Fire

by Jim Heskett

  Zan spread his hands wide and looked around the room. “I don’t see this woman anywhere in the vicinity. Is she hiding inside your panties?”

  Rosia pursed her lips, but only for a split second. “No. She lived on the south side of town, near the wall.”

  Yorick’s breath caught in his throat. This was a big gamble. No way Rosia knew anything about the south side of Denver, so if Zan questioned them about specifics, they were sunk.

  “I see,” Zan said. “‘Lived.’ She doesn’t live there now?”

  “No,” Rosia said, spontaneous tears pushing down her cheeks. Yorick was baffled Rosia had invented this tale and the accompanying emotion so quickly. “She passed away during our trip down from up north. We never got to see her.”

  Zan tented his fingertips, sighing as he stared at them. “That is unfortunate. And now you are stuck here, trying to save money to return home?”

  “We’re just grateful for work,” Yorick said, cutting in. “Maybe we don’t know what’s next for us, but we’re happy to be a part of your kitchen crew. We want to show you that your high expectations of us are not wrong.”

  “You don’t act like it. Consorting with putas, taking them away from their responsibilities, all the while going behind my back? I do not tolerate this sort of behavior. Not from you, or anyone, no matter what reasons you might have.”

  “We’re sorry,” Yorick said. “It won’t happen again. We love working here, and we’re grateful for everything you’ve done for us. You are as kind as you are…” he paused, searching for the right word.

  “Benevolent,” Rosia said.

  Zan sat back, his beady eyes tracking back and forth between them. Yorick couldn’t tell if he’d bought their heaps of praise or not. Finally, after a long silence, he said, “Fine. I will not expel you today. But, one more mistake, and I’ll not fire you. I’ll send you before the soldados for theft.”

  “What does that mean?” Rosia said, her lips parted.

  “Theft of my time and money, since I pay you to be here. Theft of business time is an offense punishable by a year in prison.” Then, a smile lit up the right side of his face. “Or death, depending on how loud I complain. Now, get back to work.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Yorick and Rosia stood outside the back door of the detention center they had last exited three days ago. A horrible place full of misery, where human flesh was traded as a commodity like fruit or car parts. Were it not for the chip they'd traded to the impressionable guard Jorge, they would have left this building in chains with many others that day.

  Sold to a brothel? Given to a noble with gold to spend on slaves? Put to work in one of the factories in the southern part of Denver?

  Maybe they were crazy to be standing here. But, recovering that chip was everything. Without it, they had no future. No plan. Hamon had relit the fire of hope and given them a way they could actually accomplish their outlandish goal of freeing all the slaves across the entire kingdom.

  A million roadblocks stood between them and that goal. One of them was retrieving the chip.

  “Even if this works,” Rosia said, “we can't guarantee they won't find out what we did back at the brothel.”

  Yorick nodded. They'd done a terrible thing. They had stolen gold from the restaurant. And they’d done it even after the warnings from Zan about what would happen to them if they slipped up, even once.

  Rosia had stood guard near the bar while Yorick waited for the bartender to excuse herself for a bathroom break. During the lull between breakfast and lunch, it wasn’t uncommon for there to be long periods with little for the bartenders to do. They would take breaks, naps, and have other reasons to pay little attention to the bar.

  When the bartender walked away, Yorick sneaked around the edge of the bar and ducked down. The gold and Notes were kept in a box, normally locked. But, often during the span between shifts, the bartenders would leave the box unlocked to count revenue from meals. This was one of those times.

  Yorick just had to hope the staff had not done the morning count yet. He opened the box and saw stacks of Notes and piles of gold pieces. He opted for the gold, since it was the only universally accepted currency in Denver, according to rumor. Notes were new, established by the king not long ago. Also, each Note had a unique number printed on it, and Yorick didn’t like the prospect of carrying around a stolen stack of marked currency. It didn’t seem like a smart idea.

