Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  He knew the line to get in was off-limits. Instead, he picked out a group of gangsters sitting on their bikes by the main Palace wall. He took in a deep breath, stuck out his chest, and walked toward them. The girls noticed him this time, but their glossy pink and red lips curled at the sight.

  “Check out this nasty Pitta’ Rat comin’ up in here!”

  “He all covered in dirt an’ shit, look!” Their laughs and giggles took some of the wind out of Matteo’s chest. He hesitated mid-stride, fighting the urge to turn around and storm off into a dark alley somewhere. Then he heard them say it.

  “Oki, maybe he wants to sell you some shit in his ratty ass bag,” one of the girls squawked. Oki. Mother. Fucking. Oki. The chubby boy who’d ripped the oxygen tube out of Matteo’s nose had grown into a much larger T99 thug. He was built like one of those ‘gorillas’ from an article Matteo had read. Not extinct after all. To make matters worse, there was a familiar girl perched on Oki’s lap. Raia’s blue eyes were a dead giveaway, studying Matteo in that same unreadable way. She had grown up. Filled out. Each time she moved, she had to hold her short skirt to keep from exposing herself. Oki’s hand kept finding ways to make that difficult.

  “Yeah? What’s up, Pitta’ Rat?” Oki said. He lifted Raia, set her aside, and stood up. “What’chu got for me?”

  Matteo turned his face down and away. Hopefully Oki would take it for respect, and wouldn’t look too close.

  “Don’t be shy!” Oki looked back and chuckled to the other T99s. Matteo stayed quiet. His mind raced a hundred miles-an-hour looking for something to say. A way out. Anything. Only anger came to him. Oki shrugged and stepped closer.

  “What was that?” Oki leaned forward with a hand cupped by his ear, “you say I can have it? For free? Ah, thanks Pitta’ Rat!” He reached for the bag over Matteo’s shoulder. Matteo stepped back.

  “I said—THANKS!” Oki’s fist rammed into Matteo’s stomach. Sickening agony doubled him over on the concrete. The bag was plucked from his back and upended, dumping the contents on the ground. Amidst the switches, wiring, and pipe, an aluminum canister clattered on the ground. Oki squinted at it through close-set eyes. Then opened them wide.

  “Naw,” he rolled Matteo over with the toe of his high tops and glared at the wincing face.

  “HAH! It is! Mother fuckin’ Wheezy! How you been, kid? Last time I saw you, your baby-sittin’ brother pulled a gun on me!” Oki craned his neck and looked around the Friday night crowd in the street.

  “Don’t see no brother this time!” He crow-hopped and kicked Matteo in the ribs. Under the blinding pain, Matteo felt and heard the crack. Oki crouched beside him.

  “Ohhh, now I remember. He got picked up that night, right? Heard they beat him bloody, too,” he laughed. Jogun’s broken body flashed into Matteo’s mind. The smile through the swollen mouth and shattered jaw. For a moment, his pain and Jo’s seemed the same. He rolled to see Oki laughing and shouting back at the others. Pain spilled into rage. His hand swept across the concrete and bumped into something round, cold, and metallic. His fingers closed around it, and he rose to his feet.

  As Oki turned, the air canister cracked him square in the temple, knocking him off of his heels. The T99s back at the bikes all stood at once, submachine-guns and pistols in hand. Raia scurried back behind them with the other girls. She cupped her hands over her mouth. Turned away. Oki shook his bleeding head and staggered.

  “Shoot this mothe—”

  A metal door swung open from its graffiti camouflaged place on the wall. All heads spun to see two Black Hoods step out. Black track pants, black shoes, and black sleeveless pullovers with hoods drawn up. ‘T99’ appeared bold and dark on the right shoulders, surrounded by the triangular outline of a hood. Everyone with a gun in Oki’s troupe switched on the safety and lowered it. The Hoods walked straight to Matteo.

  “Yeah, take this piece of shit to Suo—”

  A backhand from one of the Hoods shut Oki’s mouth, splitting his lip. The big Hood’s size and chiseled muscles made Oki look scrawny.

  “Pick up this brother’s belongings and put them back in the bag,” the big Hood said in a low and cold voice as his partner lifted Matteo to his feet. Matteo coughed and watched in amazement. Oki wiped blood from his face, stooped, gathered every last bit of scrap on the ground, and put it back in the satchel. The big Hood inspected Oki’s work then snatched the bag from him.

