Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 25
“Every minute you argue, somebody stays sick,” he says, voice steady.
A Watchdog named Kilo rolls his shoulder, fingers twitching by a homemade stun baton. “Was flying our tags. Our airspace.”
Arbiter Reina counters without blinking. “We have the patient waiting. Kid’s sugar levels are crashing. That drone was re-routed to us.”
Lenny looks between them and then at the drone wreckage. From the crumpled casing he extracts the payload; vials, still intact. She holds one up like a torch.
“I’m not handing this to either of you. I’m delivering it myself.”
Kilo steps forward, slow. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Reina interrupts: “Yes. He does.”
It’s a rare concession, the kind that echoes. By morning, the Square will be quiet again, and Lenny’s cruiser will be seen parked outside a boy’s apartment, watching cartoons through cracked blinds.
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