by G R Matthews
First things first, find the video, if there was one, of the fight and of my presence in this house and delete it. No one needed to see that.
Chapter 17
“You did well, Mr Hayes,” Rehja said.
I grunted in response, holding the ice pack against my face. A day later and my face looked like a toddler had found the blue and green crayons, employing them fully whilst I slept.
“The derma-packs are on their way,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to be too injured whilst working for us.”
“I did the job,” I said with a lisp. My split lips, bruised jaw and cut tongue all combined to give sibilance to my speech. “I’ve got a sub to catch home.”
“Oh, Mr Hayes, Corin, you’ve paid off a little of the damage you did the reputation of my bosses, but you still owe a fair amount.”
“You can’t be serious,” I spat, though I knew he was.
“Now, Corin, let’s not get into an unpleasant discussion now, after you’ve worked so hard. We need you in good condition and ready to repay the next portion of your debt.”
“They’ll be missing me.”
“We’ve arranged for a message to be sent. It says that you’ve decided to stay on a few more days, or weeks, to complete a contract or two for the city. You will be handsomely paid, I assure you. And let us not lie to one another, Corin, not when we are getting on so well, there is no one at home to miss you.” He smiled. Perfect white teeth shining from the split, predatory smile in the perfectly groomed black beard.
I hated the fact that he was right.
# # #
The thing, the most annoying thing, about living underwater in cities that manufacture the very air you breathe is the inability to truly escape. I could grab my Fish-Suit and swim, or be propelled by motors, out into the open ocean. The freedom to move, to go wherever I wished would be a heady drug for a few minutes. Right up until the point I remembered that there was nowhere to go. Nothing in range of the suit. Not enough air. Not enough speed. Still, it was tempting.
I could, and the thought had crossed my mind more than twelve times, buy a sub ticket to anywhere and just go. Join the queue, wait in line, and press my finger to the reader, let them scan my retina and turn me away. Rehja would have made arrangements. He seemed to have the connections which could make things happen.
I checked the news clips for news of the theft. Nothing. Zilch. The caretaker would have trouble walking for a week or so, and sitting down would definitely be uncomfortable. However, he could get to a panel and make a call. Security forces should have been all over the place. The news clips should have carried the story, but all the stories were about another border dispute with the VKYN Corporation further north.
All I could do was sit in the bar, eat food and drink beer. Finding a positive in any situation is a skill of mine. Two days and no word of the next job. They’d moved me out of the hotel and put me up in a squalid apartment in one of the boxes. I had access to my money, but try to buy a ticket or send a message and somehow the systems always found an error. They hadn’t beaten me again, though it would be hard to find a place that didn’t already hurt. I was caught as surely as I had a barbed hook in my mouth.
“I thought I told you to get out while you still could?” The sergeant sat down at my table. It wasn’t Tom’s bar, the rules didn’t apply. I was homesick.
“You did, I didn’t. Drink?”
“You buying?” He was dressed in his uniform. A blue jumpsuit, corporation badge on the upper-left of his chest, a belt full of pouches and a sidearm. Definitely on the clock.
I nodded and signalled the waiter. I’ve known those who can do that with their eyes, or eyebrows. A subtle raise, a questioning glance, they just have the knack of it. I’m not one of them, I shouted, “Hey!”
“Tea, Earl Grey, hot,” the sergeant said to waiter who glowered at me.
“Earl Grey?”
“I saw it on a clip show recently. Tea with a hint of a bergamot. You drink it without milk. Quite tasty,” he said without a trace of any ulterior motive in his voice and added. “On duty.”
“We all make sacrifices,” I answered and took a covering gulp of my beer.
“I see from your visa that you’ve taken on some more work for the city.” An innocent statement that somehow demanded an answer.
“Yes.” My education in the classics hadn’t been wasted. Shakespeare, Munro, Ashman, Lawrence, Brett, McCarthy, Salinger, I’d had to read them all and hated them equally.
“I hope it pays well,” he said as the waiter set down his tea. A tall glass, with a silver base and handle, full of a jet black liquid from which rose a fragrant steam.
“I’ll get by,” I said.
“I am sure you will,” he said. “Are you enjoying your stay in our city?”
“It is a little different from my home city.”
“I understand you haven’t travelled too much recently.” He took a sip of his tea, inhaling deeply as he did so. “You’ll have to do some sightseeing. Get out and about a bit. There is lots to see.”
If I’d had a mouthful of beer at that point, I’d have spat it all over him. As it was, I covered my look of surprise with an award winning cough.
“I just want to get my work done and get home.”
“There is some sense in that,” he said. “Can’t be easy being away from home on unexpected jobs.”
“It’s not too bad,” I said. “You’ve looked at my record and history. There isn’t a lot for me there.”
“Might be more than you think.” He took another sip of the tea. “It is the bergamot that gives it the edge. Sweet without being overpowering. An additional taste that doesn’t detract from the tea itself. It enhances the flavour, I think. You must try it someday.”
“I’ll stick with the beer.” I gestured with my half-empty glass.
“Your loss.” He smiled at me.
“I’ll live.”
