by Eliza Green
Carl looked anxious as he waited. ‘Come on. I don’t wanna be left with the ugly ones. Once they see Enzo, all they’ll want is him.’
Marcus smiled and slapped Carl on the back as he followed him out. He had a good feeling about tonight. Everything was coming together. Soon he would get what he wanted.
20
Marcus rolled over in bed and checked the time. It was only 7am, but he was wired after last night’s distraction. Enzo had been right. The women were attractive and not once did he feel like they were about to inflict damage on him.
In the brothel in Greenwich, Enzo had taken the prettiest of the girls as usual. Whenever they saw the ugly scar on Marcus’ neck or Carl’s decaying teeth, they usually looked elsewhere or chose them last.
But last night, Marcus hadn’t been disappointed with his girl although she was skinnier than he preferred. They even went to a private room to have sex, which had been great until Marcus heard Carl in the next room grunting and yelling, ‘Yeehaw!’
The cars had brought them back at 4am.
Marcus’ head throbbed. He’d had too much to drink. But as the memories of last night’s activities returned, his mood brightened. It had been just what he needed: a break from the stress. A break from working his butt off to impress Gaetano. Today, he’d sort a few things out, rattle some chains at the market. The first thing: check Jenny Waterson had put the prices up. In a fit of anger, he’d told her to raise them by thirty percent. He would adjust the demand to fifteen.
Marcus pulled out the stolen Waverley cash from under the floorboard and counted it. There was enough to buy a month’s supply of food for the neighbourhood, but to a man like Gaetano it was loose change. He could buy what he wanted when he wanted.
An hour later he headed downstairs to the kitchen and ordered food from one of the replicator machines set on the counter in the open-plan kitchen. It was the only modern room in a house stuffed with relics. When the last World Government ship had left Earth, the factions had claimed all the machines, including the ones in the neighbourhoods. The Kings doled out monthly food rations to places like Waverley to control the residents which in turn allowed Gaetano to control land and power.
Marcus ordered a double espresso and a croissant from the replicator on the tarnished black counter. His group wasn’t the cleanest to have ever lived together, but the associates kept the mansion clean thanks to Gaetano’s roster for chores. Marcus had lived in a few of Gaetano’s properties before that, and only in the mansion for a year and a half, but it was long enough to appreciate a swept floor and a clean counter top.
Enzo sauntered into the room, dressed in a light grey T-shirt and black trousers. His jet black hair fell into his brown eyes. He looked like the lead singer of a boy band. Marcus could see why the girls made a move on him first last night.
‘Hey, Enzo. Great night.’ Marcus kept up his charade of pretending to like the asshole.
Enzo ordered a coffee and pushed his dark hair back off his face. ‘Yeah. The women were better than the usual scrags.’ He picked up his coffee and took a sip. ‘What’s on for today? How are you faring with Waverley?’
Sometimes Marcus wondered who he worked for. ‘Your father asked me to increase the prices at the market. I’ve also recruited a Waverley boy to do some light lifting.’ He pulled the money from his pocket and smacked it down on the counter.
Enzo stared at the money. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘One of the boys lifted it from Waverley’s treasurer. I plan to use its absence to exert pressure on the residents.’
Enzo slammed his cup down. ‘You fucking idiot! You don’t bring cash like that back here. My father will have a fit if he sees it.’
‘What’s wrong with bringing it here?’
Enzo pinched the top of his nose. ‘Because, you dipshit, it has to look like it’s an inside job. If you take it out of Waverley, you can’t blame the neighbourhood. If the residents learn you’ve taken it, they will go against you. Have you learned nothing while you’ve been here?’
Marcus resisted the urge to punch Enzo in his perfectly shaped mouth. ‘So what do you suggest?’
‘Who took the money?’
‘Kevin Lee, the tavern owner’s grandson from East Waverley.’
‘Fine.’ Enzo paused, as if he was thinking. ‘Bury it somewhere near the tavern. Make it look like Albert took it. You get it?’
Marcus nodded.
‘That’s your first job. Your second is to get the boy to do more work for you. Your third is to monitor those prices at the market, see if the change is doing what it should.’
Marcus nodded again. Keep the people guessing so they feared any future move the Kings made. It irritated him that he hadn’t thought of it first. He ordered another coffee.
‘What are you doing?’ Enzo’s eyes blazed.
‘Getting another coffee. What does it look like?’
Enzo pointed to the front door. ‘Get the fuck outta my sight. And take that turd with you.’
☼
Carl and Marcus arrived at Waverley at 9am, a full hour before curfew ended. It was still dark enough for them to need the car lights. At the back of Albert’s tavern, Marcus and Carl searched for a section of ground that wasn’t rock hard. They found it and worked fast. Carl dug a hole and Marcus dropped in the money, then Carl backfilled the hole. When Marcus turned round, he shook with fright when he caught Kevin peering from behind the corner.
‘Is that the money I took from Sal’s?’ said Kevin.
‘Yeah, it is. And unless you want to be buried with it, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Okay?’
Kevin nodded. He moved closer and wrapped his coat tighter around him. The momentary breaks in the cloud weren’t enough to improve the chill in the air.
