by Blou Bryant
It took him a moment to figure out what that meant and he blushed when he did. “No,” he sputtered.
“Oh, no? Don’t need to?” she asked and glanced down his front. He blushed even deeper clammed up, much to her mirth.
Wyatt was relieved when they finally made it into the shelter. The smell of the food made his stomach rumble. Through the double doors that led into the serving area, he saw long trays of food. To his disappointment, it looked like healthy fare, lots of vegetables, but there was a pot of stew with biscuits next to it that would do fine.
Joshua was wandering the room, asking people how they were doing, touching each person on the arm or back, making connections with those he supported. Trix muttered, “Asshole,” when he passed by.
“Why?” whispered Wyatt.
Trix made a face. “He’s like a ground apple. Looks good outside, all worms and rot inside.”
Wyatt watched the director walked away. Annoying, yes. Evil? Not likely. He shrugged as they finally reached the front of the line. He took a bowl of stew and three buns, despite the disapproving look it earned him from one of the servers. Trix grumbled under her breath as she loaded a plate with anything that wasn’t a vegetable. “Stupid do-gooding pieces of crap…” she said.
“What?”
“Government says, can’t serve this, can’t serve that, gotta serve only healthy food. Stupid government. I miss fries and cake. I want, no, I need fries and cake.”
Food in hand, they walked back to the park together, Trix’s ‘boys’ following behind them, leaving enough room for them to chat between bites. Two buns in his pocket, he dipped the third into the stew as they walked and shoved half of it in his mouth.
Wyatt wondered if they thought of him as competition for her affection. That made him wonder if he was and he shook his head to clear it.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Long day,” he said and stuffed some bread in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to say more. Trix didn’t seem to notice, tearing at one of the chicken pieces on her plate.
They walked the last half mile eating in silence. She left him outside Shazam’s tent. “Be careful,” she said and gave him a hug. Before she let him go, she grabbed his ass one more time and walked away, laughing.
Wyatt joined his friends in the tent, his mind still on Trix and the slight ache from her last pinch. The tent was at least six feet tall. He had to bend down as he entered, but not by much. He sniffed, there was a mix of smells from body odor and rotting food. Despite this, it wasn’t as dirty as he expected. There were bedrolls in one corner and a pile of folded clothing in another.
Shazam rolled over with a folding chair. “Here you go,” he said, “I hope the giant didn’t rob you again.”
“Nope,” said Wyatt.
“You’re almost broke, what, you got enough for only one more night?”
Wyatt ignored the question and asked Hannah, “Did you get a chance to discuss that bag we found?”
“He says it’s new, but he’s seen it before. Some...”
“It’s a new thing,” interrupted Shazam, wheeling between them. “I’m not a drug user, but I’ve heard of this.”
The twins laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“Continue,” said Wyatt, assuming that the other guy wanted to look cool for the girls and clean for him. “Your habits aren’t my interest. I don’t care what you do.”
Shazam put a broad smile on again. “It’s called Nytro. It’s been making the club circuit of late, better than coke or E, with none of the side effects, and at half the cost.”
“Who sells it?”
“Nobody knows what gang controls the market. The dealers aren’t the usual, these are clean cut and professional. If you can figure out who makes it, you’d be rich. The Japanese or Colombian gangs would pay big for that information. Well, that’s what I’ve heard, at least.”
“How do you know this?”
“People gotta eat, a lot of the tenters...”
“The what?”
“Homeless people, the ones living in tents in places like this, they make a bit of cash selling stuff for the big gangs. Anyhow, they can’t sell anymore, except to each other. All the rich kids use Nytro now, and that’s where the real money is.”
“So, why don’t tenters sell this?”
“It’s like a closed franchise, man. Used to be, you’d take fifty bucks and convert it to two hundred. People’d pool their money and buy enough to sell.”
“And now?”
“Nobody sells bulk, that’s what I hear.”
“Come on, you know more than that.”
