by Al K. Line
"No, that's what I'm telling you. That place, where Jake is, that's not a nice place and Ivan doesn't deal with anyone there. His guys don't either. It's beyond him, full of the desperate, the dangerous. His guys run clean operations, won't sell to people who are strung-out or getting too low. They're pros and won't let people rack up debts. No cash to buy, no product. Keeps things smooth, no problems. If Jake is buying from guys who let him owe five grand, and from the men who sell in that area, then he's low and he's off the radar."
"So why does Ivan let it carry on?"
"Because they stay out of his way, and because they're wild guys, don't give a shit about him or anyone else. When he deals with one group, another one comes in to replace them. He's tried, but the fact is, there are always people who are so desperate they'll buy from anyone and he can't seem to stop them finding each other. Most of the country is clean and run well, but in every city there are spots where things get too low, and too stupid, for him to deal with."
"Well he should. He should make it safe."
"He isn't the police, Penelope. Ivan's a gangster and he's running a business. He does his best, but it isn't perfect and it never will be when it comes to this stuff. He can't control everyone, it isn't his place to try. The guy does what he can. Do I like it? No. But I get it. He tries, but he leaves the lowlifes to it unless they interfere in his business. Basically, what I'm telling you is he leaves the small-scale guys to sell to people he won't let his own people go anywhere near. He isn't losing business and as long as it stays that way he won't, and can't, deal with them all. There are too many of them. So he steers clear."
"So we need to help Jake?"
"We sure do. Come on, let's go."
I grabbed some cash from one of many stash spots and returned to my darling future wife. This was going to be depressing as hell.
Into the Slums
I called George and told her the basics of what was happening. She sounded worried, not so much about Jake and where we were going, but about the fact I was off doing anything after the night and morning I'd had. I told her I was fine, just another day in the life of The Hat, but it sounded hollow even to me. Was I fine? I felt fine. I felt kinda awesome. So, obviously, that concerned me. I shouldn't be okay, should I?
I shrugged it off. I was cool, I'd dealt with worse. Maybe.
"Anyway, where are you?" I asked, surprised she'd gone out without telling me, but then remembering I'd gone upstairs for a rest but Penelope had come up and one thing had led to another.
"About ten feet away, you muppet." I looked up and George waved at me as she came walking from around the corner of a barn.
"Haha." I hung up.
"You okay?" she asked Penelope.
"A bit worried about my cousin, but Arthur promised to help."
"You'll be okay. Just let Dad take care of it. Dad, you should take it easy."
"I'm on top form. Um, we have some news." I felt awkward, a bit silly, even though I was very excited.
"We do," said Penelope, her smile returning. We held hands, and grinned like idiots at each other.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense." George looked at us, eyebrows raised, as she rubbed her dirty hands on her work jeans. She smelled like horses. Her business was doing well, and she loved it. I loved seeing her happy. Damn, things were going so well, I couldn't leave all this behind. Look where we were, how content we were.
"Dad?"
"Eh, sorry."
"Try not to zone out when you tell me you have news and stand there grinning like idiots," scolded George.
"Sorry. I proposed."
"About time." George hugged and kissed us both. "Wondered how long it would take you to pop the question. You deserve it, both of you. Um, as long as you didn't get rejected?"
"Haha, very funny. Who could resist my charms?" Both women snorted. "Thanks, honey. You okay with it?"
"Of course. It's great. Sudden, rushed, you hardly know each other, but then, you've lived together since the day you met, so who am I to tell you you're crazy?"
"Hey, when you get to our age, you—Ow!"
"You deserved that," said Penelope, smiling after punching me on the arm. "Less of the old."
"Okay, oops. Anyway, we're going to get married. Great, eh?"
"Great. Well, be careful." George waved as she wandered off, like the news was nothing. Guess she'd been expecting it and nothing I did really surprised her.
"She took that well," said Penelope.
"Sure did. Come on, let's go."
