The Line
Page 15
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“I don’t need one.” But for some reason I’m not turning away. “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Well, that isn’t fair. You’re not giving me any ins.”
Frustrated at my thwarted plans, I offer him a predatory smile. “Is that what you want? An in…?”
He chuckles at the sexual connotation. That charmingly arrogant glint returns to his eyes. Taking a step forward, he boldly studies my face. “You have no idea what I want.”
My breath catches in my throat. Am I actually considering letting this Bounty Hunter into my pants? “I don’t have time for this.”
“So let me give you a ride.”
“There must be other women you can flatter.”
“Of course there are,” he says, “but you’re the one who sparks my curiosity.”
Is it really so bad that I’m enjoying his attention? I don’t want to say no. Sensing that my defences are crumbling, Selim continues.
“What’s the worst that happens?” He flashes me a rakish smile. “You make it home in a fraction of the time? Once we get there, if you decide you still don’t want anything to do with me, I drop you off. We say good-bye.”
I’m still shaking my head but I already know he’s got me. “It isn’t a good idea.”
“Are you going to make me follow you home?” he asks.
“You wouldn’t!”
He leans in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No, I wouldn’t. But I really do want you to change your mind.”
I believe him and sigh in relief. But now I’m thinking that a Bounty Hunter escort to my destination is a great idea. No one, is going to question someone he’s with. Finally, with a small nod, I agree to his plan.
Selim smiles in excitement. He motions to a set of double doors at the back of the restaurant before taking the lead. Pushing them open, we walk into the garage.
I am not exaggerating when I say that this place would be Wulff’s dream home. The windowless steel and cement walls are begging to be painted. Thousands of models of vehicles are parked, row upon row, as far as the eye can see. Some Cops walk to the Perimeter, but most choose to ride. Their vehicle is usually their pride and joy.
As I follow Selim, I keep my eye on the Cop Sector wall. Sunlight is streaming through an open garage door and my location is starting to make me nervous. Hiding in the Perimeter was one thing, but I wouldn’t last if I tried to stay in this sector. There are undercover Cops, known as detectives, who do random sweeps in here. They keep the peace in A. Like everyone else, my mother and father were terrified of them, and I’m not above what they taught me.
“Here she is!” Selim announces as he swings his leg over a motorbike.
I carefully study the rubber tires. “What, no hover?”
“I like the feeling of the road,” he explains.
Unhooking his helmet from his belt he straps it on. A huge dent mars its otherwise flawless workmanship. I shrug on my bag, swing my leg over the bike, put my arms around his waist and ask him what happened.
, he replies through his helmet mike. < They stopped a tour bus for a toll and a couple of hover-boarders were there. I was bored out of my mind but then one of the boarders actually jumped over the side of the cliff. I wasn’t expecting it, so when I jumped to attention I slipped on loose stones. Next thing I know, I’m crashing head first into a rock. I’m lucky my helmet is top of the line.>
He turns on the bikes, pulls out of his stall, and motors out of the garage. I hold on tight, thankful he can’t see my astonishment.
My situation managed to get a whole lot more interesting.
20
I love having the wind in my face. It’s a rare pleasure.
Watching the buildings flash by, my nerves take a vacation, and I forget that I’m an intruder in this sector. Small pleasures tend to keep me calm. Being a street-raised Criminal, however, I haven’t forgotten about the job. The way I figure it, Selim taking me to 3rd block is the best possible set-up. I actually did live there with my father and brother. Familiar territory can’t hurt me at this point. Besides, I have unfinished business there.
Selim brings the bike to a gentle stop and takes off his helmet. Awe-struck, he stares off into the distance. “Take a look at that.”
All I see is Cop Sector. It looks a lot like the Bank. There are large buildings and small buildings, the streets are clean, and citizens are always out no matter what the time. The difference is in the details. Cop Sector streets are made of black pavement; the Bank’s streets are made from yellow stones. Cop streetlights are painted green; Accountant street lights are painted grey. I could go on, but Selim is motioning to a section of the desert sky.
