Red

by Ryan Rinsler

  “Are you OK?” asked Patrick, snapping him back to reality.

  “Yeah, sorry,” replied Connor, rubbing his face. “Memories. So you think he will still be there?” he asked. “After all these years?”

  He nodded. “But again, I’ll warn you, he’ll be of no use to you. He barely knew friend from foe toward the end.”

  “Can I ask, has anyone else ever come looking for him?”

  “I haven’t spoken his name since he left. I haven’t even thought about him for a few years,” he replied. “To tell you the truth, it was like he did die back then. He and I were good friends once, but, you know, things change.”

  There were a few seconds of silence between the men. “Well, you’ve been, you’ve been so helpful,” said Connor, standing up and holding out his hand. Patrick looked at it and then up to Connor.

  “Don’t make me regret telling you this,” he replied, turning away.

  Connor relaxed his arm and nodded with enthusiasm. “I won’t, rest assured. Thank you.”

  He turned quickly and walked as fast as he could over to Matt, trying not to break into a jog.

  “You were right,” he said in a loud whisper as he approached Matt, who was stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning on the side of a building. “You were right, he’s not dead.”

  “Wow, I do have a use after all.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Ugh,” said Connor, flinging his head back. “Where did laid-back Matt go? You’ve been pissy with me for two days.”

  “I dunno, bro, it’s just like, like, why did you bring me here if you were just gonna tell me to stand in a corner every time you want to talk to someone?”

  Connor sighed. “Look, you know as well as I do that your brain kicks in about ten seconds after your mouth, and right now we need to be on our game. You’re here ‘cos you’re capable of thinking laterally, about shit that I wouldn’t even think about. I dunno, like Nolan being alive?”

  Matt shrugged.

  “What we’ve got to do is use each other's strengths. I’m good at negotiating and finding things out from people, you’re good at reading between the lines and killing people with planks of wood.”

  “Bro…”

  Connor laughed. “Sorry, I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Not funny man.”

  “My point is, stop bitching and moaning all the time and help me find this guy like you have been doing. I mean, you could always go back to your old job.”

  “Well I’ve been thinking about that actually.”

  “Really? About going back to work?”

  “No, course not, but I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. There’s big projects that I left behind.”

  “See, Matt, that’s why you’re here. You’ve the ability to let things that just don’t matter just slide out of the window.”

  “I do have that ability,” he said with a giggle. “Problem is I’m not very good at knowing what matters and what doesn’t.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here, and what matters now is finding Nolan, and according to my new Irish friend Patrick, he’s in L.A.”

  “L.A.?”

  “In a homeless shelter.”

  “Oh, well I’m sure this is gonna be fun.”

  “You never know buddy, there might be some single homeless chicks there to help you catch some R & R.”

  Matt looked interested. “I’ve never been with a homeless chick.”

  “Well, now may be your chance. Let’s go.”

  “You really think he’ll be there?”

  “I don’t know, and even if he is, I don’t know what state he’ll be in.”

  11

  As they approached Los Angeles in the underground highway, Matt snoring in the driver’s seat while the truck drove them to their destination, Connor’s stomach churned with anxiety. He wasn’t fearful, nor was he anxious about anything in particular — he felt under so much pressure to complete this first task that it was consuming him. He knew it had been getting to them both, and was likely the reason behind the small squabbles he’d shared with Matt since they left Philadelphia. We just have to get through it, he thought. One step at a time. This step is to get to the homeless shelter. The step after that is to find Nolan.

  In order to free his mind from the crippling tension and anxiety of trying to analyze the entire situation, he decided to worry about only his next immediate task.

  “You are due to leave the highway,” said an alert, waking Matt up. He shuffled around in his seat and took over driving. As they exited the underground highway, the familiar sterility of the modern city made Connor’s heart sink. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Bakersfield and its surrounding areas were vastly different to the environment in which he had lived for the last two decades — everything so traditional, so old-fashioned. He’d been living in a bubble of normality, longing for it to change, all the while believing the whole world was this way. Jacob’s ranch was the only exception, he’d thought, and he would picture it fondly while sat at his desk at Midland, whisking himself away from the sound of typing and the smell of standard furniture and stationery, into the pine-enriched wilderness of the Colorado Mountains.

  Looking back, even now, those days seemed like a distant dream — getting up, drinking coffee, going to work, sending emails. His old life seemed even more trivial to him now than it did at the time.

  Suddenly Kate popped into his mind. With everything that had been going on he had little time to think of anything else.

  I wish I had some way of contacting her, he thought, feeling hopeless without his BlackBook. He couldn’t remember his last encounter with Kate, his memory hazy and ability to judge timescales somewhat distorted since coming out of Pure Reality the second time.

  “Can you remember how I left things with Kate?”

  “Umm, not really. Did you see her after the party?”

  “Oh yeah, the party. No, we went to Silk the next day.”

  “Oh yeah dude, she said text her, right?”

  “Shit, yeah. I never did.”

