Untitled

were staring imminent nonexistence in the face, and Marla’s heart softened toward
them. “Or do you want us to stay?” she said. “Until…it’s over?”
The Dalton at the desk looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “No. No need.
We might as well go alone. You’ve got more important things to do than watch us
refresh out of existence.”
“Okay,” Marla said. She paused before heading toward the door. “But, hey. Good luck
outside the simulation. I’m sure it’s amazing on the other side.”
The Dalton at the desk nodded and gave them a wave. Marla left, with B and Rondeau
following.
11
B hung back with Rondeau as they followed Marla out onto Market Street, his mind still
well and truly reeling from the events in Dalton’s office. Despite all the outlandish
things he’d seen, the oddest thing—in a way—was the look of human feeling on
Marla’s face when she wished the Daltons a pleasant afterlife. “That was almost sweet
of her,” B said. “What she just said to them.”
“Yeah,” Rondeau said. “It was.”
“If I hadn’t just seen her transform into a vicious, golden-eyed monster draped in purple
shadows, I’d almost call it tenderness.”
“The thing about Marla is, you’ve got to embrace the contradictions,” Rondeau said.
“The job she has to do, you have to be tough. I’m not saying she’s got a soft squishy
center or anything, but there’s more to her than ass-whipping and blunt-force trauma. If
there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be working for her.”
B nodded. In his dream, the first dream about Marla, he’d felt a sense of connection, a
depth of feeling, even a degree of enchantment with her. Reality hadn’t done much to
reflect the dream, however. B had the definite sense that Marla was trying him out to
see if he was the kind of tool she could use. And if he turned out to be useless, she’d
toss him aside. He had to make sure that didn’t happen. If he didn’t stay with her, the
city would be destroyed. She probably needed him in ways that hadn’t even occurred to
her yet. Unfortunately, they hadn’t occurred to him yet, either. He didn’t know what the
hell he was supposed to do. “So we’re going to the Tenderloin now?” he said, looking at
Marla’s back, her steady stride down Market Street.
Rondeau nodded.
“Ah,” B said. “The fun just doesn’t stop. Does she even know how to get there?”
Rondeau shrugged. “She’s got a bus schedule. We’re probably heading for a bus stop.”
“I thought time was of the essence here? Shouldn’t we take a cab?”