To Cross a Wasteland

by Phillip D Granath

  “I’ll see that they get enough chits for food and water, but that’s it. Tomorrow I’ll go down there myself and explain to those old windbags how this is going to work. I’m giving them two weeks to organize elections. Two votes, one for the members of the city council and one for a judge. I want free elections, and they better have a turnout, a couple hundred people at least, they need to advertise it and get people there. I don’t care if they pay people to show up as long as people can vote for whomever they want when they do. I’m going to count the votes personally,” Rincone said, obviously he had been thinking about elections a lot.

  “Two weeks is not a lot of time,” Coal pointed out.

  “It’s not, but they have had over 10 years to do the right thing, now I’m going to force them to do it. In two weeks if they don’t hold an election, they are out. I’ll remove them from the City Council building by force if I have to. Murphy can do whatever he likes to them then, as long as it isn’t in the Hub or on Main Street,” Rincone said.

  “So law and order returns, as long as you’re on the right street or live in the right neighborhood. Somethings never change I guess,” Coal said with a mocking tone.

  “Hey, I do what I can with what I got. Maybe the new Council will pay for more guards, maybe they raise taxes on the merchants and vote to increase what they pay us. Then I could bring in new recruits and expand our coverage. It’s all up to the Council,” Rincone said raising his hands.

  “Suddenly I’m having second thoughts about all this. The one thing I thought I could count on in the apocalypse was that government bureaucracy was dead,” Coal said glumly.

  Rincone simply laughed in reply.

  “No the one thing you can count on after this is that Murphy will be gunning for you,” Rincone pointed out.

  “Well then, at least that puts me in good company,” Coal replied with a grin, and the two men laughed.

  Dealings

  Standing in line to enter Murphs was the worst part. Apparently even the end of the world couldn’t change that simple truth about the club scene. Kyle had been inside before, he knew his sense of personal revulsion would end or at least decline, once he got inside. The anticipation of walking into the lion’s den was always worse it seemed. The line moved slowly as every patron would be patted down, forced to surrender any weapons and made to show that they actually carried chits. All of which would be accomplished under the gaze of a half a dozen of Murphy’s armed men.

  Kyle kept one hand squeezed tight around the bottle of pills in his jacket pocket, his palms sweaty and slick. As the guards finished with the man in front of him, a seated guard waived Kyle forward. The Scavenger stepped up in front of the folded card table, behind it sat a very bored looking man with an open ledger in front of him. He eyed Kyle with a tired look.

  “Chits,” he said simply.

  Kyle pulled his other hand from his pocket and made to drop the Tears onto the table. But that palm had been sweaty as well apparently, he was left awkwardly shaking his open palm as the three small ceramic squares stuck to his palm. The guard grinned as they finally came free and landed on the table.

  “Big night planned I see. We’ll, no worries, towards the end of the night the whores start to discount their prices,” the guard chuckled.

  Kyle just nodded.

  “Any weapons?” the guard continued.

  “Yeah,” Kyle replied.

  “I’m shocked,” the seated man said. A wooden footlocker sat at his feet, it was half full of an assortment of odd knives, rough clubs, and even a few firearms.

  Kyle slowly pulled the magnum from his belt. He could sense the guards around him momentarily tense. Kyle opened the cylinder and dropped his last three rounds into his palm and handed it over to the seated guard butt first.

  “Very nice,” the guard replied, noting the gun down in the ledger.

  “What’s the name?”

  “Kyle.”

  “Kyle…what?” the guard prompted.

  “Kyle…The Scavenger,” he replied after a brief pause.

  “Seems like nobody even bothers with last names anymore,” the guard said mostly to himself. Then dropped the revolver into the crate.

  Another guard stepped forward, he had Kyle raise his arms and then began patting him down. Kyle knew this would be the point of no return, after this he would be committed. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he let go of the pill bottle in his pocket and raised his arms. The guard patted him down, quickly and efficiently. When he reached Kyle’s jacket pocket, he felt the pill bottle.

