by R S Penney
No reply there either.
Running the macro she had programmed, her multi-tool sent electrical signals into the currency dispenser. A moment later, a slot at the bottom of the machine popped open, offering three glossy green bills.
Anna took them.
That's three, she noted. Three times I've stolen from these people. The brief lull in pedestrian traffic allowed her to slip away unnoticed. If anyone had spotted her from a distance, they would see nothing more than an ordinary woman retrieving currency from her bank account.
The sun was halfway to its zenith, hidden behind a glass spire that seemed to be a shadow to her eyes. Not a cloud in the clear blue sky. On the road, a young man upon a bicycle – amazing that these people had invented a device almost identical to those of her own world – eyed her as he passed.
Anna continued on.
It wasn't long before she found a man sitting with his back pressed to a concrete wall. Lanky and slim, he wore a pair of old brown pants with a matching jacket. His face was covered by a scraggly gray beard and unkempt silver hair sprouted from the top of his head like a lion's mane.
He craned his neck to stare up at her with haunted eyes. “Excuse me, miss,” he said before pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle a wheezing cough. “Do you think that you can spare me a few dollars?”
Poverty.
Throughout her life, Anna had known that word only as an abstract concept, a note in the back of a history textbook. No wonder these people had such difficulty with trust and openness. She knelt before the man.
Anna shut her eyes tight, tears running over her burning cheeks. “I'm so sorry for your pain,” she said, pressing a twenty-dollar bill into his hand. “Please take this and buy yourself something to eat.”
He watched her with his mouth agape, then shut his eyes and turned his face away from her. “You're awfully kind, ma'am.” The man shivered as though her touch brought pain. “I thank you for it.”
“It's my duty.”
The look of confusion on his face made her want to explain further, but that would expose her as an outsider. Justice Keepers opposed suffering wherever they found it. No one should endure what this man had endured.
Bright sunlight came in through a window in the front door, leaving a rectangle of light on the steps that led down into the thrift shop. The floor-space was dominated by round racks of clothing up near the counter and tall metal shelves near the back of the room. A few bins in the corner held children's toys.
The morning shift was, in Jack Hunter's estimation, quite possibly the worst kind of cruel and unusual punishment ever devised by the human race. Especially on days when he had been working at the restaurant the night before.
Sadly, one job just wasn't enough to pay the bills in today's economy, so he spent most of his time transitioning from evenings at McDougall's to mornings here with four or five hours' sleep in between. Joyous. How this was possible was beyond him; on some level, he knew that something didn't add up.
How was it that people were buying enormous houses in gated communities with salaries that would barely let them keep ahead of the mortgage payments? Hadn't the big financial meltdown of ten years ago done anything to convince them of the need for more frugal practices?
Planting his elbow on the counter, Jack rested his chin in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Welcome to my life, he thought to himself. There's no turning back.
The only other person present was a little old lady who stood flipping through the clothes on one rack. Dressed in white pants and a colourful Hawaiian shirt, she wore her gray hair in a bun.
Jack could say this much: at least this job gave him time to think. Although, given the sort of thoughts that had been racing through his head, he wasn't sure if that was such a good thing. Just keep on attacking your own sense of self-worth, he told himself. It can only help your situation.
The door chime jingled.
He looked up to find a young woman coming through the front door. A short woman with a slender build, she wore a pair of gray pants and a shirt under her long brown trench coat.
Her pretty face was framed by red-gold hair that she wore tied up in a ponytail, thin bangs falling over her forehead. Now there's something you don't see every day. The girl looked about the room like a fox expecting hounds to come around the corner.
Is she casing the joint?
A moment later, she descended the steps.
She approached one of the racks near the counter and began flipping through old t-shirts with her back to him. There were scuff marks on the back of that brown trench coat and her hair looked dishevelled.
For the next five minutes, he watched the strange young woman out of the corner of his eye, watched her move from rack to rack without choosing anything. Every now and then, she looked up at the door as though she expected trouble to come rushing in on her heels. She never so much as glanced in his direction.
That made him very uncomfortable. Jack had no desire to recall the tedious training videos they had subjected him to on his first day, but one tiny tidbit popped into his mind: shoplifters had a tendency to hide their faces.
He waited.
The young woman stood with her back to him, hands on her hips as she stared up at something on the far wall. Looking for cameras? She took a tentative step forward. Okay, that's it.
Jack went over to her.
The young woman spun around. A tiny jolt of anxiety went through him when she met his eyes. Her expression was serene, without a hint of emotion, and for a moment he felt silly for going over there.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack grimaced as he studied her. “So either you're planning to steal something,” he said, deep creases forming in his brow, “or you're the editor for Torn Fabrics Monthly.”
“Why would you suspect me of theft?”
Chewing on his lip, Jack felt his face heat up. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “Well, there's the way you keep eyeing the merchandise,” he explained. “And the fact that most young women don't like second-hand clothes.”
“Most young women have poor taste.”
“I can't argue with that.”
The girl scrunched up her face in frustration, then tossed her head about like a dog who had been sprayed with water. “I wish it were that easy,” she said, turning to the rack. “Clothes shopping is something of a chore, you know. First I've got to find something in my size, then in my price range. And if by some miracle I achieve those first two things, maybe I'll consider whether or not I hate the sight of it.”