I was loath to leave but family came first. Even before Death.
Getting Things Straight
"Arthur?" said Penelope as we emerged through the portal into the kitchen of the city house.
"Yeah?"
"You will be careful, won't you?"
"It's just some lowlifes, nothing to be worried about," I said breezily, still marveling at how quickly she'd taken to this magical world I inhabited. Although, and it made me smile, the first ten or so times we went through the gates she oohed and aahed. Now it was just normal, like taking a bus but a helluva lot faster.
"I don't mean that, although obviously I am concerned. I mean this Death business. Haha, sounds so silly talking about this, but you must be more careful. You said it yourself, if you die again it's the end, for the foreseeable future at least. Please don't die."
Penelope grabbed my hands and squeezed them tight, looked at me with a face full of love and concern.
"I promise I'll be careful. And that means you need to go home soon. There will be people, and maybe things, after me, because of the book. Until I know how to deal with all this, you shouldn't be near me."
"You'll protect me," she said, a mass of contradictions. One minute she's saying be careful, the next she's acting like I'm a superhero.
"I will, with all my being. But this is dangerous, I can't deny it. People want this book, people want me, and I don't know how this will pan out. So we'll get your cousin, you do what you want with him, although I'm sorry but he can't stay with us."
"God no, I wouldn't want him to. He never learns, I know that much, but I can't be responsible for him getting his legs broken or whatever they'll do to him."
"Oh, you are so sweet," I said, brushing her hair with the back of my hand. It may have come across as slightly condescending, at least that's the impression I got after she punched me in the balls.
"Um, sorry?" I gasped.
"Damn straight, mister. Don't patronize me!" Penelope's eyes were angry, her cheeks were flushed, and her chest was heaving. I may have ogled. I may have got another punch in the knackers.
"Joking aside," I croaked, wincing as I stood straight, "but you don't understand this world. The guys that have Jake will kill him for sure if we don't pay. They don't break your legs for five grand, they cut you into bits to make an example of you."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. So, when we get close, and I know there's no point asking now, you stay away while I go get him. They will eat you alive, a sweet citizen like you, all innocent and pretty." I smiled my best smile, but I must have said something wrong again, because, you guessed it, another punch into Hat manhood was my rather disproportionate reward for looking out for my lady.
My phone rang. I answered, bent double. "He... Hello?" I gasped.
"Arthur! Where the hell are you? What's happening? Are we gonna kick some ass?" screeched Vicky.
"Later, got something to do first." I hung up. I risked a tentative smile at my future wife.
"Love you," I said.
"Idiot!"
Urban Jungle
The city wasn't short on ghettos. Most didn't realize, but it was more ghetto than smart. People went about their lives with blinkers on, believing in their naivety that the places they frequented, the streets they drove through, the office blocks they worked in, the pubs, clubs, and coffee shops they spent their cash in, the out-of-town department stores and supermarkets were what the whole city was like.
They were wrong.
>
Most citizens stuck to the areas they knew, hardly straying, certainly never took the time to really explore the city. If they did, they would have realized that the gleaming towers, the new apartments, the wide streets and undercover shopping malls were a sham. Like icing on a rotten cake. I knew different, so did the poor souls stuck down in the gutter with no way out save a miracle.
There were places like the shanty towns where homeless congregated, sleeping in makeshift homes concocted from cardboard, tarps, and wooden pallets, and there were squats and communal places like Hi-Lo where people had it easy in comparison to many, and then there were streets lined with houses you couldn't give away, whole swathes of the city that were basically no-go zones, even for Ivan's people. We weren't special or anything here, it was the same in every decent-sized city in every part of the country, and from what I gathered, much of the world was a lot worse.
While some areas became respectful, others slid into a slump as jobs became scarce and crime and drugs took over. Gangster life became the norm for youngsters, each gang trying to outdo the other with violence and exploits, all futile. They were kidding themselves but that didn't stop them stabbing each other and engaging in petty rivalries.
