Tempered

by Britt Ringel

  Kat’s eyes dropped to the woman’s hands. A black tattoo circled her left ring finger. “No,” Kat answered. “But I have a boyfriend.”

  Gretchen chuckled lightly. “We don’t judge here. As long as his name is on the lease, the rent gets paid and you don’t damage your unit, we don’t care about your arrangement.”

  Kat chewed the inside of her lip. “I’ll be renting alone.”

  The building manager leaned against the hallway wall. “Well, the last option is Communal. We have a handful of beds open in our bunkroom. You get a cot with a locked trunk attached to it and access to the communal bathroom and canteen. The room has electric lighting but you don’t get outlets. There’s a bathroom monitor who enforces a reasonable use policy, plenty for a normal person. Food is pay as you go. No visitors allowed at all.”

  Kat slumped as if she’d been gut-punched. “He can’t even come in?”

  Gretchen shook her head. “No. We’ve had too much trouble with one person renting a cot and an entire family trying to live in the space. It causes fights, uses too much water and the noise gets uncontrollable.” The woman crossed her arms. “On that note, if you do get into a fight, you forfeit your rent and are kicked out. This is a safe building and the owners intend to keep it that way.”

  Kat adjusted her satchel on her shoulder. “How safe will my possessions be in the trunk?”

  Gretchen pushed off the wall and waved for Kat to follow her to the stairwell. “Like I said, it has a sturdy lock. The penalty for theft is a show trial that night. We enforce that policy. The latest thief was stoned to death last Spring.”

  They exited the stairwell on the ground floor and moved down the hall toward the back of the building. An archway on the right led to a large room with several tables and chairs. Most were filled with residents consuming a thick, opaque stew. The diners were clearly Trodden but their patched clothing and cleaner appearances marked them higher in the social strata than the sorrier souls Kat had lived among previously. Some tables held families, the rest seated adults in small groups. The chatter and buzz of the room had a normalcy that seemed out of place in Shantytown. The fragrance of the night’s meal cruelly reminded Kat that she had barely eaten lunch with Sadler and Noel’s crew, anticipating a wonderful supper in the evening. Dreams of eating inside her new, private apartment were now shattered. They’d be dining on the street curb tonight. Gretchen passed the chamber without slowing but said, “That’s the canteen. Tenants are welcome to use the tables anytime and we offer breakfast and dinner the hour before through the hour after sunrise and sunset each day. Everything comes from the Beggar’s Market. No water is available so you have to bring your own from a bathroom tap. Menu and prices are on the wall, if you’re interested.”

  Kat followed Gretchen through another archway into a long, narrow room. A fleeting memory of spotless barracks raced past her mind’s eye. Unlike that passing image, dirt marred the current room’s tiled floor almost hiding the deeper grime embedded underneath. The walls weren’t filthy but Kat could see faint handprints. Cots were arranged in two long rows that formed a narrow aisle down the middle of the room. At the far end, a second archway provided open access to the bathroom. Only a few residents occupied the bunkroom currently, renters who had skipped dinner or already eaten. One snored loudly but the rest rooted around their cots with a familiar lethargy. It was the trance of the Trodden, the movement of automatons. People not dead but not fully alive.

  “Six toilets and shower stalls in the bathroom along with ten sinks,” Gretchen rattled off mechanically. “We ask tenants to be respectful to others with how long you use each and during the mornings and evenings, you’ll be monitored to ensure that you are.”

  The bunkroom would afford Kat absolutely no privacy, not even when she used the bathroom. Her lingering fantasy about caressing Sadler tonight fully evaporated like morning dew in the desert. But it’s a step up, Kat. You’ll be off the streets. Safe. Your commute to the mag-rail would be cut in half and you wouldn’t have to walk through the worst parts of Shantytown. You’d also be closer to the Beggar’s Market and Maggie. “How much?”

  “Seventy large a week.” When Gretchen saw Kat wince, she added, “If you take on cleaning jobs in the building, washing pots and pans… cleaning common areas or sign up to be a bathroom monitor, you can reduce your rent by a couple large. Can you afford that?”

