by Schow, Ryan
“It’s not the biggest building—”
“Living in the best building in San Francisco, conquering the lands, amassing our army, while you talk about your real world experience. You have no guns, no clan, no fortress. You’re basically a transient.”
“Yet if I wanted to, I could kill all three of you with my bare hands.”
“You running your mouth isn’t the same as being tough. Some of the best jaw jackers I know are gamers, so trust me when I tell you, whatever you think you have, you don’t. Maybe not with us three, but when you see what Lisandro’s built here,” the kid said, the name Lisandro making him flinch, “you’ll understand what it means to be part of a clan. “
“It’s still all make believe,” he said, suddenly curious.
“It was once upon a time,” the other kid said, “but the strategy was real, the attitudes prevailed and we know what it means to be a clan. All we’ve done is take our gaming applications and apply them to the real world.”
Looking around the sprawling grounds, up at the massive structure, at the stark white buildings with the Spanish tile roofs, he said, “Are you the clowns who’ve been launching bodies at the college down on Grove Street, just past the baseball field?”
The three mini-thugs whipped out their pistols lightening quick, like they’d been practicing the quick draw for months. It looked like the kindergarten gang was spooked. Gunderson gave a mighty roar of laughter.
“Look at how stupid you guys are,” he quipped, still in fits. “If you think I was part of that group and wanted to infiltrate your little rookie unit, do you really think I’d announce it to a pack of clowns like you?”
The three of them treaded looks, then the apparent leader said, “How do you know about the bodies if you’re not with them? Have you been spying on us?”
“I was getting my ass beat almost to death when they intervened on my behalf. Something I’ve come to regret.”
“So they saved you,” one of them asked.
“Yes.”
“And now what? You just left there?”
“Not by choice. You see, I have a past gang affiliation. I’m not exactly a walking billboard for great life decisions.”
“You could be a born again,” one guy said, eyeing the tattoos.
“Well I’m not.”
“But you’re not a threat,” he asked, “right?”
“For now.”
“You think you can be a part of something without being a problem? Because if you so much as utter one treasonous word, there are guys in there who played Call of Duty long enough to gut you and still get a good night’s sleep.”
“Has anyone gutted anyone in this little clan of yours?” he asked with a hint of laughter still riding the hard edge of his words.
They exchanged looks once more, but said nothing. “You said you have a gang affiliation,” the leader asked. “Which gang?”
“Originally the Sureños, but I was brought into The Ophidian Horde when all this went down.”
“Those guys were cucks.”
“You say that because you’ve never stood on the other side of one of them. A little pop tart like you, you’d already be gang raped and pushing daisies.”
“So you say.”
“If they’re so amazing,” one of the other two challenged, “then why are you out here alone? Why aren’t you with your gang?”
Reflecting on his original notions, he said, “I actually had the notion that I’d try to be a better person. That’s why I broke away. Became a solo act.”
“Seems like you need to get the band back together,” one of them joked. They all looked at each other and laughed.
“My life is better because of it,” he said.
“Sure it is, pal.”
“All three of you are alive, are you not?” he asked. They all wore that dumbfounded look on their stupid, zit covered faces. “See? Proof it’s working. So is that bed still available, or do I need to be on my way?”
“What did you do for The Ophidian Horde?” one of them asked.
“Chief Enforcer.”
Two of them swallowed hard, the other stopped blinking. Now they seemed to get it. It had only taken about a hundred years for these knuckle draggers to catch a clue.
“I think we need to take you to our leader,” one of them said.
“If you insist,” Gunderson replied.
“First,” one of them said, blinking, swallowing, inhaling his courage in a single gulp of air, “do you have any weapons on you?”
“Just my mouth and these,” he said, showing the boys his two fists.
“Alright,” the kid said.
The trio walked Gunderson inside, past security—who needed a detailed explanation about Gunderson’s presence—and then through two more layers of security where a man of maybe forty or forty-five years was sitting in a chair with a drink in hand and two girls on the couch reading back issues of Cosmopolitan and Allure magazine.
“So they tell me you were a Chief Enforcer for one of the SoMo gangs,” he said.
This man was very black with a heavy South African accent Gunderson liked. But he was no pushover. Gunderson saw that right away. He was thin but strong looking, with big hands with scarred knuckles. Surprisingly, he had good teeth and bright eyes, something you don’t always see on a man of his assumed position. Then again, maybe he ruled the world of Grand Theft Auto and was now just wise enough to “earn” his position.
“I was,” Gunderson said.
“What happened?”
“Didn’t like the turn of events, so I left, thought I’d find God, or myself. Something like that.”
“He was on his Eat, Pray, Love journey,” one of the girls said.
To the girl, the black guy said, “You’re the decoration, not an opinion anyone cares to hear just yet, so why don’t you just sit there, read your magazine and shut that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
The way he was coming off, he could be an African warlord, or a hip hop star. Gunderson didn’t quite know yet. But judging by the size of his knuckles, he was used to beating things, and not just the video game controllers.
