Vessel

by Matthew Bryant

  “C’mon man. I sent a text earlier letting you know I was dropping by.”

  “Yeah,” he shoots back indignantly. “You said you had some stuff to drop off.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Kimmie mouthing the question, “Stuff?”

  “And I do. Milton, this is Kimmie. Kimmie, this is Milton. Now we’re all introduced, can we come in?”

  “Yes, of course. Please.” He steps out of the way and offers an awkwardly polite smile to Kimmie before glowering at me.

  “Thanks, Milton,” I say, giving him a good-hearted pat on the shoulder as I walk past. “Say, you got a bag or anything I can use?”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me grab one.” He turns to find Kimmie standing in the middle of his living room, eyes scouring the epic mess of bachelor life. “I uhh… think I have some in the kitchen.” He walks into the small tiled area and opens the pantry door, a welcome contrast of organized cans and instant meals compared to the rest of the room. He retrieves a stash of plastic grocery bags and pulls one out, unfolding it and holding it up for display. “Will this do?”

  “That’s perfect.” I take it from him and begin unloading my pockets of pill bottles, filling the bag instantly.

  “Holy crap. How did you even fit all of that in there?”

  “Used to sneak a lot of snacks into the cinema as a kid.”

  “Oh.” He says thoughtfully. “Smart.” His eyes go suspicious. “Wait. What do you need all of those for?”

  My eyes dart from him to Kimmie, still standing and staring vaguely at a couch covered in dirty laundry. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just say I don’t like working for free.”

  His eyes follow mine. If he even heard my answer, he doesn’t let on, rushing into the living room and sweeping the piles of clothes onto the floor to join mostly empty boxes of take-out. “I’m so sorry about the mess, Miss Kimmie. Heath didn’t mention he was bringing company. Please make yourself at home.”

  “I think I’m good, thanks,” she responds flatly, then offers a sweet smile at his embarrassment. “And you can just call me Kimmie.”

  “You look really familiar. Are you a model or something?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” her smile widens. “I’ve done a lot of porn.”

  Milton’s face goes even paler. “Oh.” He begins to stammer with further embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ve ever…”

  “It’s okay,” she laughs. “If nobody ever watched, I wouldn’t have had work.”

  “Nice to see you kids getting along,” I interject. “Milton, you mind if I step in the other room to make a call?”

  “Yes. Kind of.”

  Not the response I was expecting. “Fine, can I use your bathroom?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine I suppose. It’s the door on the left.”

  Suppressing the eye roll, I head into the small, dimly lit room with the solo bachelor towel dangling wrinkled from the rack and a sink with only the bare essentials lined up. I inspect the toilet before shutting the door, dropping my pants, and dialing my handler.

  “Good afternoon, Heath. Are you checking in?”

  “Sure am. Got any news for me?”

  “We were able to extract details on the next job with the suspect we picked up earlier. The organization is putting together a team to stop the heist. Unfortunately we were unable to get the intel we need on the mastermind behind the break-ins, but we have a method in place for putting an end to the business.”

  “Awesome. Just let me know when and where you need me.”

  “Your skills are not needed in this endeavor.”

  “Wait. This is my gig. How are you going to cut me out?” I should probably be relieved that I don’t have to go risking my life for no tangible reward, but being left out feels offensive. “Who could possibly do this job better than me?”

  “No offense, Mr. Fallows, but this work is very delicate and best left to professionals. Your previous work with us has been sloppy at best with much of the success attributed to sheer luck.” Those are Cellar’s words. Apparently she’d been prepped for this. “Your services are no longer required on this matter. For the time being we ask that you stay out of trouble until you are called on for your next assignment. Which means you should keep your time at rehabilitation clinics to a minimum.”

  Her knowledge of my daily whereabouts doesn’t have the same effect it initially did, but still irritates me. “Just visiting an old friend.” Finished with my personal business, I don’t bother covering the phone’s receiver as I flush. “So we’re done here?”

