Twisted City

by Jeremy Mac

  And “was” is right. Absolutely right. Utterly reduced to the past tense for certain, forever and always.

  “Nobody,” he replied. “Just someone I knew long ago.”

  That is the last they ever spoke of it.

  Before Taya awakes he leaves and goes outside the building. It is mid-morning and the streets are bustling. Cleaning crews were up early and all trash and debris are gone. Everything is in full swing once again. Loak and his crew are already busy working on the SUV and he will join them later in the day.

  He decides against sneaking around at night, it just isn’t wise. People will be in the building and maybe even in the room he needs to be in. During the day is best, there’s a greater chance that most people will be out but even if not he’ll come up with a believable story as to why he needs to be there and what he needs to do.

  He doesn’t take a rickshaw, his leg needs a good stretch. No rush, just a nice, leisurely walk.

  49

  Having just awakened, Mongoose blearily peers through tiny slits of his eyelids at the black world around him. It takes him a moment to recall where he is and once he does he reaches for his battery powered lantern, turning it on.

  Max is passed out beside him, looking like road-kill, laying on his side with his legs stretched out in front of him, mouth gaped open with his tongue hung loosely between his teeth like a dead pink ribbon.

  “Tough night, Boy?” Mongoose says.

  Max lifts his head up, smacking his mouth together a few times, licking the cotton away, working the juices back in there. He gives Mongoose a pitiful stare, furrowing his brow as he tells him about it with a whine, and then lays his head back down.

  “Yeah, you and me both.”

  Last night Mongoose got so caught up in the celebratory moment that he drank more than he should have. Which was easy to do since the alcohol here tastes way better than that of Maddick’s and now he is paying the slushy headachy price for it.

  He groggily rises to his feet, grabs his canteen, and leaves Max in the room as he lurches out the door and down the hallway. The Pinnacle’s many water fountains are situated every two blocks, allowing easy access and availability to everyone so to keep from having to make long trips carrying heavy buckets to and from the main fountain. Mongoose wets his head and face and immediately the cold water takes his breath away but also momentarily alleviates the throbbing in his head. He fills his canteen and heads back to his building.

  As he takes a step up to the front door of his building someone catches his eye; it is the man he’s heard so much about and had seen for the first time last night after someone pointed him out. Now here he is entering the building he is staying in. Sticking to his natural instincts, Mongoose instantly goes into spy mode and falls in behind him. Instead of taking the same stairwell Mongoose slides alongside the opposite stairwell, races up one flight then waits until Lathan appears across the way, making sure he takes the next flight before Mongoose races up the next flight of stairs. This goes on for the next three flights before Lathan is a no-show on the next floor. Puzzled, Mongoose waits a beat before he decides to turn back to descend to the previous floor. Gazing across the hall he sees nothing, quietly listening he hears nothing. He creeps to the opening of the hall. When he comes to it he ever so slowly peeps his head around the corner and is suddenly snatched from around it. He reacts by delivering a series of punches and kicks but he is no match for Lathan who blocks them all with a single arm.

  “Stop,” Lathan says bluntly, to which he is promptly ignored, so he easily puts the kid in a chokehold. “If you don’t stop, your own struggles will put you to sleep.”

  Eventually the struggle ceases. Lathan keeps him in the hold but relaxes his grip.

  Feeling foolish and belittled and ticked off from being handled like this, Mongoose says, “Do you think you can let go of me now? Because I’m really not into the guy on guy S and M thing.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re not my type. Do you think you can calm your little ass down long enough to be let go?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Lathan releases him and Mongoose turns to face him, straightening himself out, as if there is much to straighten out.

  Lathan says, “Why are you following me?”

  “What are you doing in my building?”

  “Sightseeing. Why are you following me?”

  “Sightseeing,” Mongoose says skeptically. “Sightseeing what?”

  “Old architecture. Why are you following me?”

  “How’d you know I was following you?”

  “Look, kid, this is how this works. I ask a question and you answer it. Then you can ask a question. Right now I’m two to the good, so unless you want me to put you back in a chokehold, answer the damn question. Why are you following me?”

  “I don’t think you’ll be able to put me back in that same chokehold so easily this time. Want to try it.” Mongoose slides his body into a sideways stance.

  Lathan isn’t sure if he is serious or what but his patience with the kid has worn thin fast. “I don’t have time to play with you, kid.” Lathan turns back to the stairwell.

  “Wait!” Mongoose hustles up behind Lathan as he ascends the steps. “I was only curious as to why you’re here. It’s in my nature.”

  “Ever hear the saying, Curiosity killed the cat?”

  “Ever heard that cats have nine lives?”

  “Don’t you need to be somewhere, like at home doing your chores or something?”

  “I don’t have a home. And besides, I’m older than what you may think. I’m visiting here on a trader’s pass.”

  “Traders pass? Just you?”

  “Just me. It’s always been just me. Well, me and Max. That’s my dog. He’s back in my room.”

  “Okay, look kid –”

  “My name is Mongoose.”

  “Whoever you are, I don’t need you following me.”

  “Why, you got something to hide?”