“Yes, Bear,” she said, giving him a sultry look, like she was one of those girls who liked a man to talk down to her.
“Your name is Bear?”
“Barry,” he said. “But everyone calls me Bear.”
“Why?”
He raised an eyebrow, gave a dismissive wave of his hand, then said, “I’m more concerned with your past affiliations than I am the nicknames created for me by underlings.”
“If you weren’t concerned, I’d be shocked into a coma. Look, if you don’t have room for me here, that’s okay. I’m doing my own thing these days anyway.”
“Every man needs a home, a family, someone to love,” he said, glancing at the two girls on the couch. Neither girl looked a day over twenty; Bear was for sure in his mid-forties.
Adeline, Gunderson’s daughter, had been twelve when she and her mother were murdered. He still considered himself a father, and seeing these two tarts flirting with Bear—a man twice their age and then some—was beginning to turn his stomach.
“I had all that once,” he said, thinking of his wife Nilda and Adeline. “I brought them nothing but pain, and eventually death.”
“It’s your ability to bring about pain that interests me. As Chief Enforcer, did you ever…get your hands dirty?”
“Every so often I got them clean,” he said. “Other than that my job was to get my hands dirty. But you know this already, don’t you Bear?”
The man smiled, showing Gunderson those perfect pearly whites. Then he said, “I understand you came from the college on Grove Street.”
“I did.”
“What can you tell me about them?”
“That they don’t like you slinging dead bodies on their lunch tables while their kids are eating. That they found it even more offensive that you set them on fire and launched them in at night.”
“How man
y of them are there?” he asked.
“You show me a bed and we’ll have a talk. I’m not just going to come in here and regurgitate what is potentially valuable information.”
“If it’s a bed you want, you can get one of those by joining the clan. You need not give me enemy battle plans, or a layout of their fortress.”
“Who is this Lisandro?”
“He is our leader,” Bear said. If he was taken aback by Gunderson using that name, he almost didn’t show it. Almost.
“And that makes you—?”
“His General,” Bear answered with a nonchalant grin.
“Why don’t you take me to Lisandro, so I can properly introduce myself.”
“No one gets to meet Lisandro unless there is a reason to meet Lisandro,” Bear said with a bit of dramatic flair.
“How about this. I know the inside of the college, their weaknesses, their fighters and their women. I know their kids, their snipers and all the exits. So basically I know everything you need to know to defeat them.”
Bear seemed to chew on this for a moment. Then he looked at the girl, a young Latina, and he said, “Francesca, love, what do you think about this?”
She snapped her gum, then said, “Lisandro’s not going to like him.”
Smiling at Gunderson, he said, “And that is why we must take you to him.”
“Why do you always ask for my opinion then do the exact opposite?” Francesca asked, seemingly hurt as she sat there in her lingerie with her magazine, being the eye candy.
“Because you have bad instincts and you’re not very smart.”
“If I’m so dumb, then why bother with my opinion at all?” she asked.
“Because every time I do the opposite of what you suggest,” Bear said, standing up, “I’m met with good fortune. Believe it or not, cookie, you’re my good luck charm.”
Now she smiled, but the smile was dim. She went back to reading her magazine, then said, “Lisandro’s not going to like him.”
Bear walked Gunderson down the hallway to the Rossi Wing. There was a lot of construction going on, a remodel if you will, by young carpenters. It seemed they were trying to make things bigger, more accessible. Did they plan on filling this entire campus with people? Were they really going to amass a clan to end all clans? Looking around, one would certainly think so.
When Bear met a door he couldn’t just walk through, he knocked.
“Come in!” the voice said.
He opened the door, entered the room, then stepped out of the way and let Gunderson enter. Inside was a large office done in expensive décor. It wasn’t something you’d see in any style magazine but it had a certain finesse to it he could appreciate. Lisandro was sitting behind a very large desk and off to the right was a large cage with three naked girls inside. They didn’t look happy, but they didn’t look starved or angry either. It was as if they had just accepted this.
Lisandro looked up at Gunderson, held his eye for a long time. Gunderson refused to blink. Then, to Bear, Lisandro said, “Leave us.”
Bear left.
“This is interesting,” the eighteen year old said to Gunderson.
“It is every bit as interesting to me as it is to you,” he replied, breathless.
“So what is it I can do for you, father?”
Chapter Seventy-Two
The conference table hadn’t seen this level of activity ever. Now it seemed Rider and his friends were burning away the hours in the War Room, game planning and strategizing, brainstorming with more than a dozen other residents around three long tables pushed together.
At least the chairs were uncomfortable. At least it was stuffy.
They cracked the windows for some fresh air. They didn’t hear the chaos unfolding on the Grove Street side of the building.
Atlanta burst through the door to the War Room, quickly caught her breath, then looked at the upper echelon of security gathered around the tables and apologized for interrupting.
“There are glass bottles being hurled against the side of the college,” she said. “We think it’s them.”
“Glass bottles?” Rider asked, perplexed and shooting out of his chair.
“Yes,” she said, freaked out.
“Is there anything in these bottles?” Rider asked. “Or is it just bottles?”