“Maybe I can help.”
Jack began flipping through the clothes rack. The hangers slid across the metal bar with a harsh scraping sound, offering him a glimpse of brightly coloured t-shirts in pinks and yellows. It would be the perfect selection if you just happened to be a female Power Ranger. Not much for the average woman, though. “Hey, I have an idea,” he began. “If I can find something you don't hate, you tell me your name.”
The girl craned her neck.
A smile blossomed on her pretty face as she stared up at him with big blue eyes that sparkled. “At least your attempts at flirting are clever,” she said, nodding. “Most men just stare at my chest and think it's a compliment.”
“Unsophisticated pigs!”
He flipped through the rack until he found a plain white t-shirt with a woman's face smeared across the front. A quick examination made it clear that he was looking at the Britney Spears of ten years ago. “How 'bout this one?” he asked, lifting the shirt for her inspection. “With this woman's face on your chest, I can guarantee you that no one will ever check out your boobs.”
The young woman grinned, shaking her head. “An interesting choice,” she said. “But while I do enjoy striking terror into the hearts of fools, perhaps we could search for something more subdued.”
Jack put the hanger back on the rack.
After flipping through a dozen more garments, he came upon a pink tank-top with spaghe
tti strings that offered just enough fabric to make a hand towel. “Ah, here we are,” he murmured. “This particular number is favoured by middle-aged women who want to attract sexually inexperienced partners. We call it the Man-Maker.”
“Are we looking to become a man?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I'm afraid that I can't help you with that one.”
“Sorry,” Jack replied. “I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. You see I'm saving myself for Jennifer Lawrence.”
He returned the shirt to the rack and began sliding hangers along the metal bar. One more attempt and then it was time for his concession speech. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed a blue t-shirt with a green cartoon dinosaur on the front. Yoshi stared up at him with a glint in his eyes. “What about this?”
The young woman pursed her lips as she appraised the shirt, then nodded once in confirmation. “I love it,” she said. “How much does it cost? Sadly, I have to be careful with money.”
Jack shrugged. “Five bucks.”
“You have a deal,” she replied. “My name is Anna.”
He spent the next half hour helping Anna find enough cheap clothing to last a week. After that first success, it wasn't hard to figure out her sense of style; if it was the kind of thing you'd find on a ten-year-old boy, she'd love it.
To his great relief, she was willing to pay for everything. He still wasn't quite sure why she had been glancing around the room, but with no harm done, he figured there was no use in asking.
“Anna.”
“Yes, Jack?”
Jack smiled down at the floor, trying his best not to sound like a goof. “Well, I was wondering…” He looked up to meet her gaze. “You think you might like to grab a cup of coffee sometime?”
She stood before him with arms folded, blushing like the sun. “You know, I really would,” she said, lowering her eyes, “but I'm afraid I won't be in town for very long, and I won't have time.”
“Well…can't blame a guy for trying.”
In the end, it was probably for the best. Just last night, he had told Genevieve that he wasn't boyfriend material and that wouldn't be any less true if he changed the woman involved. “Well,” Jack replied. “Let's get you on your way.”
A few minutes later, he found himself staring down at the receipt that he'd wrung up for Anna. The list of things she'd purchased was quite extensive. Five t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, a hat and several pairs of socks. It was almost as though she didn't own anything more than the clothes on her back.
The store was empty; he was alone with the humming fluorescent lights and musty old clothes. Through the window, he could see that traffic had come to a halt on the road. O'Connor Street usually got busy when mid-morning rolled around, and though he wished some of those people would come in and buy something – the more they sold, the more money would go to Good Will – it wasn't likely.
Just then, he noticed the folded up red t-shirt sitting on the counter and fought off a jolt of anxiety when he realized why it was there. Anna had purchased that one – had paid him for it – and he had been so distracted by his attempt to make conversation that he had forgotten to put it in her bag.
Great.
She had been gone for less than two minutes; if he hurried, he might just be able to catch her and fix his mistake. Get a move on, Hunter, he thought, snatching up the t-shirt. Karma isn't a forgiving mistress.
He bolted across the store.
Charging up the steps, he stopped just in front of the front door and tried to catch a glimpse of the young woman. Oh, wonderful, he growled in his own mind. After tormenting her with lame dialogue, you short-change her.
He stepped outside.
Jack turned his face up to the sun. He squinted, working it out in his mind. “Almost noon,” he said to himself. “Bus won't stop here for at least fifteen minutes. She couldn't have gone far.”
A moment later, he was running down the small walkway in front of the strip mall. Scanning the area, he spotted her. A young woman half a block down the sidewalk stood with her back to him as cars whooshed past nearby. Jackpot! The back of her blonde head made it clear that he'd found Anna.
So consumed was he by the search, he barely noticed that he had left the strip mall behind. It was only then that he realized he was standing in the wide alley that led to the parking lot behind the store. And something caught his ear.
Jack turned.
Two young men came out from the alley behind the store dragging a third guy by his arms and dropping him in front of an old green dumpster. The leader stood with his hands on his hips.