  “It’s none of your business what I’m doing.”

  “That’s the best business there is, business that’s not mine. More reason to follow you.”

  Lathan stops on the next landing between two floors and faces Mongoose directly, giving him a full unbridled dose of what he may be up against and says, “Which will give me more reason to stomp your little ass.”

  Mongoose holds up a hand. “Before you continue you should know that threats do not work well on me and although I may be small, I don’t stomp very easily either.” He sees anger spark in Lathan’s eyes. “I’m not trying to aggravate you –”

  “You’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

  “It’s just that I’ve heard a lot about you, what you did and all, and it’s pretty cool. I may not look it but I’m a warrior too. I don’t have any weapons because they made me leave them at the gate before I came in. Seriously.”

  This humors Lathan. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.” Mongoose stands a little straighter, feeling confident, the ache in his head from last night’s booze now squeezed into a dull throb. “Straight up.”

  He considers the kid for a moment, thinking that he may be able to use him. It will be harmless, tactful, and hopefully furtive, that’s if he even needs him, and if he does need him it isn’t like the kid will ever actually see what it is he is after.

  Mongoose can almost see the wheels turning in the older man’s head so he urges him with an expectant expression.

  Finally Lathan says, “How long you been in this building?”

  Mongoose grins. “Long enough to know my way around, and what floors and rooms have people living in them.”

  Lathan draws in closer and tells the kid a story. It isn’t an entirely true story, but what stories are these days?

  50

  “Remember, Mr. Burtle isn’t senile, he just can’t see very well,” Mongoose tells Lathan once more as the two stand in front of
the door.

  Mongoose knocks on the door four times, waits a few seconds and knocks again.

  “Does his hearing still work well?” Lathan asks after waiting a while longer.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Mongoose says, and goes to banging on the door.

  They hear some commotion on the other side of the door and then a voice mumbling incoherently. Mongoose bangs annoyingly on the door until the voice gets louder and aggravated and when the door opens the old man yells, “What the hell is going on out here?”

  Mr. Burtle is a small man with a bald head wreathed in gray hair from ear to ear. Thick lensed spectacles that comically enhance his eyes three times their normal size are perched on a small pointy nose. A funny looking man and one may even say funnier looking when made irritated as he is now. He stares at Mongoose, who isn’t much taller than himself, and then up at Lathan, regarding both with such powerful indignance that if someone else was to see him just then they will swear that he has just been profoundly wronged by the two in some way.

  Lathan quickly speaks up, fearing the old man is about to go into fits. “We’re very sorry to disturb you, sir, but I’m doing a thorough sweep of all residential buildings, under strict orders of Mr. James Grant, in tracking and exterminating a new breed of rodent-insect that is a prime carrier of disease that will spread quickly if not contained.”

  Mr. Burtle’s eyes get even bigger. “Rodent-insects! Spreading disease? Here?”

  “Yes, sir. But so far we’ve only had one serious case. The Smiths just two buildings down. A terrible thing. I’d rather not go into details but I will say this, it was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. It was already too late when we found them. The things are fast but we were able to catch one of them. Would you like to see?”

  As Lathan reaches into a small bag, Mr. Burtle, already half frightened from the news of a new breed of rodent-insect spreading disease, recoiled apprehensively as if Lathan is about to strike him down. “Good God no! I don’t want to see it!”

  “No need to worry, sir. It’s dead so it is quite harmless.” Lathan holds up a nasty looking brown clump a few inches in length. Dark folds of shredded muscle overlap and are shrunk together. In the eyes of a nearly blind person it may appear to be just as Lathan says it is, a dead, diseased riddled rodent-insect, but later on Lathan will retrieve it and take a delicious bite out of it. And why not? Spicy beef jerky is one of his favorite snacks.

  Mr. Burtle cautiously leans forward from the waist to examine the thing pinched between Lathan’s index finger and thumb. His old wrinkled face contorts with revulsion.

  Before he gets too close Lathan bags the jerky-rodent-insect and says, “We must act fast, sir. I’ll need to take a look around your place; under your furniture, in your closets, cabinets, nooks and crannies. They can be anywhere.”

  Mr. Burtle blinks rapidly. “I’ve never seen any rodents or insects in here. I keep a clean place.”

  “Neither cleanliness nor filthiness matters to these things. They survive solely on blood. Human blood.”

  This bit of information seems to rock the old man’s world. “Blood! What in hell?”

  “Yes. What in hell is certainly right. So if you will allow us to come in we will make this as fast as possible.”

  Mr. Burtle steps back inside and holds the door open for them to come in. They enter what was once a small waiting area and secretary’s station that branches off into two rooms. Now it looks much like a home furnished with a couch, a recliner, a coffee table, a dinner table and chairs. Everything is neatly placed and it does look clean.

  “I’ll start in here,” Lathan says.

  He lifts up the couch cushions, pulls it out from the wall and glimpses behind it, pushes it back against the wall and repeats the process with the recliner. As he does this Mongoose is on the other side of the room doing the same. He asks the kid if he sees anything suspicious.

  “Nope. Nothing so far.”