“I don’t, really, got out of that sort of thing and I’m clean now.”
The twins laughed and Wyatt saw a brief flash of anger on his face. Wyatt paused and briefly looked at the wheelchair bound man, surprised. This was the first sign of the real Shazam, he thought to himself, and wondered what else was under that cheery surface.
“It’s true, I am, I cleaned up,” Shazam protested. “Doing that stuff made me part of the problem. Every pill I sold or swallowed helped the people who put me here.”
Ari leaned in, “You’re kidding, you got religion?”
“It’s not religion,” he protested, “seeing the world for what it is. You could too, you girls are so smart.”
“But, you were so fun,” said Ira.
Shazam no longer smiled. “Look at my legs. You know that I could have been healed, but the hospital did a cost-benefit analysis. Wasn’t worth the price, I didn’t have the money, and they wouldn’t pay.”
He wheeled back to the side of the tent and lifted a window flap. “Not enough money. Look at the skyline of our city,” he said, his voice raising, mocking, “Our city.” Ira got up, walked to him and kneeled down next to him. She took his hand, but he shook her off and continued, “All those tall buildings, full of rich people who could have shared some of their cash and let me walk. But I wasn’t worth it to them.”
Ira looked stricken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t….”
Ari agreed, “We’d have helped.” She looked at Wyatt, held his gaze for longer than he was comfortable with. He suspected she was thinking that he could heal Shazam. Wyatt shook his head as subtly as possible. Not right now, at least.
The smile on Shazam’s face reappeared. “I know you would have. Sorry for being a downer. You’re not the guys who I needed help from.”
Wyatt didn’t want to appear cold, but he didn’t feel anything for the crippled guy sitting across from him. “Is there anything else you can tell us about this Nytro?”
“Just that you shouldn’t let anyone see that. Get rid of it. Flush it. Or have me give it to Joshua.”
“Wouldn’t he turn us in?”
“No, he’s a cool dude. Okay, he’s not cool, but he’s good, he’ll get rid of it. Anyone else around here, they’d kill you for it.”
“Where are they?” Wyatt asked, looking for the drugs.
Hannah pulled the baggie out of her jacket so he could see it and then shoved it back in. “I agree; we need to dump this stuff. It’s that’s dangerous, and has nothing to do with what we’re after.”
Wyatt wasn’t as sure. “We can use it as leverage. These guys still have our friends, or have you forgot?”
“I haven’t, but we’re not getting into a drug war.”
“We’ll get into whatever war we need to get the rest of the Dogs back.”
Shazam raised an eyebrow at that. “The Red Dogs were taken by the gang dealing Nytro? Ouch.”
Wyatt leaned back in his seat, ignoring Shazam. The question was how to use their new knowledge. Could he barter for their release, trading the bag they’d stolen for the group?
“You can’t negotiate with these guys, they’re ghosts,” said Shazam, reading his mind.
“What can we do, then? We can’t go to the police.”
“I know; they’re crooked.”
That, thought Wyatt, might be the linchpin. The
cops were crooked, but couldn’t afford to hide like the criminals they work with. “Do you have a phone? Can I use it?”
Shazam said, “Who are you calling?” and pulled one out of a bag on the side of his wheelchair.
“An old friend. I know a guy who can help us,” said Wyatt and did a quick internet search for a name he hadn’t forgotten. A profile came up; he was checked into a local bar. A further search showed that the target checked in there early every day, and stayed late. With a quick thanks, Wyatt handed the phone back to Shazam.
It wasn’t that close to bedtime, but he found he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in two days, none of them had. “Thanks again, Shazam. We owe you,” he said and the four of them returned to the shelter. Thankfully, Joshua wasn’t there to greet them.
Wyatt fell into bed and was asleep before Hannah joined him. Drug dealers, corrupt cops, and street battles filled his dreams.
