by Jay Posey
“Take all of it, keep the money, we don’t want it. Please, just take it and go!”
“Maybe you find yourself a new line of work, alright, Tyke?”
“Yeah, alright, definitely, yeah.”
Cass left the pistol pressed against his temple while she resealed the case. She threw the money pack back over her shoulder, and picked up the quint. She nudged the shrieking Jantz with her foot.
“Hey, Jantz. I’m sorry, kid. Wrap it up tight, you’ll be OK.” She tapped Tyke on the head with the jittergun, and then slid it into her pocket. “You stay clear of the Bonefolder.”
Cass walked to the eastern entrance, and didn’t look back. Once she’d crossed through the outer edge of Downtown, she turned down a narrow alley, dropped to a knee, and vomited.
Three had led for most of the way back, but Twitch had covered the last hundred meters faster than Three had ever seen anyone move. He crashed through the front door of the Samurai McGann, and Three was only a few steps behind.
“Mol!” he shouted, “Where’s Mol!”
The bartender leapt over the bar and intercepted him before he could get too far, grabbed him by the shoulders, held him fast.
“Twitch!” the bartender tried to get his attention. “Twitch!”
“Mol! Mol, baby, where are you?”
“Twitch, hold on now, hold on!” said the bartender, but jCharles wasn’t having any of it. He lifted the man bodily and threw him into the bar, and raced towards the stairs.
Three followed closely behind, certain his heart had stopped in his chest. Halfway up the stairs the door swung open, and Mol stood there looking terrified. jCharles swept her up in his arms so violently, they both nearly toppled into the room.
“Twitch?! Twitch, what happened, are you alright?”
“Mol, baby, are you OK? Where’s the kid?”
She was pale with fright, confused.
“Wren? Wren’s right here. Wren, come here, sweetheart.”
Wren poked his head out from the back room, wild-eyed and clearly confused.
“Twitch, calm down, what is going on?”
Three stood at the door, scanning the apartment. No signs of a struggle. Everything seemed as they’d left it.
A commotion sounded on the stairwell, and without hesitation, Three drew and was on target in less than a blink. The poor bartender nearly fell back down the stairs.
“Nimble! What’s going on!?” jCharles yelled from the top of the stairs.
Nimble, the bartender, crept up the stairs almost apologetically. “That’s what I try’a tell ya, Twitch. Got some down here for you see.”
Three reholstered, straightened up. jCharles went back and hugged Mol.
“You sure you’re OK, baby?”
“We’re fine. We’re completely fine. What happened, Twitch?”
He kissed her hard on the mouth, then on the forehead, then left her in the room. Nimble led them back downstairs, down the length of the bar, and around the corner to a large end booth. Two rough-looking gentlemen sat shoulder-to-shoulder next to each other, surrounded by seven much rougher-looking gentlemen. Three recognized the seven as regulars.
“These ones here,” said Nimble, wagging a finger at the two men pressed in the middle of the booth. “Come run in ask about Miss Mol, say the Bonefolder needs talk to her. I tell ’em get faffed.”
“Faff off, ye!” one of the regulars shouted, for no apparent reason.
“And ’ems start get rowdy. Actin’ for show, y’know. And ol’ Nimble say nay go round here, no sir.” He looked at the two men for emphasis. “NAY. GO. ROUND HERE.”
Twitch let out a laugh then, a genuine laugh of relief and joy. He slapped Nimble hard on the back, leaned his forehead into his bartender’s in some version of a hug. Started handing out backpats to the regular seven.
“Well thank you, Nimble. This is why I let you run the place. You take better care of it than I do. Open the bar up for everybody.”
“And about ’em?”
Twitch thought about it for about two seconds.
“Strip ’em. Tie their arms around each other. Let ’em walk back to Bonefolder.”
“Aright then.”
“Make sure they’re facing each other. And tie ’em tight.”
“A course, sir.”
Twitch led Three back to the main room, where the bar seemed to be carrying on as usual.
