New Reality 2: Justice

by Michael Robertson

  The window next to Marie was open enough to let the sounds from outside in. Wet thuds filled the air as the batons connected with bodies and wheezing screams were beaten out of the men from the estate. Curse words flew as freely from the officers as their attacks, "Scum bags, street rats, stealing bastards." The occasional high-pitched yell from one of the three female officers stood out in the chaos.

  This shouldn’t be happening; it wasn’t on. When Marie reached for the door handle next to her, Frankie clamped a strong grip on her right arm. She looked across at him and he shook his head.

  "You can't do anything about this."

  While she was looking at Frankie, the sounds of the men getting beaten stopped. She looked over to see the officers backing off and the four men from the estate lay limp and lifeless.

  "Are they dead?" she whispered.

  Silence filled the car and the dark eyes of the cabbie looked back in the mirror again. "The government is thinking about forcing businesses to incinerate all their waste food; they'd rather burn it than feed the poor."

  One of the officers, a petite black woman with a dark scowl, opened the back doors to their meat wagon. Four others grabbed the flaccid men and dragged them across the street by their ankles.

  The men's heads bounced off the asphalt and Marie covered her mouth, her heart thumping.

  As they were dragged into the back of the meat wagon, their heads clattered against the metal step leading into the vehicle. Marie's vision blurred and a lump burned her throat as she croaked, "How can they do that to them?"

  Frankie reached over and planted a soft hand on her knee. "They don't care about them, Marie."

  "Not only that," the cabbie—who had seemingly lost regard for the rules in Nirvana—said, "but those poor bastards will each be given a five-year custodial sentence without trial—if they survive, that is. Justice is too expensive for an estate rat. We're a drain on the system as it is, so we don't get a trial."

  When Marie looked to Frankie, she saw him staring straight ahead, his strong jaw set. Behind his steeled-glare were memories that she would never hear about—the pain he would never share.

  Slam!

  Slam!

  The meat wagon was closed up and suddenly it was over. In the silence that followed, Marie's stomach dropped. No wonder Frankie was so worried about ending up on the estate again.

  The taxi driver moved off. As they passed the police officers, he shrank away from their fierce glares. The life of a person from the estate was one of perpetual fear. At any point, the police could take an interest in them and they could lose everything.

  ***

  The next sound in the silent cab was the driver popping the back doors of the taxi open once he'd pulled up outside the restaurant.

  Just before Frankie got out, he leaned forwards. "Can I give you a tip, brother?"

  The man shook his head and shrugged. "All fares are paid up front so we don't get tips. If there's any hint that I've taken more than the cost of the journey, I'll lose my job and be put straight on New Reality for theft."

  "Sorry to hear that." After patting the driver's shoulder, Frankie sighed. "Stay strong, man. Good luck to you and yours."

  Marie hadn't heard that phrase before.

  A flash of recognition passed across the driver's face when he looked at Frankie. It was clearly something said on the estate.

  "I hope it all works out for you," Frankie said.

  A sharp nod and the man straightened in his seat. "Thank you, sir. I hope you both have a good meal and a pleasant evening."

  Once they were outside the cab and the taxi was driving away, Marie said, "He seemed like a nice man. It's nice to see some people from the estate getting by."

  "Getting by? His job hangs in the balance every day. I have no doubt that the person that owns the taxi firm doesn't give him enough money to survive on, and he's not allowed to take any tips. I wouldn't be surprised if his family are starving like everyone else's. They're very fucking far from getting by, Marie."

  So maybe it was a stupid thing to say. "I just thought—"

  "No you didn't, Marie. Life on the estate is shit. The sooner you realise that, the sooner we'll both be pulling in the same direction. This is why I feel so worried about our future; I don't think you get it."

  Pulling in the same direction? If only he knew what she was enduring on a daily basis to get them enough money for a marriage certificate. There were other patrons walking into the restaurant so Marie lowered her voice. "If you tried telling me what it was like, then maybe I'd have more of an idea. You get shitty with me for not getting it, but you never try to help me understand."