Chapter 9
The next morning, after a group breakfast on the porch of a neighboring house, Wyatt and his team split up. His three partners took extra money and left to spend the day watching the warehouse in the strip mall, the last of the sites identified in the phones they’d taken. He was going to visit someone he’d met three years before, a possible ally.
The day had started with a fifteen-minute session in Joshua’s office. This morning, the question had been ‘what did he want from his life and where did he plan on being in five years.’
Alone on a bus, he sat and squirmed as he remembered the question. He’d said all the right things to the counselor, but sometimes the right things weren’t the truth. That didn’t mean he’d lied, or that he even knew what the truth was.
In five years, he hoped to be alive. Even better, he wanted to not be on the run. But as for his hopes and dreams for the future, he was at a loss. Would he wander towns and heal the sick, leaving behind a string of people with genetic alterations? And if he did, what would happen to the children of those he infected? Could they even have children, and if they did, would they pass on the changes he’d made to them?
As the bus passed city hall, he considered finding a cabin in the woods and retreating from civilization. He’d equip the place with an Xbox, satellite TV, and TV dinners, and hide for the rest of his life, but knew that the virus wouldn’t allow that freedom; he’d tried to not use it twice before. Over a period of weeks, he’d got sicker and sicker until he finally passed on what the Dogs called The Gift, and what he thought of as a curse.
Finally at his destination, he left the gloomy thoughts behind on the dirty Detroit sidewalk, and focused on what he needed, and what he’d say. With trepidation, he opened the door and walked into ‘Bits and Bytes,’ the restaurant his target checked into online every morning.
The narrow restaurant had several rows of wooden tables at the front and a long counter along the right wall. There was a cook behind it cleaning a grill, his white chef hat tipped to one side. A long mirror was behind the bar, empty bottles lined up in front. Farther back were four pristine pool tables, their balls racked and ready. At the far back was a neon sign for ‘Willy’s Tech Shoppe,’ with a small counter and racks of electronics equipment.
The long room was clean, bright, and void of customers other than one fat man sitting behind the pool tables, a tabloid newspaper opened on a table in front of him. Wyatt recognized him immediately.
The cook didn’t glance up as Wyatt walked to the back. Not knowing how to start, he said, “Hi,” to the gray-haired man.
Custer’s face split with a big smile of recognition and he pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. “I’ll be!”
Wyatt smiled back. “You remember me,” he said with relief.
Custer lurched forward and pulled him into a great bear hug, his belly pressing hard into Wyatt. “I’ll be, you’re alive? Well, of course you are, you’re standing right in front of me. Sit down, sit down,” he said, and pointed to a chair across from him.
Wyatt did and winced as Custer yelled out, “Patterson, get out here, you won’t believe what dragged itself into your dump.”
“It’s not a dump, old fool,” yelled a voice from the back. Wyatt turned and was shocked to see Willy Patterson from the truck stop, albeit bigger around the middle and now fully bald. He still wore a gun, this one open-carried on his left thigh.
“You? I figured you to be dead,” he exclaimed and gave Wyatt another fat man hug. “How are you not dead?”
Wyatt sat down, he hadn’t felt this secure and happy in a long time. He leaned back in his seat, enjoying the smiles of the two men. They’d spent only minutes together, years before, but he’d clearly made as much of an impression on them as they had on him. “Well, you guys saved my life, that’s how I’m not dead,” he replied.
“Damn right, we did,” said Custer. “Henry,” he yelled towards the cook, “get the boy some food, and bring the pot of coffee.”
“I’m good, I ate.”
“So?” said Custer. “Eat again. Henry makes a great breakfast. Now, tell us, what the hell? We saw the reports, you’re supposed to be dead, you and Golde.”
“Government cover up?” asked Patterson.
“Hush, you right wing nut, let him talk.”
“It wasn’t the government. It was Golde. Well, not him, he’s dead, that’s true. His daughter did it. Her and a crazy military supercomputer.”
“Sounds like you got a story,” said Custer. “Sit for a spell and start at the beginning. After we got out, we read every article online that we could find. We’ve always wondered what was true and what wasn’t.”
