by Blou Bryant
“I learned the truth of what we’re doing to the world. And I came here, to help, to make up for my crimes and the crimes of the rich.”
The guy was nuts. Wyatt knew what to do with crazies. Agree until you could get away and then stay away.
Joshua’s voice picked up, he was making himself angry. “You will need to pick a side.” His face reddened, matching the too-tight tie he wore over his white shirt. “When I saw you disarm Randy; I knew you were a man of action. Are you ready for the truth, are you ready to fight for it?”
Wyatt searched for an answer that would make Joshua happy. Finally, he said, “The truth of… how bad things are?”
“That’s right. The rich and powerful feed the masses just enough food to keep them alive. They give them reality stars and video games to keep them complacent. On their behalf, I hand out dribs and drabs, the scraps that the rich toss aside. My job here is to prevent the war, to ensure that the people who the rich step on have just enough to not care that life is stacked against them.”
“Uh-huh,” said Wyatt, and nodded.
“Will you?”
“Will I?” asked Wyatt, not understanding—not wanting to understand—the question.
“I want you to choose, no, that’s not true. You’ve already chosen and all I want is for you to accept your choice. You’re not one of them.”
“Um, them?”
“The rich, the powerful, the liars.”
Well, when he put it that way… “No?”
“That’s right, you’re not. Do you even have a job, a future?”
Wyatt shook his head. These were questions he could answer. “I haven’t even finished high school,” he said.
Joshua came out from behind his desk and approached Wyatt, who shrunk back despite himself. The counselor leaned in, their faces inches apart. “Exactly, but you don’t need to, do you? You’re smart, Wyatt, I can tell that.”
“What do you want?” Wyatt asked again.
“I want you to be honest with yourself and with me. Can you do that?” The man’s eyes bulged out and there was a trace of liquid at the corner of his mouth
Wyatt wanted no part of a crusade, but didn’t want to argue. “We’ll talk tomorrow, you’ve said a lot and I need to think,” he lied and pulled his hands back.
Without another glance at Joshua, he returned to the room and went to bed, not sharing any of the conversation with his friends. They had enough to worry about.
Chapter 12
They arrived at Bits and Bytes very early the next morning, and Wyatt was surprised to find the restaurant packed. Custer was behind the counter, sitting on a walker, cracking eggs and flipping pancakes for Henry, who was busy running from table to table with a pot of coffee in one hand and bills in the other. He gave them a wave as they entered and pointed them to the back of the room.
Patterson was in his little shop, sitting at a work bench soldering a small piece of electronics.
“Wow, look at all the customers? So, what do you have for us?”
Patterson ignored him upon noticing the girls. “Hello, and who are you?” he said with a broad smile.
Hannah poked Wyatt and put her hand out, “I’m Hannah. And he has no manners, typical boy.”
Ari and Ira introduced themselves as well, with hugs instead of handshakes. “We heard you helped Wyatt out before and are going to help us break into…”
“Hush, just a second, girls,” said Patterson. He stood up, walked to his little counter, turned the sign to ‘closed’ and pulled broad shutters down, closing them off from the rest of the restaurant.
“Too many people to talk without privacy. Always busy for breakfast. All the night shifters come in before heading home to bed, and all the early service people come in before starting their day.”
“So, what do you have for us?” asked Wyatt. Pleasantries were for people without stuff to do.
Patterson flicked a finger across the top of the counter and what appeared to have been cheap, stained wood, shimmered and revealed itself to be a display surface.
“Wow!”
“You ain’t seen nothin yet,” Patterson said, swiped twice from the bottom, and pressed his palm against a square box that appeared. “Wall,” he said.
The green wall behind shelves on the right side of the small room shimmered. Patterson walked over and pressed his hand on another gleaming square. A hidden panel rolled silently to the side. “This is where I keep the fun stuff.”
“But,” Wyatt said, speechless.
“But what, I’m a hick, a country guy?”
“Well…” he stuttered, that was exactly what he was thinking, but he hadn’t planned to say it.
