Tracers Read Free

eyes.
    A bike messenger with no bike. This was the best day ever. There weren’t many people who would hire a guy with a record, so his options were pretty limited. Sometimes he felt like he’d never be done paying for the mistakes he’d made when his mother got sick.
    â€œYou want your check or not?” Lonnie’s voice pulled him back from the edge of sleep.
    His boss was standing in front of him, his frown looking even more pronounced than usual. Lonnie’s light brown eyes looked tired, and the black Lafayette Messenger Service polo he always wore hung loosely off him. Cam felt bad for Lonnie—his ex had really done a number on him.
    Cam sighed and heaved himself upright, grabbing the check. And then he went from feeling bad for Lonnie to feeling bad for himself. The envelope, once opened, contained a check for a disappointing $493.
    He waved the envelope in front of the dispatcher’s eyes. “This is it? I need more runs, Lonnie.”
    Lonnie sighed. “Uh, Cam? You need a
bike.
You’re my best rider. What am I gonna do?” He nodded toward the remains of his bike, which were still decorating the dispatch counter.
    â€œYeah.” Cam frowned. “It really sucks . . .
for you.
”
    Cam’s eyes followed his boss’s to the bike corpse. Wasn’t like he’d been expecting a banner day or anything. But still.
    â€œGot a friend who can loan you one?” Lonnie asked.
    Cam’s eyes ran over the crew of messengers ignoring him
and
the remains of his dearly departed Fantom. Not likely they’d be sympathetic about this one. More likely they’d be psyched about not losing any more runs to him.
    â€œWhat’s it look like to you?” Cam said, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. He scooped up the broken bike frame, hoisted it over his shoulder, and walked out.
    He joined the throng of people moving on the sidewalk, and his thoughts shifted to the guys jumping and running in the last video. That seemed like an infinitely better way to get around. But he still needed a bike to make runs for Lonnie, and get paid. Cam started mentally doing the math on how much he owed . . . and what he
wasn’t
going to make over the next few days, bikeless.
    It was all hoodie girl’s fault. Maybe he could find her, let her know how screwed he was now because of her.
    He passed a Dumpster and threw the remains of his bike inside; it was broken beyond repair.
    Now he could just go find hoodie girl. That was a solid plan. Start on the F train and then walk all over the city looking for a girl with silver eyes who ran up walls, so he could give her a piece of his mind.
    At least he’d gotten the walking part right. Because now: pedestrian.
    Cam swore under his breath and kept walking.

TWO
    THE SIGN said CHECK CASHING but it probably should have said check swiping. Because infesting the sidewalk right by the entrance were Cam’s two least favorite people: Jerry and Hu.
    Chinatown’s finest: Chen ran the books, but Jerry and Hu were the ones who finessed the situation.
Finesse
—that’s what Jerry liked to call it. Hu mainly just grunted—he was the muscle. Built like a tank.
    Cam stared at Hu in his sleeveless black shirt and imagined the guy trying to run up a wall. Then imagined him hitting the pavement. Hard. It was
almost
a comforting thought.
    Except for the fact that Jerry had just grabbed the paycheck right out of his hands.
    â€œHow did you . . . ?” Cam sputtered.
    â€œHow’d we know it was payday?” Jerry grinned and tapped his forehead. “I did some research, my friend. Your boss was pretty chatty.” Jerry gave Cam a pointed look. “As for the rest of it, this is the closest and most convenient check-cashing place. Didn’t take a rocket scientist.”
    â€œLuckily,” Cam spit out, before he had time to think it over. He was pissed off about being