  “Take out whatever’s in your pocket,” the guard instructed.

  Kyle took a deep breath and pulled out the bottle holding it for all of the guards to see. Silence followed none of the guards moved. The seated man spoke first.

  “Well, I guess I can see why you don’t feel the need to carry very many chits. He’s good, let him go,” the seated man ordered.

  The man patting Kyle down stepped back and lifted the velvet rope letting him inside of the club. Kyle noticed the seated guard turned and spoke quietly to another one of Murphy’s men, whom quickly turned and walked around the side of the building out of sight. The die was cast, the word would spread quickly now, it somehow made Kyle feel relief.

  Once inside the Scavenger moved to a table close to the door. One of the seats was occupied by a passed out man with his head still partially wrapped in a plastic bag. The bar top was crowded, a thick row of rag covered men, and a few women lined it, some drinking, and some huffing, almost all of them talking. The sound of music came from deeper inside the club. An off-key piano and guitar strummed along together, Kyle couldn’t recall the last time he had heard music, probably the last time he had been in here.

  A shadow moved across the table, and Kyle’s head whipped around. A massive man stood next to the table. He was closer to 7 feet than he was to 6, his arms almost as thick as Kyle’s leg. He wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, black slacks, and a clean-shaven head. It was hard to miss Vincent; the giant was officially just a bartender at the club. But most folks knew he was also one of Murphy’s top men and handled aspects of the Kingpin’s business Kyle didn’t even want to think about. Even if you didn’t know any of that just looking at the man would warn most folks not to cross him. At a time when most starved, Vincent managed to keep enough calories coming in every day to maintain his massive frame. It said something about the man, it told Kyle that Vincent was always on the side that wins, always.

  “I’m Vincent,” the giant said simply.

  “I know; I think everybody in here does. You’re kind of hard to miss,” Kyle replied.

  The big man smiled and said. “I hear we have some business to take care of.”

  Kyle took a breath. He had considered this next move very carefully; he couldn’t risk dealing with an underling. Someone that may be inclined to do something rash without Murphy’s knowledge, trying to either steal the pills for themselves or be tempted to try and impress the boss by slitting Kyle’s throat. He needed to deal with Murphy directly. For this to work, he needed somebody playing the long game, that would look at the first deal as a down payment on a larger investment.

  “Your wrong Vincent, I’m here to do business with Murphy," Kyle replied in as cool a voice as he could manage.

  Vincent’s smile vanished. “I do the dealing here. The boss can’t be bothered.”

  Time to make a strong statement. “And I don’t deal with piss ant hirelings. Now go get your fucking boss, or I take my Oxys, and I walk. Then you can explain to him while he’ll be the one having to walk his happy ass across town begging to deal with me. That’s if I have any product left to sell by then," Kyle said. To emphasise his point Kyle gave the pill bottle a shake and placed it on the table to highlight his point.

  Vincent’s eyes went wide, he didn’t blink, he simply stared at the seated Scavenger. A vein Kyle hadn’t noticed before began to pulse on the big man’s forehead. Maybe that had been a little too stron
g? A pair of guards stepped forward, one on either side of the table. That was not a good sign. The bar was quiet now as all attention turned to the developing standoff. Just when Kyle was beginning to think he had severally overplayed his hand, Vincent spoke.

  “Escort this gentleman to the office. The boss and I’ll be along shortly," Vincent said through clenched teeth.

  Kyle stood, putting the bottle back into his pocket. Dozens of eyes followed him and the guards as they crossed the room to Murphy’s office. After tonight, the whole town will have heard about Kyle, the only question is would it be told as about his ballsy win over the powers that be or a cautionary tale about playing out of your league. Kyle forced himself to stand taller and as walked between the two of Murphy’s men. Praying that his now wavering courage didn’t show through.