“Perhaps,” said Patterson without rancor. “But the government is taking away the liberty of the people, and it’s doing it using every modern tool and trick it’s got. So this is how I fight back. We’re not all hiding out in the woods. Some of us are preparing for the war that’s coming.”
Wyatt said nothing, he figured that was for the best. What, he wondered, was with all the war talk?
Patterson watched him closely and saw he wasn’t on board. “You don’t agree, that’s okay. But you’ll need some of this stuff, don’t forget, you’ve got your own war.”
“So… tell me what you’ve got for me,” Wyatt asked again.
A hand pressed on the wall opened up a series of recessed chambers. One held a bunch of American flag pins. Patterson took one and pinned it onto Wyatt’s shirt. “Press the phone I gave you up against it.”
Wyatt did, and the phone gave off a quiet ‘beep,’ and flashed synced.
“That’s a scanner, it links to your phone.” Patterson rooted around another and pulled out a small box. “Give me your phone,” he said and pulled a small bud out of the box. When he swiped it over the phone, both beeped and flashed again. “Put that in your ear,” he said. “Either one. That enables two-way communications with your phone.”
A hand placed higher on the wall opened another series of shelves, these filled with weapons, mostly guns, small and large. “Are you sure you don’t want a weapon?” he asked.
“Positive. They make me a target. When I pull a gun, the other guy figures it’s a shootout. A friend taught me how to fight with my hands, my feet, my mind.”
“Your choice,” said Patterson. “I take it that you’ve never seen Indiana Jones go up against a swordsman?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” the older man said with a wry grin. “Google it.” Turning, he walked Ari and Ira through his inventory. They were transfixed.
When Wyatt protested, Ira replied, “Hey, you and Rocky can be as macho as you want. Sandra uses guns. If my life is in danger, ya, I’d not mind a piece in my hand. Cleaner than a blade anyhow.” She whipped out one of her metal circles, twirled it on a finger and shot it at the far wall. It hit with a bang and embedded itself.
“Wow,” said Patterson. “What’s that?”
“It’s a chalikar, a Sikh throwing star. I can hit someone, cleanly, at up to a hundred feet.” She put her hand up to the wall and, at a nod from Patterson, pulled down one of the guns.
“That’s a Taurus,” he said. “Nice gun, not a lot of punch, but easy to hide and use.”
Ira looked to Hannah. “Can we?”
Hannah nodded, to Wyatt’s chagrin.
“Why don’t I get a say in this?”
Ira shrugged. “It’s one of those things, you’re the leader, she’s the boss.”
Ari had tried a few out when Wyatt interrupted. He didn’t like guns and was getting angry. “You two can do this all day. Let’s get me off to the police station and then you can play with your toys.”
Patterson agreed, “I think you have everything. The camera will work automatically, they’ll scan and log faces you see all day. If you want a particular face to be easier to find later, say ‘mark’ when you’re looking at them. If you want more detail, say ‘identify’ and you’ll get a quick bio.”
“
What about Hannah, she’s coming with me,” Wyatt said.
Hannah gave him a questioning look, but kept her mouth shut. They hadn’t talked about it, but he decided that he could use an extra set of eyes.
“She’ll hang out as if she’s there to see someone or file a report.”
“Same thing for her,” Patterson said and picked out a flag pin and an earbud and set her up as well. After this, he took their phones and typed a couple commands on each of them. “They’re set. You can communicate using them, they’re always on. Anything else? I’ll get the girls set up for your evening activities after you’re gone, but it’s time for Custer to bring you to your new job.” With this, he took Ari and Ira out front for breakfast, and replaced Custer behind the counter.
Custer came to the back. “Should have got here earlier, you could’ve ate as well. If I’d been thinking, I’d a sent you back something, but… too bad. Anyhow, are you ready?”
The two were. Custer had already ordered a car. “Remember,” he said as they drove there, “You’re the son of a local alderman, but don’t say who. Leave it mysterious. If anyone asks too many questions, tell them to talk to your union.”