  Frankie nodded in the direction of the restaurant. "Come on, we're running late."

  Chapter Eighteen

  The heat in the restaurant stood in stark contrast to the icy chill between Frankie and Marie. An ineffectual tug at her collar did nothing to cool Marie down. She spoke from the side of her mouth. "Is it me, or is it really hot in here?"

  After a quick scan of the dimly lit restaurant, Frankie threw spiky words at her. "It's not that hot. The air-con's on."

  "Come on, Frankie; let's not do this now—not here."

  Although Frankie didn't reply, he relaxed slightly and put a hand on her back. That was the good thing with them; when they argued, it never lasted long.

  A waiter appeared in front of them and Marie jumped back. It was like he'd sprung from nowhere.

  For a moment, Frankie and the waiter stared at one another before Frankie said, "Where did you come from?"

  The waiter didn't respond.

  The silence hung for a second before Frankie said, "The Trollope party? Are they here yet?"

  With his arm across his front—a white towel draped over it—the waiter dipped a nod and walked into the restaurant.

  As Marie followed Frankie and the waiter, her skin itched. Not wearing anything beneath the corset was really taking its toll but she didn’t have much choice. In this heat, she'd rather itch than wear another layer.

  The room was so poorly lit, it was impossible to tell how large it was. Several twists and turns later found Frankie and Marie presented to the table. The waiter still hadn't spoken.

  A loud cheer went up and Kitty sprang to her feet, shooing the waiter away with a wave of her hand. "Frankie! My darling! It's simply delightful to see you again. How are you?"

  She kissed the air on either side of his face and Marie screwed her nose up at the smell of Kitty's sweet perfume. It wasn't the quality of the fragrance; it was the quantity. She smelled like she’d taken a bath in the stuff.

  Kitty sat down, pulled out the seat next to her, and patted it as she bestowed a horsey smile on Frankie.

  A quick glance at Marie and Frankie sat down on it.

  There was a seat to Frankie's left, which Marie pulled out herself and dropped onto. If she looked at Frankie or Kitty, or anyone else for that matter, she was going to swing for them. Instead, she picked up the digital menu in front of her and ordered an orange juice; hopefully, no one would notice she wasn't drinking alcohol.

  As Marie swiped through the options on the menu, the beating she'd witnessed on the way over played through her mind. She relived every wet crack of batons breaking bones; the shock still sat in her stomach like a rock as she wondered where the four men from the estate were now. Would she be watching their fantasies on a screen next week? Were they even still alive?

  When Marie tuned into the conversation around her, she had to fight the urge to head-butt the table. The inane and pretentious babble droned from Kitty's mouth, mostly, and went directly into Frankie's ear. Drifting away again, Marie looked around the restaurant.

  The waiting staff glided between the tables in silence, communicating with nothing more than a dip of the head or a broad smile. It wasn't a law yet, but in anticipation of what was to come, most restaurants had already banned the workers from talking to the patrons. That was probably why Kitty chose that particular place; as kin
d as she was to Frankie, she was cruel to anyone else form the estate.

  Marie's eyes found a particularly beautiful waitress walking the floor, and she was reminded of a deer; the woman was both timid and elegant. They made eye contact for the briefest moment and, in that short flash, Marie saw the girl's anxiety. It was hardly surprising; there was zero tolerance for estate workers. Just one complaint, no matter whether they did anything wrong or not, and they were done for.

  It was Kitty's squeaky voice that dragged Marie from her reverie; more specifically, it was what she was saying to Frankie while draped over him.

  "We were so good together."

  The muscles in Marie's back tensed and she clenched her fists as she looked at Kitty. Was she really going to do this now?

  The look clearly wasn't lost on Kitty, who flashed Marie a brilliant white smile. "Don't you think we would make a fantabulous couple again, Maggie?"

  "Marie. And no, I think you'd want him to be a higher earner because you worship money." The sentence was punctuated by another hard glare. Just fucking try me, bitch.

