Page 23 of Great Service from Top to Bottom

“What do you mean, hacked?” I asked.

“The AIs. They were all messed with, bro. Why’d you think I sold it so cheap?”

Zee glared pointedly at me, and rolled his eyes at my lack of business smarts. He tutted. “Who messed with them, bro?” Zee asked, getting all leery and in the fae’s face. I sometimes forgot Zee could be intimidating, but his size alone made him formidable. And he didn’t even have his wings out yet.

“The syndicate.” Jim winced as he said it.

I had no idea what the syndicate was, but Zee straightened and breathed in. “You with them?”

“I mean, not really. But I like all my body parts, you know? I just sell stuff. Sometimes I sell their stuff. Sometimes I sell stuff to people they want me to sell it to.”

“Wait.” I frowned. “You were told to sell me that Tom Collins? That’s not possible. I found you that day.”

“They wanted me to sell one to you specifically. The blond, boring human. That’s you.”

“You are blond and boring,” Zee agreed.

“I’m not the only blond, boring human in this city.”

“No, but you’re the only one walking around Lost Ones streets like a suicidal tourist.”

Okay, I might have done that.

“I’d have given it away, but you paid, so win-win,” Jim said. “No idea why they wanted you to have it. Those bots just fix drinks. They were factory rejects anyway. Did it work?”

“Hey, Tom Collins is the best bartender,” Zee said. “How do we get our AI back?”

“I don’t know, bro. I just sold them. I don’t know anything about AI. You’d need to speak to the syndicate, I guess. Find out where they came from, and why they wanted that one sold to you.” Junk Jim swallowed. “Don’t tell them you got this info from me. They’ll cut me up, bro.”

I felt sorry for the guy. He’d just done his job, and it sounded as though the syndicate weren’t the type of people to take no for an answer. “Oh, hey, I sold some of your items while you were gone.” His eyes grew as I handed over the wad of cash.

“Why are you giving him money now?” Zee queried. “Kitten, this is not how interrogations work.”

Jim looked up. “Wow, that’s nice. Thank you.”

I had some more in my back pockets too, and handed that over. “I sold a table lamp, the tricycle, a bar of soap to a troll who must have been really hungry, because he ate it right in front of me—and a lemon.”

Jim frowned. “I don’t sell lemons.”

I shrugged.

“Is that like . . . fifty bucks?” Zee asked, frowning.

Jim seemed impressed too. “Wow, thanks bro.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all your stuff, so . . .”

“Oh, and hey, look, be careful, alright? You seem nice. Both of you⁠—”

Zee recoiled, offended. “This is an interrogation. We are interrogating you. Don’t let my flower-print shirt fool you. We’re not nice, bro—actually, Adam is super nice. But I’m not. If I find out you’ve lied to us, I’ll come back here and . . .” He waved a finger. “Do bad shit. Whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just . . . be careful?” Jim suggested. “The syndicate don’t mess around. They have a thousand ways to kill you, bro, and make it look like an accident.”

I nodded. “Thanks. And erm, I like your stall. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

I nodded at Zee and we left Jim to get on with his day, selling human trash to Lost Ones.