"Right."

He felt mad. There was no point in stopping after McDonald's; the point of the whole exercise was Nike. "Gee, I'm sorry. I thought we were doing this because it was right. right. I thought we were standing up to corporations like McDonald's because someone has to. I didn't know we were doing it out of self-interest." I thought we were standing up to corporations like McDonald's because someone has to. I didn't know we were doing it out of self-interest."

"Uh," Thomas said. "It's just that"

"Hey, I've got an idea! Why don't we put advertising on our uniforms? We could get sponsors, and funding"

"That's not what I'm"

"and we'd only attack our sponsors' compet.i.tors, and we could charge a lot of money and design a logo and advertise and we'd be just like them be just like them!"

There was a long pause. Then Thomas said, "I'm sorry, Hack."

"Then get lost, you corporate sympathizer." He hung up.

First Leisl, now Thomas. Hack was losing footsoldiers. It was amazing, he thought, how everyone b.i.t.c.hed about corporations but no one was willing to risk p.i.s.sing them off. Hack was disappointed at the level of motivation among this society's counterculture.

He picked a note off the table. It was the message that man had left, Buy Mitsui. Hack hadn't been going to return his call, but with Thomas pulling out...he could do with the extra help. This was Nike, after all. Hack didn't want to make anymore big mistakes.

He met Claire downtown for lunch, and they sat on the same side of a booth in a Johnny Rockets. Sears only gave Claire twenty minutes for lunch, so these meetings were always a bit rushed. Given Hack's financial situation since losing his job, they were an extravagance. But it was worth it to see Claire. Apart from sticking it to Nike, seeing Claire was the only thing Hack wanted to do.

"Thomas pulled out. Can you believe that?"

Claire didn't say anything.

"What?"

"Don't get upset..."

"About what?"

"Maybe we shouldn't do the Nike Town."

He felt stunned. Claire, too? "No. Claire, no, we're doing it. It's important to me."

She was quiet. Hack sucked at his milkshake. "Hack, I don't think this is making you a good person."

He was bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"You used to be...nicer. More generous."

"When I was nicer, everyone screwed screwed me," he said, and even he recognized the echo of Violet in his words. He reached for Claire's hands. "Look, the Nike Town is the end of it. But I have to do Nike." me," he said, and even he recognized the echo of Violet in his words. He reached for Claire's hands. "Look, the Nike Town is the end of it. But I have to do Nike."

She nodded.

"I promise," Hack said. "Claire, I promise."

She smiled a little, and he felt better. "I have to go."

"Okay." He stood to let her exit. "It was nice to see you."

Claire left. Hack sat back in the booth and picked at his food. What did she mean, he wasn't a good person? Hack was taking charge of his life. He was dynamic and effective. Hack was a great great person. person.

He walked to the bus stop. The bench was plastered with an advertis.e.m.e.nt for Nike Plutoniums: they were the latest product line, due out in three years' time. Hack snorted. The day before, he had seen Nike Mercurys selling for $99.95 in a bargain bin.

The bus arrived and he climbed onboard. "Eighty-five cents, buddy," the driver said.

Hack dug in his pockets. The result was not promising. He shouldn't have had that sundae, he realized. "I've only got fifty cents."

"We take cards."

"They charge me transaction fees," Hack said. "Come on, it's only thirty-five cents' difference."

"You pay the fare or you catch a different bus," the driver said. "What's the matter, don't you have a job?"

"Fine." Hack handed over his card. He sat at the back of the bus and stewed. Transportation was a basic necessity: it should be free.

Maybe at the Nike Town, Hack could swipe some shoes. That wouldn't be stealing, because Nike had underpaid him for years. They owed him a lot more than a few pairs of sneakers. Yes, he thought. He would do that.

The phone was ringing as he opened the door. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Don't hang up."

"Violet?"

"I have a question. I need to know where the Government took you when they arrested you."

"Why do you want to know that?"

"It's very important, Hack. Where does Jennifer Government work?"

"It was downtown. On Spring Street. How come?"

"Thanks," Violet said, and something in her voice scared Hack a little. "I won't keep you from Claire. Goodbye."

"Wait," he said. "How do you know Jennifer Government?" But the line was dead. She was already gone.

68 Violet

Violet's nose was running and she didn't have a tissue. She wiped it on her sleeve, but it kept dripping. The Government receptionist looked up, and Violet tried to smile at him. It came out feeling too manic, too desperate. She had to stay cool.

"Jennifer Government isn't available," the receptionist said. He was wearing a yellow tie. A security guard was sitting beside him. Violet could see his holster. "But you can leave the package here. I'll see she gets it."

"No can do," she said. "Only Jennifer can sign for it."

"She's out of the country."

"Oh," Violet said, and wiped her nose. She was wearing a thick, furry jacket with a SPEEDY COURIERS patch, and it was inflaming her allergies. "Then I should deliver this to her home. What's the address?"