In between the tall buildings, I glimpse a rare storm brewing. The intense, dark blue swirls of dense cloud are breathtaking.
So far, the storm hasn’t reached the City. It’ll probably pass us by. The last time we had rain it filled the streets and created lakes outside the walls. People who usually hide from the desert were racing into it in droves, gigantic mobs flocking to the pools of water. Moles from C Sector were showing off; they splashed around and gave people swimming lessons. I dove in just to know what it felt like to be immersed. I almost drowned, but it was worth it.
That was years ago, but every once in a while you can hear the storms off in the distance. I wish it would rain here again.
“Hold on!” Selim puts his helmet back on.
He doesn’t give me time to protest, not that I would have. The gathering storm has me spellbound. There’s nothing I would rather do than get a better look.
The Observatory is located on the tallest building in Cop Sector. It’s about thirty stories. Originally, the Observatory was just for the owners; it was a place of privilege. Then they realized they could make major credits by charging the general public access fees.
Selim swipes his credit balance to pay for us both and we ride up to the top floor.
The dark storm has drawn more than a few Cops to the Observatory. The sky is usually clear, not a cloud to be seen in any direction. This inspiring show is the most entertainment some people will get for months. Flashes of lightning illuminate the clouds from within, making the viewers gasp in fear and excitement. The tall windows offer a full view of the awesome spectacle, but Selim heads directly for the door that leads onto the balcony.
This is where I hesitate. There are guardrails around the edge but I’ll lose control of my legs anyway. Thirty stories is a long way down.
Selim opens the door for me. Thunder echoes into the room. “What’s the point if you can’t feel it?”
I admit, I want to go outside. There’s no way of knowing if I’ll ever have another chance like this. Aching to feel the wind, I slowly follow Selim. Once I’m through the door, however, my limbs feel heavy and weak. My escort, oblivious to my difficulty, walks directly to the guardrail.
Determined not to show him weakness, I take one step forward and then another. It’s a slow process. Every time I gain a foot my panic rises a little higher. But I rode a hover-board at break neck speeds along the edge of an eight hundred foot cliff, and I jumped off that same cliff to avoid going back into lock-up. After all the excitement, I even glided my way back to the City. By comparison, this should be easy. I take another step.
Nope, I’m going to be sick.
“You have lost all colour in your face,” Selim teases when he looks back at me. “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?”
He is really pleased with my vulnerability. Reaching out with his hand, he offers me a steady body to hold on to. Annoyed at his pleasure but wanting to make it to the guardrail, I grit my teeth and put my hand in his.
“Don’t look down,” he instructs, smiling gently. “Just watch the sky. You’ll forget all about the fear.”
Pulling me forward, he tucks my hand into his arm before turning h
is attention back to the storm. I try to take his advice. The raw beauty in the sky has my senses transfixed, but I can’t forget the drop. I’m shaking with nauseous terror, the sinking feeling in my stomach overtaking my rational mind. My fingers dig into his forearm.
“Imagine if it came through here?” Selim is lost in faraway thoughts. “My mother used to dream of rain. She’d pick my brother and me up from our training sessions and take us into the desert. For hours we’d watch the sky and listen for thunder. If we saw a rain cloud we’d chase it. And then one day, she went alone and never came back.”
His story strikes a chord in my heart. Forgetting the steep drop, I study his earnest expression as he worships the dark clouds.
“My father liked caves,” I suddenly blurt out. Selim gazes at me, inviting me to continue. I’m not sure why I’m sharing this with him, but I can’t stop myself. “He and I would go spelunking. There are these caves to the east that he loved. We would climb the walls inside of them and once I slipped off. I fell a hundred feet into a dark pit. The ropes and knots held, but I never forgot the way it felt.”
“That why you’re afraid of heights?”