  “Were you just…? We’re done.”

  I click the red button to end the call, refrain from slamming the phone into the wall, take a few short breaths and dial Rex.

  “Thank you for calling the Rosy Coaster. How may I assist you today?”

  “Good afternoon Ms. Littleford. This is Heath. I’m calling to inform you that I’ve recovered the package.”

  “Hello, Heath. I am pleased to know that my initial thoughts about giving you this assignment were incorrect.” I’m glad that she catches on quick, but that felt like an unnecessary burn. Why does everybody assume I’m incompetent? “Where is the package now?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  “Good. Keep it on ice for a few days. When can I expect you back at work?”

  “Tomorrow. Looks like everything’s all wrapped up nice and neat here, just got a few errands to run and we’ll be golden.”

  “Excellent. We’ll discuss the matter further then.” The phone goes dead immediately after.

  “Goodbye,” I say to nobody in particular, pulling up my pants and pocketing the phone before stepping back out into the living area of Milton’s apartment. Kimmie has finally resolved herself to sitting on the couch and is tapping away on a datapad while Milton scrambles around the room, tidying up. “Looks great in here. Was I really gone that long?”

  “Not really,” replies Kimmie without bothering to look up. “Did you talk to Rex?”

  “Yeah. She wants you to stay here and lay low for a few days.” That gets her attention. Both of theirs actually as Milton freezes in his tracks, arms full of soiled dishes. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  Milton shakes his head slowly, but Kimmie protests, “Can’t I just go home? Or call up mom and have her put me up for a few days?”

  “Not a chance. I don’t know what all the details with these whackos are, but I’d be surprised if they didn’t come looking for their escaped project, and you just mentioned the first two places they would look.”

  She looks around the apartment again and frowns, then hits me with some soft baby blues, “What about your place?”

  “That’d be their third hit. They’ve got surveillance of me from the breakout and they already know who I am. Remember? I was on the list too.” She frowns. “Besides, I already got a couch-crasher.”

  “What about clothes? Personal items? All of my stuff is at my apartment. Can I at least go shopping?”

  “Best if you stay off the grid for the time being.” Her expression darkens. “If I get a spare minute, I’ll swing by your place and grab as much of your shit as I can carry, alright?”

  She jumps right back to the datapad. “Give me your number, I’ll text you a list.” I make no motion of hiding my disparagement. She doesn’t notice. “Just a few days, right?”

  “That’s all I know for now.” I turn to Milton, “You cool with this?”

  He looks up from his pile of dishes like the last kid picked in kickball, “I suppose. It’s not like we have much of a choice, right?”

  “Doesn’t seem that way right now,” I mutter. Of course there probably are choices, but I’m not dealing with that crap right now. If I can successfully dump my problem onto Milton and they think it’s somebody else’s order, no harm no foul.

  “I’m sorry about all of this, Milton.” Kimmie pipes up, her tone so sympathetic that it takes both of us by surprise. “None of this has anything to do with you. I don’t wan
t to be a burden at all.”

  “Oh no! You’re not a burden! Not at all. It will be fun.” She gives him a queer look that sends him stammering once more. “I mean, I’ve never had a roommate so I don’t know what all… you know… but it’ll be nice to have some company and we can hang out.” She holds him in her gaze like a snake hypnotizing its prey. “Or I can be invisible and stay completely out of your way. You know. Whatever. I’m pretty laid back.”

  Her mouth widens into a good-natured smile. “Sure Milton. It will be fun.”

  He lets out a long breath, relaxing a bit, then drops a dish, then another as he bends over to retrieve the first.

  “Well I’ll leave you kids to it. Mathan and I have some business to get started. Milton, keep me posted on the forms. I’ll let you know when we get back from the field trip.” I meet Kimmie’s snake-stare. “And yes, I’ll grab your crap from your apartment too.” She beams victoriously.

  “And while you’re at it, could you stop by the store and get me some prenatal vitamins too?”

  Milton pauses. “What kind of vitamins?”