Where once were compact terraced houses where everyone knew each other and doors were never locked, now there were streets where nobody with any sense lived. Even the council had stopped housing people in such areas and they became nothing more than squats, places to get high, and drug dens for the ever-changing crews who dealt in low-quality product until the mortality rate of their customers forced them to either move on, or they succumbed and got knocked off by a rival gang who soon enough would go exactly the same way.
It was to one such street we were going. I didn't like it one bit. It made me sad to think of all the lost souls. People hooked on who knew what, unable to break free, trapped in a purgatory of a much more visceral kind than I had any right to complain about.
But it was Penelope I was afraid for, because she didn't know this world, had hardly seen it. I'd taken her places, but nowhere like this. We were silent as I drove through the streets past burned-out cars, houses with bars at the windows, groups of youths hanging around, giving us the evil eye as we drove silently past.
She stared out the window, occasionally turned her head to get a better look at one sad sight or another, and I regretted bringing her. What was Jake doing letting things get this low? It can happen to anyone though, and sometimes life just gives you a nudge over the cliff whether you're ready for it or not. Sounded like he didn't need a push though, he jumped in voluntarily, but there was always a reason, always something that forced you into such a life.
"You okay?" I asked, squeezing her knee.
"It's so depressing. The people look like zombies."
"It's the drugs, and the lack of hope. They're empty, can't think how to escape, consumed by the place. Trapped."
"Why don't they leave? Go to the council or something, ask for help? For a house? Benefits?"
"They will be on benefits, but many default on rent, can't pay bills, or just don't want to be part of the system. Dropouts, but not of the good kind. I'll have to take you to Hi-Lo some time, so you can see people living alternative ways but without the misery. Shall I turn around, take you back? I can do this alone."
"No, I'm coming. I have to help Jake. He can't live somewhere like this."
"He probably doesn't. Just gets his gear, takes his hit, then slopes off somewhere else. Most do. Most houses here are in-and-outs."
"In-and-outs?"
"Yeah, you go in, get your gear, shoot up, snort or whatever, get high, and when it wears off, or they kick you out, you leave."
"God, what a way to live."
"Tell me about it. Right," I said, as I pulled up outside a garage, "I want you to stay put and I'll be back soon. Okay?"
"Here?" Penelope looked around at the street nervously.
"No, in there." I pointed at the garage and as if by magic the door slid up smoothly on well-oiled runners. I pulled inside, the door slid closed, and light illuminated an empty, pristine, white space. I killed the engine and turned to Penelope.
"Do not leave this room. You can get out of the car, but you are not, and I stress this point, to leave this room. You can't anyway, the door is locked, but don't try. Don't make a noise, don't panic, and don't start the car. Just stay put until I come get you. Understand?"
"Okay. What is this place?"
"It's a garage."
"Arthur!"
"Sorry. It's somewhere I use when I have to. Which isn't often, hardly ever. But it's safe, it's ward-protected, and nobody has tampered with it by the seems of it. I got it a long time ago, when I was a different person, and I turned it into a Quiet Place, so I could cope."
"Cope with what? What aren't you telling me?"
"I had issues, problems, things were rough, but I made it through. I got out even though I should have never got in. Just trust me. It's safe, it's clean, but outside isn't." I kissed her, then before she could object I got out, left the keys just in case, and snuck out through the small door.
Graffiti brightened the exterior, it looked abandoned, battered and of no interest, but the wards kept prying eyes away. I was amazed it was still secure after all this time, decades, so I guess I was a good wizard even back in the old days when I had a stint as an occupant of what I can only describe as hell on earth.
Now I was revisiting the old haunts, hopefully there were no ghosts from my past still remaining. Even ghosts fade given enough time, don't they?
Dealing With Junkies
I had several streets still to go, but this was as close as I felt comfortable driving, and even that wasn't without its dangers. From here to where Jake was being held was somewhere you didn't use your car, not unless you were a dealer or planning a drive-by.
