by Jeff Altabef
He pointed to some of the buildings as they passed them. “The lucky ones who have a roof over their heads cram into these apartments. They should hold four people, but usually house ten or more. The plumbing often stops working, and forget about heat in the winter time.”
She frowned. “Don’t these people work? Shouldn’t they have more?”
He kicked a plastic container. “These people work hard, some with multiple jobs, but there’s no college for them. Even vocational school is a dream most can’t realize. Only low-paying jobs are left for them. Without a minimum wage, they’re beholden to factory owners, construction companies, or landscaping businesses. Wages are low and there’s nothing they can do about it, but even a meager salary is better than nothing.”
He pointed to a teenager who snuck out of the back door to a bakery carrying a handful of old rolls.
She whispered. “He’s stealing. Shouldn’t we do something?”
“I know that bakery. The baker unlocks the back door on purpose and leaves out the old bread. When I lived on the streets I used to do the same thing. The baker will never admit it, but he’s giving back the best he can.”
She watched the teenager fade into the darkness, and couldn’t imagine Darian being so desperate. “How do things become better for these people?”
“Not from brainwashing them!” Darian barked. “They’re good people. They have their own system of justice. It’s harsh, but it works, for the most part. They just need opportunities.”
He paused. They stood on the edge of the overpass.
Vanessa stood close to him. The mood-enhancing drug having waned, she trembled as she took his arm. “What are they all doing here? Don’t they have a place to go?”
Four little groups scattered along the pavement living in cardboard boxes.
Darian led her toward a spot that seemed to hold some significance for him. “There’s no place for these people to go. There are thousands of them in the ghetto. It doesn’t take much to make someone homeless—they become sick, or lose a job, or... become addicted to drugs or booze or anything they can’t afford. With no cushion, they become destitute in the blink of an eye.”
He slowed his gait. “This is the spot where I thought my mom was about to die. I was nine.” He glanced around as if death lurked nearby, about to take him.
She clutched his arm as a youngster approached them.
No older than ten, dirt stained the girl’s face beneath matted and stringy hair. She struggled to move in shorts too big for her and a t-shirt too tight. She glanced up at them with beautiful, sad eyes. They were stunning. She was stunning.
“Do you want a date?” the girl asked, batting her eyes.
Vanessa gasped and turned away.
Darian squatted low and pointed toward a prone figure against the greasy, concrete floor under the overpass. “Is that your mom?”
The girl glanced back. “Yeah. She’s sick and can’t party tonight, but we need money, so I can. I know what to do.”
Darian reached into his pocket and gave the girl all the money he had. When she took it, he shouted, “Go away! We don’t want to be bothered by your type.”
The girl nodded, turned and slowly retreated toward her mom, looking forlorn.
Darian led Vanessa away from the overpass.
“Why did you yell at the girl?”
“I didn’t want the guy across the way to know I gave her money. He would take half if he knew.”
Cooper turned up the corners of his lips in a half smile. “I know the time is late, but I wanted to give you a present.” He thrust a small wooden box toward Maggie.
She sat up.
When she reached for the present, he swiped it away. Not so fast, he thought. He regarded her closely. Dark circles spread under her eyes and creases appeared on her face, which he hadn’t noticed before. She doesn’t look the same as I expected.
“I have a full assortment of the best make-up in the bathroom. Have you found it?”
She stiffly nodded and wiped the sleep from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.
He stepped back and frowned as he still clutched the wooden box to his chest. “Why are you wearing a bathrobe?”
“I was cold.”
“There’s a temperature control over there.” He pointed dismissively to a small box on the wall. You should be smart enough to figure that out. “Take off the robe and let’s sit on the couch.” He turned and strolled to the sitting area.
She followed a few moments later and sat on the edge of the couch up against the armrest, her eyes never flickering far from the wooden box.
He dropped on the couch beside her and crossed his legs. His fine woolen trousers creased perfectly. Why isn’t she smiling? This apartment is better than any place she has lived in her miserable life!
“Is the suite to your liking? You’ll only be here for a short time. I have bigger plans for us.” The words froze in the air from the frosty quality to his voice.
Maggie’s lips twitched upward. “It’s fine.”
Cooper scowled. Fine was not the word he desired. Perhaps she is overwhelmed.
He looked away from her, and his mind flashed toward a conversation he had with his mother earlier in the day. “Don’t be overwhelmed by events, son. I will help you sort them out.”
The great Ethel Simmens will help me sort out events! Why doesn’t she believe in me? I can sort them out on my own!
He snapped back to the present as his fingernails dug into the wooden box.
Maggie melted further into the armrest, her complexion turning paler.
He chased away his mother with a shake of his head. “Perhaps this will improve your mood.” He handed the box to Maggie and noticed her trembling hands. That’s better.
She flipped open the top and peered inside.
He sensed her excitement and his spirits improved. “They are the most expensive calligraphy pens on the market,” he announced happily.
She lifted one from the box. Her hands quivered as the light danced off the diamond tip. “Thank you.”