“Good people, Twitch.”
“You gotta have a few, Three. What now?”
“I gotta go find my girl.”
“Let me tell Mol–”
“No, you stay.”
“We’re not doing this again, Three.”
“Good reason this time. They might try again, I’d feel better if you stayed. I’ll move faster without you.”
“Alright, I’ll buy that this time. But if they’ve got her, don’t you go in there on your own. You come right back here, and we’ll get my boys up a right proper army, you understand?”
“Fine. I’m gone.”
“Godspeed, brother.”
Three turned and strode to the door, half a catastrophe averted, the other half unknown. He reached for the door, and it flew open, catching him in the chin and forehead. He saw stars.
And then, he saw her.
Cass. Alive and well. Carrying a case and a backpack.
He grabbed her and pulled her in, holding her as tight as he could, wishing he could bring her even closer.
“Three?”
He pulled away, looked her over. “Are you alright, Cass? Did you have any trouble?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, shook her head.
“No. No trouble. You?”
“Maybe.”
“Is Wren OK?”
“Yeah, he’s upstairs. You get everything you need?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“Good. Cause we’re gonna have to move again. Now.”
“Like, right now?”
Three nodded. Brain already racing to do the calculations. They were going to have to disappear, fast. Train was out, no doubt about that. Only a few hours of daylight left. Not enough to go far. But there was no way they could stay in Greenstone now.
And what about Mol and Twitch?
“Come on,” Three said. “Let’s get upstairs. We gotta get this sorted out.”
He slipped his hand along the small of Cass’s back, and steered her through the bar, up the stairs, into the apartment. And as he watched Cass drop to a knee and Wren run into her arms, Three knew, and let himself know, that he loved them both in a way he’d never thought possible.
Twenty-One
The apartment was a whirlwind; explanations colliding with improvised plans and haphazard packing. Mol was busy in the kitchen, preparing some fragrant dish that Cass thought couldn’t possibly be finished before they had to leave.
“You just left? They just let you walk right out the front door?” Cass demanded.
jCharles threw a bundle of chemlights across the room to Three, and chuckled. “Shoulda seen the look on that old crow’s face when you turned around. I think she got stuck trying to calculate the odds of you actually doing what you were doing.”
“Any more time we spent in there was time we weren’t usin’ to get to you. The drop? They let you keep the money for charity?”
“It was recommended I take both.”
“Recommended? You still got any of that goo?” Three asked Twitch, mid-sentence, then switched back. “This is serious Cass, how many were there, how many did you leave, and in what state?”
She flipped through the high-def images in her mind, like a reel of still frames, perfectly preserved. Even the pattern the blood-spit spray made out of the Limper’s mouth when his head hit the table.
“Seven total. Two dead, one stunned, two unconscious, one crying, one screaming.”
jCharles shot her a concerned look.
“Tyke crying, Jantz the screamer. I took a little meat out of his leg, but he’ll be fine.
They’re both alright. Big fans of yours, too, by the way.”
He nodded, but didn’t smile. “I’d heard. Here,” he threw three packets from the storage room over to Three. “Probably tastes terrible by now, but it should still get you there. Four ounces, three times a day.” Then back to Cass. “They set you up?”
Cass shook her head. “I think the Bonefolder got to them after you’d made the deal. Saw an opportunity.”
“Opportunity’s her game.”
“The ones you left unconscious?” said Three.
“One was Tyke’s friend, I’d guess. About the same age, had a backpack. When it all went down, he just stood there with his mouth hanging open. The other, not sure. Servorganic arms at least. Not sure if he was Tyke’s hired man, or Bonefolder’s.”
“Big guy? Fake greenman outfit?” jCharles asked.
“That’s the one.”
“Unconscious, or dead?”
“Not sure, but I’d have to guess unconscious. I dropped him pretty hard, but I didn’t stop to check.”
jCharles flicked a look to Three.
