Video Star (Voice of the Whirlwind) Read Free

your permission to drink here, or what?” he said.
    “No,” she said. “Just to deal here.”
    “I’m not dealing,” he said. “I’m just observing the passing urban scene, okay?” He was wearing a lightweight summer jacket of a cream color over a black T-shirt with Cyrillic lettering, black jeans, white sneakers. Nondescript street apparel.
    “You got credit?” the girl asked.
    “Enough.”
    “Buy me a drink then?”
    He grinned. “I need your permission to deal, and you don’t have any credit? What kind of outlaw are you?”
    “A thirsty outlaw.”
    Ric signaled the bartender. Whatever it was that he brought her looked as if it was made principally out of cherry soda.
    “Seriously,” she said. “I can pay you back later. Someone I know is supposed to meet me here. He owes me money.”
    “My name’s Marat,” said Ric. “With a silent t.”
    “I’m Super Virgin. You from Canada or something? You talk a little funny.”
    “I’m from Switzerland.”
    Super Virgin nodded and sipped her drink. Ric glanced around the bar. Most of the patrons wore Urban Surgery or at least made an effort in the direction of its style. Super Virgin frowned at him.
    “You’re supposed to ask if I’m really cherry,” she said. “If you’re wondering, the drink should give you a clue.”
    “I don’t care,” Ric said.
    She grinned at him with her metal teeth. “You don’t wanna ball me?”
    Ric watched his dual reflection, in her black eye sockets, slowly shake its head. She laughed. “I like a guy who knows what he likes,” she said. “That’s the kind we have in Cartoon Messiah. Can I have another drink?”
    There was an ecology in kid gangs, Ric knew. They had different reasons for existing and filled different functions. Some wanted turf, some trade, some the chance to prove their ideology. Some moved information, and Ric’s research indicated that this last seemed to be Cartoon Messiah’s function.
    But even if Cartoon Messiah were smart, they hadn’t been around very long. A perpetual problem with groups of young kids involving themselves in gang activities was that they had very short institutional memories. There were a few things they wouldn’t recognize or know to prepare for, not unless they’d been through them at least once. They made up for it by being faster than the opposition, by being more invisible.
    Ric was hoping Cartoon Messiah was full of young, fresh minds.
    He signaled the bartender again. Super Virgin grinned at him.
    “You sure you don’t wanna ball me?”
    “Positive.”
    “I’m gonna be cherry till I die. I’m just not interested. None of the guys seem like anybody I’d want to fuck.” Ric didn’t say anything. She sipped the last of her drink. “You think I’m repulsive-looking, right?”
    “That seems to be your intention.”
    She laughed. “You’re okay, Marat. What’s it like in Switzerland?”
    “Hot.”
    “So hot you had to leave, maybe?”
    “Maybe.”
    “You looking for work?”
    “Not yet. Just looking around.”
    She leaned closer to him. “You find out anything interesting while you’re looking, I’ll pay you for it. Just leave a message here, at the Bar.”
    “You deal in information?”
    She licked her lips. “That and other things. This Bar, see, it’s in a kind of interface. North of here is Lounge Lizard turf, south and east are the Cold Wires, west is the Silicon Romantics. The Romantics are on their way out.” She gave a little sneer. “They’re brocade commandos, right?— their turf’s being cut up. But here, it’s no-gang’s-land. Where things get moved from one buyer to another.”
    “Cartoon Messiah— they got turf?”
    She shook her head. “Just places where we can be found. Territory is not what we’re after. Two-Fisted Jesus— he’s our sort-of chairman— he says only stupid people like brocade boys want turf, when the real money’s in data.”
    Ric smiled. “That’s smart. Property values are down,