  “Prenatal vitamins. I’m pregnant.”

  The dishes drop. I make my escape.

  Twenty-Seven

  Rolling up to Doc’s place always fills me with a certain sense of nostalgic relief. I haven’t seen my own mother in damn near a decade, but I can imagine it’s the same kind of feeling people get when they go back to visit with their folks. Something about the air of familiarity and stability is refreshing, even if it’s all just an illusion and only for a little bit. Ever since the Doc pulled my dying ass off the street and gave me something to live for, he’s been like a father figure for me. That and my endless stream of disappointing lifestyle choices makes me kind of like his son, right?

  I pull up the hatch and Mathan follows me down the rickety ladder into absolute darkness. I wait until we’re at the bottom to light the small tunnel with my phone, finding the door shut tight with a new intercom system installed.

  “Guess they beefed up security a bit,” I mutter for Mathan’s benefit, but really just my own manner of dealing with change. Pressing the little button, I lean close to the speaker before speaking. “Hey there, do you guys validate parking?”

  Static crackles before a familiar woman’s voice comes through, “I think you’re looking for the hotel down the street.”

  “Nah, we just came from there. Just a bunch of crusty old cocksuckers and free shampoo in the bathrooms. Open up, Myrna. They got me up on that VIP list.”

  There’s a sharp screech of metal as unloved bolts slide back into their metal casing and the door slowly squeaks open. Myrna stands poised with both barrels of business pointed straight at my mid-section. Even in an unflattering lab coat, she’s a vision of vicious loveliness. “Sorry to disappoint Heath, but you only ever seem to make it on the shit list.”

  “My name might’ve made it to a few bathroom stalls, but that’s all I’m admitting to.” I open my arms wide, only partially to show I’m not holding any weapons. “Now put that thing down and show your boy some love.”

  “Who’s this?” she asks, readjusting her aim to the kid behind me. He raises his arm dutifully, and her eyes go straight to his alternative appendage.

  “That’s Mathan. He’s under my care for the time being.”

  “Then I don’t need this,” she says, finally putting the shotgun down and wrapping her arms tightly around me. Her mouth whispers softly in my ear, “Poor kid is already as good as dead.”

  “Harsh,” I say, giving her a firm squeeze before closing the door behind us and replacing the bolts. “Mathan, this is Myrna. She’s family.”

  “How did you get stuck with this loser,” she asks him sweetly, her entire demeanor shifted from when we first entered. He only shrugs.

  “Mathan doesn’t speak. He’s been placed in my charge by the Techies while I try to work some business out with them and a few other parties. Is the Doc in?”

  “Wrist deep in work, as per usual. Go on back and say hello. Mathan, you stay here.” Wasting no time, he wanders to one of the seats and plops himself down, raising his headphones back up and selecting a track from the playlist in his arm. Within seconds his eyes go distant and shoulders slump, seeming a fair bit more at ease with his surroundings. Myrna keeps a close eye on him while I head back to the operating room.

  The smell is revolting, nearly causing me to gag. There’s no masking it today, it’s just raw meat. Raw human meat with a hint of decay. As warned, Doctor Simon Andrews is hunched over a cadaver that looks like it was run over by a giant tiller. The tray beside him has several organs. Off to the side I can see the refridgerated room has a healthy pile of similar corpses waiting their turn. Across the room are the empty husks of those already emptied of anything useful, laying unattended until the more timely work is done. I let out a low whistle. “Must be a harvest moon.”

  “Low yield this season. Not much left here but compost.” Doc lifts his head to see me, but any expression is hidden behind the face mask. Instead he gives me a wink. “Damn wildlife has been getting more vicious through the years. Something did a number on some of the field workers up North.” I can attest to that. Carefully wiping his brow with his sleeve, he asks, “What do you need this time?”

  “Funny you should mention compost. I actually came to talk gardening with you.”

  “Gardening, eh? Tired of eating that chemical preserved shit they serve up in the city?”