  “Suomo wants you to know if you beat on a Pit worker again, expect to be dealt with permanently.”

  Matteo glanced at the fear etched on Oki’s broad features. The same look of terror he’d made years ago in front of Jogun’s gun. At least I got to hit him this time. The thought of laughing made his ribs ache, so he settled for a sideways grin as they led him through the painted door and pulled it shut.

  Inside, his grin faded, replaced with a blank stare. Beyond a low, neon graffiti-tagged divider, the Palace interior pulsed with colors, bodies, sweat, and thumping rhythm. The music, while loud outside, seemed to drive through his chest in here with lyrics rhyming in strange, garbled languages. Lights pulsed and swirled around the room, casting neon rays through the hot, wet, smoky air. He could smell the liquor and herb as if he was drinking and smoking. Making sense of the surging crowd took a moment. He saw a girl with her back pressed to a young T99. She traced her hands up her slick, wet sides to her bikini top, reached back, and wrapped them around the T99’s head as he leaned in to kiss her neck. Matteo watched the T99’s gold rings sparkle on his fingers as they traveled down the girl’s stomach and under her low-riding waistband.

  A nudge made Matteo jump. He had started sweating. The Black Hoods nodded up toward a catwalk that ringed the club’s interior. Matteo stole glances down at the crowd below as he climbed the stairs, drinking in what details he could. The dancing girls in glowing body paint made it hard to watch his step on the catwalk, and he tripped soon enough. The big Hood picked him up. There was something not unlike a smile on the man’s concrete face.

  “Eyes front, kid.” he said into Matteo’s ear. They reached a thick hatch door at the far end of the dance hall where two more Black Hoods stood guard. The Hoods nodded to each other and the door opened. Matteo tried to draw in a deep breath but it made him cough. Weak, wheezing memories entered. He clenched his fists.

  “Mother fucker, admit it! You messed up!” shouted a voice in the Boss’s upper room. “Now you gon’ have to pay for that shit!” The Black Hoods rushed inside with pistols drawn. Matteo ducked behind the big one.

  “Whoa whoa whoa! Y’all some nervous thugs, brother, I’ll tell ya that!” the voice said. Both Hoods relaxed, holstered their pistols, and took the drinks that were handed to them. Suomo looked much like Matteo remembered, only now wearing finely-sewn baggy clothes of bright white and navy blue. Gold and silver bracelets clinked on his wrists as he spun a long, smooth stick. He leaned over a thick table topped in green and aimed the stick at the shiny round balls that sat there. Matteo cocked his head at the strangeness of it. The balls clacked as they struck one another, sending two on the far end into corner pockets.

  “Hell yes, you gon’ pay! Ha HA!” Suomo laughed at another well-dressed T99 seated by the bar, likewise holding a long smooth stick. The man shook his head and took a drink from a brown glass bottle.

  “My man, take a seat on the couch over there, I’ll be right wit’chu,” Suomo said, spotting Matteo in the doorway. Matteo turned to see the L-shaped couch in the corner and the three incredibly hot girls who sat on it. Their tight bodies sank into the soft, shiny red cushions. One of them patted an empty space for him. He tensed. The girls in Oki’s gang had made fun of his dirty clothes. He tried his best to brush himself off and summon some courage. At last, he willed one foot in front of the other, turned, and lowered himself between two of the girls. His heart seemed to pound up into the back of his throat. At least none of them got blue eyes.

  “Ooh, what happened to your poor shoulder?” said one with short raven hair
and long smooth legs. She traced the scar tissue with a fingertip. Goosebumps spread down Matteo’s shoulder, chest, back, and arm.

  “I—I, uh,” his voice shook. It was a counter-top falling from a garbage scow. I was digging through the Pits for food. The truth sounded ridiculous. Pathetic.

  “It was an EXO.” The words came out on their own. They seemed to work. All three girls listened now, and the blonde made a show of gasping.

  “You’re so brave! I dunno what I’d do if I was face-to-face with one of them.”

  “Yeah...up...close,” the raven haired girl rubbed her bare leg on his.

  “YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT! Pay up, fool!”

  Matteo jerked at Suomo’s victory shout, and his shoulder cracked a girl under the chin. Her teeth made a loud ‘clack.’