  So, he had filled his pockets with gold to pay off Jorge, sneaked away, and now he stood outside the detention center with Rosia.

  “I don't like it,” Yorick said. “But it had to be done. And it's not like we stole from an honest man.”

  “True. Maybe they won’t even notice.”

  Yorick looked up at the surveillance camera above the door. Any moment now, someone would come to see why they were loitering back here. He held up a hand to the camera, waving at it. Then, he thought he heard something. He leaned toward the door, trying to detect footsteps. He couldn’t be sure.

  The back door opened, making Yorick’s throat constrict. Rosia pulled close to him.

  Jorge leaned out. And, only him, fortunately.

  His eyes widened. “What are you doing here? Do you want to make me lose my job?”

  “We have an offer for you,” Yorick said.

  Jorge shook his head. “I’m not interested. You have your papers, now go. Don’t come back.”

  Rosia reached into her bag and pulled out the gold pieces they’d stolen. Jorge’s suspicious eyes glanced down at it. “What are you doing with that?”

  “We want to buy back that chip we sold you,” Yorick said.

  Jorge grinned. “You think it’s worth a few pieces of gold?”

  “Tell us what you want. We need to get it back, and we’ll do whatever we have to. Whatever you want, we’ll make it happen.”

  The guard shook his head. “Come back with however much gold you want. It won’t make a difference. I don’t have the chip anymore.”

  Yorick’s chest pulsed. “What?”

  “I traded it to pay off a debt.”

  Rosia slid the gold pieces back into her pocket. “Tell us who has it. We’ll buy it from them.”

  “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Jorge said, a sad smile on his face. “The best thing you can do is to walk away and never speak to me again. Forget about the chip and get out of this city while you still can. You hear about that bombing down the street? These are ugly times. I’d get away too, if I could.”

  Yorick took a step forward. “No. We need the control chip, so tell us who has it.”

  “Fine. You really want to know? Two miles east, at the old electrical plant. The guy’s name is Manuel Menendez.”

  “Menendez,” Rosia said. “What does he look like?”

  Jorge grinned, showing a set of yellow teeth. “Oh, don’t worry, you won’t have any trouble finding Menendez.”

  “Why?” Yorick asked.

  “Because there’s a giant statue of him outside the plant. He’s the biggest White Flames boss in Denver. I don’t know why you had that chip, or why you want it back, but it doesn’t matter. My debt to Menendez is paid, so I’m out of it. And I’ll tell you this.” He leaned closer and waited until he had their full attention. “If you show your face to Menendez and try to wave a few pieces of gold at him, he’ll put you on a pike outside of the electrical plant just for wasting his time. Doesn’t matter what you have to offer. You won’t walk out of there alive.”

  With that, Jorge disappeared back inside the door, and then it slammed shut.

  Chapter Twenty

  Yorick stood in the stairwell as Hamon left the room on the opposite end of the second floor. He had changed out of his tight puta garb, now dressed in common street clothes. Loose-fitting nondescript short-sleeved shirt and corduroy pants. With the makeup wiped from his face, he looked much more like the Hamon Yorick and Rosia had known for years at the plantación. Except for the newly-short h
air, he was the same. Not hard to imagine, since it had only been a few weeks since Yorick had seen him last.

  Rosia trailed Hamon from behind and escorted him along the mezzanine, around the square. She kept an eye out to the rear while Yorick tuned one ear down into the stairwell, listening for anyone coming. Hamon kept his eyes down, but he pushed forward, toward Yorick.

  Hamon and Rosia passed Yorick to enter the stairwell. He took one last look out onto the second floor, then he shut the door. As far as he could tell, no one had seen a thing. This time of day, there was much less activity in the brothel.

  “Won’t you get in trouble, leaving the brothel?” Yorick asked as Hamon descended the stairs.

  Hamon stopped, turned, and gave Yorick an unconvincing smile. Hard to see in the darkness of the stairwell. “If Zan even knows we’re talking, then we’re all dead. If anyone on his security team sees us, then we’re dead.”

