He walked past several of the doors and read some of the name plates:
"Milly McFinnin, Bounty Broker, Personal Chef, and Leprechaun Extraordinaire. Do the job and get me pot o'gold."
One door had flashing lights paired with video game music. "Gamer Bounties: Get upgrades instead of paid."
On another door, someone had painted golden gates in front of blue skies and clouds. "Heavenly Bounties. Get your rewards in the next life." This last door didn't get much foot traffic because they never actually paid anyone. At least, not in this life.
He stopped in front of an attractively painted blue and white door that always reminded him of picket fences for some reason. The sign outside read "Flint the Floater. Be nice now :)." Jebediah paused for a moment then entered the office of the greatest bounty broker in the Hinge.
Flint the Floater was the bounty broker in town. He signed the best contractors and his bounties were the biggest, probably because they were for the most fouled up creatures and monstrous things in the world. Silas Robert, the Leather Man, the Time Rapist, Terry Sallow, Belladonna, the Kissing Death—all bounties successfully brokered by the redoubtable Flint the Floater.
A door chime announced Jebediah's arrival to Flint's office. It wasn't much larger than Jebediah's apartment but the bay windows and abstract art on the walls made it seem bigger. It could have been an art gallery, if you didn't know better.
He took a moment to reflect on the years since he and Flint met in the church that fateful day, and how the path he'd walked since then had shaped him. He also considered how the years had seemingly shaped Flint, too.
Flint glanced up from his desk, jumped up, and clapped his hands like a cheerleader. A metallic purple shirt fluttered over loose, white pants, and open-toed sandals showed off matching purple toenails.
"Jebediah, you got here fast," Flint exclaimed. "I do love speed you know." He threw a conspiratorial wink and drifted over.
You'd think being gayer than a schoolgirl in ribbons would be an issue for a guy in Flint's line of work. Some Ultimate Fighting wanna-be named Tiger Johnny tried mouthing off to Flint once. The last Jebediah heard, Tiger Johnny was having a hard time flashing any of those fancy martial arts poses, or even pissing like most guys, from the confines of his wheelchair.
When all was said and done, Flint always paid. You did the job and you got a check. That meant more to the hard cases he contracted than what he did on his own time. Jebediah tried to keep all this in mind when Flint looped an arm through his and sashayed them back to the desk.
Flint stopped in front of his desk, reached out manicured nails, and grabbed a plain envelope smelling faintly of lavender. He handed it to Jebediah. The bounty hunter silently flipped through the money inside, then nodded his thanks.
"The Leaves were grateful. They seemed to want you to come back and visit."
"Thanks, but I'll pass. Not really my thing," replied Jebediah, putting the money into his pocket.
"It paid okay. You did it on your own as usual, so you're not sharing it like most of my guys."
"This really helps. You know, with everything."
Both men left unsaid what he meant. Most of the money would be given over to medical care for his son. As good as Jebediah was and as much as Flint worked him, the exorbitant costs of around-the-clock nurses and doctors and medication for the boy left him almost destitute. Flint opened and closed his mouth, then spoke slowly while choosing his words carefully.
"You know, these guard jobs aren't the worst things in the world. I know it's not hunting but it's steady—"
Jebediah shook his head and cut him off. "I can do most hunts pretty fast. Get in, do the job, get out and get paid. It leaves me enough time to still visit David. Body guarding means longer hours, being close to the wards …" He shook his head again. "I can't see that working for me right now. And you have other jobs so …"
"I do have other jobs," Flint agreed, reaching back to his desk and grabbing a manila folder. He flipped it open and pulled a picture out. According to the label, he was looking at Magda Nguyen. The girl, maybe ten-years-old, was sitting on Flint's lap, her small fingers reaching up and back, and fastened tight to his ear lobes. Her nose creased in giggles at the camera. An elderly woman sat in the background, smiling in that gentle, proud way of grandmothers. Flint pointed to the older woman.