“Well, after I…”
“No, no, don’t you dare, start at the beginning.”
Wyatt owed them at least that much. He leaned back and began the story with the kidnapping by Jessica, and how they’d ended up at the diner where the three men had met. As he talked the cook arrived with a hot plate. The food smelled amazing, a sizzling hash of eggs over potatoes, onions and peppers, with a thick layer of cheese over the entire mess. He dug in.
“I read online that you’d kidnapped the two girls, it was some sex thing,” said Patterson. “Never believed it, you’re too milquetoast for that.”
Wyatt couldn’t argue with that. “It was Golde who kidnapped me, and the other girl, and nothing sexy about it,” he replied between bites.
“What about the government financing Golde and his private army?” asked Patterson.
Wyatt shrugged. “He had an army of his own, that’s for sure,” he said, “but I don’t know who financed it….” and continued.
Both looked at him like he was crazy when he got to the pretend vampires, interrupting in turns to ask questions. “It’s all true,” he swore.
“Crazy world,” said Patterson.
Wyatt finished his describing final confrontation with Joe and Jessica and mopped up the remaining gravy with the last bit of his sourdough. “Made a deal with them, erased me from the system in return for me not destroying them. In the end, I sorta did—destroy them, that is—anyway.”
The two men listened closely. Patterson leaned back and patted his own, generous belly and smiled at Custer when Wyatt described the fight with Joe. “The government made a crazy AI computer that tried to take over the world? Really?” he said, with a knowing glance.
“Oh, come on,” said the other man, sipping at his coffee. “Boy, don’t play to his crazy. Man imagines government is behind everything. Sounds to me like it’s rich people, these Golde’s, that did most of the bad here.”
“It’s always the rich for you, isn’t it? You forgive the government everything it does, Maoist that you are.”
“Governments just the people,” said Custer.
“Should be, isn’t.”
Wyatt watched them with amusement as they bantered. They clearly had a story of their own, and now it was his turn to be curious, so he asked, “How the hell…”
“Did we end up together?” asked Patterson.
Wyatt nodded.
&n
bsp; Custer said, “After you got away, we got arrested. Spent a couple days together in local jail as they tried to figure out what to do with us. I thought we’d end up with charges, but instead, the everything was dismissed and they even gave us money to keep us quiet.”
“And that money is how we afforded this place,” said Patterson. “Cover up paid for your breakfast.”
“But you two…” said Wyatt.
Patterson interrupted him this time. “Are totally different? Opposite ends? Yup, he’s a commie pinko feminist.”
“And he’s a crazy conspiracy nut, Ayn Rand Wako type. I keep him around ‘cause he paid for half the place. And he’s entertaining to listen to,” said Custer with clear affection.
“Plus, we got more in common than you’d think. We’re ex-military, we both served in the Middle East, and we’re free thinkers, the only difference is he’s wrong, I’m right.”
Wyatt pushed his empty plate aside and wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin. While he enjoyed the banter between the two friends, he had a goal in visiting them. “Are you still union?” he asked Custer.
“Part time, what do you need?” the man asked, bluntly.
Wyatt didn’t reply right away, not sure how to phrase his request and not sure how much to share.
“Out with it,” said Patterson. “You didn’t look us up after three years just to get a free breakfast.”
“Why did you track us down?” added Custer. “As he said, out with it.”
Wyatt paused to collect his thoughts, gave up, and spilled the entire story without any artifice. The two men leaned back and sipped on their coffees as he recounted the past three days.
“Good work getting their phones, tracing them. Wearing suits, it sounds like government. NSA or some other black hat group.”
Custer made a pshaw sound, “Doubt it’s government, they can’t get four guys to fix a pothole properly, ain’t no way they run some conspiracy. Simplest answer is usually the right one. It might just be drug dealers. Your friends are bikers, you said. Are they into bad stuff?”