  “Oh shit! Shit, I’m s-so sorry! Are you okay?” Matteo babbled. The raven-haired girl rubbed her chin and moved her jaw side-to-side. The other two girls couldn’t stop cackling.

  Suomo ignored the noise. He collected his winnings and walked over to the couch.

  “Aight, y’all, take a walk. Gotta talk with my man here,” said Suomo. All three got up. The two uninjured girls turned and waved a giggling goodbye to Matteo as they walked out the hatch. He wanted to sink into the couch.

  “You are Jogun’s little brother!” said Suomo. Matteo sat upright at the name. Suomo grinned. “Yeah...I thought so. ‘Cept damn, boy, you grew up! Got strong. That’s good little brother, real good.” Suomo snapped his fingers and the big Hood at the door brought over two short glasses filled with brown-red liquid and ice. Ice! Matteo took the glass. Studied it. Felt the coolness of it. He took a sip and swallowed. The burning in his throat shocked him, taking his breath away. He fought down the urge to cough.

  “Jo, man...miss that motherfucker, I do. Good dude to have at your back. Smart. Honest. Loyal. Been what? 6 years since they grabbed him?”

  Matteo nodded.

  “Damn...but look at’chu, man! He was always so worried about what’s gon’ happen to you, and here I just saw you knock that fool Oki in his skull with his whole dumbass crew watchin’!” Suomo pointed to the monitors on the wall. CCTV footage streamed in from places all over the club, inside and out. Suomo took a swig of his drink.

  “Takes stones, kid...big ones. But anyway, yeah. What’chu got for me?”

  Matteo leaned up and looked at his bag by the door. Suomo, drink in mouth, waved for it to be brought over. Matteo took it and pulled it open. Switches, copper wire, batteries, and pipe all clattered around. Suomo reached in and took out a light switch.

  “Nice work, little brother. Clean strip job. Nothin’ bent, twisted, snapped...solid.” Suomo tossed the bag to the Black Hood.

  “Get a Runner to take that on over to Oki an’ his crew tomorrow. Teach that fool some respect.”

  “Wait—” Matteo stuttered. Suomo raised an eyebrow at him. “The bag...it was Jo’s.” Matteo’s chest tightened. Interrupting a T99 boss was bad enough, but trying to block a command... Suomo just nodded and looked him square in the eyes.

  “Yasin.”

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Get the parts from the bag, tally ‘em up, and pack ‘em separate for Oki. Make sure all Matteo’s belongings are returned to ‘em.”

  Yasin turned and walked to a table to obey.

  “Thank you—,” said Matteo.

  “Uh uh,” Suomo said, “No need for that. Jo was family. Still is even if he’s dead. That makes you family, little brother.” He planted a finger in Matteo’s chest. Paused. Springing off the couch, Suomo walked over to the green-top table and grabbed the stick he’d set there.

  “But Jo must’ve told you that. Never seen nobody cared more ‘bout his family. Which brings me to my next question: why ain’t I seen you around ‘til now?”

  “I—I just...wanted to make good on my own,” the half-truth hung in the air a minute. Matteo searched Suomo’s expression for doubt. Didn’t see any.

  “See?!” Suomo shouted around the room for all to hear, “What we have here is a real man, gentlemen! Takin’ responsibility for hisself! Buildin’ his own shit from scratch, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” The others smiled and nodded in agreement. “Not like y’all bitches, just hangin’ around beggin’ for a handout and a pat on the motherfuckin’ back!” The smiles faded. Suomo’s appeared, full of glinting, shiny metal.

  “But all that’s different now, little brother. You did your time in the Pits and now you a man, brought home by God to his brothers. You believe in that shit? ‘Course you do.” Suomo tapped out a line of red powder on the glass table by the couch. Snorted it.

  “Jo always bragged ‘bout how smart you was. How you could fix anything in the house, remember things told to you once, or even tell what he was thinkin’ sometimes. Could use a man like that when I take a crew over the Border.”

  The words made Matteo’s head snap up. His jaw dropped.

  “You been there? To the City? How’d you get past the Border? What’d you see?” The questions poured out of him. Suomo chuckled.

  “Damn, kid, Jo told me ‘bout that too: Little Matteo, always goin’ on and on about The Big City. We ain’t been yet, but we workin’ up to it. Plenty of factories and ports to raid on the other side. That somethin’ you think you might be interested in?”

