Infinite Risk Read Free Page B

high-end do you want these?”
    â€œBasic is fine, just something to pass first inspection.”
    â€œThat’s easy enough.” He named a price that was less than I expected. Buzzkill’s cash would pay for this too. “Half now, half on pickup.”
    â€œSounds good.” I handed over the money.
    â€œExcellent. Come in back for a minute. I’ll take your picture.”
    He had a compact setup, though nothing so overt that anyone would notice his side business. It was all fairly typical office equipment. The various backgrounds for the photos were hidden behind an enormous framed Led Zeppelin poster. I posed but didn’t smile, and he nodded approval.
    â€œGood call. People always look surly in government ID photos. It’s because they’ve all been waiting for over an hour at the DMV or whatever.” He smirked at his own joke.
    I gave a pity chuckle, no point in pissing him off. “When should I come back?”
    â€œWednesday, after three.”
    â€œOkay, thanks.”
    â€œLet me check the front, give me a sec. We’d have heard the bell, but I like to be careful.”
    I waited in back until he called the all clear; then I emerged. Just in case, it seemed like a good move not to leave empty-handed, so I bought a peace-sign keychain from the counter display. He acknowledged that with a knowing grin as he bagged it up. Since the Baltimore had actual metal keys, I even had a use for this. On the bus back, I snapped the two together. An old man fell asleep on my shoulder, and I stared out the dirty window at the crumbling cityscape, hoping I could achieve all my goals.
    Jostling the shoulder sleeper, I got off at the stop that in no way felt like home. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten much of my pizza sticks at lunch and that breakfast had been a granola bar. There’s a bodega on the way. I was thinking about what I could afford to buy—because Buzzkill’s cash wouldn’t last forever and the credit card couldn’t possibly work—when I bumped into someone coming out of the thrift/wig shop.
    â€œSorry,” I said in reflex.
    I moved to step past, then realized that this was the guy who had shared his Dickens with me earlier. He seemed frozen in horror, like seeing me here was the worst-case scenario. Other people passed us on the sidewalk, collars up, heads down against the wind. One of us needs to say something. What’s his name again?
    Devon.
    â€œDon’t tell anyone,” he finally mumbled.
    â€œThat you buy your clothes here or you have a wig fetish?” Since he wasn’t carrying any packages, I figured that was a safe joke.
    But he scowled. “You think that’s funny?”
    â€œApparently not.”
    â€œIf people at school find out my mom runs Madame Q’s House of Style, I’ll know who to blame,” he snapped.
    Oh.
    â€œSo this is your family business?”
    â€œShut the hell up.”
    Now that was surprisingly rude compared to how nice he was before, but he must think I was making fun of how his mother made her living. Which wasn’t my intention at all. But I had no reason to correct his misconception. It wasn’t like I’d be here long enough for it to matter.
    â€œOkay, I’ll pencil you in as my nemesis. I was kind of hoping I’d find one without looking on Craigslist.”
    From his blank look, that joke didn’t land, either. Shit, when did Craigslist become a thing? I couldn’t remember, but it must not be mainstream knowledge yet. With a mental shrug, I moved to pass him.
    â€œIt won’t help you either if people find out you hang around downtown.”
    That sounded like a warning … or maybe a threat. So I turned. “Are you going to tell everyone I’m poor? And here I’m maintaining my image so carefully with haute couture.” I struck a pose, tugging on my hoodie strings so the front conformed to my