  The two men escorted the Scavenger through a heavy oak door at the end of the bar. Four lanterns burned low in the room, one at each corner. One man walked around, turning them up, filling the room with light. Kyle could see the room was dominated by a lavish wooden desk. The floors covered in an array of bright rugs and the shelves along the back wall were filled with various gold and silver items on display. One of the guards poured Kyle a drink from a small wet bar in the corner. He placed the glass, with a finger’s width of whiskey on a coaster in front of the massive mahogany desk. A comfortable looking red velvet armchair was pushed up to the desk, presumably for Kyle.

  Their work done, the two guards left the room, shutting the door behind them as they went. The men hadn’t spoken a single word to him he realized. Kyle didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. He picked up the offered glass, sniffed the caramel colored whiskey, it smelled like whiskey, he considered it for a moment. No point in taking the risk he decided and put the glass back down. Kyle sat down in the chair and then quickly stood again. He was nervous, of course, he had a right to be, holding no illusions about who he was here to deal with. Murphy would slit his throat the moment he thought it would be most advantageous to Murphy. The trick here was going to push that point out as far as possible and then put the plan into motion before that day came.

  Kyle began walking around the room examining the wealth on display. Realizing he was pacing, the Scavenger stopped in front of the back shelf and forced himself to look at the many trinkets covered in precious metals. The “show of wealth” made Kyle chuckle to himself. Golden plates with various inscriptions made out to long dead people. Silver tea sets, just as useless before the fall as they were now. A solid bar of gold with Swiss markings, all of it completely worthless. Murph had to realize that, Kyle glanced around the room wearing his Scavenger trained eyes this time. The lanterns, their oil and the liquor in the wet bar were the only things of any value in the whole room. The rest was all a façade, the idea somehow made Kyle feel better like he wasn’t the only one putting on airs today.

  The door abruptly opened, and Vincent filled the doorway, the big man stepped to the side, and councilman Murphy stepped in behind him. The man smiled at Kyle as only a politician could, a well-practiced movement of the mouth that didn’t match his eyes even for a moment.

  “Kyle, it’s good to finally meet you,” Murphy said offering a hand which Kyle automatically shook.

  The councilman motioned for him to sit, Kyle obliged as Murphy found his own chair across from the desk from him.

  “Now as I believe you are aware, I generally don’t get involved too much myself with trade negotiations, at least with individuals. However, Vincent here was just bringing me up to speed with some of the delightful things that you have brought us in the past. It seems you have been doing quite well for yourself…”

  As the councilman prattled on with pleasantries, Kyle became even warier. This was the man’s game, hell, probably even from before the fall. He would bombard Kyle with his bullshit, sizing him up as he went, all the while trying to decide the perfect spot to slide the knife in. What Kyle needed was bold moves, to keep this bastard off his game. Kyle needed to choose the ground for this fight. The last words seemed to echo something Coal once told him. When they had planned to spring a different kind of ambush.

  Kyle stood abruptly knocking his chair back, Murphy froze, stopped in mid-sentence. Vincent had taken a quick step forward and was now standing within arm’s reach of Kyle. The room was silent and still for a moment each waiting to see if violence would ensue. Kyle slowly reached into his pocket and removed the pill bottle. He opened it carefully and splashed the pills across the councilman’s desk, dropping the empty bottle along with it.

  “Well…you are direct Sir, I’ll give you that,” Murphy said his eyes locked on the pills strewn across his desk.

  “May I?” the councilman asked gesturing at the pills spread before him.

  “Please do,” Kyle said, returning to his seat. As an afterthought, he reached for the glass of whiskey and took a sip.

  Councilman Murphy pushed the pills all together into a pile and then began to neatly line them into rows of ten. Once he was done, he had nine rows. He stared at them intently for a moment then selected one seemingly at random. He looked at it closely, turning it over between two fingers and then popped it into his mouth. He bit down on the Oxy with a crunch and leaned back in his chair closing his eyes for a solid minute. When Murphy’s eyes snapped open again, they had a look of intensity that Kyle hadn’t expected.

  “Is this all that you have?” he asked simply, his eyes locked on Kyle’s.

