Free Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3) by David Estes Page A

remembers from his childhood.
    Minda says, “Yeah. Just do what Janice does and you’ll be fine.”
    “You want us to all wear tiger-striped dresses?” Harrison asks.
    “Sure. So long as you laser your legs first,” Minda says.
    “Now that I would pay to see,” Simon, who’s now got racing stripes shaved into his head, comments, pointing his cane at Harrison’s legs.
    Following Janice’s lead, they each claim their own holo-manikin. Benson stares at the larger-than-life version of himself, trying to decide what to say.
    “May I help you?” the bot asks.
    He’s never had to do something like this. Clothing was just something you put on to stay warm, to cover your body. Now it’s a crucial element of the façade the group will have to effectively convey in order to succeed in their mission.
    “Uhh,” he says. “Black?”
    “Fantastic choice, sir.” The Benson-holo ends up in a black tuxedo.
    “I’m not sure the penguin look is what we’re going for,” Harrison says, approaching from the side. Apparently he made short work of the task and, Benson has to admit, did an awesome job. His sleeveless muscle-accentuating tank is black, lined with silver edges that shimmer when he walks. Some holo-band logo is imprinted on the front in such a way that it looks old and grungy despite the shirt being brand new. His pants are constructed of some kind of material that seems to change color with each step, and are intentionally ripped around the knees. The ensemble is completed with a silver skull belt and heavy black boots.
    “I was going for James Bond from that new 007 holo-film that just came out,” Benson says, wishing he could pull off a look the way his brother does.
    “Hmm, I’m not sure you have the cojones to be Bond,” his brother says, tapping his front teeth. “Perhaps something more…current. Have you seen all the aut-cycles cruising around lately? Leather is most definitely back in.”
    Always helpful, the bot says, “We have a large assortment of leather for all shapes and sizes.”
    “White tank, black leather jacket, black leather pants—boot cut,” Harrison rattles off, almost without thinking. “Croc-skin belt and boots, in red if you have it in stock.”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    The holo changes and Benson is no longer floating in the air. Some tattooed, aut-cycle-riding, trouble-making badass with a blue-tipped Mohawk and multiple piercings appears, throwing evils stares around the store. “Son of a bot,” Benson breathes. “Is that how I’ll look?”
    “Hell yeah,” Harrison says. “My work here is done.”
    “Thank you for your business,” the bot says politely. “Your total will be four-thousand-and-ninety-four dollars and forty-nine cents.”
    “Uh, put it on our tab,” Benson says hurriedly, suddenly feeling as if he’s doing something wrong. This whole world…of stores, of fashion, of legal citizens with legal jobs living a legal life…it feels wrong. Not for everyone else, but for him. Like this world is not really his. And if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel comfortable in it, even if he gets the chance to try someday.
    “Nicely done,” Minda says, snapping Benson away from his thoughts.
    She slides a LifeCard through a slot in the machine and the racks start moving as the bot says, “Payment accepted. Please remove your items as they appear.”
    “Thanks,” Benson mumbles, grabbing the pants and other articles of clothing each time the rack stops.
    “Compliments of the consortium,” she says, slipping away to pay for Simon’s purchases.
    The red croc-skin boots are last, and are far lighter than he expected them to be. “Are these made of air?” he says to himself, balancing them on his palm.”
    “Synthetic polymer,” his brother says. “The latest technology.”
    Benson imagines it will feel like walking on a cloud. “Thanks for your help,” he says.
    “No problem. I have to admit, for having such a