  A stream of possible events and scenarios streamed through Matteo’s imagination. The stealth flight over the Border under a cover of darkness. Stealing into churning factories to dismantle exotic machines. Climbing into a port-yard to hijack containers of treasures from across the world. EXOs hunting him down like a stray dog. Killing him with an Augmentor boot to the skull. The vision soured. Jo’s bloody face pleaded with him in his mind’s eye. He shook it off. The seeds...the slow way...he could die tomorrow chasing a measly nine-point-eight grams.

  “My whole life, I wanted to see the other side,” Matteo said, half to himself. “Almost saved up enough for a Lifter, too. But I’d rather die tryin’ than die in the Pits. If you’re goin,’ take me with you.”

  “Ha HA! My man! Yasin! This man’ll be needin’ The Mark! We Liftin’ all the crews soon for this anyway, so we’ll roll you in with that, too.”

  Here it was in front of him. The ID, the ticket, and the ride. I’m going. It didn’t hit him like he’d thought. It didn’t hit him at all. The idea of actually crossing the Border hovered in front of him like a boldfaced lie. He shoved the thought into place. Yeah...yeah, this is it!

  Across the room, the Black Hood left the table of scrap and went searching through a stack of drawers. Came up with a bottle of ink and a tattoo gun.

  “And,” Suomo said reaching behind his back, “you’ll need one of these.” The Boss took Matteo’s hand, opened it, and placed a nine millimeter handgun in his grip. Matteo stared down at it. The truth of the lie. The touch of the pistol-grip in his palm...the cold metal...the weight. The night on the roof replayed in full color. The fear he’d felt when gripping the handle behind his paralyzed brother’s back. Jogun’s plea. No blood. He let go of the gun now as he did then.

  “I can’t...”

  “Can’t? What’chu mean, ‘can’t’?”

  “I promised.”

  “Promised Jo? Bullshit, man. Look, if you want in you gotta be in. I can’t have a Nine wit’ me who ain’t willin’ to pull the trigger when shit goes down! ‘Specially over the Border! What’chu think, they’ll just arrest us over there? Send us packin’ back on home? Nah, man, they’ll shoot you dead on site, sayin’ you was a ‘Terrorist,’ whatever the fuck that means!”

  Matteo’s eyes stayed fixed on the weapon.

  “Listen, man, we just doin’ the best we can out here, tryin’ to get a piece of somethin’ you could call a real life. You gotta keep focused on what’s in front of you and make a choice. Tell you what— Yasin!” Suomo snapped his fingers. “Bring me that bag o’ his.” Yasin obeyed. Suomo held the bag in one hand and the gun in the other. Matteo looked back and forth at the
two.

  “Seein’ as how you family, I’mma give you somethin.’” He dropped the gun in the bag. “One week. Think about it. Come see me.” Suomo pulled the drawstring shut and held the satchel out. Matteo hesitated, then took it. Suomo didn’t let go right away.

  “I’m a businessman, little brother. And that chunk o’ metal in your bag? That’s just a tool of business.” Matteo nodded, stood on shaky legs, and met Yasin at the hatch.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Suomo said, tossing a small plastic bag to Matteo. The seeds shifted inside. It felt no less than three whole grams. Maybe three and a half!

  “Triple salvage and then some. Oki got’chu pretty good before you clocked him...go see the Doc.”

  9

  Chivalry

  THE TECHNO-ORCHESTRAL MUSIC died at the end of the GloboMetropolitan News eleven-o-clock broadcast. Barking voices of the station technicians carried to Liani’s desk where she sat idly, rifling through newsfeeds and blog posts in her Neural, waiting for the call she knew to be coming. The pick-up recording she and Corey had filmed on the Virton Hub landing deck had been a rush job at best. Throwing up in the porto-can had trashed her makeup. Her normally radiant skin had looked pale. Sick. I looked sick. Like a Sway junkie right outta the damn Rasalla District. On top of that, Sato’s thugs had mag-wiped all Corey’s background footage of the Sato-Finley handshaking. She found herself wishing they had been as thorough with her chip as they had with Corey’s. First chance she got she had backed it up on an external mem-stick, deleted it from her RFID memory, and cleared out the history.

  Her fingers drummed on the desk next to the mem-stick. She picked it up, worrying at the smooth edges with a fingertip. Despite weighing no more than a gram, it felt heavy. A sudden clack-clack-clack of high-heels approached behind her. She palmed the memory stick and put her hands in her lap.