"Maybe, you can come when you're free, Seven," I uttered, almost inaudibly. I didn't even realize I'd said it until it had already left my mouth.
"Did you just ask me to go with you to karaoke?"
"Why not?"
"You also called me Seven."
"That's the name we agreed on for you."
"I didn't agree."
I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "Well, I like Seven. It suits you."
"Why?"
"It's a prime number," I said, knowing it was a dumb answer. "No divisors. Stubborn. Hard to catch."
"Did you just come up with this nonsense?"
"Maybe."
"Congratulations. Your chatbot was hallucinating. Didn't anyone teach you not to take any AI output at face value?" He rattled all this off with an unmoving voice like he wasn't interested in his own words.
"No algorithms were involved in my attempt to give you a name."
He made a sound, low and almost hidden. A huff of air, the tiniest breach in his professional armor.
"So you do know how to laugh?" I said, incredulous.
"I don't laugh," he protested and his voice pitched just a bit.
"You just did."
"Must have been a malfunction."
We sat with that for a second.
I wondered what he looked like right now—if his face had changed, if he was frowning or smiling or just as expressionless as ever. I imagined his mouth under that bandana. The only time I saw him and not very well was at the venue where Ronan Wick was arrested and even then I was too scared and confused to really pay attention to his face. I was also certain what I did manage to catch wasn't his real face.
Seven broke the silence first. "I have to go."
He hung up before I could say a word.
28 seven
I crouched behind a dumpster, knees wedged to my chest and my jacket zipped tight, while the black-glass service entrance of Club Dionisius across the way bled intermittent rectangles of light into the alley.
Tonight's job was simple—verify that the intel I'd received from Viper about the third target's extracurricular activities was solid. This suited me better than tailing the asshole all over the city to his business meetings and social functions.
According to Viper's sources, Club Dionisius was Valmont's favorite haunt. It was Thursday evening, which meant the place would churn with trust fund nobodies and those too desperate to earn some easy money.
My bandana covered the bottom half of my face, and my helmet rested on the curb beside me, visor reflecting the puddle slick.
I checked my watch, then my phone, then the exit. Again.
My mind drifted back to the phone conversation I had with Kimmy the other day. Her silly questions had been playing inside my head on a loop.
Do you have a name?
