelican cases.
“Caution,” said Voytek, “extreme care.”
“I know,” Fiona said, passing the case to Benny.
Benny leaned in, looked at Voytek. “Disagreement at the local, was it?”
Voytek glared at Milgrim. “The blood,” he said. “Sucking it.”
“Mental cunt,” observed Benny, taking another case and walking away.
Voytek scooted across the carpeted cargo area on his B.U.M. EQUIPMENT signage and climbed out,
taking the two remaining cases and walking away.
Milgrim got out, his knees stiff, and glanced around. There was nobody in sight.
“Seems quieter,” he said.
“Tea time,” said Fiona. She looked at him. “That’s from the shop.”
“Yes,” said Milgrim.
“It’s not bad on you,” she said approvingly, if surprised. “You cut most of the douche
baggage.”
“I do?”
“You wouldn’t wear one of those little leashes on your wallet,” she said. “And you
wouldn’t wear one of his hats.”
“The douche baggage?”
“The fuckery,” said Fiona, closing the van’s rear door. “We need your stuff,” she said,
walking around and opening the side door. She handed Milgrim his bag, and a Tanky &
Tojo bag containing the clothes he’d been wearing before (minus the Sonny jacket) and
the restuffed Mont-Bell sausage. She pulled out the retaped sleeping foam and a black
garbage bag. “These are your things from the Holiday Inn.”
He followed her into the littered garage.
As they were nearing the entrance to Bigend’s Vegas cube, Benny emerged. Fiona
handed him the keys to the van. “Carbs on the bike are sound,” she told him. “Thank
Saad.”
“Ta,” said Benny, pocketing the keys without pausing.
Milgrim followed her in. Two of Voytek’s cases were on the table, open. The other
two, still closed, were on the floor. He wore a pair of large black-and-silver headphones
and was assembling something that looked to Milgrim like a black unstrung squash
racket.
“Leave me,” said Voytek flatly, not bothering to make eye contact. “I sweep.”
“Let’s go,” Fiona said to Milgrim, putting down the foam and the black bag containing
Milgrim’s things from the hotel. “He can do it faster alone.” Milgrim dropped the sausage
beside the foam, but kept his bag. As he left the room, Milgrim saw Voytek step forward,