+++

Back above ground it was daybreak and Los Angeleans were swarming around the streets, heading for breakfast or work or their beds or the earthquake crack where John Fante used to watch old men play chess and, despite being tired and injured, Noble still had enough clarity of thought to recognise the Nazi in the suit sitting alone by one of the chessboards.

‘You left me,’ said Noble, creeping up beside Frank and making him jump.

‘Untrue.’

‘Everyone up, start shooting. That’s what you said.’

‘And I shot at them.’

‘Once.’

‘The others panicked, fucked up the plan.’

‘You were the first one out.’

‘Well, as General Lee once said, retreat is often the mark of a winner.’

‘Your Mexican’s dead.’

Frank looked confused for a second, then shrugged and gestured with an elbow for Noble to sit down on the stone bench opposite.

‘Not interested in chess.’

‘Because you’d lose?’

‘Doubtful.’

‘You’re Cuban, I’m white. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘I should shoot you in the head.’

‘With your injured arm?’

Noble looked at the singe marks near her shoulder and frowned. Frank was right, she was not in good shape, though she could still grab his neck and snap it easily enough.

‘It’s a moot point, anyway. We’re clearly on the same side.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You hate them, we hate them too.’

‘Not true.’

‘Let’s join together and fight our common foe, eliminate them on behalf of a better future.’

‘Like the Armenians and the nationalists?’

Frank picked up a pawn he was fingering and crushed it into dust [and some larger, jagged fragments].

Noble stepped back, watching the grey particles hit the ground.

‘You’re just as irrational as them,’ Frank said, standing up and removing his flak jacket.

‘Who made you?’

Before he could answer, his pocket beeped. He took out his phone and almost spat at the screen. ‘Little wretches. Coming like that, huh? Well, two can play that game.’

‘What is it?’

Frank typed and typed and typed, typed for so long that Noble started to feel awkward. They were either gonna fight or they weren’t, and if they weren’t then she might as well sit down and try to fix her arm.

‘You still here, boy?’ asked Frank after he’d put his phone back in his pocket.

‘It’s a free bench.’

‘Wrong.’

‘I need to pay?’

‘It’s a white’s only bench.’

Frank took out a hammer from within his Tardis-like flak jacket, telling Noble that, although it looked regular enough, it was actually reinforced with right-wing tech he’d developed himself.

‘Meaning?’

‘It’s strong enough to put a hole in your cranium.’

Noble closed the panel on her arm and pointed the barrel at the robot Nazi. ‘At least I’ll still have one.’

Frank looked around, weighed the number of angry whites to those who would potentially like to punch someone like him, realised some of those whites might be Communists, then growled and put the hammer away.

‘Start walking or I shoot,’ said Noble, switching the light to red.

‘In a public place?’

‘Don’t care.’

Frank straightened his flak jacket, tilted his head to stare more menacingly at Noble, failed to induce shivers, then tutted and walked slowly to the kerb, poking his arm out. Possibly due to the military style jacket, a few taxis passed him by before one pulled up and asked where he wanted to go.

‘Airport.’

The driver nodded and Frank got in, keeping one hand still buried in the jacket pocket.

Noble kept her gun arm trained on the taxi until it was out of sight then lowered it and looked at the chessboard. She wondered who had trained Frank, who’d programmed him, who’d made his logic so nonsensical.

Then she remembered everyone else she’d met in her life and counter-thought, who’d made all of them that way?

There was a noise from the subway entrance, causing Noble to activate her gun arm again, but it was just someone shouting at a homeless guy.

Detroit and Angela should’ve been up here by now, where were they?

Did they come out and not see her?

Did they go a different way?

The shouting got louder, two men in adidas jackets telling the homeless guy to get a job and get out of their fucking face.

Weird.

Did they share a face?

Noble didn’t know, but the thought was brief as her justice circuits had kicked in and carried her over to the subway entrance.

One of the adidas jackets told her to fuck off, even though she hadn’t done anything yet, so she snapped his right wrist, ignored the friend, picked up the homeless guy by the collar and flew him up into the sky and over to a hotdog stand in Compton.

‘This ain’t K-town,’ drawled the homeless guy.

‘You hungry?’

‘Fuck you, Jed.’

‘Jed?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Okay, but are you hungry?’

‘Take me back.’

‘To the hecklers?’

‘No cash, gar, don’t know this place, gar. Take me back.’

‘Okay, wait.’

Noble bought two hotdogs and shoved one into the homeless guy’s hands. She asked him how he’d got into the mess he was in and if he had any ideas on how to get out. And if that was too personal, then he could just say nothing and eat the hotdog.