“It looks like water.”
“What are they, twelve?” Rider grumbled, pushing past her, stalking down the hallway.
Outside, there was broken glass everywhere. People who saw it happening said only a couple of dozen bottles hit, then it stopped.
“Where’d they hit?” Rex asked. There were five of them outside: Rider, Rex, Jagger, Indigo and Cincinnati. Atlanta hung out in the doorway in case more bottles came flying in.
“Some went on the roof,” Atlanta said. “Some hit low. Most of them were concentrated on the second and third stories, though.”
“Anyone hurt?” Jagger asked.
“No.”
“Any broken windows?”
“One.”
Elizabeth came out with a broom and dustpan and Lenna in tow. Jagger went to the girl, said, “It’s not safe out here, sweetheart,” then looked at Lenna and said it was best they head back inside.
“It stopped though,” Elizabeth said. She was still so cute. Her face was more relaxed than when Jagger first found her, the pinched brows gone, her blonde bob pulled back in a micro ponytail fashioned by Lenna, who’d taken to the girl as if she were her own flesh and blood.
Lenna took Elizabeth back inside and Jagger started to clean up.
“What do you think these idiots are doing?” Jagger asked as he swept up the mess.
Before anyone could answer, Atlanta finally ventured outside, her concern replaced by irritated eyes and pinched features. She walked right up to Rider—who was pushing the broken glass into a pile with his boot—and said, “I’ve had enough of this sitting on the sidelines business. Whatever you’re planning in terms of retaliation, I want in.”
Behind her, and Rider didn’t see her right away, Elizabeth stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. She said, “I want in, too.”
Past Atlanta, to Elizabeth, Rider said, “You stick to card games and watching over your friends and let Atlanta and I talk. Now go back inside. We don’t need you cutting your feet open.”
Elizabeth stood there, resolved to stay.
“He’s right,” Jagger said. “This is an adult conversation.”
“I’m an adult,” she argued, looking small and seeming bigger than she was at the same time. Inside, Jagger did what he always did with her: he beamed with pride.
“Not yet you aren’t. But you’re close.”
Lenna appeared once more, took Elizabeth’s hand and said, “It’s not safe here, yet. Let the boys do their job and we can talk about this later.”
Before disappearing all the way into the hallway, Elizabeth looked back at them one last time—saw Jagger giving her the “keep moving” wink and wave—then disappeared down the hallway.
“We’ll look after her,” Indigo said as she and Cincinnati headed inside.
Rex said, “You guys got this or you need me to grab a broom and dustpan, too.”
“We’re fine,” Rider replied. To Jagger, he said, “That girl is going to be a firecracker one day.”
“Elizabeth?”
“Yeah.”
Jagger chewed on his molars for a second, then said, “It’s time to stop this ridiculousness once and for all.”
“Did either of you hear me?” Atlanta said. She was standing next to the two remaining men with things to say and a point to prove.
“We don’t know who these people are or how many of them there are,” Rider said. “Recon is a waste of resources when you consider the sheer square footage one could occupy in just a one mile radius, and the best way to leave the school vulnerable is for all of us to leave it unguarded.”
“You figure out what you’re going to figure out, but let me help,” Atlanta s
aid, firm. “I can help.”
“So what do you want to do?” Rider turned and asked her, surprised by the tact of this normally quiet and reserved girl. “Shoot at them when they come? Absolutely. Grab a gun. You can help in that effort whenever you want.”
“I want in on the planning,” she said. “I want a seat at the table, that’s all. Not the big table, the small table. The one where the real decisions are being made.”
Rider took the broom and Jagger lined the dustpan up to the big pile of dirt and glass. Jagger didn’t know much about the girl’s history, but the petite blonde with the cute but determined face and the eyes that had seen too much trauma stood her ground. She looked at Jagger for help, but the pilot held his tongue.
“I let them take my sister,” Atlanta said, pain filtering into her voice, “and I’ve watched them chip away at our peace and stability, but I don’t want to feel helpless anymore. I personally want in, and being part of the solution feels better than wondering what the hell is going on.”
“You know these are not the same people who did this to Charity,” Rider said, speaking of Atlanta’s older sister.
“Of course I know that,” she snapped. “I’m young but I have combat experience. I’m not a child anymore.”
“I know you’re not,” Rider said.
“Good, so then give me a seat at the table.”
His eyes took in every last nuance of the girl. Where he ended up looking, though, was not at her face (which was beautiful and symmetrical against the frame of her almost white/blonde hair) or her body language in general (which beamed with restless energy even though at first glance she looked petite and seemed weak against a man his size); instead, Rider’s eyes locked in on the bruises on her arms and legs. They were plentiful. Which meant she was training hard with Macy outside of her training with him.
Rider had seen the same bruises on Macy and knew the two were serious about surviving in this dangerous new world. They knew there would come a time for them to fight. He knew this, too. This would be a time to grow, a time to let go. To trust they had enough to defend themselves, and to release the idea that they could keep their girls safe and out of harm’s way any longer.