  Can I live on fifteen large a week? She’d managed that before. Her long fingers wrapped around her wristwrap subconsciously and she bobbed her head once. “Yeah, I can make that work.”

  Gretchen smiled. Like all Trodden, her teeth were stained and uneven but the emotion she conveyed was genuine. “Fantastic. Welcome to the building!” She took hold of Kat’s hand and pulled her back to the hallway. “Let’s go up front and get your lease signed.”

  The process took less than twenty minutes. Kat signed the rental agreement, surprisingly an electronic document on a handheld colloquially called a FLAT. Gretchen locked the device in a drawer and entered Kat Smith on the tenants roll before returning to the bunkroom to offer the new resident her choice of two beds, one immediately adjacent to the bathroom and the other in the middle of the rows. Instinct told Kat stay as far from the bathroom as possible.

  Gretchen handed her a pair of keys and after she left the bunkroom, Kat carefully stacked her Porter Mining clothes, hessian pants and canvas shoes into her trunk while covertly slipping both pistols and the knife to the bottom of her locker. Next, she delicately folded and placed her most treasured possessions, her red dress and “Jelly” shoes, inside the container. She placed her only makeup, a tiny piece of eyeliner pencil, in the corner farthest from the dress.

  With the unpacking finished, she quickly changed from her Porter shirt to her large brown one but kept the ripstop pants and black shoes on. Their color and texture didn’t stand out too much from the rest of Shantytown’s natives and were far more comfortable than her older pants. Her keys, one for the building’s front door and one for her locker, came on a thick cord that fit over her head. The pull of the cord around her neck was a familiar sensation. The key bows were elaborately engraved with the building’s name and the number “44,” matching the trunk. Gretchen had explained that the keys served as proof that she belonged here and were to be presented to any guard in the building who requested to see them. Kat didn’t mind the draconian security measures; in fact, she approved of them. However, she felt reluctant to leave her weapons in the building despite knowing that being caught near Eastpoint with them would mean serious trouble. For tonight, they would be safe in the locker, yet their absence made her feel vulnerable again. She growled at her insecurities. “You’re walking half a block on the Strip, Kat. You’ll be fine.”

  She made her bed with the thin sheets provided. Her rent included the threadbare linens washed biweekly. She was delighted to discover that she even had a pillow. Despite her initial disappointment, Kat found herself growing excited about returning to a bed that night and falling asleep in relative safety and comfort. She glided out of the room and down the hall. The canteen was beginning to empty and she passed numerous, curious faces not accustomed to seeing her. She offered each tenant a friendly smile. The front door was heavy and noisy, providing a reassuring thunk when it slammed shut behind her.

  Outside, the oppressive temperature carried into the evening as the brick buildings gave back the day’s heat. The cloudless sky had darkened into a deep shade of blue, on its way toward purple. To the west, fiery orange and red chased the sun under the horizon. Foot traffic on the main thoroughfare was heavy. She suspected that being on the Strip this close to Eastpoint meant the congestion would remain well into the late hours of the night. She turned up the street, toward the bank of comm consoles she had used last night. There was a line but it moved quickly. Comm calls were an expensive luxury and few Trodden could afford to linger on the machines.

  Kat stepped to the next available console and entered the number she’d lear
ned by heart. Unlike the night before, Sadler answered immediately.

  “Hi, gorgeous, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her insides quivered at the simple declaration. Even on the poor resolution screen, he was undeniably handsome. His unruly brown hair had been combed into an indolent submission. The fact that she would have no privacy with him cut deeply into her. “Hi…” She tried to think of a pet name… failed. “Sadler.” She looked down quickly to hide her wince. Damn, you’ve got to get better at this, Kat! Given her past, she wondered if she’d ever had a boyfriend before. Her single night with Sadler had been proof she was not without experience but she doubted that past encounters had held the intimacy she’d shared under his bedsheets. The thought saddened her.

  “Did you get a room?” he asked. He leaned closer to his camera in anticipation, enlarging his image on her screen.

