Free Flex by Ferrett Steinmetz Page A

mundane commander, muttering her words as she spoke them, nakedly adoring her.
    “The man’s a cop,” insisted the grating voice.
    “He’s an insurance claims agent.”
    “You never stop wearing the badge. He stays.”
    Paul rubbed his eyes. There were four other SMASH members in black armor, shotguns slung across their backs, each wearing prominent white opals on their left shoulder: expensive, precise ’mancy detectors. They stood obediently behind a slim woman with a curt buzz cut and a bulldog face.
    The woman glared at the ten Stapleton cops who had surrounded Paul. She shifted stances, ready to fight all ten at once… but she had the wariness of a woman who no longer relished kicking ass.
    Paul could see she was tempted, though. Anyone would be. The guy standing before her was almost as scrawny as Paul, but he carried himself with a bodybuilder’s world-taunting swagger. A wispy mustache floated over an annoying smirk, a pube-style mustache you had to have either an insane amount of self-confidence or an insane amount of self-denial to think was at all attractive.
    Lenny Pirrazzini, unfortunately, had both.
    Lenny was a man of firm habits: you put in your shift, you went to the bar for a beer, then tucked your kids into bed. Where Paul saw beauty in the way ’mancy changed the rules, Lenny saw threats to tradition.
    Still, he’d idolized Paul for all the wrong reasons, and so Paul was never more grateful to see him. He stood before the SMASH team leader, thumping his chest with both hands, detailing the many and varied reasons he didn’t have to hand shit over to you brainwashed Gandalfs.
    The Unimancy leader eyed the cops again. They were doughy officers but steadfast in their resolve: no one hauled away an ex-cop on their watch.
    “Your bosses asked us along on this milk run to educate you,” the woman said, sneering. “Mr Tsabo has been bagged, he’s gonna get tagged, and that’s the end of it.”
    One cop stepped between the SMASH agents surrounding Paul to put a protective hand on Paul’s shoulder – an unconscious echo of the Unimancers protecting their own. Paul was glad – he’d seen what happened to mundanes who’d been shipped to the Refactor. The government ran tests for weeks, stressing you both physically and psychologically until you broke and retreated to using ’mancy. But if you weren’t a ’mancer, sometimes you just broke…
    Paul couldn’t hide his power there. And when they found out, they’d brainwash him into Unimancy.
    “So hand him over,” the SMASH team leader snapped. “Or this cooperative exercise is ended.”
    “Hey, we got this.” Lenny flicked her the finger. “Tear gas, flashbangs, boom. Fuckin’ ’mancers collapse like every other dumbass criminal when you bushwhack ’em. Big surprise! Call me in! I’ll do your job for you, fishtits!”
    …fishtits? Paul thought.
    She smirked. “You’ve got a terrorist in your midst, and you’re throwing away valuable training?”
    Lenny’s grin wilted. But he never changed his mind, once he made a decision.
    The SMASH team gathered up their equipment and tromped into the onyx-black helicopter with the gold logo emblazoned on the side: Special ’Mancer Apprehension, Suppression, and Hauling. The words ringed around a hand closed into a single fist, each finger from a different person: one black, one white, one painted female nail, one yellow, one red.
    The cops watched the SMASH team evacuate, ringing around Paul protectively until the helicopter’s flashing red lights vanished over the horizon.
    Then Lenny punched Paul in the shoulder.
    “The man is back !” Lenny gave Paul a horse-toothed grin. “Of course you wanna pop that daughter-burning sonuvabitch yourself!”
    Well, I guess New York’s Finest know about Aliyah , Paul thought.
    “Got a little eager,” Paul demurred. Lenny leaned down to sponge the vomit from Paul’s tie. “Didn’t think you’d ever transfer out of Manhattan, Lenny. You loved