  Yorick swallowed. “You paint such a rosy picture.”

  “This chip is worth it,” Hamon said.

  “That’s the thing,” Yorick said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “We don’t have it yet. We went to the guy we sold it to, but he sold it to someone else.”

  Hamon’s face fell, and his shoulders slumped. He chewed on his lip as he breathed, appearing to contemplate a reply.

  “It’s okay,” Yorick said. “Rosia and I have a plan to get it back. Tonight.”

  “Who has your chip?”

  “Some guy named Menendez.”

  The disappointment on Hamon’s face turned to shock. “Wait. Menendez the White Flames boss? That Menendez?” Yorick nodded, and Hamon gave a grave shake of the head. “If that’s the case, then we’re all dead already.”

  “How bad can he be?”

  “Bad. But, it doesn’t matter. Something is coming, Yorick. There are whispers everywhere. And it’s days away, not weeks or months. A big change is going to happen, and we need to be a part of it.” Hamon sighed as he checked his watch. “Come on. We’re late to meet Camila. Maybe it’s pointless now, but she’s still expecting us.”

  Hamon skipped down the last few steps to the back door. Sunlight blasted into the dark stairwell when he pushed it open. For the first time, Yorick got a good look at Hamon’s makeup-free face. He seemed to have aged a decade in the last month.

  Yorick followed Hamon west of the brothel. Rosia stayed a couple meters behind, keeping an eye out for soldados. The king’s men had seemed to multiply every time they looked out the window of their room in the brothel. Maybe Hamon was right. Maybe the increased army presence meant they knew something was coming, too.

  Hamon led them for a few minutes, away from the central business district, and toward an area of town marked by large highways raised up from the earth. The tall buildings grew shorter, the parking lots larger, and everything a little more spaced out. Away from the biggest of the buildings in the center of Denver, this area felt like any of the other smaller cities they’d encountered on their journey down from the plantación.

  But, Yorick noted that, despite the city’s size, they had so far kept to a contained section of the central business district. In that way, it did feel like a small city. They saw the same people repeatedly, the ones who also stayed within their neighborhood.

  Rosia had still kept up the rear of the group, but Yorick waved her forward to join them as he and Hamon continued on. He could hear the rush of water up ahead as they approached Cherry Creek, a flowing channel of water west of downtown Denver.

  Hamon pointed them down a bicycle path from the street, next to the water. For a “creek,” the water was quite high and careened along at a breakneck pace. More like a violent river than a creek, actually.

  “There,” Hamon said, pointing to a nearby underpass. Every few hundred meters, bridges connected the two sides of the creek, with a shady area underneath. Yorick squinted and saw a woman in rags sitting under one of those bridges, a shopping cart full of junk next to her.

  “That woman?” Yorick asked, his voice low as they approached.

  Hamon nodded. “It’s a disguise. She’s wanted by the king, so she has to move in the shadows. Be respectful. Don’t stare at her, if you can help it. Camila prizes her anonymity above all things. I’m certain that’s not even her real name.”

  Yorick wasn’t sure about all this subterfuge, but he trusted Hamon, so he waved for them to continue. As they neared the underpass, Camila put her head down and held out a metal cup. She shook it back and forth, making a couple of gold pieces inside it clink against the sides.

  “Good day and good fortune,” Hamon said.

  Camila looked up, scowling at Hamon. “You’re late. I’d planned to give you exactly two more minutes.”

  “Sounds like we’re right on time then.”

  She bared her teeth at him. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, puta.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “We had a little trouble getting away.”

  Hamon stepped to the side, revealing Yorick and Rosia. As ordered, they both kept their heads down. Yorick sneaked a couple of looks, but he tried to focus on the cup in her hand.

  “This is Yorick and Rosia. They’re with us.”

  Camila made a hmm sound as she sized up the two former serfs. “Is it true the two of you killed the lord named Wybert in Wyoming? Or is this puta telling me tales?”