“It’s a shame you married that loser. What was his name again?” He asked even though he knew the name.
Maggie tore her eyes from the pen. “Do you mean Paul?”
“Yes, Paul was his name—a common name for a common guy. He could never afford to buy you the things you deserved. Such a pity he died in a car crash.” He clucked his tongue, enjoying himself.
She clenched her fist around the pen.
“I understand why you felt unworthy of being with me, but Paul? Really? And those sons of yours.”
Her eyes narrowed. “My sons?”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” He smiled reassuringly. “They were corrupted by Paul’s DNA, no doubt. The young one, Tom, has potential. He scored high on his tests, but just think what he would be able to accomplish with the proper schooling.” He shook his head. “But Jack, only a tennis instructor?”
An irresistible urge to hurt her overcame him. It felt good to lash out at her.
She started shaking.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered. “I took a tennis lesson with Jack a year ago—a short one, only fifteen minutes before playing a match at the country club where he works. Still, he wasn’t any good. Maybe his nerves got to him, but I think he should try something else with his life. Perhaps ditch digging?” He laughed.
Maggie dropped her gaze to his neck, unable apparently to look him in the face.
“You’ll never be able to see them again, of course. They’ll think you died, but I’ll keep tabs on them. I wouldn’t want any accidents to happen to them.” He sneered.
Maggie’s face twisted together. She reared her hand back and lunged for his neck, holding the shiny diamond tip out in front of her like a dagger.
He saw the tip rush toward him and yanked his head back against the couch at the last second. The pen missed the mark and jabbed into his thigh. He screeched and backhanded her hard across the face, sendin
g her sprawling to the floor.
He wrenched the bloody pen from his leg. “How dare you!”
He snatched the wooden box and smashed it against her head, splintering the wood, and Maggie collapsed on the floor.
“I’ve taken you away from your miserable life, and this is how you repay me!”
He kicked her in the stomach. She groaned, and he kicked her again.
He thought of his pregnant wife and her growing belly and kicked her again, hard. She rolled over into a fetal position and whimpered.
He brought his foot up to stomp on her head but stopped himself.
“On further thought, your boys should know where you are. I think I’ll invite them over.” Pure venom dripped from his voice.
She tried to talk but had difficulty breathing. Pain fired through her ribcage and her lungs. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything,” she squeaked, gasping for air.
He barely heard her, having already turned to limp out of the room.
***
Cooper faced his two most trusted and well-trained security guys, the Peterson twins. They had helped him take Maggie from her apartment. “I want you to find Tom and Jack and bring them to me.”
They nodded.
“I don’t care if you hurt them, but bring them alive. Understood?”
They smiled.
He called them Tick and Tock—identical twins trained from an early age to be lethal and to do his bidding. They had certain vices. So long as Cooper kept them satiated, they did whatever he wanted with relish.
Jackie stared angrily at Rachel. “I don’t want to work with Gabriel and Moses on this.”
Rachel frowned. “Why not? You’ve worked with them before.”
Jackie wandered to the small bedroom window while Rachel sat patiently on the edge of the bed. She had poured herself three fingers worth of tequila and knocked it down in two noisy gulps. “It’s not that I don’t trust them. It’s just not a good idea.”
“They won’t have any problem using lethal force. That should make you happy.”
Jackie turned. “Once we find Maggie, I want to kill Cooper. I won’t let Gabriel or Moses do it. I won’t!”
“Cooper killed Moses’s sister and Gabriel’s significant other. They should have the first claim.” Rachel leaned forward. “I don’t understand. You know how these things play out.”
Jackie sighed as she reached for the half empty bottle of Riazul tequila, and poured herself another healthy glass before settling next to Rachel. “I lied earlier. I knew John Grant. He was the love of my life. He died while I worked for the government and traveled around Europe in the circus. The government work was only a temporary assignment back then. I was about to come home when I got the phone call.”
Her voice broke and she swallowed half the booze in her glass. “I’m such an old fool, beyond redemption. When I heard about John’s death, I became so angry I couldn’t come back. The world turned black for me. I committed to the government and was lost. Everything was lost for me.”
“Everything?”
“I might have had a normal life. I wanted to marry, maybe have a family. I wanted those things with John. Cooper stole that life from me. After John, I wanted to hurt people. I’ve lived a life of killing and shadows and hate because of him.”
Rachel squeezed her shoulder. “I never realized how you felt, but Gabriel and Moses know about Cooper and Izzy. Charles had to tell them. We need their help, for the Fourteenth Colony and for the country. They need closure, too.”
Jackie glanced back toward the window and seemed to shrink into her sadness, into herself.
“It hasn’t been all hate for you. You love Maggie and those boys. They know that. Besides, with Gabriel and Moses involved, Charles has to give you Steven. He’s the best. He could prove invaluable.”
Jackie lifted her glass and the rest of the alcohol slid into her mouth. “Steven has the look.”
“The look?”
“The look of a killer. I know that look. I see it every day in the mirror.” Jackie said.
She turned to face her. “Gabriel and Moses can be part of this. I can’t stop that, but I’m going to be the one who puts a bullet in that monster’s skull.”