“What if they refuse?”
“Then say you’ll grieve it. You report to Roberto, you don’t know his last name, tell them to talk to him. He’s union.”
“But...”
“No buts. You’re a guy doing a job. Act like you don’t care, act like they can’t touch you. Say, ‘whatever’ a lot. It’ll piss them off. Don’t argue, keep doing your thing.”
The working world was a mystery to Wyatt, he stayed silent and soaked up the advice.
“What you need to know is that nobody really cares and nobody is really in charge. The cops are there to punch a clock just like you. Act like you belong and you will.”
Custer held out his hand and Wyatt shook it. “Ready? You get out first, go through the back door. I’ll let Hannah off out front in a minute or two. Let’s keep you two separate.”
They’d agreed that Hannah would go in the front and sit in the waiting area. Nobody noticed if someone was there for hours, nobody paid any attention. Custer had told them of one guy who’d died and hadn’t been discovered until hours later. Rumor was that it’d been a janitor who’d found him.
I’m not at all ready, thought Wyatt as he got out of the car and walked to the service entrance. This was dumb. It was dumber than dumb, but it was his plan, so he took several deep breaths and tried to force himself to focus. What the heck was he doing?
Chapter 13
At the side door, Wyatt took one last deep breath, turned the knob and found it locked. Well, crap! He turned to see if the car was still there, but it wasn’t. Trying to relax, he tapped five times on his thigh and held his breath. He was about to turn away when he noticed a small button to the side of the door. Moments after he pushed it, the door clicked open.
A bored looking security guard hardly glanced up as he entered, and waved him down the hallway.
“It’s my first day,” said Wyatt.
“Congratulations, welcome to Club Cop. See Edward in the last room on your left. He’ll get you set up.”
“Do you want ID?”
The guard gazed at him as if he was an idiot and pointed down the hallway.
It was like a march down death row and the door arrived far too quickly for his liking. In a small room, he found a short round man seated at a small square desk.
“Name?” he asked. His face was droopy and his jowls jiggled as he talked.
“Johan Smith,” said Wyatt, as instructed.
“Oh, you’re the new one the union called in.”
Wyatt nodded. “I guess.”
The man hit a few keys. “Hard job to get, you’re lucky,” he said as he typed.
“I suppose.”
“Easy job, it’s a nice paycheck, I know a lot of guys who’d like to work here.”
Wyatt stayed silent as Edward typed.
“Got family?”
“Hrm?” said Wyatt, unsure of how to reply.
“Just askin. No harm, figure you must be someone.”
Wyatt wasn’t sure how to answer this. “Check with the union.”
Edward went red and said, “Hey, sorry, man, didn’t mean to pry. Don’t get upset, it was just a question.”
Wyatt wasn’t angry and didn’t want an argument, just to get started. “What am I doing for the day?”
“Shows you on bucket duty, cleaning the front lobby and the main hallways, but that’s no good.” He clicked the mouse a few times. “Okay, my new friend, I got you doing an easier gig. You can work with Steve in the storerooms. Nobody watches, just spend your day moving stuff, take your time.” Edward looked pleased with himself. “Tell the union I took care of you.”
That wouldn’t work, he’d see nobody while working in a storeroom. Planting his hands on the desk, he stared down at the scheduler. “Did I ask for a favor? You’re going to make me look lazy. I want to earn my way up, like anyone else. Put me back out front.”
“But this is easy work,” said Edward, confused.
Okay, thought Wyatt, direct wasn’t going to work. “Hey, Ed, can I call you Ed?”
The guy nodded with a look on his face that said he thought Wyatt was a bit nuts to turn down a plum assignment.
“Bad enough my dad got me this gig, but if the other guys see me get the easiest work on day one, I’ll be dirt. Can you give me the front?”
Edward had leaned back as if the intrusion in his space had been a physical assault, his arms out in surrender. “Sure, I know how it is. People talk too much. Hey, whatever you like, right? Get paid same either way.”