  “Well now you’re screwed ‘cos you’ve got nothing to message her on.”

  Connor sighed. “Yeah.”

  “You’d think gettin’ laid would be the last thought on your mind, given your present situation.”

  Connor stared at him in disbelief.

  “OK yeah, I’ll take that,” said Matt in response. “Pot, kettle, kettle pot. Yeah I get it.”

  “Besides, it’s not about that, I just don’t want to look like an asshole.”

  “You mean more… more of an asshole.”

  “Plus, you know, I thought she was pretty cool. And she seemed like she thought I was too.”

  “Awwwww….”

  He glared at him disapprovingly. “I’ve been thinking about Lacey and James too. Not having a BlackBook, man. Seriously. It’s like losing a limb.”

  “You really want her to be gettin’ in touch with you?”

  “Yeah, I do actually. I wanna know James is OK or whatever.”

  “She won’t be speaking to you now anyway bro, not after what you said.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  Matt chuckled to himself. “Na, seriously bro, just leave her out of your life. You don’t need that kinda complication right now.”

  “I guess.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, light rain beginning to tap against the windscreen. It was now mid-late afternoon and they were making their way quickly toward downtown Los Angeles. Traffic was often light in the center of major cities, with most travelers opting for public transport.

  “Is there a way of getting her number?” asked Connor. “Kate, I mean.”

  Matt looked confused. “Like on the internet?”

  “I dunno, like, you know, you type things.”

  “I type things? Bro, you’re so outta touch.”

  “So I don’t like technology,” he said, rather miffed. “You don’t like working out.”


  “Low blow, dude,” he replied with a casual shake of the head and dismissive grin. “To answer your question, no, I can’t just type and get her number.”

  “There must be a way.”

  “Look,” said Matt. He was hesitant as he spoke. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, let’s just say I didn’t think it would be a good idea to drive out in the middle of… ass-knows nowhere without any form of comms.”

  “What’s a comm?”

  “Duh, communication?”

  Connor waited for him to continue, having to prompt him after an awkward pause. “So…?”

  “I brought my BlackBook.”

  “What?”

  “Yours too.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Matt panicked. “They’re not switched on! You know, I just brought them just in case.”

  “Jesus, Matt. You don’t know what they track when they’re switched off.”

  “Actually you do,” he replied quickly. “Anyway I’ve done a hard-off so not even the BIOS is operating.”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind, let’s just say that they’re paperweights right now.”

  “Well, we’re not switching them on. In fact, where are they?” asked Connor, looking over his shoulder at the bags in the back of the car.

  “Why?”

  “I’m gonna throw them out the window.”

  “Oh yeah?” asked Matt with a disbelieving eye.

  “Yup.”

  “Now who’s the one not thinking? What happens if some scrub walks along and picks them up? What’s the first thing they’re gonna do, bro?”

  He shrugged. “OK, maybe not the best idea.”

  “Looks like old Einstein over here’s startin’ to slip.”

  “Aren’t we nearly there now?”

  Matt laughed loudly. “Yeah OK, let’s move on. GPS says five minutes.”

  “Right.”

  After a few moments of silence Matt looked over to Connor. “You know, just one little message won’t hurt.”

  “No.”

  “Poor Kate, sitting there, wondering how it all went wrong for her.”

  “No!”

  “I bet she’s flicking through her dating app right now, wondering when the next Connor will come along.”

  “Shut up now.”

  “Rich, handsome, funny. OK not funny, but rich, handsome. Man, she had it all in the palm of her hand.”

  Connor looked at him sharply. “I am gonna slap you silly.”

  Matt laughed. “Na bro, I’ll just hit you with a plank of wood. Game over.”

  “Yeah forever. Twenty-five to life, right?”

  “Shuddup bro.”

  “I bet your cellmate is sitting there right now, twirling his hair, wondering when his next boyfriend will come along.”

  “Shuddup bro.”

  “Tall, handsome, funny. OK not tall or handsome, and not particularly funny. But cuddly. Yes, definitely cuddly.”

  “OK we’re here.”

  Connor laughed loudly. “Perfect timing, asshole.”

  They climbed out of the truck and stood looking over the road at the Promise of Hope homeless shelter. It was a fairly tall building, ten stories, old, like a run-down hotel.

  It’s just a building, he thought, his heartbeat quickening. “What time is it?”

  “I dunno bro, I’ve not got a watch. Or a BlackBook.”

  Connor shrugged. “Must be about five. Look at that queue.”

  From the shelter door, stretching over a hundred meters down the street, was a dense queue of what looked like homeless people, all stood with their hands in their pockets, not talking.

  “Jesus, bro. You’d think they’d have sorted this out by now.”

  “Homelessness?”

  “Everyone should have somewhere to sleep, man.”

  Connor was taken aback by Matt’s sudden display of profundity. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You never know people’s circumstances though.”

  “What you saying?”

  “You know,” said Connor, as they stepped onto the road and made their way over to the entrance. “Not all of these will be victims.”