I nod sadly. “I never went again and one day he never came back.”
Selim nods empathetically. “And your mother?”
“She died when I was nine…euthanasia.”
“Wow.” Selim shakes him head in wonderment. “Was she sick?”
Doing my best not to show him how vulnerable I am, I turn away. “I think she was sick at heart. She just kept saying that it was for the best, whatever that means. I don’t know which one’s worse… knowing what happened or not knowing.”
“Not knowing drives you crazy,” Selim offers. “But at least we can dream.”
I carefully look at him again. He smiles knowingly and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. The intimate gesture brings me back to reality. I would move away from him, but the world isn’t steady. Vertigo takes over. Terrified, I hold on to the bounty hunter for dear life.
Selim senses my fear. Gallantly, he escorts me away from the rail. The wind picks up, blowing cool, refreshing air into my face.
“Let me take you out to breakfast,” Selim offers. “We’ll go to the restaurant at 24th block…nothing too fancy.”
He’s a clever man. He’s chosen a place that a clerk would definitely not be able to afford. It’s supposed to inspire my curiosity. I want to go, but here’s my opportunity to shake him. “Take me home and I’ll meet you there.”
We can’t talk while Selim’s driving and I’m grateful for the chance to study the familiar buildings. Not much has changed where the facades are concerned. Oddly enough, I don’t feel anything when I look at them. When I returned to B Sector, I was disoriented and nostalgic. I guess I don’t feel that way here because there’s no one to come home to.
Every sector has numbered blocks. Only K and E have them in order. For instance, in B Sector, Heidi’s restaurant is located at 31st block. Bragg’s bar, which is seven streets over, is located at 2nd block. And, despite the title, most blocks aren’t square. Before we got back on his bike, Selim told me he lives at 14th block. That’s a nice area of A. It’s also a good twenty minute ride from 3rd. 24th is somewhere in between the two.
The ride to 3rd from the Observatory takes about five minutes. Selim pulls up to it and waits for my directions.
“It’s the grey one on the North West corner,” I say.
Next thing I know, I’m staring at the ugly building where my life took its second major turn. The walls are still dirty, the windows are still cracked, and the steps up to the first floor are still uneven. The front doors all open into an exposed corridor. You can see them all from the street. Two stories up and three doors to the right is the entrance to my family’s old box.
Pulling off his helmet, Selim studies the decrepit building with a mild look of disgust on his face. “You’re sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”
Assaulted by old memories, I hardly hear his question. “I’m sure.”
“Hey!” he calls after I hop off the bike. “You know Ellis was just joking, right? I don’t really have a new girl every week.”
“Every month?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Then it must be every day.”
An enigmatic smile spreads over his face as he puts his helmet back on. Giving me a small wave, he drives away. A peculiar feeling of regret settles in my chest. For a while there, I was pretending that I could meet him later.
Shaking off the emotion, I scan my old neighbourhood. My body feels light as a feather, like I’m not really here. Stepping into the past will do that to a person. To my left I spot a tall, man-sized rectangle: an information box. If it’s not broken it’s exactly what I need.
Jogging over I tap the small screen. It slowly flickers to life.
“Patrick Meir,” I say into the flat microphone.
A symbol, ‘X’, appears where I’m standing. The computer draws a line from it to Meir’s place of residence. He stills lives above my family’s old box. My brother’s unmoving body flashes through my mind as I stare at the run-down piece of crap building. If this whole thing didn’t feel so surreal, I might ask myself what I was planning on doing. But what’s the point? I’m running on instinct.
Unwilling to draw too much attention, I calmly climb the steps. There are people visiting on the streets. They’re walking by on their way to work, or wherever else they have to go. Nobody is paying attention to me. That’s exactly the way I want it. With mounting excitement, I casually continue on my way to Meir’s box.
