Page 100 of Into the Fire

Evan tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Look, I’m not sure if you have the printing technology to transfer someone else’s fingerprints onto the adhesives—”

“My preferred method,” Melinda said, “is to generate engraved plates from my 3-D printer. Since the silicon films are impressionable, etched casting surfaces are ideal.”

She leaned over the computer on her desk, linked to an AmScope binocular microscope and a MakerBot Replicator+. A red glow lit the printer’s black box, an intense spill of color that made the contraption evocative of a futuristic forge, which Evan supposed it was. She brought up the photo detail Evan had forwarded her, Paytsar Hovsepian’s fingers raised in a peace salute.

She let out a hiss of delight through her teeth. “Nice detail. I can get a couple dozen ridge characteristics easy.”

Evan could still taste her lipstick, sugary like frosting. “I pulled the rest of his fingerprints off NCIC. They were ink-rolled at a local station nineteen years ago, middling clarity, but I figure as long as we have two at high-res, you can improvise the rest.”

“Improvising,” Melinda said, “is my life.” She straightened up, flicking her hair expertly over a shoulder.

Joey had to lean back to avoid getting whipped.

“What else do you need?” Melinda said.

“Fake driver’s license,” Evan said.

“Finally a reasonable request.”

“With ink that fades after twenty-four hours,” he added.

“That’s not possible.”

“Even for you?”

“I’m incredible,” she said, “but not magical.” A lash-heavy eyelid dipped in a wink. “Except in bed.”

“First of all … um, gross,” Joey said. “Second, how ’bout a chemical reaction? Layered under the laminate? Something that kicks in after a certain exposure time to oxygen or whatever.”

“She speaks,” Melinda said. “And reveals brains beneath that god-awful haircut.” She went to Joey and smoothed her hair down, covering the shaved strip on the right side. Then she tucked Joey’s locks behind her ears and caressed her cheeks. “Don’t be afraid of how beautiful you are.”

For once Joey didn’t back away. She looked too shocked to react.

“Um, thanks?” she said.

“Or how smart you are. You can be both, you know, even if that makes the less-fair sex feel insecure.” Melinda gave another crisp officerial pivot to Evan. “Now. I can play with some metal-compound inks, like cerium oxalate. One of my men, Giang, is an expert in acids. But this level of specialty work will cost you plenty.” She picked up the phone again, hesitated. “I assume this is your usual four-alarm emergency. I’m almost afraid to ask when you’ll need it by?”

“We’ll wait here,” Evan said.

Melinda licked her thumb. Then reached across the desk and wiped a smudge of lipstick off Evan’s mouth. “Very well, sweetie,” she said, already dialing. “But you’d best stay out of my way.”

42

A Nice Visible Presence

Joey looked uncharacteristically small behind the wheel of the massive Ford pickup. Or maybe it was just the view from the passenger seat, which Evan was occupying for the first time. It felt dislocating. As they prowled downtown streets cloaked with dusk, he emptied his pockets into the center console. No money clip, no RoamZone, no keys. Last out were the eight charcoal pills. He started palming them into his mouth two at a time, swallowing them dry.

Joey said, “Once you leave this truck, you’ll have nothing.”

Evan felt an urge to comfort her with false assurances but knew better than to lie.

She shot a glance down at his hands, the transparent films invisible across the pads of his digits. “Not even your fingerprints. “No backup, no weapon, nothing.” She clenched the wheel. “I know, I know.” She reverted to head-waggy Nowhere Man voice. “‘I am the weapon.’” He had to smile at that, but she just glowered at him. “This is stupid dangerous, X. Think about it. I won’t be able to do anything to help you. No one can do anything to help you. You’ll be totally at their mercy. If one thing goes wrong, you’re done. Forever. And if you smack your stubborn concussed head in there? You could die. And it’s not like fights aren’t known to happen. Christ, X. This is dumb in more ways than I can count, and I’m really good at math.”

The RoamZone rang, rattling in the console. Evan tensed, anticipating that it was Max with a last-minute complication. But then he saw the Las Vegas area code and picked up.

The voice, pure gravel and exuberance, poured through the receiver. “I got yer sniper rifle.”

“I didn’t order a sniper rifle.”