“Problem?” Three said.
“Bonefolder’s nephew. She lets him handle the easy jobs. Might’ve been kinder to put him down.”
“Mama?”
The quiet voice captured the chaos, stole the energy from the room.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” Wren stood next to the couch, looking tiny, lost. Verge of tears.
“I don’t think I can leave again.”
Cass crossed to him, sat on the couch, pulled him close.
“Baby, what’s the matter?”
The others held still, just observed, afraid to disturb the delicate balance of the moment. Wren just shook his head.
“Are you tired?”
“No,” he answered, quietly.
“Did you take a nap while I was gone?”
“No.”
“Maybe you should lie down for a–”
“No!” he barked, with the sharpest tone Cass had ever heard from him. She slid back involuntarily. “I don’t wanna lie down, I don’t wanna a nap! I wanna stay here! I don’t want to leave!”
And then he broke into sobs, deep, soul-shaking sobs, and Cass wrapped her arms around him, and he stood there with his arms at his sides, just weeping. Cass saw Mol, realized she’d come from the kitchen, hovering. Wanting to help, not wanting to interfere. Cass caught her eye and motioned to the back room, and Mol nodded.
Cass gently lifted Wren up, and laid his head on her shoulder as he let it all out, weeks of terror and confusion and exhaustion. She took him to the back room and as she was closing the door, she saw Mol there, watching them the whole way, a sad look in her eye. Compassion. Longing. Cass motioned to her, for her to join them. At first, Mol refused, but jCharles nudged her, and she finally relented; joined the mother and child in the room. They sat on the bed together, Cass on one side, Mol on the other, with Wren tucked between. And they let him cry and cry, and would let him continue until he had no more tears to give.
The kid had stopped squalling almost an hour ago, and Three was anxious to get moving. They were losing daylight by the minute, and he feared that once the Bonefolder got word she had neither the woman nor the child, a plan B was bound to come knocking.
“Hey.” jCharles was sitting in his oversized chair drinking a cold beverage of questionably high chemical properties.
“Yeah?”
“We got you all loaded up?”
“Yeah.”
jCharles took a pull, let it settle in his mouth. He swallowed, and then exhaled, mouth open, a vaporous sigh.
“So. Where do we go?”
“You know.”
jCharles shook his head. “There’s got to be something else. Something we’ve missed.”
“Wanting to have missed something doesn’t mean you have. Bad options aren’t so ‘bad’, when they’re ‘only’.”
“I’ll go with you to the steam tunnels…” said jCharles, trailing off.
“You’ve done too much already, Twitch. The Bonefolder’s gonna come looking for you, and you can’t say I’m not to blame for this one.”
jCharles made a dismissive noise and waved his hand. “Bonefolder’s got her friends and turf, but there’s a reason she doesn’t do business downstairs. You don’t worry about ol’ jCharles.”
“She won’t come after you for this?”
“She might have some power. But me? Me, I have influence.”
“This is serious, Twitch, I need to know.”
jCharles sat forward, suddenly serious. “She moves on me, the networks she uses to run all her gigs suddenly disappear. In fact, just planning a move on me would guarantee I know about it ahead of time. So, no. No, she’ll sit over in her little palace sipping her little drink, and she’ll go looking for some other way to keep those books balanced.
“But don’t you let her people catch you in town. She snags you and whisks you off, no way I’ll be able to track you down before she’s done with her work.”
“Well, I appreciate it, Twitch. You’re a good man. And a better friend.”
“Don’t make it a goodbye.”
“’Fraid it’s gotta be.”
jCharles stood, and the men embraced awkwardly, but sincerely.
“I can come as far as the steam tunnels. Maybe even a little further out.”
jCharles was grim, but there was a paleness at the corners of his lips, extra clicks in his words that signaled a dry mouth. Even the bravest men feel fear.