  Kat took a breath and tried to sound upbeat. “I could only afford a cot in a bunkroom and they don’t allow visitors.” She looked at him, crestfallen. “I’m as disappointed as you but even just a single room costs more than I make in a week. I’m sorry.”

  Sadler put on a brave face. “Don’t apologize. I’m just happy that you’ll sleep safely tonight.” He raised a bag in his right hand. “Look, I have all this food and nobody to eat it with.” His grin reappeared. “Know anyone who might share it with me?”

  Chapter 8

  Kat waited near the comm console, looking into the darkening sky. Solar streetlamps with a day’s full charge washed light onto the Strip, diluting the majestic ceiling of purple and charcoal above her. Stars gleamed in the clear expanse but without the ferocity inside the pitch-black sliver above Rat’s alley.

  The only other time Sadler had met Kat in Shantytown, he’d swooped in with his aircar and picked her up without even idling the powerful turbines. He’d be parking this time and she was concerned about the safety of his vehicle. Within eyeshot, she counted four vehicles on the side of the pothole-filled road leading into Waytown. Two had obvious guardians watching over them. The remaining two were battered derelicts that Kat wasn’t sure could move.

  Her wait stretched and she began to worry about her date. From behind, a hand dropped onto her shoulder. She ducked under it while spinning reflexively before the hand could grab hold. Sharp instincts backed her quickly away while her hands rose in defense.

  Sadler’s dirt-covered jaw dropped open and he rushed forward while apologizing. “Kat, it’s only me!”

  She allowed his grimy hand to wrap around her own and tried to ease the explosive burst of energy in her adrenaline-addled body. As she drew breath, she looked at him curiously. His hair, earlier clean and combed, was now matted and unkempt. Dirt streaked both hands and his face. His clothes looked as if he had rolled around on the ground minutes earlier. His t-shirt’s collar was stretched to a comical degree and the left knee of his pants had been strategically torn. The overall effect was absurd, nearly farcical if not for the supposition underneath his concocted appearance. She’d seen him dirtier than this at the mine but for better reasons.

  “You look lovely tonight,” Kat said dryly.

  Sadler grinned before spreading his arms out wide. “Yeah, well, I wanted to fit in.” He looked around at the press of people walking by. “I think it’s safer this way.”

  Kat felt an immediate heat rising in her. “They’re not animals, you know,” she hissed. The thought of ambushers who had used a child as bait surfaced in her mind. “Not all of them anyway.”

  Sadler read the cross expression on her face and surrendered. “I know that. I didn’t mean it that way.” His eyes dropped to the bag in his right hand before he looked at her again. “Can we start over?” He took a step toward her and tried to smile. “Your dirty Prince Not-So-Charming is here for his date, my darling.” He stuck out his free hand invitingly.

  Her rush of anger faded at Sadler’s quick concession. She grinned back at him and took his hand, lacing fingers. “I happen to find you very charming, Sadler, but after the night in your bedroom, ‘dirty’ might also be an accurate description.” She slipped closer, pressing against him and bringing her lips to his. The contact sent a jolt through her body, urging her to lean harder into him. Her knees weakened when Sadler growled with need.

  “Lookin’ for a third?” a woman’s voice called out behind them.

  Sadler broke their kiss and Kat turned to the person who had dared disturb them.

  She was tall, taller than Kat, with hair nearly as dark though covered by an out-of-place black beanie. A tight, black shirt with a hand-cut plunging neckline displayed the woman’s ample assets. Her red skirt ended so far up her thighs that Kat wondered if the article of clothing might serve better as a belt. Most disconcerting, the woman was younger than Kat. Much younger.

  The girl, Kat guessed in her late teens, tried to slither her hands into the crooks of Kat’s and Sadler’s elbows. She moved to close the intimate triangle while purring, “The three of us could have a fun time.” She glanced backwards quickly before she whispered, “I might actually enjoy this so I’ll cut you a deal. Just get me off the street so my pimp will lay off.”

  Sadler deftly untangled his arm from her hand. “How old are you?” His voice was full of concern.

  She took a step back and glared at him defiantly. “I’m nineteen. You’re not going to lecture me, are you?”

  “Aren’t there safer ways to make money?” he asked.