"I can't give you a home address."

"But..." She wiped her nose. "Is there someone in Human Resources I can talk to about it?"

"I can get someone for you. But they won't give you a home address."

Violet felt her right hand start to shake. She shoved it into her pocket. "I really have to deliver this package."

"O-kay," the receptionist said. He called someone, and after a few minutes a woman in a blue cardigan entered. "Courier?"

"Here," Violet said. "I have to talk to you. In private."

"Ah, all right. Follow me." She led Violet down a long, dilapidated corridor and into an office. Violet couldn't believe this place; it looked like the set for an old TV cop show. "Have a seat."

"Thanks. I have a package to deliver to Jennifer Government and I need her home address."

"I'm sorry, I can't give out that information."

"Are you sure?" Violet said. The woman's computer was right there; it was very frustrating. "It's a really important package."

"I'm sure."

Violet glanced at the woman's nameplate. It said: Wendy, Human Resources. Wendy, Human Resources. "Well, okay. Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?" "Well, okay. Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?"

"Sure. Last door on your right before reception."

She found it and pushed open the bathroom door. Inside, she removed her jacket, turned it inside out, and put it back on. Then she went back out and knocked on a random office door.

"Come in."

She entered. A man with bushy eyebrows was sitting behind a crowded desk. His office had a poster of a rainforest on the wall and no window. "Hi, I'm with I.T. I'm here about your computer."

"The e-mail problem?"

"Nyes."

"At last. I've been complaining for weeks."

"Sorry, we've been really backed up." He stood and Violet took his seat. She felt her nerves calm in front of the screen, its radiation like a warm bath. It took her five seconds to determine that this man wasn't in Human Resources, and another ten to find Wendy's computer on the network. She pulled a disk out of her pocket and pushed it into the drive slot.

"What's that?"

"New drivers," Violet said. It was a six hundred thousand word dictionary, and it cracked Wendy's pa.s.sword (humanitarian) (humanitarian) in about two seconds. She pulled up the HR database and typed in: JENNIFER. in about two seconds. She pulled up the HR database and typed in: JENNIFER.

"That's not even my e-mail. The problem is when I"

"Hmm," she said, standing. "I'm going to need to reload the operating system. I'll be back with a CD."

"You didn't even look at my e-mail. You didn't see the problem!"

"I'll be two minutes," Violet said, and left. She walked back to reception, forcing herself to keep looking straight ahead. She had one hand on the door when the receptionist said: "Hey."

She stopped.

"Why is your jacket inside out?"

"It was itching me," Violet said. She pushed her way outside. Jennifer's address was burned into her brain.

Back at the apartment, she dumped the jacket and went into the kitchen. Her laptop was already set up on the bench. Now for the easy part. If Jennifer Government was overseas, her daughter might not be staying at home. But she'd be at school, and Violet could find out where. Some people took care to not let their personal details leak onto the net, but not Government people: they didn't believe in privacy. She sniffed for JENNIFER + GOVERNMENT + KATE + NORTH MELBOURNE + SCHOOL and got eight hundred hits.

Almost all were schools: cla.s.s projects, promotional sites, cla.s.s lists. She cut the list to two based on geography, then clicked on the first. It was t.i.tled, "Mattel Primary School (North Melbourne, Australian Territories): Cla.s.s 3A," and offered a group photograph, cla.s.s plans and achievements for the year, plus links to each kid's individual page. Violet didn't understand why schools still did this. It was like an invitation to pedophiles.

She scanned the list. There was a Kate Mattel (StarbucksGeneral Motors) and a Kate Mattel (Government). Violet clicked.

Kate had done a lot of work. There was a long story, a couple of scanned drawings, and a little animation of a running dog. Violet was impressed. At the bottom, Kate had written: "I am Kate Mattel and I live in North Melbourne with my mom, Jennifer. She is a Government agent. I don't have any brothers or sisters. When I grow up I want to be a vet."

Violet wrote down the school's address and shut down her notebook. She checked her watch. It might not be too late to get to Mattel Primary School before they finished for the day. She bit her fingernails, thinking.

She took her fingers out of her mouth and looked at them. The nails were broken and ragged. There was blood and torn skin under them. She leaned over and spat, but the taste wouldn't get out of her mouth. She didn't know why that courier girl had put up such a fight. Violet had only wanted her stupid jacket. People always had to make things difficult for Violet. They always had to screw her over.

She spat again and again. When she was done there was a sticky, red pool on the kitchen floor. Violet stared at it. Now she would have to clean that up.

69 Buy

Hack called Buy a few minutes before three. Hack was surprisingly trusting: Buy didn't have to use any of the cover stories he'd invented. "Just turn up at the Chadstone Nike Town this Friday at six," Hack said. "You can help me with the cans."