“I truly hope so.” A line that could have been full of mocking laughter, but sounded so sincere. “You know the clips show I found this tea in?”
I shook my head.
“You should watch it one day. It is all about this group of people, in the future, who are trying to do the right thing against odds that seem insurmountable. They stick to the laws and rely on each other for everything, using their individual skills to complement each other. I don’t get the chance to watch it often, but their drive to be better than they once were, to trust even those that seem untrustworthy is a good lesson for us all.”
“What’s it called? I’ll look out for it.” I hid behind another gulp of beer.
“Strange. I’ve completely forgotten the title. You’ll know it when you see it though.” He finished the last of his tea, placing the glass back on the table with care. “Anyway, I must be off. Lots to do. I will see you around, Mr Hayes.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for you,” I answered.
“See that you do.” He stood up and smiled at me. “See that you do. I’d get those bruises looked at if I was you. Enjoy your evening.”
I watched him walk away, sure that I had just lost that conversation in a way I couldn’t understand.
# # #
I was still pondering the conversation with the sergeant when I returned to the apartment, dodging the drips from the leaks above my head. Now, I believed in coincidences in the same way that I believed that we would, one day, live on the surface again. One day it might happen, but not today or tomorrow.
My key card slid into the door and the light turned green. Home, sweet temporary home. The smell of mildew, damp, and unwashed socks wafted out as I swung the door open, a little unsteady due to the four beers and two whiskeys. A light night’s drinking. The lights came on as I waved my hand over the sensors, flickering into life at the command of my magical powers. I giggled to myself. A sure sign I needed something to eat.
The apartment had a kitchen and I knew how to cook. Cooking a little tipsy was a straight road to a nasty bur
n and I’d had too many of those to try. A simple wrap or sandwich. Failing that, ignore the filling and eat it dry. Tonight, I thought, might be a toast night.
“Corin,” called a voice I recognised as Rehja’s from the small living room. Least I hoped it was the living room. If it was from the bedroom I was in a lot more trouble than I suspected. “Why don’t you come in here and sit down.”
“I was just going to make some toast,” I said before my brain told my mouth to just agree.
“I am sure Mr Kade will be able to make you some... toast,” Rehja said.
The large bruiser stomped out of the living room and into the short hallway as I fought with the decision. Food or disappoint a man that had already proven he had no compunction about ordering me beaten. Through the slight mist of alcohol, the latter won out.
“Just butter.” I smiled at Kade as he entered the small kitchen. The snarl I received in return I took to mean he had heard me clearly enough.
“Have a seat, Corin,” Rehja said in his oily tone, inviting me to sit on my own chair, in my own home. Which, when the thought percolated through the beer and whiskey, was patently not the truth. This wasn’t my home or my city. I lived where Tyler had died. Always would. Still, I slumped into the indicated chair. “I hope you are finding the city to your liking. You are, I am told, running up quite a bar tab. This will be added to the money you already owe us.”
“You’ll find a way to get it back,” I snapped back. Not bad for a beer sozzled brain. Not wise, perhaps, but not too shabby.
“Corin, do not try my patience. Mr Kade already dislikes your attitude,” Rehja said, the smile never leaving his face but never reaching his eyes. “I could have left a message on your system, but I am cognisant of your nightly habits and preferred that you receive this news in person.”
“News?” I accepted the plate of carbon black toast, tarns of butter sloshing about in the craters left behind where Kade had made cursory attempts to conceal his lack of culinary expertise. “Thanks. The fire extinguisher didn’t work?”
“Mr Hayes,” Rehja barked as Kade blessed me with a growl. “You have an appointment at oh-six-thirty tomorrow. The address is on your system. I’ve taken the liberty of providing some more appropriate clothes for this meeting. Do try not to be late. Mr Kade will be the least of your troubles should you show any... tardiness.”
“I don’t usually wake till later,” I said with smile.
I saw Rehja flick his hand towards Mr Kade and, therefore, completely missed seeing the meaty fist that struck the side of my head. Even numbed by alcohol, I felt it.
“Try to find some respect by tomorrow, Mr Hayes.”
I watched Rehja’s feet leave the room, followed by Kade’s. Strangely, the threadbare carpet felt comfortable against my cheek. Shame about the toast, I thought as the darkness claimed me.
Chapter 18
I was careful. I didn’t press the ice too hard against my face. The bruises from the previous beating were fading under the care of the derma-packs, but Kade’s knuckles had left a new one. Given time, and no more beatings, the bruises would fade and my visage would return to its normal, devastatingly average appearance. The mirror reflected my current glory without any attempt at shielding my battered psyche from the truth.
The light in the small bathroom flickered, dimmed and reasserted itself. In the shadows I saw the me I hide from. The dead skull. The eyes so far lost in the past that they were only known to historians. The pale skin hanging off bleached bones. The face of a father who has lost his only child. I turned away, letting the ice pack fall into the sink, too afraid to stare for long, scared to acknowledge what I’d become. Life was a habit. One I am sure I could kick given the right incentive.