“No, Twitch. Stay here, with Mol. Stay here, and you love her with all you got.”
jCharles nodded. And then, there seemed to be no more words. Three gave a little nod. Turned to his loaded pack. Checked his harness, his pistol, his blade. Everything was ready to go. Whenever it was time.
“Mol’s gonna want you to get one last good meal in, you know.”
“I know.”
“Hurt her feelings if you don’t let her.”
“I know.”
Three glanced out through the window, but couldn’t get a good gauge on the sun, because of the random buildings stacked in the way.
“Hey, what time you got?”
jCharles accessed the global. “14:31 GST.”
“Sundown?”
“18:02.”
About that time, the door to the back room open, and Wren stepped out, with Mol close behind, her delicate hands on his shoulders. He looked a little embarrassed, as children often do after a good cry. Mol nudged him forward.
“Twitch, Wren had something he’d like to ask you.”
Wren took a timid step forward, and Three saw now he had a book in his hand. The one Mol had been reading to him earlier.
“Mr jCharles, sir. Would you be interested in trading this book, for this?” He stretched out his other hand. Three recognized the sphere that filled that tiny palm. The mil-spec strobe he’d picked up back at the Vault.
jCharles bent over, and made a good show of examining both pieces, as if comparing quality. He stood, and thought. Took a swig on his beverage. Cass came out of the back room as the appraisal continued. Then at last, he bent low again.
“I’m sorry, young master Wren. Can’t do it.”
Wren was obviously disappointed, but he took it like a professional. “OK, thank you for considering it.”
Wren moved to put the book back on the shelf, even in the right location, but jCharles interrupted him.
“I said I wasn’t interested in trading, young sir. You can’t trade for a gift.”
Wren turned back, obviously hopeful, but not quite understanding.
“You go ahead and take it, sweetheart,” Mol said. “It’s yours. We want you to have it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Without reservation, Wren wrapped himself around Mol’s waist, nerve-rig and all, and squeezed, and smiled. “Oh, thank you so much.”
And to everyone’s great surprise, he rushed right over to jCharles and hugged his l
eg just as ferociously. “Thank you so much, Mr jCharles.”
“Easy kid, you break my leg off, I might just take it back.”
Mol kissed Wren on the head as she passed him, and made her way to the kitchen. Whatever it was she’d prepared smelled delicious, and was apparently moments away from completion.
“You guys can stay for another twenty minutes, right? If you eat fast?”
Three surveyed the scene. Wren, so hopeful, Cass trying to look ambivalent, but clearly hoping for a good last meal. jCharles with his head inclined that one way he did it to let you know you weren’t really being given a choice.
“Yeah, alright. But let’s be quick about it.”
They all bustled together then, setting the food out, finding enough chairs to fit around the tiny table. And once everything was set, Mol stood at the head of the table, and encouraged everyone to hold hands. The only one comfortable with the idea besides Mol was jCharles, but they figured it out.
Mol bowed her head and said, “Sweet Lord, we thank you for all your many goodnesses to us, and we’re mindful of all the blessing you’ve bestowed upon us with these friends, old and new, and we ask your hand be upon them as they go out, and we ask you bring ’em right back to us again. Amen.”
Then she set to serving up something from a large pot that was reddish-brown, and thick, and almost smelled like it had real onions in it. Real, out-of-the-ground onions, not the vat-grown ones that tasted like some chemical engineer’s idea of how an onion should taste.
“It’s not much, I know, but Twitch found an old onion bulb long ago, and believe it or not, he managed to nurse that thing back to health enough to pop us out an onion every now and again. I thought this was a special enough occasion to break out the good stuff.”
“You ever had a real onion before, Wren?” jCharles asked.
“No, sir. I didn’t know they grew…” he trailed off, suddenly distracted.
“Well, you are in for a real treat, then, buddy.”
Wren didn’t respond. He was staring at the wall, at the window, at nothing.
“Wren,” Cass said, but she already knew. His eyes went wide.
“Leave, we have to leave!” He was up out of his chair, backing towards the wall.
