Free After the Dark by Max Allan Collins

. . . Maybe it's female trouble.”
    “Why don't you go over to her, Normal, and suggest she take somethin' for that? Then you'll find out what female trouble is all about.”
    Normal almost blushed. “I just mean . . . she's down. Blue. Cranky I'm used to—her in the dumps, that's somethin' else . . . Go say hello to her.”
    “Well, jeez, Normal . . . are you concerned for one of your people?”
    “If she has a bad day, I have a bad day . . . by which I mean, my packages don't get delivered on time.”
    “Right.”
    And she grinned at him.
    It was infectious, and he turned away, getting back to work, hiding his humanity.
    As she strolled toward the back, Max shook her head, surprised at how nice it was to see Normal. Who'da thunk she'd have missed that stick-up-the-butt goofus? The truth was, despite a longstanding prejudice against the transgenics, when she and her fellows had really needed him, Normal came through in a big way.
    A stand-up guy, with a good heart . . . amazing.
    It felt surprisingly good to be here, back on her old stomping grounds, with people she could depend on, unlike a certain cyberjournalist. After moving to the back of the huge, rank room—funny, she hadn't ever noticed the sweat-drenched scent of the place before—she found her best friend sitting on a bench facing her locker, head bowed as if in prayer.
    Original Cindy's Afro was flying at half mast today, brushed down and pulled back into a puff at the back of her skull. She was in jeans and a gray vin-tage GRRRRL POWER ! sweatshirt that looked rumpled, almost slept-in—a rarity for a woman whose wardrobe was always as sharp as she was.
    “Anyone for coffee?” Max asked, holding out the cardboard cup.
    Original Cindy's eyes shot up to her—eyes that were red-rimmed either from crying or lack of sleep or both. Then the shapely woman was on her feet and taking her friend in her arms, damn near causing Max to dump the two cups of coffee all over everything.
    “Hey hey hey,” Max said, doing a balance act as Cindy hugged her. “Careful, girl—you'll spill the joe!”
    “Where you been keepin' yourself, Boo?” Original Cindy demanded, backing away but not letting go of Max, her expression alternating between relief and indignation. “Damn, girl! We spent all night looking for your ass.”
    Shrugging, Max said, “I had some thinking to do.”
    “So you had some thinkin' to do—thass cool. Only you know what is
not
cool? Leavin' your brothers and sisters hangin', all crazyass-worried and shit.”
    “I'm sorry,” Max said, and this had not occurred to her at all. “It's just . . . things went kinda sideways . . . with Logan.”
    “Yeah, I know, details at eleven . . . What, you think he wasn't the most worried outta all of us? 'Cept for maybe Joshua, who thinks you some kinda saint . . . and clearly does
not
know you like I do.”
    “Logan came around?”
    Original Cindy nodded. “He came and yanked me outta my crib, and we haul butt to Terminal City, to see was you there, and guess what, you wasn't.”
    “What did he . . . ?”
    “What'd he tell me? He tell me everything. You don't tell Original Cindy half a story, Boo—I'm like a priest, except for the religion part. Anyway, Logan come and found me and played me every track, includin' the bonus cuts—then he and me go out searchin' for your thoughtless self.”
    Max sat on the bench, embarrassed. “Jeez . . . I am sorry. Really. I . . . when bad stuff happens, I kinda revert to, you know, a . . .”
    “Selfish bitch?”
    Max laughed. “Yeah. That's it exactly.”
    The lovely lesbian smiled and sat next to her. Taking one of the coffees, O.C. said, “Thanks, girlfriend—Original Cindy's gonna need the caffeine to get through this mother. You and me, we need to talk.”
    “I don't think I can take—”
    “You gonna hide from this? Sooner or later you're gonna have to deal—better do it now, be done with it.”
    “I know,” Max admitted. “Sorry about last night