"Everyone calls her Mei." He pronounced it like the spring month. "I think it means grandmother in Vietnamese. She used to bring Magda to the nail salon I use. Both are refugees from the Vietnam War. Tough old broad. I mean, she lived through a war that collapsed her entire country while taking care of a granddaughter. They're both in the Hinge now."
Jebediah's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Your timing can't be right, Flint. The Vietnam War was forever ago. I mean, the woman's old, but not that old, and the girl can't be more than nine or ten."
Flint nodded his head in understanding. "They're refugees from more than the War. They're part of a group that was ripped from time and dropped here."
"A timeslip?"
"Exactly," Flint confirmed. "It must have opened right in front of them because their helicopter flew right in. Refugees from their country, refugees from their time too. Can you imagine?" he asked. "First escaping a war then finding yourself lost through the decades? Anyhow, everyone aboard that chopper landed here. From what I hear most of the passengers stayed because, well, everyone else they had in their lives were gone."
"And Mei?" asked Jebediah.
"Mei stuck around because she couldn't bring herself to trust governments again, and who can blame her after what she'd gone through and what she's seen? She thinks how we are, how we take care of our issues—it's just more honest."
"How long have they been here?"
"Only a few months," Flint replied. "She's built herself a place on the edge of the Warren near Fulton Valley. Big house and all. I have no idea where she gets her money. Look, I know you don't want guard jobs, but I really think you should consider this one. They're friends of mine and targets for all kinds of madness. They have one bodyguard, but they need another. It's a miracle nothing's happened to them so far."
Jebediah looked at the picture of the girl, seemingly lost in thought. Then, he shook his head.
"No disrespect, Flint, but I'm not the guy for this. This one has me working with a kid, for god's sake. I wouldn't know how to behave. I'm sorry, but let's find something else."
Flint finally nodded with grudging acceptance. "I should have something for you in a couple of days. I'll call."
The two men shook hands and Jebediah left the room. He didn't see Flint staring at his back with a frown of concentration. The broker looked down at the picture of Magda and Mei. His fingers left smudges on its shiny surface.
Chapter 4
Hobb the hobo scratched somewhere inappropriate and then leaned over to pick up his bag. It contained a metal thermos that kept stuff warm for almost a whole day, a button up shirt two sizes too big, and newspapers that he could tuck inside that oversized shirt when it was cold and he slept outside. Which was often. Even after all these years he struggled when inside for too long, when he couldn't see the sun during the day and the stars at night.
It was only on the coldest of evenings he'd seek shelter, and even then, he'd find a way to sleep near a light, and he'd make sure he was good and truly drunk, so the fear was made smaller. Not entirely gone, it was never completely gone, but smaller.
"Bye, Hobb!"
He turned and waved at the child, Javier. The boy was walking away with his father, and Hobb flashed them both a gap-toothed smile. Javier was a joy. He always had a hug for Hobb, and one time, he even brought him a bit of chocolate. Lord knows those two didn't have anything to spare, but still, the kid wanted to share his candy.
He'd even called him his friend, a name the street dweller had rarely heard.
The orphanage Hobb had grown up in taught him much. Like things weren't yours unless you were strong enough to k
eep them. This included clothes, food, and even the small cot he'd sleep in. He had small hands, even for a child, so his fists made weak weapons.
And of the many people in those cramped, dirty quarters, those he could trust were more rare and important than any jewel. So when his friend, Danny, came that early morning with a story about work, Hobb jumped at the opportunity, both to earn some money and to spend time with the older boy.
The job Danny described was cleaning up old debris from a neighborhood in the Caliber. When they arrived, a man smoking a cigar through a straggly, gray beard had greeted them. In a voice made harsh by smoke and impatience they were told to go down a manhole.
"Did you think the mess was up here?" the man asked, pointing to the ground.
Danny looked at the ladder leading down, hesitated, then walked over and began to descend. Hobb followed his friend down a hole in the ground, in one of the richest neighborhoods in the world, to the sewers beneath.
An ape-like older boy met them at the bottom, nearly twice as large as either of them with arms so long his hands almost scraped the ground. In a voice sounding like wood being struck, he said he was Cody, then handed them both a pickaxe small enough to be used by children and he pushed them further into the sewer tunnel.