  “Not exactly. Well, yeah to be honest, but more like looking into something much larger.”

  “Larger? What do you have in mind.”

  “Enough to feed a small community of underground disgraces to society.”

  “You’re not dealing with those damn junkers again, are ya?”

  Yes. “Nope. This one’s for the Techies.”

  “Not much better choice of company if you ask me. Why are you working with them?”

  “Part of an assignment. They’re looking to be self-sustaining in the agriculture department, and trying to cut ties with some outside organization that’s been hooking them up with food and medical supplies.”

  “So you’re looking for drugs too?”

  “It ain’t like that. Mostly just tetanus shots. Figured you’re the man to see about all of this.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “Not much.” Blackmail mostly. “But I got one of theirs out on loan. Looking to start up a legitimate refurbish and resale business in the districts.”

  “Is he here now?”

  “Yup. Myrna’s got eyes on him in the main room.”

  “Good. Got a pile of busted equipment back in storage. Have him give it a once-over and see what he can salvage. Then get your ass back here and scrub in. We work through this pile and I’ll see what I can do about helping out.”

  “Quid pro quo, huh?”

  “That’s how business is done, Heath. You need to know that before you get started.”

  “Fair enough,” I say before turning and heading back the way I came in. Mathan stands dutifully as soon as I enter, a good sign that he doesn’t find this place as inviting as I do. “At ease, buddy. Doc’s putting both of us to work.” He frowns. Myrna smirks.

  “Storage room?” she asks knowingly. I nod and she gestures to Mathan. “Come along. If all the rumors are true, you’re going to like what you see. Her friendliness does little to settle his unease. I watch as he switches tracks on his playlist before following her across the room and out of sight. I think it’s a fair call that he’ll be enjoying his next few hours much more than I will.

  Slipping off my jacket, I suit up and scrub in for a lot more guts than I bargained for.

  *****

  Eight bodies later, Doc and I put the organs on ice and clear away the bodies. Exhausting work, but still something oddly relaxing about it. We find Mathan sitting cross-legged amidst a plethora of piles of screws, bolts, washers, clippings of colored wires, and circuitry that I don’t even want t
o wager a guess at. His face is scrunched, scrutinizing while carefully applying oil to an electronic bone cutter. We watch in silence as he tightens it, replaces the casing, then plugs it in and turns it on, giving a quiet, but satisfying whirl of life.

  “He’s younger than I had expected,” Doc notes. “Mathan is it?” The tiny saw dies down and Mathan nods, not bothering to stand or turn around. “What all have you accomplished?”

  Mathan points to a pile in the corner to a decent-sized collection of monitors, pumps, meters, and an electronic cart. He unplugs the bone-cutter, wraps the cord neatly around the base, then stands and adds it to the collection, careful not to disrupt any of the piles.

  “The kid’s some sort of prodigy,” I beam. Doc regards my praise curiously and smiles softly. I try not to think about where his mind is going. “So what do you think? Has he lived up to his part of the deal?”

  “Without a doubt. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep him here for a while.” Mathan perks up and Doc turns his attention towards the boy. “Would you like to stay and finish?”

  He nods enthusiastically, then turns to me questioningly. I was hoping to have him with me as a sign of good faith when I return to the Techies, but was planning on leaving him there while I dealt with the Junkers. So long as he’s happy here, I feel better knowing he’s safe. “Probably better that way. Nobody else would know what to do with all of these piles. It’ll be good practice for him. Now what about your end of the bargain?”

  “Of course. Come with me. Mathan, you’re free to stay and continue working. I’ll have Myrna bring you something to eat shortly.” I follow Doc out of the room and back towards his lab. “The trick to gardening is all about the lighting and soil. You’re going to want to make sure the lights are adjustable so they stay just a few inches above the tops of the plants and run eighteen hours a day. The Techies shouldn’t have any trouble rigging up a timer. Otherwise, just make sure that all of the crops are watered twice a week, or when the soil feels dry.”