Free BOMB: A Day in the Life of Spencer Shrike by J.A. Huss

of things for you.”
    “It is, Spence. You know the Biker Channel wants you to get one, right? They’ve been hounding me about it for weeks. They say you hardly ever answer their calls and ignore the emails completely. You should just hire someone to take care of that shit.”
    “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I should. I could use the help. How close do you need me to be, Ford?” I hang a right on Elizabeth and then cut up north to where Drake’s shop is.
    “Just about the same place we were before. I didn’t get the long-range option for this bot. That model was out of stock.” He pulls the case up from the floor, keys in his passcode to disengage the locks, and then pops it open. When I glance over he’s got a tablet in there and some smaller things tucked away in a bulging pocket on the inside of the lid. He fires up the tablet and then accesses some app on the home screen that controls the bot. A camera pops up in a new window, but the image is black.
    “Night vision is standard,” Ford says. Like I was actually wondering how much he pays for the fucking robot add-ons. “OK, here we go.” The bot screen flashes green, and then some details start to emerge. “We’re under a workbench, I think. Hold on, let me look around a little and see if this is acceptable. You might have to tell me where a good place will be, Spencer. A place that’s in plain view, but not near something he needs every day. I don’t mind losing the money I paid for this should things go bad. But I certainly don’t want this bot in the hands of that stupid fuck Drake. He will blab all over about it and even though I had Merc cover my tracks, Homeland will be called in and they will immediately know it was me. I’m already on a list for hacking.”
    I wince. We’re doing this job because I asked for it. “Maybe we should just pull it, then, Ford? Maybe I should just eat the money and drop it. He won’t last, I’m not really worried about him taking my business, I’m just excitable. I’m an artist. People buy my bikes because I made them. And he’s not me.”
    Ford just stares at me. “Who are you?”
    “I’m serious, Ford. Let’s just come back tomorrow and—” A knock on the glass stops me cold and Ford’s eyes dart to the window behind me. “Please tell me that’s not the pigs,” I say without turning my head to look.
    Ford laughs under his breath. “It’s Drake.”
    I turn in my seat so I can see and then slide the window down about an inch. “Can I help you?” I ask, peering out at him.
    He’s not as tall as me when I’m standing, so when I’m sitting in a big-ass truck, he looks minuscule. He’s such a skinny little fuck.
    He scowls at me, squinting his eyes as he tries to make out if it’s really me behind the tinted glass window. “Shrike? I should’ve known. You’re out here like a loser, spying on me? What the hell?”
    “I’m sorry,” I say politely. “Do I know you?” Ford chuckles off to my right. “Do we know this rat, Ford?” I lower the window another half an inch. “Oh, wait,” I say sarcastically. “Yeah, we know this asshole. He’s the poser who moved into my town, pretending to be me. You’re not even worth my time, Fonzie.” I catch the sound of the little bot being maneuvered from the tablet.
    Drake squints his eyes and gives those thick black frames a push up his nose as he considers this. “Then would you care to explain why you’re sitting outside my shop in the middle of the night?”
    “We’re smoking a doobie, Drake. And you’re killing my fucking buzz, so shoo, little man. Just shoo.”
    Ford laughs again.
    Drake sniffs the air, trying to smell me out. “You’re not smoking in there.”
    “It’s that new odorless blend out of Boulder, you idiot. Now scram.”
    Ford bursts out laughing, “Scram,” he mutters. “What are you, a character in Scooby-Doo ?”
    I look over at him and laugh. “Yeah, scram. That’s such a great word, isn’t it? So underused.” I