Hobb looked around at the dank and humid tunnel, lit with flickering fluorescent lights; he dropped the pickaxe and spun back toward the ladder. Danny followed him in a near panic. Hobb reached the ladder and began scrambling up the rungs toward the closed manhole but stopped when he heard Danny scream.
The other boy was laying on the ground and cradling the back of his head. Cody stood over him wiping blood from his fist, then he bent over and grabbed the fallen pickaxe. The way he held it left no question as to intent. The ape-boy looked up at Hobb and ordered him in a voice without tone. "Come back down."
Hobb looked at Danny. He remembered the time the other boy shared his food when Hobb fell sick with the flu. He'd helped him get his shoes back when some of the other boys took them, and stood guard during showers, watching over him and warning him of danger. And so Hobb took a look up at the open manhole and to the blue sky, then climbed back down the steps, put his hand to the back of Danny's head to help stop the bleeding, and helped him walk down the rest of the tunnel.
He didn't see the sky again for ten years.
Cody steered them down the tunnel. When they reached the end they'd stared at pulsing green stones embedded in a rock wall. Cody took his pickaxe and chipped it once into the wall, knocking loose a few of the stones. Hobb realized why they wanted children to do this. Cody's strength was too much and had broken one of the green stones. When broken, it stopped pulsing. Most children weren't so strong.
And Hobb's hands were small, even for a child.
"If he doesn't work, you do his share, too," said Cody, pointing to Danny. The stricken boy lay slumped against the tunnel wall. Hobb grabbed a pickaxe and began to work.
They weren't allowed to leave. Supplies were lowered into the tunnels after the green rocks were pulled up. They were given water and food to keep them strong enough to work, but not enough to thrive. They slept on cots within the tunnels. Weeks became months became years, and if the orphanage missed them it wasn't enough to go looking.
Danny never fully recovered from where Cody struck his head. He was plagued with headaches and blurred vision; sometimes so terrible he couldn't leave his cot. More than once, Hobb had to perform double work to make up for his friend's illness.
Their eyes soon became sensitive to light. Their teeth began to rot and their hair turned white. Ten years passed without them knowing day from night, an alarm telling them to get to work their only mark of time.
Cody or some other large boys blocked the entrance and exit. They saw other kids try to escape. Their bodies were thrown into furnaces.
One day, Hobb went to wake Danny. He found his friend pale and unmoving. Then he saw the blood pooled against his thin linens. In Danny's hand was a rock sharpened to a keen edge. It had probably only taken a few tries to slice through the arteries in his wrist. Hobb stared down at him, numb and mute with loss.
Cody came up behind him. The larger boy looked down at the still Danny, then said to Hobb, "You work his share, too."
Cody turned and began walking away. Hobb grabbed the sharp rock from Danny's hand and leapt on Cody's back with a savage cry, stabbing at his neck again and again like a crazed animal. The larger boy roared in pain and tried to throw him off. But Hobb clung to his back like the madman he'd become and scored strike after strike. His hands and face became slick with blood.
Hobb finally fell away, panting and exhausted. Cody looked down at Hobb, his expression full of amazement, then fell to the ground like Goliath struck by David's stone. Hobb stared for a moment, unsure what to do, then ran toward a cart filled with the pulsing green stones. He burrowed deep into the cart and pulled them over him. The cart was pulled up and loaded into a running vehicle. They drove off a few minutes later. Hobb chanced a peek. He was in a darkened truck stacked with other carts full of the pulsing stones.
The truck stopped, and a stocky man wearing a baseball cap rolled up the back door. Hobb sprinted straight toward him and he recoiled in shock. He sped past him without pause, through the warehouse parking lot and out to the street, pushing his remaining strength to its limits. He ran without thought or direction, until his limbs gave out. He crawled, exhausted, into an alley.