  Mr. Burtle stands by the door as if he may bolt at any second.

  Lathan points at the two doors on the other side of the room. “What’s in there?”

  “The one on the right is my bedroom. The one on the left is where I’ve stored all my belongings.”

  “I’m going to ask you to stay out here for your own safety.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Mr. Burtle absolutely agrees.

  Lathan says to Mongoose, “Stay out here with him. If anything should happen, make sure he gets to safety.”

  “Okay,” Mongoose endorses, trying his best to keep the imminent giggle from resounding in his voice.

  Lathan enters through the door to the right and closes it behind him. There is a single size box spring bed with two small chest of drawers flanking both sides. Bookshelves built within the wall to the right are filled with several books and stacks of paper. He goes straight to the bookshelf.

  The bookshelf was perfectly constructed and installed within the wall, giving the optical illusion that it is part of the buildings original interior design and cannot be moved. Lathan goes to one side, reaches high into a corner, and pushes. There’s a click and then the bookshelf moves forward an inch. Lathan grabs hold of one of the shelves and swings the entire bookshelf outward. The safe is 18” x 18”, its dial in the middle is numbered zero to sixty. He knows the combination by heart. He turns the dial to the correct numbers, turns the latch, and opens the door. Inside is a black Samsonite briefcase. He takes it out, closes the door, and pushes the bookshelf back in place. Without further ado he and Mongoose leave Mr. Burtle’s home while giving him two thumbs up and assuring him that he will never have to worry about any diseased riddled blood thirsty rodent-insects terrorizing him, he can sleep safe and sound, and the old man never even noticed the black briefcase Lathan carries out with him.

  51

  The story Lathan told Mongoose before they went to retrieve the briefcase was a simple enough story. Lathan had a friend who used to work at the Harrington International, his office used to be what is now Mr. Burtle’s home, and this friend left a briefcase with documents and letters in a safe behind a bookshelf that are more of sentimental value than anything else and he, Lathan, wanted to retrieve them for their sentimental value. Although Lathan made it all sound so convincing Mongoose knows this to be only half true. A friend who used to work here? Sure, why not. A briefcase full of documents and letters? Maybe. That they are more of sentimental value than anything else? Not likely. Mongoose’s experience with old world deceit taught him to be able to differentiate between truths and good lies. When someone seems to tell you everything there is to tell about a certain something, especially when they suddenly decide to use your willing assistance, half of it can be thrown out as a lie, maybe even more, because they’re most likely making up some of the story as they go along. But if they give you only specifics but keep dishing out a bunch of unrelated information, or maybe slightly related in an indirect way, you can bet that a good portion of that is also false. Usually, not always, but usually when someone can back up what they tell you with some show of proof can you then take it at face value.

  Once Lathan had possession of the briefcase he wanted to leave without even checking the other room, making his story of a rodent-insect infestation look anything but legit, but Mr. Burtle was so relieved to hear that everything was well and clear that he didn’t seem to notice anyway. And it didn’t much matter to Mongoose either because he’d already been paid. He tried to convince Lathan to come back to his place to meet Max and kick it for a little while, hoping to coax more information out of him and maybe even get a peak inside the briefcase (whatever is inside has to be good) but Lathan was suddenly hit with the need to hurry back to his place. He had things to do, but he’d catch up with him later. Another lie.

  52

  Without breaking stride Lathan goes straight to his place. He lays the briefcase flat on his table and takes a moment to simply stare at its black leather exterior. He slides the tips of his fingers over its smooth surf
ace and down to the combination locks at the sides of the handle. The combination he also knows by heart. With his thumbs he rolls the dials to the correct numbers and pushes the two buttons, releasing the latches. He opens the briefcase. Inside is a plain white envelope and under the envelope is a metal box. The envelope is unsealed, he opens the flap and extracts the folded piece of paper inside and reads what is written. He reads it a second time, much slower, giving it much more considerable thought. The relief he felt at finally retrieving the briefcase is replaced by dejection. Although he made a promise, took an oath, and will see to it that it is fulfilled, he never expected this. The particulars are so astounding that he doesn’t even think that this is possible. Yet if it wasn’t possible then why would he be here right now?

  Brakida Mountains. He will be traveling a lot further than expected. And the name of the person who is mentioned in the letter doesn’t even sound familiar.

  He slips the letter back into the envelope and puts it back in the briefcase while lifting the steel box out of the briefcase. Examining the steel box, it is nearly half the length and width of the briefcase, the surface is smooth with no visible markings of any kind, and a small round disc about half an inch in diameter is the only abstract piece on the box. He fiddles with it and discovers that the disk-like cover moves to the side but springs back when released. A keyhole cover. He pushes it to the side to examine the keyhole, one that is very different than he’s ever seen before. Tiny springy flaps conceal the keyhole. He takes the smallest tool he has and gently inserts it into those tiny flaps. ZAP! He impulsively jumps up, instantly releasing the tool as he shakes the electrical shock out of his hand. Ouch! What the hell is that? Some kind of self-generated electrical current built within the box to prevent anyone from picking it open. He won’t try that again.