Two clicks later a piece of paper shot out of a printer on the corner of the desk. It was a map of the building, with different areas highlighted. He handed it to Wyatt. “You’re going to clean all the green sections. Josh and Elliot have the blue ones. Stay out of the red areas, that’s cops only.” Another click and the printer created an access card.
Edward clicked his phone for radio mode. “Jeff, come to the desk, got a newbie for you to show around.” Bored again, and without the hope of any good gossip, the clerk pointed to a chair, and proceeded to surf the net.
Five silent minutes later, Jeff showed up. He was a tall, skinny older man, with a Fu Manchu that framed a square jaw. “New guy?” he said, without even a glance at Wyatt. “How’d he get in?”
“Meh, don’t ask, show him around, he’s on barf and bucket,” grunted Edward.
Jeff motioned for Wyatt to follow him and the two walked through the bowels of the building. A service elevator took them to the main floor, where Jeff brusquely showed him where to fill and empty his bucket. Then he showed him how to fill a bucket. Then he showed him how to empty the bucket. Wyatt tried to show interest.
His job was to mop the entrance, the front halls, the reception and the two public bathrooms, this was to be repeated hourly. He got one break every two hours and an hour for lunch. Other than that, the rule was to avoid interacting with the public and the cops. “Just do your job, don’t bother them,” said Jeff. “Lots of puke from drunks and drugheads, clean it quick.”
On the walk-through, he saw Hannah in the public waiting area, a long hallway with chairs along the wall. She was reading—or pretending to read—a book on her new phone. Wyatt thought he saw a smirk on her face as he passed by.
They hadn’t been joking about the entry, it was a mess, the floors thick with dirt, but it wasn’t a large area and he was done in fifteen minutes. With nothing else to do, he circled back with a fresh bucket. He whispered, “Hannah, does this work?”
She whispered back, “I hear you, it works fine. You don’t have to lean into your collar.”
There were others in the waiting area, a few had expressions that made him guess that they’d been there for quite a while. This was a private place, nobody wanted to be noticed, each focused on whatever transgression had brought them there.
His
first puke came after only half an hour as a pale and sweaty older man threw up in the middle of the room and passed out. Two paramedics took care of the man and Wyatt handled the puddle.
As he passed by Hannah to go clean his bucket, she pointed back to the middle of the room and said, “You missed a spot.”
He returned and ran the mop over the area again and whispered, “You’re such a bitch.” Across the room, she laughed. Nobody else even looked up at this. With a glance across the room, he caught her eye and gave her a wink. He noticed that she didn’t look like she belonged, she was too strong, and too comfortable. “Drop your shoulders, look less happy, fit in,” he said.
As he walked his bucket of puke back to the janitor’s closet, he saw with some satisfaction that she’d taken his advice, and now had a disinterested scowl on her face.
They saw many people come and go over the next two hours, a mix of average, miserable people and bored lawyers representing those wealthy enough to not have to show up in person. Wyatt noted that the lawyers always got called first.
Hannah whispered, “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.” He knew how she felt, he was frustrated too. There were a lot of people identified as drug dealers, but none who matched the profile they were searching for. From what Shazam had said, the new guys weren’t even regular dealers. Despite this, they kept checking out people.
Again and again, he whispered, “Identify” and his phone fed information into his earbud. Again and again, he didn’t know what to do with what he heard.
“Identify.”
Mark Johnston, thirty-four, lawyer. Poor credit, no criminal history.
“Identify.”
Beverly Fletcher, fifty-five, retired. Good credit. One arrest for lewd public behavior.
“Identify.”
Eric Hoftsteader, thirty-four, government worker. Pending charges for assault.
“Identify.”
Isaac Watchouse, twenty-one, student, twenty-five parking tickets.
On and on it went. Any one of the people who walked into the station could be a dealer, could be part of the gang, but his earbud wasn’t going to tell him, was it? “I know,” he said to Hannah when she whispered a complaint. “Just keep looking.”