Finally, he pulled old newspapers over him and lay gasping for air and shivering against the night's cold. He looked up into the sky for the first time in ten years, stared at the ripple of the Wall and flickering of the stars, and let himself cry. He wept and pounded his small, weak hands against the pavement. Then, with all his strength gone, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
He lived on the streets before finally making his way to the Warren. The Scrounge diner would give him food now and then, and the people who lived in the area were kind. He was never able to be inside a building for longer than a few minutes before starting to tremble and gasp for air. He needed to feel the push of the wind and the warmth of the sun against his face.
The door to the diner opened and a taller man walked out. Solid muscles shifted beneath his long-sleeved button up shirt, and he moved on his toes with unconscious balance. Jebediah flashed a smile at Hobb and held out a container of food wrapped in plastic.
Hobb smiled back, knowing he'd be able to eat tonight, then closed his eyes for just a moment because the clouds had moved away from the sun and its warmth fell upon him. At that moment, he wasn't Hobb the sewer prisoner, or Hobb the homeless man. The jug wine he'd drank had warmed his senses to a pleasant degree, and he was now Hobb the free man, breathing in air that was fresh and pure. He opened his eyes again and reached out to take the offered food. His outstretched hand reached down towards Jebediah's head …
Wait, what? thought Hobb. The other man was looking up wide-eyed at Hobb. The street dweller was hanging in mid-air, his feet off the ground and levitating without effort.
"Flashpoint," Jebediah mouthed the word silently. The Hinge's random gift of abilities had seemingly selected Hobb.
Hobb smiled down at Jebediah, closed his eyes, and with a thought, rocketed straight up into the sky. The air streaked his long white hair and his clothes rippled and snagged against his body. Hobb opened his eyes, and whether it was the wind or his heart making them tear up, he couldn't tell. He yelled aloud to the wide blue sky in a voice full of wild elation, "Danny, Danny, look at me! Look at me!"
He banked and ripped through a thick cloud. Its crystals burst cold against his skin and its darkness obscured his vision. He broke through the other side. Directly in front of him was the ripple of the Wall. His arms reached out to feel the warmth of its golden border, then he plunged into it, splaying his arms and legs out to touch as much of it as he could at once. He was a part of the wind and sky, never to be trapped again, never to be scared again.
His elation stayed even whe
n he broke through the other side of the Wall and his power switched off like a light, immediately gone as soon as he left the confines of the Hinge. His happiness was still there when he started to fall to the ocean from five stories up. And though the impact of striking water at that speed was like hitting concrete, he smiled till the end.
He had flown and touched the face of God.
He would always be free.
Roberto trembled with excitement after watching old Hobb crest the top of the buildings and pass from sight. Wasn't this why he'd come to the Hinge? If even an old wino could be blessed with the Flashpoint then, why couldn't he?
He'd seen a missionary girl whose eyes became like stars in the night sky and spoke with the wisdom of the ages. Maybe he'd be gifted with great strength or speed, or be able to pass through walls or peer into the hearts of men.
He wouldn't be Roberto the Beggar anymore, sitting ignored on a corner and eking out survival from cast off change and scavenged food. Javier's hand tugged at his, and he looked down to his son. He wouldn't be Roberto the Liar anymore either.
"Will you be home tomorrow, Papa?"
"No, boy. I have an important meeting."
"You work all the time, Papa, even on the weekends," the boy complained.
"I know. But I have a hard job and it takes a lot of time. Many people depend on me. Decisions must be made. If I'm not there, things don't get done."
Javier seemed to accept that. "I'm hungry, Papa," he said.
Me too, thought Roberto. "We can pick up some food on the way home."
He felt in his pockets, and thought about how to make the money last for the rest of the week. He had just enough to get the boy a sandwich and drink. It'd be his only meal for the day.
Roberto would make do with some cheese and bread for himself at the house. No matter if it was a bit old. He'd only gotten sick once before.
"I know it can be difficult, Javier. I want to spend more time with you. But without me, people won't know what to do," he lied.
Jebediah's Crime: A Heroic Supernatural Thriller (The Hinge Series Book 1) Page 5