  Yorick nodded. “We had lots of help, but yes.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Most of the serfs rose up at once,” Rosia said. “We took their weapons and used them against the guards and soldados, then we stormed the lord's mansion.”

  Camila’s frown finally turned into a smile. “I’ll bet that was an amazing day.”

  Yorick didn’t think so. He could tell by the look on Rosia’s face, she didn’t think so, either. The outcome was what they had wanted, yes. But nothing was amazing about all the people who died to get those plantación gates open.

  “It was justice,” Yorick said, “and it came at a cost.”

  Camila chewed on this for a moment, then she set the cup on the ground and wiped her hands on her dirty pants. “Hamon says you’re okay, so we can do business.” She opened her palm. “I understand you have a Ramirez Control Chip that needs reprogramming.”

  Yorick glanced at Rosia before he delivered the bad news. “Yes, we do. But, we don’t have it right now. We need to go get it, and it’s going to take some effort.”

  Camila withdrew her hand, the scowl returning. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “We’re going to get it tonight,” Rosia said. “We will have it.”

  Yorick frowned at the sincerity of Rosia’s promise because they had discussed the mere possibility of getting it tonight, but hadn’t set any firm plans.

  But, he supposed now was the time for bold statements.

  Camila stood and grabbed her shopping cart. “I will be back here tomorrow morning. Have the chip by then or no deal. Just being around you three is dangerous.”

  “We’ll have it,” Yorick said, pretending to be certain. He tried to keep his shoulders square and his back straight to help sell his position.

  “You better,” Camila said, then she guided her shopping cart away from them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The soldado escorted Diego off the elevator and out onto the balcony. Hard to call it that exactly, because it encompassed almost the entire width of the roof of the capitol building. The king’s personal view of the heavens, Diego had heard this place so named. A gigantic pool, gardens, various areas marked off with chalk and nets for sporting games, most of which Diego had no idea what for.

  The king lived on the top three floors of the capitol building, with a private elevator and constant guard presence outside his front door. But, he allowed few guards actually inside his residence. Only a single bodyguard, if the rumors were true.

  The king was seated on a throne off to one side, across from a mass
ive video screen. The reflection of the video screen bounced off his exposed skin. Two young and nubile ladies sat on either side of him. Barely enough fabric to make a couple of bandannas covered their flesh. The king was wearing robes and boxer shorts and nothing else, his belly sticking out against the setting sun.

  And, regarding the sun, the view from here filled Diego with a strange sense of overwhelm and awe. Of all the times he had been to Denver, he’d never appreciated a sunset like this. The towering points of the mountains to the west were like black wolf’s teeth in the distance, cutting the sky.

  Diego stared at the skyline, absent-minded. Too many thoughts bounced around in his brain. Seeing his father again for the first time in a couple of years, the possibility that his father was working with the sun worshipper terrorists… too much to consider. Diego knew he might feel an urge to tell the king about his suspicions. But, he didn’t know if it was the right thing to do.

  “My boy,” the king said, waving Diego over. Then, the king whispered something to each of the ladies, and they slinked away, to another area of the expansive balcony. One of them ran a flirty hand through Diego’s long black hair as she passed him.

  He crossed the balcony, and the king pointed to a footstool, which Diego drew to a meter away from the king. He sat.

  Nichol leaned forward. “You hear about the bombing down the street?”

  “I did.”

  “These are dangerous times. I do believe I have a keen sense of the direction of the wind, my young subject. And I don’t know if I like the stench I can feel coming in from outside the city. That’s why it’s at such a good time that we are working together. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. How are you getting on, dear Diego?”

  “Good, sire. But, there was a problem when I left your office the other day.”

  “Oh? What is that?”

  “You said your secretary would fill me in on the details about the Operation Home project, but she said I wasn’t cleared to see any documents related to it. I tried to get back in to see you, but she wouldn’t allow that, either.”