  “You don’t think these people are victims?”

  “I don’t know them,” he replied dismissively as they stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the busy entrance door. There was a booth inside, a man sat behind a glass screen taking details of those who entered.

  “What’s going on?” asked Matt.

  “There’s only a certain number of beds, so it’s first come first served every night.”

  “How do you know so much about it?” he asked.

  Connor took a sharp intake of breath. “Another time.”

  Matt looked down the line and shrugged. “So how are we gonna find our guy?”

  Connor laughed in recognition of the difficulties they faced. “Quite.” He stepped forward toward the booth and hovered behind the person being served.

  “Hey there’s a queue here!”

  Connor looked round. An old scruffy man was staring at him through his one good eye. The rest of the nearby queue turned to look at him at the same time.

  “I’m not after a bed,” he said. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “You tryna’ get your buddy a bed?” he croaked, gesturing toward Matt.

  “Back o’ the line!” came a call from the crowd, as jeers and heckles began firing at him from various places in the queue. The noise built gradually until one man, a large, well-built guy stepped from the line and strode over to him.

  “You best get outta here,” he said with a rumble.

  Connor raised his hands. “Look man, I’m just looking for someone. I’ll be gone in, like, ten minutes.”

  At that moment a voice came from directly behind him. “OK, let’s take it down a notch.”

  Connor turned around to see a large lady in a blue dress, similar to a hospital uniform, stood with her hands on her hips.

  “What’s your business here?” she asked.

  He pressed slightly on her arm and guided her a few steps away from the crowd. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” he said. “He was last seen here.”

  “We have a lot of people in here, sir.”

  “Yes, I can appreciate that, but apparently he’s been here for about six years or more.”

  “He’s a resident?”

  “That’s all I know really.”

  “And what’s his name?”

  “Well I know him as Nolan Berger, but I doubt that’s the name he uses here.”

  The woman looked dubious. “O… K…?”

  “Do you have permanent residents here?”

  “Yes, we have many.”

  Damn, this woman is a closed book. “Well, this man would be, well, maybe sixty to seventy, thin white hair. Skinny.”

  “That description could fit ninety percent of the men here.”

  He took a deep breath while racking his brains for anything discernable about him. “Um, he’s a scientist, and he looks like one. Like a mad professor.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, if you wish to identify one of our patrons then I’m going to need some sort of identification of the person you are after. Name, social security number. Anything other than a vague description.”

  The sun was beginning to set over Los Angeles, and it felt to Connor they were running out of time. Every day that passed where they didn’t make steps toward achieving their goals was a day wasted. They needed his help and right now he wasn’t making as much progress as he’d hoped. There must be something.

  “If there’s nothing else?” she said, beginning to walk back toward the entrance.

  “Wait!” shouted Connor. “He, umm, when he talks he always repeats himself. Like he always says the same thing twice.”

  The woman paused and stared at him. “Walk this way.”

  Yes! He set off quickly behind her, gest
uring for Matt to follow. The crowd of people glared as they entered the building, which Connor purposely ignored as they stepped inside.

  “Sign in here.”

  They pressed their thumbs onto a pad and followed her quickly down the dark corridor, the familiar smell of ammonia and cleaning fluids changing Connor’s mood immediately. Matt stared at him as they entered a small elevator.

  “Alright?”

  He nodded. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. After a few moments the elevator doors opened and they stepped out into another dark corridor. It was like a floor of an old hotel, the carpet sticky, the walls grubby. There were closed doors all the way down the main corridor, maybe twenty, and as they marched behind the woman the two of them shared a nervous glance. Connor had no idea what to expect —right now he didn’t even know if the person they were going to find was actually Nolan.

  They stopped outside room 485. The woman knocked gently.

  “Mr. Weinberg?” She knocked a little louder. “Mr. Weinberg? I’m opening the door now.”

  She turned the handle and peered through the gap. After a second she fully opened the door, revealing a small room with a single bed, pushed up against the wall, the dark green bed cover stretched tight as a drum skin. In front of a small window at the back of the room was a desk, and at that desk, with his back to them, was a man. His wispy white hair seemed to float as a nearby fan blew in his direction, and as he seemed to be frantically scribbling on a pad in front of him, he didn’t even acknowledge their presence.

  “Mr. Weinberg? You have a visitor.”

  He stopped writing. Connor and Matt were still outside the room, peering nervously around the door frame. As the man began to turn around they both ducked out of view.

  “There are no visitors!” he barked in a husky, high-pitched voice. Connor peered around the door once more. There he was. Nolan. He was wearing a pair of trousers that were too short for him and a jumper that looked to have more holes in it than fabric.

  “Now, now, Mr. Weinberg, these men have come to see you.”

  “Who? Who comes to see me?” He stood up, visibly shaken, not angry, but nervous. She turned to them and beckoned for them to enter. Connor hesitated, so Matt shrugged and stepped into the doorway, an awkward grin on his face.