  Kyle took a moment, he had mentally prepared himself for this life or death question. He would tell a bit of a lie and a bit of truth. He could only hope that as one rolled off of his tongue followed by the other, that perhaps the truth would make the lie just a little more palatable to this most dangerous of men.

  “No. There's more, over a dozen bottles,” Kyle said, the words coming smoother than he could have hoped for.

  “Where is the rest of it?” Murphy asked quickly.

  “Someplace safe,” Kyle said. In actuality, the remainder of the pills were in a plastic bag inside the same jacket pocket the bottle had been in. He was betting everything on the fact that the councilman would want to deal for a bigger stash and not shake him down just for what he had on him. Besides who would be dumb enough to have all of the pills on him?

  “Finally found something in that old hospital downtown, did we? The fabled lost pharmacy?” Murphy pressed.

  “Maybe,” Kyle replied.

  If the Scavenger’s non-committal reply bothered the Councilman, he didn’t let it show. He nodded as if expecting it.

  “Well, I want all of it, the whole stock. Name your price,” Murphy said.

  “No,” Kyle replied leaning forward and meeting the Kingpin’s eyes when he said it.

  The Councilman’s eyes narrowed. He heard Vincent shift his weight behind him. In Kyle’s head, he pictured the brute pulling back a bat or some other type of skull smashing weapon. Waiting for Murphy’s nod to swing. It took every bit of self-control that Kyle could muster to keep from looking back at the big man. But Murphy’s smile returned.

  “Well then. Tell me what you had in mind Kyle?” he asked.

  “You take this lot here and if I get what I consider a good trade, then in a couple of weeks I come back with another ninety pills, and then we trade again. I trade only with you, nothing to the traders in the Hub or anybody else in town. I believe the term is, cornering the market,” Kyle said.

  Murphy looked at Kyle for a long moment across the desk. Weighing his options, the odds he would see the Scavenger again, certainly adding up the profit he could make on the deal. He held the now empty pill bottle in his hands and idly rolled it back and forth as he debated.

  The kingpin’s smile returned. “Fine, good,” he said at last.

  “But you know you were always going to be trading those pills here, to me. No one else around here can offer you even a fraction of what I can,” Murphy said offering his hand across the desk.

  Kyle paused for half a second a
nd then shook the offered hand warily.

  “Well, I guess that remains to be seen,” Kyle replied risking a grin of his own.

  Vincent stepped around to the side of the table, placing a thick ledger down on the desk, he held a pencil waiting for the men to speak. Within a few minutes it was over, Kyle had traded away a small fortune but gotten more than he could have hoped for in return. His haul included 15 rounds of .357 for his magnum, a leather shoulder holster to carry it in and 8 shells for the shotgun. He also got a lantern with a full tank of fuel, 4 wool blankets, and a spotting scope. The negotiations, if you could call them that were almost boring. Kyle would name what he wanted, Vincent would flip through the ledger and if he could find what Kyle had asked for it was his. Throughout the exchange Murphy leaned back in his chair in silence, his eyes were shut, he was listening it seemed or maybe just enjoying the full effects of the Oxy he had sampled. The only snag in the exchange came at the very end when Kyle made his last and most important request.

  “I also want water, 200 liters of it,” he said simply.

  Vincent stopped writing and looked up at Kyle and then to Murphy. The Councilman’s eyes came open at that, and he looked over at Kyle.

  “That’s asking a hell of a lot friend, especially on top of all that you've already got there,” he said.

  Kyle shook his head. “No, it’s not, not for you. You pump the water; you make the chits. It actually doesn’t cost you anything at all.”

  Murphy’s whole face smiled, and he snickered.

  “It’s true,” he said, as if ashamed to be bragging. “You know, sometimes I forget. What’s money to the man that prints it? I’m practically a government all to myself. Vincent, write him a note for 200 liters at the pump.”

  “Not chits, I want actual water,” Kyle said.

  “That’s a lot of water to just walk around with, I mean 200 liters, that’s like what almost 50 gallons?”

  “52.8,” Vincent volunteered.