by Mac Flynn
I went downstairs to Meyer's office just off the dingy lobby. Papers and trash were scattered around the cracked linoleum floor, and the manager sat in a ripped leather chair with his feet on his desk. A slimy smile slid onto his lips and he raised his eyebrows.
"So you want the place?" he guessed.
"We want the place. Red and I," I told him.
His face fell. "I don't need two people living in there. One of you can have it, but not both."
"It's zoned for two occupants, isn't it?" I questioned him.
"Yeah, but-"
"And we can meet the terms you told me, so what's the problem?" I wondered.
He slid his feet off the desk and glared at me. "Fine, you can have the apartment, but don't go taking in any boarders for that second room."
"There is no second room. We each get our own," I assured him.
He snorted. "Sure, and I'm Santy Claus."
My eyes lowered to his gut. "Maybe you are, but we'll move in there tomorrow."
"You'll have to put down a damage deposit," he warned me.
I crossed my arms over his chest and smiled. "Only if you're going to vouch for all the damage that's already there."
Meyer's face took on a sullen expression and he turned away. "Never mind. . ." he muttered.
I walked out before he could pull any more of his bullshit on me. None of the apartments in his building were worth a damage deposit. Besides, he didn't want any building inspectors to settle a damage deposit dispute. That would've meant an inspection, and he paid off the usual inspector to keep the building from being condemned.
Life in the city was good, but only for those who could afford that life.
I walked outside. The new apartment would let me store more food, and with a guy in residence I would need a larger haul.
I paused on the stoop and looked up and down the long, curved street. The apartment building sat on the crest of a hill, and both directions disappeared over the horizon. On either side of the street were dingy structures. Some had old air conditioners that stuck out of windows. Others had cracked windows repaired with various colors of duct tape. A few homeless sat in the shadows of the narrow alleys that broke the long lines of buildings into small blocks.
I walked down the cracked steps and made my way to the small grocery down the block. It was a miserable city with its smoggy air and dirty buildings. The people wouldn't look you in the eyes except when they wanted to steal something from you. Gangs protected their block territory with knives when they outnumbered their enemies, and with guns when they didn't.
I passed the mouth of a rat-infested alley. A few gang members in dark blue coats whistled at me.
"Hey, baby, whatcha doing tonight?" one of them asked me.
"Why don't you stop for a while?" another wondered.
"Maybe later, boys," I replied.
In this city rats came in all sizes. You had to throw them some cheese to get them off your back. My cheese were promises to get back to them. I never kept them.
I bought a couple of things at the small five-n-dime and walked out of there with two paper bags filled with food. I paused and looked up at the obscured skyline. One of the buildings stood out from the rest as a behemoth of artifice. The structure was built in the shape of a capital 'I.' At the distance top sat a stone castle. The Middle Ages copy cast its shadow over the city and lorded over us like an ancient god from some forgotten past.
The place was called Indigo Towers, and was home to the richest man in the city, William A. Fox.
I shook myself from my reverie and started back home. The boys probably waited for me to keep my promise, so I walked back along a different route. This one took me down the street on the other side of the opposite block. That meant I had an alley to walk down to reach the stoop of my apartment building.
I reached my turn and stepped into the dank, narrow passage that city officials called an alley. The brick walls of the parallel buildings were so close to each other that two men couldn't walk side-by-side. I skirted the overturned, rusted garbage cans and cardboard boxes people called home. Ragged blankets and empty food wrappers littered the place, but the homeless were gone. It was daytime, and that meant panhandling at the more populated and pitying corners.
A noise came from behind me. I spun around. The bag in my right hand dropped to the ground as I reached behind me for the 9mm pistol hidden inside my coat. I looked for the danger. An empty can of beans stopped rolling ten feet from me. No one was in sight to make it move.
"Hello?" I called out. I pulled out the gun. My eyes swept over the alley. There was only shadows and garbage cans, but anyone except a giant could've hidden behind all that trash. "Is anyone there?"
Nothing. The alley was as still as the grave. I re-holstered my gun and picked up the soiled bag. It'd fallen into a puddle. Typical. I turned away from the can.
"Ulric."
My eyes widened. My pulse quickened. I whipped my head around. The alley was still empty, but I no longer felt alone. Someone was there, and they knew my last name.
I strode forward, but with my gaze ever over my shoulder. Nothing moved, but that feeling of being followed never left me. I hurried down the long length of the alley and burst onto the street. The weak sunlight above me lessened the fear of the shadows behind me, but I still sprinted across the street to the stoop of my apartment building.
I paused at the door and turned around. A single car passed by. The shadowed mouth of the alley stared back at me, but all was still and quiet. I frowned.
"Just my imagination. . ." I murmured.
I unlocked the door and walked up to my apartment. The dingy place would soon be forgotten, but not before I packed up everything that belonged to me. I put the food away and got to work on my bedroom. The bed belonged to me, but it was so old a move would probably make it fall apart. I'd buy a new one later.
I went to the small closet and pulled out my clothes and shoes. A pile of cardboard boxes sat in one corner. I pulled them out and pulled off the lid of the top one. A silver chain with four beads at the bottom glistened in the dim light from the ancient bulb over my head. The center two beads were larger than the two on either side of them. I lifted the chain and held it in front of my face.
The beads and chain were all made from silver. It was a gift from my mom, but I never liked the thing. The beads were heavy, and the clasp would never stay shut. I glanced at the closet. Now that my clothes didn't hang inside I could see the walls. The darkest corner had a small nail driven into the wall. I walked over and hung the chain there. It would be a testament to my having been there. A memorial, if you would.
I finished my perusal of the boxes.
"Junk. . ." I muttered.
Most of it would be thrown out. I packed my clothes in the empty boxes and walked into the living room with my arms full.
Something to my left caught my attention. I turned and looked out the window. The window led out onto the rickety old fire escape. I frowned. I swore I saw a shadow out there.
I set the boxes down on the couch and went over to the window. It was shut tight, but a few good pulls got it open. I stuck my head out and looked up and down. Nothing. I pulled myself half inside when my eyes caught on something on the escape and beneath the window. I leaned down and plucked it off the grates.
Hair. Dark brownish-black hair from an animal. Not human, but close to a dog or cat. I shrugged and opened my fingers. The fur floated down and slipped between the grates. Probably a stray cat exploring the area looking for free handouts.
I finished my packing and waited for tomorrow to bring me a fresh beginning to a new life.
CHAPTER 3