  "Obviously," Kitty said with a scoff. "But if he had a good woman to provide for, I'm sure it would motivate him to get off his arse and get a decent job." The sentence was delivered with a playful punch to Frankie's arm.

  Whilst grinding her jaw, Marie continued to stare at the woman. Would he earn more for someone like Kitty? Would he try harder if she were pregnant with his child?

  The look on Frankie's face told Marie everything; pull your fucking neck in! And he was right. Before they came to dinner, Marie knew that whatever happened, they needed to remain on Kitty's good side.

  "Besides, Marcie, don't you want him out of your hair?" Her piercing blue eyes lost focus as she stroked his face. "It must be a nightmare sharing a house with such a beautiful man. I mean, what guy wouldn't feel intimidated if you brought him home and he saw you were living with this hunk of meat?"

  Marie raised an eyebrow at Frankie that asked if he was really going to stay silent. Seeing Marie’s anger, Frankie then turned to Kitty. "We broke up for a reason, Kitty. I don't think going back could ever work."

  Think? Think? Shouldn't he be saying he knows it wouldn't work?

  A lingering glare hung between Kitty and Frankie before Kitty shrugged and tapped her glass. Ching! Ching! The table fell silent and Kitty stood up. "Okay, I want a show of hands."

  Everyone, except Frankie and Marie, put their hands up.

  "Not yet," Kitty said.

  Frankie pulled on her sleeve, his face flushed red. "Sit down, Kitty; you're making a fool of yourself."

  It was Kitty's way to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Instead of respecting Frankie's wishes, she flashed him yet another empty smile. "Who here thinks Frankie and I made a great partnership and would make a fantabulous couple if we were to get back together?"

  Again, every arm—except for Frankie and Marie's—went up.

  When Kitty looked at Marie, she laughed. "So it's just you who thinks we shouldn't get back together. Do I detect a little crush?"

  Some of the guests smirked, but most of them squirmed in their seats. Kitty's cruelty was even too much for them.

  Heat spread through Marie's cheeks as she sat there in silence. What she would give to knock the bitch out. But when she looked at Frankie and saw the slightest shake running through him, she dropped her focus to the table instead.

  She had to shut the fuck up. Kitty knew too much about him for her to go shooting her mouth off.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Every credit counted towards their marriage certificate, so Marie picked the cheapest meal on the menu. However, when her tomato salad arrived, all she could do was just stare at it. Apparently, a tomato salad in this restaurant comprised of just one ingredient. At any other time she would have sent it back, but the last thing she wanted to do today was cause a scene.

  Despite her disappointment, Marie tucked in. The same bland, watery taste that she associated with every piece of fruit or vegetable filled her mouth. Genetic modification had left them all tasting the same. Sure, they never ran out of their five a day, but the choice of what to eat was based more on texture than taste.

  When she looked up to see Kitty hanging on Frankie's every word, touching him and laughing every time he made the slightest hint of a joke, she chewed harder. What the fuck was she doing here?

  After slipping another baby tomato into her mouth, the fruit bursting in an explosion of watery neutrality, Marie looked at the shining prongs of her fork. How much force it would take to drive the spikes through Kitty's skull?

  All of the other dinner guests seemed to know one another well, and no less than six different conversations flowed around Marie. They were mostly about people Marie had never heard of. The content was mostly unkind; or if it wasn't, it was steered in that direction very quickly.

  No one had tried to talk to Marie. That was just fine. It made the meal pass quicker.

  A loud and obnoxious man at the other end of the table called out over the noise. "Kitty, how many have you had now?"

  Kitty broke away from Frankie and looked up. "Huh?"

  "Abortions, my sweet; how many abortions have you had now?"

  "Three in two years. It's getting expensive, but what else can I do? I wasn't going to marry any of those men, let alone have their babies."

  It took a few seconds for Marie to realise her jaw was hanging loose. After closing it, she watched Kitty. Three abortions! Of course, Marie had considered it, but to actually go through with it and to find the right person to do it… sometimes it was cheaper and easier to just get married.