Although it was day, the whole area had a sinister nighttime vibe to it. Lost in shadow, the street was dwarfed by ancient, crumbling tenements long overdue demolition, and no doubt would be gone soon enough. The sun never shone down here, daylight was diffused and as dirty as the roads, stealing even free warmth in summertime from the unfortunates who walked with nowhere to go or huddled in gutted buildings, burning fires in chimneys never cleaned. There were endless small fires here, ancient chimneys with a build-up of soot or bird's nests causing chimney fires that often whooshed from the top of the houses like angry dragons awakening from particularly bad nightmares.
As I walked, I fell easily into the gangster attitude. Shoulders squared, an exaggerated swagger to my step, arms hanging loose and low. Cold, deadpan eyes removed any mirth from my face, and I stared straight ahead, never making eye contact unless someone really needed to "Get the fuck out of my way." I strode with purpose yet never rushed. I was in charge around here, I was in control, and every ounce of my being screamed, "Do not fuck with me."
You had to have this attitude. If you didn't you'd be eaten up, swallowed whole by the lowlifes, the desperate, the plain cruel, or the utterly stoned. The place was full of opportunists and they'd think nothing of taking the clothes off your back if they thought you were weak, so I ambled with attitude, and those who didn't know me, or know of me, steered clear because they could tell I belonged yet wasn't like them, wasn't to be messed with.
Disheveled men and women, gaunt of face, desperately skinny, wasting away day by day like cancer patients shuffled along the streets, stepped into the gutter as I hogged the pavement, glancing at me nervously then hurrying on their way, not wanting trouble. Armageddon had already been and gone from here, leaving the zombies with a bone-deep craving that could never be quenched.
People stumbled from doorways, the stench of noxious chemicals wafting out into the street as they shielded their eyes even from the dull light.
At other doorways hard men with even harder stares eyed me with suspicion as I passed, worried I was there to interrupt business. A face they didn't know, someone to be treated with distrust and v
iolence given even a hint of perceived provocation.
I ignored them all, just went about my business, and nobody interfered with my passing.
Turning a corner, I almost gasped but remained stony as I took in the state of a street I hadn't visited for what felt like several lifetimes. Hell, it had been bad then, I honestly hadn't believed it could have got worse, but it had. Certainly nobody made this place their home any more. The other streets still held a few actual residents clinging to the old days when neighbors were friendly, trying to maintain their houses and make the most of it because there was nowhere else for them to go, but here, in this street, the houses were abandoned. Folks had given up and moved away or simply squatted in squalor and filth, junkies taking anything of value, old residents now another strung-out face, the past forgotten.
Weeds grew from chimneys, ivy climbed the walls of the terraces. Doors were missing or hanging off hinges, whilst others were reinforced with steel for the temporary drug dens. Groups of young adults scowled at passing men and women, or called out code for their wares, and others rushed off into one building or another that was guarded at the entrance to retrieve the goods a desperate customer had paid for with money you knew came from nowhere nice.
I increased my swagger, pulled my hat low to add to the air of menace and mystery, and wandered down the middle of the road because the edges were too dangerous even for me, liable as I was to be jumped by someone from a doorway.
What a way to live. What a life. What a desperate, sad, sorry, pathetic state we let people get into. Here I was partially blaming Ivan for this, when at least he'd tried to get this crap off the streets, to offer a good product at a proper price and not sell to anyone who needed help. His guys offered assistance, would help anyone get into rehab, although yes I understood the contradictions when he was selling a highly addictive substance, but who was really to blame? Shouldn't the government, the council, the police, someone, help these people?
Were we all responsible? Or was it all just these people's fault for not trying to escape from this? Weren't we all the masters of our own destinies? Yes, and no. People fall apart easily. All it took was several missed mortgage payments when you lost your job to turn you from a happy, if stressed, home-owner to homeless and desperate.