‘What you want, Jed?’

‘I’m trying to help.’

‘Ten dollars.’

‘Okay. And then?’

The man took a bite of his hotdog and chewed. ‘Ten dollars then take me back.’

‘Just go back, that’s it?’

‘And ten dollars.’

‘You don’t want any other kind of help?’

‘Help yourself, Jed. You ain’t even asked my name?’

Noble opened her mouth to respond then shut it fast as he was right. Her defence circuits whirred, telling her it wasn’t that bad or classist even, she hadn’t asked a lot of people’s names. Was that true? She checked internally and a lot became three, and two of those had told her their names pretty much as soon as they met.

‘Sorry, I was rude. I should’ve asked. What is your name?’

‘Ten dollars.’

‘Your name.’

‘I’ll never tell you.’

‘It’s not Jed, is it?’

‘You don’t deserve to know.’

‘Okay, fine.’

Noble ignited her rocket boots again and was about to take off when the woman from the Arts Centre, Ruth, walked by with a bagel and said, ‘hey, you’re up early, betraying West Hollywood again?’

‘I needed to go somewhere safe, so I reflexively came here.’

‘You think this is safe?’

‘That’s what you said. Yesterday. Remember?’

‘I said it wasn’t Helmand Province. Not exactly a synonym for safe.’

‘Well, it’s safer than West Hollywood.’

Ruth laughed, a puzzled look on her face, then asked the homeless guy if he was one of the artists Noble was promoting.

‘Nope.’

‘Not an artist?’

‘Waiting for him to take me back.’

‘Back where?’

‘K-town.’

‘You live there…- sorry, I forgot to ask your name?’

‘Mick Mick.’ The homeless guy glared at Noble. ‘He said he’d take me back.’

‘She,’ replied Noble in auto-response mode.

‘Said he would, but hasn’t yet.’

Ruth nodded and said the subway station was a twenty minute walk, twenty-five if injured.

‘I said I’d fly him back,’ said Noble, prodding her face up at the cloudless sky.

‘Fly him?’

‘I have rocket boots.’

‘Rocket what?’

‘Never mind.’

‘Nah, don’t never mind, I know the words, I’ve just never seen it before, anyone with jet engines in their feet.’

Noble thought of lying then remembered the street shootout she’d taken part in earlier. Word was probably out already and if it wasn’t the vagrant was unpredictable and would let it out soon enough. ‘I’m a robot.’

‘Huh?’

‘A robot. Made of metal. Like the bad guys from Chopping Mall. That’s me.’

‘A half Cuban, half Finnish robot?’

‘Cuban only.’

‘Uh-huh. A Cuban only robot. Okay.’ She nodded, looking at Mick Mick. ‘Him too?’

‘No.’

‘I’m human shape,’ said Mick Mick, spitting out some hotdog bits.

‘Okay.’

‘You look confused.’ Noble looked around for a bench. ‘Do you need to sit down?’

‘I’m forty-five, not eighty. Still got legs.’ She patted her thighs. ‘You know, I think I read about you guys. Right-wing, left-wing, both sides, right?’

‘I was left wing, then right wing, and now I’m left again. At least I think I am. To be honest, I’m not sure anymore.’

‘Sorry, you’re gonna have to stretch that out a bit. Which side are you on?’

Noble looked at Ruth and ran through the pros and cons: pro no.1: she doesn’t know a thing. Con no.1: she doesn’t know a thing. There were no others.

‘Okay, but let me take this guy back first.’

‘I’m staying, Jed…’

‘But you said-…’

‘…hear about this robot shit.’

Noble shrugged and asked Ruth if she wanted to keep talking out on the street or go back to her centre.

‘Centre’s better. Got coffee.’

‘So does this hotdog stand.’

‘Not as good as ours.’

‘Okay.’

Noble asked her to lead the way cos she’d completely forgotten, but Ruth said she was too tired to walk there and her car was already at the centre so…

‘You want me to fly you there?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You’re not the first person to pretend to be tired.’

‘I’m not pretending, it’s true, my feet are killing me.’

Mick Mick looked at her feet and spat on the ground. ‘Forget her, Jed. Do me. I wanna fly.’

‘Back to Koreatown?’

‘Wherever.’

‘I’m confused. You said you wanted to go back to-…’

‘Fuck K-town, there’s no soup there, Jed. I wanna fly. Fly me, Robocop.’

Noble looked back at Ruth.

‘If Mick Mick thinks it’s a good idea then…’

‘As you wish.’