  Kat’s eyes scanned in the direction the prostitute had looked earlier. A steady stream of people headed their direction but none had a singular focus on them.

  “Not with this,” the teen answered resentfully. She pulled the beanie off her head. High on the woman’s forehead was a sloppily scrawled word: “Thief.” The tattoo looked as if it had been applied with all the care a serial killer might provide. Her expression hardened when she saw Sadler’s revulsion. Misinterpreting the man’s distaste, she crossed her arms and spat, “You’re not better than me! I was framed. They couldn’t prove shit or I’d have been stoned.”

  Sadler’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Screw you! Don’t you dare judge me!” Her eyes began to glisten. “Your fancy clothes don’t make you better than me!” She spun in place and screamed through a sob, “Lance!”

  Kat grabbed Sadler’s arm and pulled. “Time to go, Prince Charming.”

  He allowed her to haul him away but after a dozen steps pulled Kat in a different direction. “Let’s get a little closer to the gate, okay?”

  Minutes later, the couple sat on the curb of the Strip within feet of the Eastpoint gate. After a final check to ensure “Lance” was not in pursuit, Sadler reached into his bag and pulled out two sandwich wraps. The paper bore the unique logo of The Lucky Gun. He offered one to Kat. “I wasn’t sure what to get so I went with something simple.” He retrieved a plastic container of fried vegetables and two covered paperboard cups of water.

  Kat grew edgy at the sight of the banquet. The meal they would consume in plain sight cost more money than many Trodden might earn in a week. The empty cartons alone were worth a small piece of silver in the Beggar’s Market. The aroma wafting from the meal, a far cry from roasted murine, was intoxicating. Fresh beef, grilled to perfection with onions and herbs in tightly wrapped tortillas. The vibrant vegetables in the container offered more variety of color than all of Shantytown.

  “I also brought a bottle of wine,” Sadler whispered, “but I’m kind of scared to take it out of the sack.”

  Kat bristled slightly at the admission but knew his concern was well founded. People were killed in Shantytown for much less than the contents of a bottle. She had little doubt that someone could view the wine Sadler had tucked away as worthy of murder. “Can you open it inside the sack and then keep the bag around it?” She considered the image they’d present. “We’ll fit right in,” she added humorously.

  Sadler nodded while stuffing much of his sandwich in his mouth. He was either f
amished or eager to be finished with the meal. Between bites, he looked around anxiously. He couched the bag protectively between his legs. Resting the remains of his sandwich on his lap, he reached into the bag with both hands. “Screw top,” he admitted. He sounded almost apologetic. “Anything better in Waytown costs a fortune.” As he worked inside the tight confines of the bag, he reminisced. “I miss a lot of things about living in Northport. The access to better… well, everything.” He carefully opened the bottle before tossing Kat a shrug. “I was afraid to bring glasses. I thought they might break if we had to run.” He crinkled the bag around the bottle and offered it while teasing, “Vintage twenty-two twelve, a wonderful year for the grape. Served in the finest paper bag in all of Waytown.”

  Kat giggled and raised the bag to her mouth. The distinctive smell of wine beckoned her. She drank as delicately as she could from the wrapped bottle. The flavor was earthy and remarkably similar to what she remembered drinking during their date at The Lucky Gun the week before. She passed it back to him. “Is this the same kind from our dinner?”

  Sadler nodded. “You remember? Yes, it is. It’s supposed to match with the beef in the sandwich.” He took a swig. “I didn’t bring dessert. When I bought all this, I was hoping for something not on The Lucky Gun’s menu afterwards.”

  Kat leaned into his side and took another bite of her sandwich. She chewed and swallowed before suggesting, “Maybe we can rent a room there this Friday?” They hadn’t spoken about their upcoming date. Not only were Porter Mine workers permitted to enter Waytown each Friday night, they were encouraged to spend as much of their week’s hard-earned pay at the casino as possible. During their first date, Sadler had explained that the gaming house had rooms available for rent on the upper levels.

  “I’ll drink to that!” He took another, more enthusiastic pull from the bottle before handing it back to her.