Chapter V

Tom Depaola gunned the engine of his Duccati, its custom matte black finish studiously ignoring the neon lights of Kingston Ave. Across Tom’s chrome helmet flowed reflections of Neo-Crown Heights, its rusted skyscrapers beneath a chemical haze, its inhabitants’ languid shuffle to the rhythm of street commerce.

Pausing at the intersection, Tom lifted his visor to roll a spliff, his swift fingers unhindered by the thick motorcycle gloves. Scanning the street, Tom’s steely gaze met the yellowed eyes of a young woman, her flower print dress foul in the corona of streetlight. Wordlessly, the woman bared one small, high breast, a silent offering to Tom.

The chrome helmet winked green back at the stoplight. Unmoved, Tom sped down Eastern Parkway.

The hum of the Duccati’s motor pulled Tom within himself, calming the usually turgid waters of his mind. Images of the past crept by, deep pools of soft focus memory into which Tom could dip his Jordans:

Rusty, behind sunglasses, sucking down Newports,

An afternoon punctured by a crisp spliff.

Rusty grilling sausages on a roofdeck.

Fresh street wear, delivered.

Rusty caressing Tom’s forehead.

The red eye of the Canary device staring back at Tom. 

A shrill digital voice shattered Tom’s drifting thoughts.

“Tom!!!” said JO 5000, piping in through the Duccati’s onboard computer, her voice a hot knife to the base of Tom’s brain. JO 5000 was a ROM personality recording of the long dead Jordyan “Jo” Mueller, killed in the fall of Old Crown Heights.

“The ☩AR0☩ surveillance drone system has a hit.”

JO 5000 beamed footage into Tom’s A/V skull implant. Brief snippets of grainy film. Dark alleyways of Neo-Crown Heights. Bodegas selling cheap software and food substitute. A streetlight casting red shadow.

Ian’s head folding its titanium legs into a hole in the grate at Nostrand and Prospect.

“Aw yeah. Hells yeah,” said Tom