To Snatch a Thief - By Hazel Cotton Page 0,2

Jobs are hard enough to find as it is and it’ll get worse as the northerners come in. But if I’m caught again I’m looking at a long stretch, and not in a place like this.’ She paused because he was eyeing her warily. ‘But you’re right. We don’t belong on their side of the line.’ For a second she felt a stab of regret. ‘Can a leopard change its spots?’ she wondered.

‘Huh?’

‘Nothing, just babbling.’

‘Leopards? Aren’t they extinct or something?’

She sighed, then smiled. ‘Yeah, a long time ago.’

‘Did Hunter say why he picked you?’

‘Kinda. Actually I think he just scrolled down the iRoll and picked a number at random.’

According to her micro-chip, she was Skye Forrester, chip number XRT double four three triple nine oh five two; female; birthed 2071. Description: Skin fair; hair chestnut brown; green eyes; five foot six inches; fifty five kilos. Recently it had been updated to say she was currently serving four months in CFCRAC for petty larceny - a fancy way of saying she was snatched picking some posh guy’s pocket.

‘What about you?’

Never serious for long, King licked a finger and smoothed it over his raised eyebrow. ‘I figured it was my superior gaming skills, my sparkling wit, and my ability to fart the national anthem.’

‘That’s just disgusting.’

‘Yeah, fun though. I could go a pizza.’

They started walking. ‘What sort of pizza?’

‘Some huge, greasy, double crust pizza, with soy pepperoni and dripping in fake cheese, and a big portion of deep fried mealies on the side.’

‘Swap the mealies for bugs; you get the assortment. The moment you pick it, you’ll be jumpin’ like a cricket.’ She sang the irritating jingle and made him laugh.

‘Yeah, solar.’ King draped an arm round Skye’s shoulders in a companionable way as they left the gym and started up the long corridor outside, their shoes squeaking on the polished floor. The building had once been a hotel, but had been re-vamped in the last decade or so as a re-adjustment facility for under-age offenders. Three storeys of lime green walls and high end security. Its homely decor and single occupancy bedrooms were supposed to make them feel all warm and fuzzy and turn from their lives of crime. Yeah, Skye thought, like that was going to happen. With little or no chance of getting a job outside, most of the kids there re-offended just to get back in.

They took the lift to the third level, set aside for recreation: already most of the gaming booths were occupied, screeching with the sounds of beeps and buzzes and electronic explosions as kids played out their fantasies.

‘Hey, King,’ a skinny lad in baggy khakis and bright orange kickers intercepted them as they wound through the war-zones to the simulator room. ‘Guess what? I just beat your best Hotshot score, level five.’ He stuck a cone of lime fizz in his mouth and sucked.

King slid his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels. Skye watched his eyes take on a competitive gleam. ‘No kidding. That’s solar, Davey. Really V.’ Casually, he smiled.

‘Hang around, I might have a game myself later.’ He continued walking and Skye feared Davey’s triumph was going to be short-lived. What was it with males and their egos?

Hunter was waiting at the sim console, one arm draped over the back of his chair, the other resting palm down on the controls. His head was down, his eyes lowered, studying his fingers which were tapping a rhythm over the display glass.

‘Skye, you first,’ he said, without looking up.

King rolled his eyes at her and sauntered to the observation area.

She stood where she was for a moment, one hand still holding the lift door ajar, afraid to have her escape route close behind her, and eyed the receptionist in the foyer.

Hunter’s disembodied voice came out of nowhere, like God. ‘Observe your surroundings. What do you see?’

‘Um, old bird in a retro twin set, motherly sort, non-threatening.’

The woman smiled a toothy welcome as she noticed Skye hovering, and pointed to a set of plush chairs. ‘Please take a seat.’ Her voice held a faint accent Skye couldn’t place.

‘Don’t take anything for granted,’ God advised, so she disengaged the safety clip on her weapon harness as she advanced. Her heart rate was up. If she fired now, she knew the tremor in her hand could be the difference between life and death – her own. She drew two steadying breaths, focussed. Behind her the lift doors closed then opened with a whoosh of