One, two, three doors—the number ‘23’ hangs on the dilapidated metal like a target. Balling my left hand into a hard fist, I raise it up and knock twice. Someone shifts around inside; I concentrate on the noise.
The door swings inward and I stonily greet the skinny, balding man in front of me. The skin on his face is falling and what’s left of his hair is turning grey. This old man is the same mummy-looking fuck-up who killed my little brother seventeen years ago.
His large eyebrows draw together in confusion. “You the one asking about me?”
When I asked the information box for Meir’s address, the system immediately informed him that someone had looked him up. He takes a good, hard look at my face and recognition flickers in his yellowing eyes.
That’s what I was waiting for.
My hands shoot out before he can react; a second later, his neck is broken and his body goes limp. In one smooth motion, I noiselessly lower him to the floor, step into his box and pull him back in by his arms. Nobody screams. There are no shouts of alarm. I don’t much care if someone saw me anyway. If this is where I go out, so be it.
I stare into Meir’s empty, unblinking expression. Crime is part of A Sector too; Cops get greedy, they feel anger, they have ambitions. In a week, the system will inform the detectives that Meir hasn’t opened his door in seven days. That could mean he’s depressed, which is illegal, or that he’s disappeared. When they find his body, they’ll make a half-assed attempt to discover who killed him. They won’t find anything and the case will be closed.
I’ve met some real psychos in my life. And I’m not talking about people who torture and kill, anybody’s capable of that under the right circumstances. I’m talking about those who only find pleasure in other people’s pain. Most of us can deaden ourselves to someone’s screams, but some feel dead unless they’re making someone else hurt. That’s what separates the killers from the psychos. My history is fairly brutal. In my first week on the streets of B I beat another orphan to death. We both wanted the scraps of a discarded nutrient bar—starvation is a powerful motivator. It wasn’t my intention to hurt him any more than I had to, but it turned ugly. That was the night I crossed over one line and had to draw another; hence my distin
ction between killers and psychos.
But staring down at Meir’s unmoving body, I suddenly understand how someone might take pleasure in slowly torturing a man to death. This whole situation is anti-climactic. I’m completely unsatisfied.
There’s no concern here other than the dead man on the floor. Stepping out of the box, I close the door behind me. I have other business to attend to.
As much as I hated living on 3rd block I still have good memories. Nathan and I used to hangout with the kids who lived on the top floor. They’re the ones who taught us how to be pickpockets. We used to practice on adults as they walked by. I nostalgically remember the beatings we caught, and how Nathan used to try and protect me. He was a good brother.
3rd block is poor, but that doesn’t mean the residents don’t have spirit. Every so often there were spontaneous celebrations. The Cop who lived below us owned a guitar and would start playing on the street. My dad would grab his own instrument and join in. Next thing you knew, everyone was coming out of their boxes to visit and dance. The guy who ran the 3rd block bar would wheel out the booze and drop the prices; everyone could afford to get drunk. I even used to know all my neighbours’ names. There was a community living in this run-down area.
But even though I knew everyone, that doesn’t mean that I trusted them. The day my dad disappeared, I understood that they had no problem turning my brother and me over to the detectives. My dad would have done the same thing to their kids. Of course, there’s no proof that the orphans are taken somewhere terrible. It’s the secrecy that’s so terrifying.
Bringing myself out of my memories, I return to the task at hand. It isn’t unusual for people who don’t live in 3rd block to pass through on their way to somewhere else. My presence doesn’t inspire much curiosity. A mother nods at me politely as she picks up her toddler; a middle-aged man ignores me completely as he rushes across the street; an elderly woman smacks her gums disapprovingly when I brush by her. All in all, I’d say this is a good time to find sewer access.
Making my way to the back of my old building I spot the chained basement door I squeezed through all those years ago. It feels like it all happened eons ago. I’d like to remember where I ran afterward,s but I’m drawing a blank. Any way was good back then, and it’s not like I knew where I was going. At least this time I have a goal in mind.