‘I have another job for you,’ said Marcus.
Kevin’s eyes lit up. Eager. He liked that. ‘What is it?’
‘This fucking neighbourhood is way too quiet. I need you to spy on your friends, neighbours. Find out if they’re planning a revolt.’
‘It’s like a ghos’ town here most days,’ said Carl.
‘Will I get paid?’
‘Maybe, if you do a good job,’ said Carl, ruffling Kevin’s hair.
‘Let’s go, Carl.’ Marcus climbed into the waiting car. Through the open window he said to Kevin, ‘Meet me at the market later. I’ll expect to hear some gossip from this worthless lot.’
The car reversed up the East road before it headed for Waverley’s exit.
‘We need to go to the market,’ said Marcus. ‘I want to change the increase to fifteen percent.’
‘My suggestion? So you’re finally listenin’ to me.’
‘Don’t get used to it.’
With a smile on his face, Carl sat back and closed his eyes. Marcus felt his eyelids droop.
‘Do you know what we should’a done?’ said Carl.
‘What’s that?’
We should’a painted a big red X like’s on the abandoned buildings outta town. The ones the Kings have an interest in. Make the tavern owner a little jumpy.’
‘That’s actually not a bad idea.’
‘I’m not jus’ a pretty face, Maaarcus.’
Carl wasn’t even that.
☼
Marcus had gone to the market to be reasonable, to consider lowering the price increase from thirty to fifteen, but he arrived to discover Jenny Waterson hadn’t even changed them. So he roughed her up, told her the thirty percent rise was still on. That would teach her to disobey a direct order.
Marcus and Carl returned to HQ later that morning. Enzo was nowhere to be seen. Marcus took the opportunity to slip up to his room and take a catnap.
He woke to the sound of thumping on the floor above, in the attic space where they kept the Indigenes. He checked the time and got up. It was early afternoon. From a locked box in Enzo’s room, he grabbed a spare controller for the shock collars and crept towards the titanium door that led to the attic stairs.
Eighteen Indigenes wearing shock collars sat at the panels. Some worked on projects separate to managing the perimeter. All the DPads had strange junk code running on them, code that had appeared just a few days ago. According to Enzo, so far the Indigenes had been useless in deciphering it. Marcus made a beeline for the Indigene he’d stolen from Waverley—the one who’d said he was a cook.
He walked behind the seated and bound Indigenes, noting the ones who sat idle; Indigenes who’d lied about their skills or who were being unhelpful on purpose. Shocking them no longer worked as a punishment. But soon, when Gaetano ordered it, Marcus would interrogate those unwilling to reveal their true skills.
Gaetano’s men looked pleased to see Marcus. ‘Great,’ said one. ‘We both need a piss. Watch them, will you?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Marcus, even though it chilled him to be alone with the Indigenes.
The men left and Marcus focused on the cook. The male stared at him with yellow-flecked eyes. A haunting look from an odd individual. There had to be a better use for this Indigene.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Johan.’
‘Johan, what the fuck are you staring at?’
‘Nothing. You looked like you wanted to say something.’
‘Why would I want to speak with you?’
Johan shrugged. ‘We’re talking now, aren’t we?’
Marcus pressed the button on his controller and it delivered a shock to all eighteen Indigenes. Johan squeezed his eyes shut.
‘When I want to talk, I’ll call on you. Don’t ever look at me again.’
Johan dropped his eyes to the DPad he worked on.
Marcus watched the Indigene who pretended to be a cook. He would include him in the first of his interrogation groups.
A few minutes later the two men returned. ‘Gaetano’s looking for you,’ said one.
Marcus handed over the collar controller and pointed at Johan. ‘Watch out for that one.’
He made his way to the first floor and stood outside Gaetano’s door. He took a deep breath, knocked.
‘Enter!’
Inside, Gaetano gestured and Marcus took a seat.
‘So, Marcus, how are the residents in Waverley reacting to news about the increase in prices at the market?’
Marcus squirmed a little. He had no plans to tell Gaetano just how high he’d gone. ‘We’ll know more tomorrow.’
‘And your little recruitment drive?’
He felt more confident about that. ‘Very well, Mr Agostini. I’ve recruited Kevin Lee, the tavern owner’s grandson in East Waverley. He did a little job for me this morning that will put the residents on the back foot. He’s also agreed to be my eyes and ears. If the residents are planning a revolt, I’ll hear about it first.’
Gaetano came around to Marcus’ side and sat on the edge of the desk, his hands resting on his legs.
‘What do you see in your future, Marcus?’
Marcus looked up and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, each of my men has ambition. I want to know yours.’
‘I’d like to work my way up and someday be where you are.’
Gaetano laughed. ‘An ambitious answer. You don’t stay at the top without attracting a few enemies.’
‘I understand that, but I admire what you do and how your men respect you. I think that’s what I want. Respect.’
‘You don’t think you have it now?’
‘Not from everyone, if I’m being honest.’
Gaetano stared at him. ‘Do you think I respect you?’