In the bedroom, I found the suit Rehja had spoken of last night. Blue with vertical pinstripes so thin you could only see them on close inspection. The material smooth between my fingers. No doubt it cost more than I could ever afford. And there were shoes too. Polished leather with real laces. It all spoke of a need, a desire to impress. Rehja’s need to impress, not mine. I didn’t care, but on the flip side of that, I also didn’t want to be on the end of Kade’s fist again.
I dressed slowly, pulling on the trousers, wincing as my bruised muscles registered their complaints. The white shirt was pristine, no blemishes, no creases and felt blessedly cool as it whispered over my shoulders. Socks had been provided, they’d thought of everything, though my shoulder ached to reach down so far when I put them and the shoes on. Tempting as it was to slip the jacket on and look at myself in the mirror, I resisted.
They didn’t bother knocking, Rehja and Kade, just announced themselves by swinging open the bedroom door.
“You’ll do,” Rehja said.
“Nice suit.”
“Should be. Cost a small fortune so don’t get any blood down it.” His dark eyes held no humour.
“I’ll try not to spill my breakfast down it too.”
Kade laughed, an ugly, un-practiced sound. Rehja glared at the big man who choked the last of the laugh down.
“Come on.” Rehja turned away and aimed for the apartment’s exit. “We will not be late.”
And so I was marched, Rehja in front, Kade to the rear, through the box of apartments and up into the city proper. The lower levels, the place with the small shops, bars and establishments of minimal repute were quickly put behind us. Up to the next level and through the retail district, heading into areas I normally steered clear of. One more set of stairs and a flood door, always open unless there was an emergency later, and we stood under the dome.
This far down there was no light from the sun. A sky of permanent night. Stars were the lights of subs coming and going, of workers cleaning and repairing the outside. Here the buildings rose up, never reaching the sky. In the dome were the office districts, where firms, NOAH affiliates and subsidiaries, did business. There were residential areas too, from expensive apartments to the even more expensive private dwellings of those at the top of the corporate food chain.
My escorts led me through the well-lit streets towards a restaurant, an expensive one. It was large, white, and two storeys tall. The fact that it had a totally redundant sloped roof was more evidence that the rich had an overabundance of money and a utter lack of sense. Scientists had no doubt studied the phenomena and concluded that heavy bank balances weigh down on their heads and squeeze brain matter out of their ears and nose. I’ve no proof of that, it’s just a theory.
“Mr Rehja,” the concierge said in an accent that extended the consonants to breaking point. “It is good to see you again. I see Mr Kade is with you. I will ask for another chair, but I was instructed to provide only one for you and your guest.”
“Thank you, Boone, no chair will be needed. Mr Kade will not be staying for breakfast,” Rehja said.
I caught the look of disappointment on Kade’s face. It was covered quickly and when Rehja turned to talk to him it was gone completely.
“I will see you at the office, Mr Kade.”
“Yes, boss.” The big man turned and stalked away.
When I turned back with the smile hurting my face, I saw Boone staring at me. “I fell down the stairs. More than once.”
“Of course, sir. Please follow me,” Boone said and gestured into the restaurant.
Through the door and into the restaurant was like stepping into someone’s dream. Not mine, there were no dancing girls, but definitely someone who had watched a lot of old clip shows. Everything was made of wood, some of it might have been real. It had that golden glow and lustre. The walls were covered in gold-edged panels of white wood and large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lighting the room with the illusion of candlelight. Circular tables, draped with white cloth, filled the room with enough space between to feel part of the whole, but also private.
The rear of the room drew my attention. Either side of an alcove which took up much of the back wall, a staircase swept up to the second floor. Each step was chased with
gold and a silver runner cascaded down in waterfall of luxury. The balustrades were made of elegant arches, swirls of metal, and the handrail glowed in the false flicker of the chandeliers. Within the alcove were three tables, above which hung another chandelier that put the others to shame. And it was here that Boone led us.
“Madame,” Boone said, with a slight bow, “may I present Mr Rehja and guest.”
“Thank you, Boone,” the lady replied.
“I’ll ask the waiter to attend you in a moment,” Boone said and held out a chair. It took me a moment to realise it was meant for me.
“Cheers,” I said and could almost hear the wince break his smile.
“A pleasure, sir.” The pause before he added ‘sir’ was deliberate. The closest he could come to censoring me for such rude behaviour.
Rehja sat down when Boone offered him a chair and the concierge, with a last look at me, departed.
“So this is Mr Hayes,” she said. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Me too,” I started and felt a sharp kick on my shin. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“I understand that you have been exceedingly helpful to Rehja. He speaks highly of your skills and willingness to work for us.”
“He does?” and I moved my legs to avoid the next kick.
“Indeed. It is most fortunate that you were able to assist us in recovering the goods we had misplaced.”
“A pleasure,” I said, though the bruises covering my face suggested, strongly I hoped, that it had been anything but.
“I am glad you find it so,” she said, “and more so that you have agreed to work with us once more.”
I looked at Rehja who had, up until that moment, been silent. His gaze was focused solely upon the lady who had not yet been introduced. Some people are just born rude, I was raised to be polite.
“I find I have a gap in my diary, Mrs...” I left the sentence dangling on the rounded hook of an ellipsis, waiting for someone to fill in the missing details.
