Orin inclined his head to indicate Ari. “You ever seen him before? Ever heard a song about him?”
Hinge considered Ari carefully, suppressing his leer after a sharp movement from Orin’s boot against the table.
“’Fraid not. I’d remember hearing such a pretty song.”
Orin nodded, and Ari tightened his fingers on the chair. “My partner and I are listening for a couple songs in particular. Anything on the wind about the Restricted Sector?”
Hinge flinched, cautious squint shooting to the door and back to Orin’s face.
“That’s the kinda singing gets your throat slit. Not sure you can afford that kinda song, Stone.”
“Let’s say I can,” Orin said quietly.
Hinge licked his lips.
“One hundred credits.”
Orin’s laugh shook the table.
“Bullshit. Forty.”
“Eighty, and that’s better than you deserve.”
Orin leaned forward, pushing the table into the soft flesh of Hinge’s belly.
“Sixty, or we walk. There’s a dozen better singers down the street, and you know it.”
Hinge gave an ugly leer, casting over Ari up and down. “Hope he’s worth it, Stone. I don’t much appreciate your boot on my neck.” He checked around the empty room before leaning over the table.
“Songs I been hearing lately all got the same tune—all about how the Restricted Sector been opening up. Outlier trash been pouring in like they think they can blend in with us Verge rats. Like we can’t see them for the freaks they are, marked up like that.”
Ari fumbled for his notes, opening his pad and pulling up Theo’s drawings. “Markings like these?”
Hinge nodded, lip lifted with disgust. “Yeah, some are like that; look like they been scribbled on with ink, ’cept it’s seeped in. Part of their skin like their disgusting tech.”
Ari zoomed in on the images. “Can you tell us anything about these specific markings?”
Hinge leaned closer, rubbing his chin. He pointed at the design of wandering parallel lines and small circles. “Lots of ’em got that shit, some kinda circuitry under their skin. Half machine, is what they are, barely human.”
Ari frantically added to his notes as Orin tapped on the table.
“Any songs telling why they’re coming? Didn’t used to see Outliers much at all outside the deep dark.”
Hinge scratched at a dotted rash on his neck irritably. “Ain’t heard nothing specific, but I can tell you this. The bastards are real scared, all of em. Running from something bad enough that crossing the Verge seems like a better option. You oughta know more than most, Stone, just how bad that’s gotta be.”
Orin stiffened in his chair before reaching back for Ari’s pad and then holding it out to Hinge in a firm grasp.
“Ident. You’ll receive seventy credits. Thanks for the song.”
Hinge pressed his fingers to the pad, waiting impatiently for the beep before tearing away and scuttling out of the room like something was nipping at his heels.
Ari took his pad back with shaking hands and checked that he had added everything to his notes before closing it and tucking it away.
Orin watched him quietly for a few moments, then brought his arm up around Ari’s hips to pull him into his lap. Ari melted into the embrace, winding his fingers in the opening of Orin’s shirt as he pressed his face to his neck.
Orin bundled him close to his chest. “I know you were hoping to hear the perfect song on our first try, but that just ain’t how it works. We gotta go listen some more before it’ll all come together.”
Ari nodded, mumbling against Orin’s throat. “Yes, of course. Of course, you’re right. I appreciate the way you took the lead in dealing with that weasel.”
Orin’s hand ghosted over the nape of Ari’s neck. “Anything for you, Red.”
Both of their heads snapped to the door at the sudden flurry of rapid knocking, Orin’s hand dropping from Ari’s neck to the pistol at his hip.
Ari stood to approach the door but was startled by Orin’s hand firm around his wrist. He guided him to stand against the wall beside the door. Orin’s pistol made a low buzzing hum as he clicked the charge with his thumb.
Orin held the barrel against his hip, pointed straight ahead as he palmed the door open. The buzzing hum switched off with a click when Gladys bustled inside, deliberately sliding her scandalously exposed bosom across Orin’s front as she entered.
Orin tucked his pistol back in his belt holster and leaned against the wall cheerfully. “Kicking us out, Glad?”
Gladys twirled a curl around her finger as she took the scenic route up from Orin’s boots. “Got a client in a few minutes. No time for freebies today, Stone. Much as I’d like to say otherwise.” Her shining brown eyes were rimmed with black, painted lips curled sweetly.
Orin’s gaze darted to Ari, shifting awkwardly in his place beside the door. “That’s fine. I’m not exactly in the market right now. On a job, and all.”
Now, those carefully lined eyes fixed on Ari, disarming buck teeth showing as her grin spread as wide as it could go.
“We all seen your new job, honey. Hope this one lasts a while. ’Bout time you got a nice payout, if you ask me.”
Orin laughed off the comment as he guided Ari out of the house with one broad hand open across his back. He dropped his hand as soon as they hit the street, leaving a cold spot that only seemed colder for the memory of the heat of his hand.
Ari refused to dwell on how much he missed it already.
The next “rathole” on the list didn’t even require them to move their ship from the dock. Orin led them down the street to a single-story building dug in between two taller businesses. One of the corrugated metal shutters, which hung over the two small windows, fell off with a bang as the door shut behind them.
“Stay here. Try to be casual,” Orin said, leaving Ari to stand by the door as he sauntered over to the bar.
Ari had thought Orin’s distinctive walk, led entirely by the hips, was indicative of his Verge upbringing, but he was coming to understand it was simply a characteristic of Orin himself. Ari found it distracting at the most inopportune times, struggling to peel himself away to survey the dark tavern.
He broke a sweat trying different poses in the pursuit of being casual while Orin appeared to get into an argument with the barkeep. Ari jumped, prompting a loud guffaw from a man seated nearby, when Orin’s fist landed on top of the wooden bar so forcefully Ari expected to see it crack in two.
He backed up a step involuntarily as Orin stormed in his direction, head down like a bull. He hooked Ari’s arm in a surprisingly gentle grip, pulling him alongside as he slammed out of the door. The fallen shutter clattered against the ground behind them.
Ari tried to read his expression, but Orin faced determinedly ahead, propelling them swiftly toward the docks. “Am I to assume that the service of a singer was unavailable in that establishment?”
Orin’s mouth tightened at the corners as he adjusted his grip on Ari’s arm. “Got some unfinished business I was hoping to leave behind, but it followed me here like a bad odor. Sorry I didn’t get your song, sugar. We’ll find another one after we hightail it out of here.”