It wasn’t going to get any better. Dan gave me an apologetic look. Lil glared a moment longer, then went into the house.
“Debra’s doing real well,” he said. “The net’s all over her. Biggest thing ever. Flash-baking is taking off in nightclubs, dance mixes with the DJ’s backup being shoved in bursts into the dancers.”
“God,” I said. “I fucked up, Dan. I fucked it all up.”
He didn’t say anything, and that was the same as agreeing.
Driving back to the hotel, I decided I needed to talk to Kim. She was a problem I didn’t need, and maybe a problem I could solve. I pulled a screeching U-turn and drove the little runabout to her place, a tiny condo in a crumbling complex that had once been a gated seniors’ village, pre-Bitchun.
Her place was easy to spot. All the lights were burning, faint conversation audible through the screen door. I jogged up the steps two at a time, and was about to knock when a familiar voice drifted through the screen.
Debra, saying: “Oh yes, oh yes! Terrific idea! I’d never really thought about using streetmosphere players to liven up the queue area, but you’re making a lot of sense. You people have just been doing the best work over at the Mansion—find me more like you and I’ll take them for the Hall any day!”
I heard Kim and her young friends chatting excitedly, proudly. The anger and fear suffused me from tip to toe, and I felt suddenly light and cool and ready to do something terrible.
I padded silently down the steps and got into my runabout.