  Kitty removed a cocktail stick, with a cherry on the end, from her luminous drink and ran her tongue around it as she looked down at Frankie's lap. "Besides, I'm saving myself for someone special."

  The man at the end of the table scoffed as he said, "And who wants to have a bastard child anyway? That's a one-way ticket to the estate."

  The other guests laughed, but anxiety tore a jagged trail through Marie's heart and she exchanged a quick glance with Frankie. It seemed like every waking moment was a reminder of their fate.

  "Although, I'm not sure what that last doctor did to me," Kitty said. "Things haven't felt right since."

  "Alright, love," the guy at the end of the table replied. "Spare us the details, yeah? I want to keep my appetite."

  As the rest of the group laughed again, Marie watched Kitty. What would it be like to have a back alley abortion? Regardless of how much you paid, none of them was legal. This society was set up to punish those who made mistakes. If you got pregnant but couldn't afford to get married or have a decent abortion, you were sent to the estates. Either that or some crazed backstreet butcher rendered you infertile. It was a fucking tightrope for people like Marie and Frankie. The only people who could make mistakes in this society were the wealthy—and the wealthy could do whatever they liked.

  While flashing a fake smile, Kitty flipped the bird at the guy at the end of the table. The slightest sheen glazed her sad eyes.

  When Kitty caught Marie looking at her, she wiped her tears away and screwed her face up. "Were you drunk when you put your make up on, Margie?"

  The attack was just to make Kitty feel better; the conversation about abortions had exposed her, and Marie had witnessed it. Kitty clearly felt vulnerable and was coming out swinging.

  But it didn't stop there. Kitty pulled a business card from her bag and flicked it in Marie's direction. It landed in Marie's food.

  "My make-up artist, Juan Gonzalez, will whip you into shape in no time. I suggest you call him."

  Kitty was the only one smiling at this. The rest of the table watched as she giggled to herself.

  And to think, Marie actually felt sorry for her. The stuck up bitch deserved all the heartache she got. In fact, maybe Marie should point that out to her; someone needed to put the horrible cow in her place.

  It was only when she felt a hand grab hers under the table
that she relaxed. She looked at Frankie and squeezed back. She needed to keep herself under control for his sake.

  Marie continued to watch Kitty as she put another tomato into her mouth and bit down.

  ***

  A sharp pain jabbed Marie's bicep. When she looked at the short woman with the beehive hairdo next to her who had elbowed her, she shrugged. "What?"

  Red-faced and clearly not finding Marie's response as amusing as some of the other guests, the woman tutted then said, "Finally! Jesus, I've asked you three times already."

  "Asked me what?"

  The woman's face twisted, her lips shrivelling when she asked, "What do you do?"

  Most of the table had fallen silent as they watched on.

  "I work in the control room for Rixon."

  There was a collective drawing of breath; even Kitty paid attention.

  The man that had asked Kitty about her abortions leaned forward and called down the table. "So what's it like?"

  Marie shrugged. "I'm not allowed to say. It's top secret."

  Nods of approval passed around the table like a Mexican wave. They came to an abrupt halt when they reached Kitty, who sat pouting with her arms folded.

  Marie couldn't have asked for a better reaction and she beamed a smile at Kitty. Any excuse to wind the bitch up. But before she could say anything else, Kitty shrieked, "You didn't just do that!"

  What the hell? Looking at the indignant woman, Marie then saw the wide-eyed waiter she was addressing. Was this just because Marie was getting more attention than she was?

  "Are you deaf or something, Dopey? I said; you did not just do that."

  Always the pacifier, Frankie spoke in a soft tone, "Maybe you should lower your voice, Kitty. Tell me what's wrong. You're making a scene."

  "I won't lower my voice." One of her bony fingers sprung from her hand and she jabbed it in the direction of the waiter. "He was just staring at my tits!"

  But you don't have any seemed like the obvious response. Despite the glaring invitation, no one accepted it. It was difficult to hold the words back, but that's what Marie did as she watched on.