About the second or third thing they learned how to do when studying to become Kouriers was how to shiv open a pair of handcuffs. Handcuffs are not intended as long-term restraint devices, millions of Clink franchisees to the contrary. And the longtime status of skateboarders as an oppressed ethnic group means that by now all of them are escape artists of some degree.
First things first. Y.T. has many a thing hanging off her uniform. The uniform has a hundred pockets, big flat pockets for deliveries and eensy narrow pockets for gear, pockets sewn into sleeves, thighs, shins. The equipment stuck into these multifarious pockets tends to be small, tricky, lightweight pens, markers, penlights, penknives, lock picks, bar-code scanners, flares, screwdrivers, Liquid Knuckles, bundy stunners, and lightsticks. A calculator is stuck upside-down to her right thigh, doubling as a taxi meter and a stopwatch. On the other thigh is a personal phone. As the manager is locking the door upstairs, it begins to ring. Y.T. offhooks it with her free hand. It is her mother.
Hi, Mom. Fine, how are you? I'm at Tracy's house. Yeah, we went to the Metaverse. We were just fooling around at this arcade on the Street. Pretty bumpin'. Yes, I used a nice avatar. Nab, Tracy's mom said she'd give me a ride home later. But we might stop off at the Joyride on Victory for a while, okay? Okay, well, sleep tight, Mom. I will. I love you, too. See you later.
She punches the flash button, killing the chat with Mom and giving her a fresh dial tone in the space of about half a second. "Roadkill," she says.
The telephone remembers and dials Roadkill's number.
Roaring sounds. This is the sound of air peeling over the microphone of Roadkill's personal phone at some terrifying velocity. Also the competing whooshes of many vehicles' tires on pavement, broken by chuckhole percussion; sounds like the crumbling Ventura.
Yo, Y.T.," Roadkill says, " 'sup
Sup with you
Surfing the Tura. 'Sup with you
Maxing The Clink.
Whoa! Who popped you
MetaCops. Affixed me to the gate of White Columns with a loogie gun.
Whoa, how very! When you leaving
Soon. Can you swing by and give me a hand
What do you mean
Men. "You know, give me a hand. You're my boyfriend," she says, speaking very simply and plainly. "If I get popped, you're supposed to come around and help bust me out." Isn't everyone supposed to know this stuff? Don't parents teach their kids anything anymore
Well, uh, where are you
Buy 'n' Fly number 501,762.
I'm on my way to Bernie with a super-ultra.
As in San Bernardino. As in super-ultra-high-priority delivery. As in, you're out of luck.
Okay, thanks for nothing.
Awwww," he begins.
Surfing safety," Y.T. says, in the traditional sarcastic sign off.
Keep breathing," Roadkill says. The roaring noise snaps off.
What a jerk. Next date, he's really going to have to grovel. But in the meantime, there's one other person who owes her one. The only problem is that he might be a spaz. But it's worth a try.
Hello?" he says into his personal phone. He's breathing hard and a couple of sirens are dueling in the background.
Hiro Protagonist
Yeah, who's this
Y.T. Where are you
In the parking lot of a Safeway on Oahu," he says. And he's telling the truth; in the background she can hear the shopping carts performing their clashy, anal copulations.
I'm kind of busy now, Whitey -- but what can I do for you
It's Y.T., " she says, "and you can help bust me out of The Clink." She gives him the details.
How long ago did he put you there
Ten minutes.
Okay, the three-ring binder for Clink franchises states that the manager is supposed to check on the detainee half an hour after admission.
How do you know this stuff?" she says accusingly.
Use your imagination. As soon as the manager pulls his halfhour check, wait for another five minutes, and then make your move. I'll try to give you a hand. Okay
Got it.