Marcus squirmed again. He had no idea how to answer. What answer did Gaetano want? ‘Uh, I’d like to think you do, but I don’t expect it from someone in your position. It’s our job to respect you.’
‘You think respecting me is a job?’
‘No! No, I didn’t mean that. You’re a busy, important man. You don’t have time to... I mean, you have my respect. Always.’ He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking.
‘Do you fear me?’ Gaetano leaned in closer.
‘A little.’
‘Can you respect someone you fear?’
Marcus nodded. ‘If someone’s worth respecting. Like you are, Mr Agostini.’
Gaetano leaned back. ‘If you want to be in my position, you must be stronger. All I see is a kiss-ass who doesn’t think for himself. Take my son. Enzo has a natural ability to lead. He doesn’t get his hands dirty because others do his bidding.’
Marcus wanted to blurt out that everyone hated Enzo and he was the most useless fuck in HQ.
‘You’re not there, Marcus. And I don’t know if you’ll ever reach Enzo’s level of ambition. But I’d like to give you a chance to prove yourself.’ He stood up and clasped his olive-skinned hands together. ‘I need those Indigenes working at full capacity. I want you to take them off site and interrogate them at our special place in Long Island.’
Marcus stood and smiled. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll bring Carl with me.’
‘Fine. See to it.’ Gaetano walked him to the door. He rested a hand on Marcus’ back. ‘I’m harder on you than the others because I see your potential. Prove me right.’
‘I won’t let you down.’
‘See that you don’t.’
Gaetano shut the door and Marcus’ smile faded.
Someone who called Enzo a natural leader could not be trusted.
21
Isobel spent the next day at the tavern coping with a leering Pete and fielding insults from a drunken Kevin. She knew full well what Pete wanted from her, and she had no doubt he would try to get it. She leaned against the bar and stared at the door. She’d spent the morning planning her route out of Waverley. On her way to the tavern from Sal’s, she’d almost made a start on her escape. But there were too many people around, post-curfew.
Evening drew to a close in the tavern. Customers dropped in, mostly out of curiosity to check out Isobel until she felt like some prize object on display. The dampening chip kept Isobel’s ability to read thoughts at bay, but she could read body language well enough to know she disgusted them, except for a curious few. Including Ben.
He’d accompanied her back to Sal’s two nights in a row. But tonight she would insist on walking to Sal’s alone. She watched the seconds tick down, waited for Albert to call time. At 8.30pm, her heart did a little dance when Albert decided to close. By 9pm, Isobel had said her goodbyes and was out the door. It would be the last time she’d see them.
Wearing the grey World Government uniform and, at Albert’s insistence, a cheap pair of shoes, she left the tavern behind and walked away from the square and Sal’s towards the high perimeter wall. The shoes felt strange on her feet. She stumbled a few times, then stopped, kicked them off and shoved them into her pocket. She continued, barefoot, down the cracked tarmac road for East Compound until she reached the crossroads.
Guard activity was light at the gate as the two men watching it locked up for the night. She darted up the left hand road leading to North Compound. A group of houses sat to her right and that’s where she began her search. She found a narrow stretch of land just behind the buildings and looked up at the solid brick wall that stretched as high as two houses. She touched the cool surface and examined the stonework. Her structural engineering ability allowed her to identify the weak spots—parts that appeared lighter than the stone. Isobel stood back and searched every inch of the grey stone that appeared to be made of dark granite. She couldn’t determine its thickness, but she could see no light areas, no points at which
she could begin her dig. She gripped the edge of one stone and tried to move it, but the wedged block wouldn’t budge.
She walked along the wall. About ten feet up, she could see the stones looked more uneven and smaller than the ones at eye level. She found a nearby container that came up to her chest in height, dragged it to the wall and stood on it. At a different level, she could see light areas between the stones where they hadn’t been packed as tightly as the ones below. It was as if the upper section had been built by unskilled hands.
She climbed down and walked along the base of the wall checking for weak spots in the stonework.
There!
She saw a stone not set in place and worked it a little with her hands. She felt movement, as if it might pop out of its place with force. She put her weight behind it. The stone moved enough to give her hope. She pulled again. Beads of sweat trickled down her face and into her eyes. She blinked the wetness away. The stone moved enough for her to wiggle it out the last few inches. Isobel fell to the ground with the stone in her hands and smiled. She set it aside and crawled forwards to look through the gap around twelve inches wide by seven tall. Something grey and tangled blocked her view to the outside. She stared at it until she recognised it to be a coiled piece of barbed wire. On the far side of the wire was another wall. Her only escape routes were the locked gate or through both walls. But for the second option to work, she’d have to break through the first wall, try not to get cut into ribbons crossing a river of sharp wire, and figure out how to scale the second thirty-foot wall.
Isobel sat back on her heels. A scream bubbled up into the back of her throat. She pressed her fist to her mouth to stop it. Feeling discouraged, she stood and slumped back to the crossroads where the road to East was, back to the square, back to Sal’s place. Halfway along the East road, she heard an engine start. The guards at the gate were leaving. A few residents were still out. She cut through the narrower back streets for some privacy and time to think. There, she ran into a soft body.