A wiry man in blue jeans and a dirty hoodie scowled down at the man lying on his stomach. “You think you can screw me,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you think I won't come looking for payment?”
His face was deathly pale with a forest of dark spikes on his head and a birthmark just above his left eyebrow. “Get the fuck up!” he growled. “You owe me a hundred fifty fucking dollars, bitch!”
The accomplice was a bit more solid. Dark skin and hair, he pressed his mouth into a thin line as he stared down at the fallen man. “Better get up, Josh,” he added. “No one likes a man who can't pay his debts.”
Out in public?
If Jack's instincts were correct, he was now a witness to a drug deal gone wrong. The dealers in this city had gotten a whole lot braver over the last ten years – Genevieve had told him she'd spotted a shady-looking guy selling Synth out by her high school – but common sense would suggest that this was the kind of thing that usually happened in the dark of night. Then again, drug dealers weren't known for their common sense.
The man on the ground looked up.
His face was marked by a nasty gash just above his eyebrow. He winced, letting out a groan. “I'll get it, Tyler,” he said, pushing himself up. “Twenty-four hours. Just give me twenty-four hours.”
Tyler's lips peeled back, revealing crooked teeth. He narrowed his eyes as he stared down at his victim. “ 'Twenty-four hours!' ” he mocked. “How many times are you gonna make me listen to that line?”
Jack dropped the t-shirt – Anna would just have to deal with being short-changed – and retrieved his cell phone. Someone would have to put a stop to this before they were looking at a homicide.
Tapping at the screen with his thumb, he brought up the dialling menu and hit 9-1-1. The bloody thing took a moment to dial before he heard an operator's voice. “Emergency Services.”
“I've got an assault at two thirty-one O'Connor,” Jack barked. “Looks to be of the aggravated variety and I'm pretty sure one of them has drugs.”
“Thank you, sir,” the operator replied. “Units on the way.”
Would they get here soon enough? Tyler was already kicking poor Josh in the ribs. The man seemed completely unconcerned by the fact that any passing pedestrian would witness his felony. And why should he be? There was no one on the sidewalk but Jack, and the motorists were focused on the road.
The smart thing to do would be to leave and pretend he hadn't seen a damn thing. A good thing Jack Hunter wasn't famous for doing the smart thing. “Hey!” he shouted. “Get away from him!”
Tyler glanced in his direction. “Fuck off.”
Clenching his teeth, Jack squinted at the man. He shook his head in disgust. “Now would be a good time to move on,” he said, striding forward. “Before I have a chance to memorize your descriptions.”
Tyler spun around to face him.
The man lifted his chin, his nostrils flaring as he sized Jack up. “You've got to be kidding me,” he shouted, moving toward him. “You're really gonna stick your nose in my business for a piece of shit like Josh?”
Jack flashed a grin, sweat matting dark hair to his forehead. “Well, it's more about sticking it to you,” he said, eyebrows rising. “But I'd be happy to see Josh there get out of this in one piece.”
Gritting his teeth, the other man snarled at Jack, his face growing redder and redder by the second. “That was a
mistake,” he said, shaking his head. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are, kid?”
He threw a punch.
Jack brought an arm up to hit the man's wrist and knock the blow aside. He ducked and drove a fist into Tyler's chest.
The man seized him by the shoulders.
Wincing hard, Tyler let out a hiss and slammed a vicious headbutt into Jack's face. Stars floated in his vision and the ground seemed to fall away. He fell, a flash of hot pain racing through him.
He landed on all fours.
Clenching his teeth, Jack felt his face heat up. He blinked back tears. “All right then,” he said, pushing himself up. “First round to you. Better back off, boyo, now I'm mad.”
Tyler stood over him, a towering giant that blocked out the sun. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “Stay down, you little shit.” He delivered a hard kick to Jack's ribcage.
Pain flared.
Jack fell flat on his face, stretched out on the pavement. A fat lot of good he'd done here. Poor Josh was probably in for twice the beating now that Tyler was pissed. A part of him wanted to shout that cops were on the way – that would surely send the drug dealer running – but the larger part of him wanted Tyler to stick around. A piece of filth like him deserved the jail sentence that would come sooner or later.
“Kicking a man while he's down,” Jack managed. “Who says chivalry is dead?”
Tyler jerked backward, his eyes widening in shock. He stood there, slack-jawed and confused. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled. “You want me to kill you right here in the parking lot?”
Somewhere in the haze of confusion and pain, all the pieces fell into place for Jack. Defiance: that was what it all came down to. When you got to the heart of the matter, Tyler wasn't so different from a caveman defending his supper with a club.
Regardless of the danger, if he turned and ran, he would be lessened in the eyes of his peers. This wasn't over until Jack decided to yield to a superior foe…which meant it wasn't going to be over anytime soon.
“Why won't you just stay down?”
“Because…” Jack replied in a breathy rasp, “you hit like a girl.” Defiance: that was what it all came down to. In the end, it didn't matter if the bad guy was stronger. It didn't matter if resisting cost you your life; it was better to spit in death's eye than to live in a world where such injustice went unchallenged.