***
Steven had retrieved Gabriel and Moses on Charles’s orders. One look at the photograph of Isabella White and the two came willingly.
Charles sat with Tom and the two ghetto leaders around a large round table in the basement. Rachel, Steven, Jack, and Aunt Jackie rested in the upstairs bedrooms.
Jack suffered from another severe headache. He looked terrible—drawn, tired, and weak—so Tom forced him into a bedroom for some rest, promising to wake him when something happened.
It had been a long day for everyone. Mary worked a computer toward the far end of the room. They waited for her to crack the code on her own, or with the help of a name and number from the Wine Merchants that hadn’t arrived yet.
Wanting to break the tense mood, Charles talked about his favorite topic—the Knicks basketball team, which he owned. “I have an important decision to make. It will change the entire future of the world. Do I draft the point guard from the University of Phoenix or the power forward from Miami College?”
Moses and Tom were both Knicks fans.
Tom said, “Draft Walt Monroe from Phoenix. Statistically, point guard is the most important position on the team. Three of the last four champions had all-star point guards. With Monroe, we’ll be the favorite to win next year.”
Moses shook his head. “Walt is a great player. He comes from New York. I’ve met him, but he’s not going to last long.”
“Why?” Charles asked.
“I get these feelings sometimes when I touch someone. They’re hard to explain. He likes to drive too fast. I’d be worried about his longevity.”
Gabriel grunted. “I’d listen to him, Charles. Moses is never wrong about these things.”
Moses shrugged knowingly.
The phone rang. Sheppard answered, talked briefly, and hung up. A smile spread across his face. “I’ve got a name and number. Five years ago, one of the Wine Merchants stayed at the Lake Country Resort as a guest of a family friend. The official resort name and number of his friend was Anthony 777.”
Shafts of sunlight streamed through the windows in Darian’s studio apartment. Vanessa slept in his bed. Her body moved up and down to a steady rhythm.
His head pounded to a faster beat.
His tablet was open on the kitchen table and he held his mobile phone. Xavier Daniels was the Sheppard Group’s representative on the hospital board. He was also the acting head of the Sheppard Group, in charge while Charles Sheppard fulfilled his duties as Secretary of Domestic Priorities.
He dialed Xavier’s office.
A smooth sounding male assistant answered on the first ring. “Xavier Daniels’s office.”
“My name is Darian Beck. I’m a doctor at the New York Research and Teaching Hospital. I need to speak to Mr. Daniels immediately.”
“Is this a private matter?” the assistant asked. He sounded worried.
“Yes, and the situation is grave.”
“Please hold.”
Darian waited, feeling like a heel. He hadn’t lied exactly, but he knew the assistant had misunderstood him.
“This is Xavier,” answered a breathless voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m Doctor Darian Beck. I head a research team at the hospital. There’s an emergency Charles Sheppard needs to know about immediately.”
Silence hung on the line for a moment like wet clothes on a clothesline. “I thought there was a health emergency for someone in my family. This is highly irregular. We’re on the hospital board, but there is a proper chain of command for these types of things. You should speak to the head of research.”
Darian spoke quickly, before Xavier could hang up. “I don’t know if Project Qing or EBF-202 mean anything to you, but the hospital is involved in secretive research projects with explosi
ve ramifications. They’re perverting science. I can’t go to the head of research. He’s in on it.”
The phone line stayed open for ten seconds, then Xavier sighed. “I thought your name sounded familiar. I’ve heard of your project, EBF-202, before, but I don’t know anything about a Project Qing. What’s the problem?”
“I will only speak to Charles Sheppard about these matters. He needs to hear what I have to say. He can reach me at this number.”
Darian disconnected the call and wondered how long it would be before government security personnel arrested him. He should have figured out something better to do, but he had no choice. His guilt over the role EBF-202 played in Project Qing overcame him and forced him to reach out to Sheppard, even if the odds of success were against him.
***
He hadn’t noticed Vanessa’s eyes opened. He turned to face her and she quickly closed them and began to stir, stretching and yawning like a cat.
He strolled to the foot of the bed. “I’m not sure what type of wine you bought yesterday, but my head’s pounding.”
“Mine too. It must have been bad somehow.” She brushed hair from her face. “I didn’t know you were from the ghetto. I just assumed... well, I don’t really know what I assumed.”
“I thought you deserved to know. Hopefully you see why Project Qing is wrong. Those people don’t need to be brainwashed and made into some type of brainless working robots. They need a fair chance and an opportunity.”
“I never thought about it like that before.” She looked at the time projected on the wall and bolted out of the bed. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late.” She padded into the bathroom naked.
***
Darian also glanced at the time. Ten minutes had past since he called Xavier.
I wonder if I’ll have another ten.
Charles watched as Mary faced the group in the basement, her voice clear and confident. “With help from Mr. Sheppard, I’ve been able to decode the guest registries from 2010 to 2014. There are two hundred and twenty-eight family names on the list.” She handed them each a sheet of paper.
