Shattered by Glass (The Human-Hybrid Project Book 1)

by Farley Dunn

  “Thanks, light,” he called.

  It was mostly downhill, though gradual. Past Ninth and the train station, Bay City dropped off toward The Docks another twenty blocks away. He was only going as far as Eighth, and he pumped as often as he hunched down and flew, weaving around pedestrians, and only once stopping when a light refused to give him permission to cross without paying the penance for arriving too early. Flying through Washington where it turned into Eighth Avenue, the sign for We Got Junk appeared halfway down the block.

  Garik skidded through the tall industrial doors that opened to a vast array of disassembled machines where he stepped off his Cruz and kicked one end up into his big hand. He looked around, saw who he was looking for, and called out, “Hey, Wesji. Got something I need you to help me find.”

  “Yo, dudette. You help me, I help you. Deal? What’s it today?” The big man wore greasy coveralls, and his head spouted a denim hat with the We Got Junk logo on the front.

  “This.” Garik held up the purple Fasst Market bag. We Got Junk was how Garik had repaired his bike on the cheap. Wesji let him trade off around the shop, disassembling or sweeping up for the used supplies he needed. “It’s a compressor for an EverKool 7.0.”

  “EverKool.” Wesji pulled a rag from a back pocket and wiped his hands. “Bottom freezer?”

  “Top.” Wesji’s question gave Garik reason to hope. If he was asking, then he knew what Garik needed. If he knew, then he likely had one, and EverKools were as common as trucks on a skater’s board. Like, two-to-a-person.

  “You disassemble five EverKools and sort the parts, and I can give you one compressor guaranteed to work when you walk out the door.” Wesji took the bag and pulled out the broken compressor. He hefted it and sighed. “You need coolant, too?”

  “Maybe.” Garik grinned. Good ol’ Wesji. Coming through as always. “Can I do the fridges in a couple days? I got things planned, you know, with friends.”

  “Ah, to be seventeen again. Sure, kid. This salvageable?” He held out the compressor, eyeing it critically.

  “I think it’s just the cords. I found a rat’s nest packed around it.” Garik pointed to one wire where it exited the unit. Toothmarks showed through the black insulation, and one wire was severed.

  “Ah, easy as grandma’s pie. Sure, three EverKools by Tuesday, and we’re even. How’s that, Garik, my little friend?”

  “Thanks, Wesji. You’re awesome. Are the compressors still in the back by the bathtubs?” Garik was already backing away, aware that time was of the essence if he wanted to make his escape from the apartment before Arik claimed his evening.

  “No one’s moved them. Go. Get a can of refrigerant at the front desk.” Wesji waved him away with his rag and turned without waiting on Garik to see where he headed.

  Garik leaned his board against a rack of doorknobs and bathroom faucets, and he tore down the open aisle, barely catching himself, slipping on the gritty floor, as he dived into the compressors. Breathlessly, he scanned the shelves next to the bathtubs, his eyes jumping past piping, used toilets, and a scattered array of disassembled appliances. The compressors had been moved from the middle shelf to the bottom, despite Wesji’s reassurances, replaced by a rack of sealed-glass stove burners. Garik squatted, ran his hand down the dusty compressors until he found one that looked right. A paper tag attached with a string said, “EverKool 5.5-9.8.”

  “Gotcha.” He snatched it up and tucked it under his arm. On the way out, he waved to Ulldressa, high on a ladder behind the payment desk. He started to explain that he had permission from Wesji to take the compressor and can of coolant, when she called down, “Refrigerant is in the yellow bag. Just plug it into the port once you get it attached. Be careful on that skateboard.”

  “Bye. I will.” And he was gone, his wheels miniature tornadoes pushing him along.

  “HEY, MARI.” Garik held his board in one hand as he burst through the stairwell door and the yellow bag with the compressor and refrigerant in the other. He was surprised but pleased to see her sitting in the stairwell.

  “No wonder I couldn’t find you.” She pointed to the board.

  He shrugged. “I’ve got a fridge to fix, hopefully before Arik comes home.” He held up the yellow bag.

  “Too late.” She smiled apologetically, the bearer of bad news. “I thought you’d forgotten how to ride the old Cruz.”

  “Never. Couldn’t risk the Strider breaking down.” He looked upstairs, his heart sinking, and his stomach churning. “You saw Arik?” He wanted her to say she was teasing. Please, he begged. Teasing, Marisa. Teasing.

  “I’ll carry this.” She reached for the board and headed towards the storage lockers. “I hoped you’d come with us to see if we can see any of the show at the Tower.”

  “The show at the Tower?” No! Unfair!

  “You repeating me, now, Gari?” She rapped his forehead with her knuckles.

  “Hefferly, right? Isn’t it purple fire or something? How, I mean, if it was music, you could hear everything, but a magic act? You won’t be able to see anything, and there’ll be nothing to hear.” Still, to go, to at least try to get a peek.

  “Alexi’s uncle has an apartment on Sycamore. We’re meeting there. From his roof, Alexi says you can see the mall.”

  “Alexi’s in detention.” They were at the gate, and Garik entered the code twice before it took. He opened the gate and turned to Marisa before stepping in. “How are you meeting at Alexi’s uncle’s if Alexi’s in detention?”

  “Not exactly at his uncle’s. His uncle’s out of town. Alexi knows the passcode into the building, that’s how.”

  “Oh.” He worked his Santa Cruz into the piles of stuff and pushed the gate to as he exited, rattling it to be sure it was locked.

  “I have to . . .” He reached for the sack.

  “Fix the fridge, I know. I was up to see your aunt. When I found your bike still here, I hoped you were back. I stayed in the stairwell to warn you about Arik.”

  “I—” His voice broke. He wanted to go, to see the show, to look down on the mall if he couldn’t be on the mall, to try to see Jantzen Hefferly do his purple thing, the one that had looked so cool on the promotion at the food court. “I—I have to go upstairs and fix the fridge.”

  “You want to borrow my electrified sword?” She pulled a folded page of paper from a pocket. “I brought it to give you power, if you think it will help. I think I got the schematics figured out, so it’s fully charged and operational.”

  He laughed and accepted the offering, unfolding it. She had drawn herself as Sunchaser, with two electrified swords on her back. He looked up and grinned. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe this will help. Kevin Lee from Ai Kee! is auditioning for a film role tomorrow at The Martial Arts Center. One o’clock, and the public is invited to watch and cheer. I scored two tickets. Want to go with me and meet him? He might even show us some moves.” She smiled, her eyes a peace offering, soothing the knowledge that his aunt’s boyfriend would likely make Garik’s evening a brutal nightmare.

  “Thanks, Marisa. Okay. Sure, if I survive the night with Arik eating all my happy thoughts and vomiting them all over me.”

  “Baby. You’re tougher than you know. Get up there and cool your aunt’s milk. She’s afraid it will spoil, and no one likes spoilt milk.”

  “Least of all Arik.” He grinned. “See you tomorrow.”

  Garik took his bag and leaped up the steps, taking them three at a time. If he was to be dinner, he might as well get started and get it done. Maybe Arik would fall asleep in front of the television, and he could disappear to his room, stuck at home, but so clearly not stuck in the same room with his aunt’s grumpy boyfriend.

  ― 6 ―

  THE NEXT morning, Garik flew down the steps in the stairwell, grateful not to have seen anyone up and about in the apartment. It was far too early to meet up with Marisa, but that didn’t mean he had to sit in the apartment and stare at Arik’s bristly mug while the man slurped his
milk out of his bowl as he ate breakfast. Better to be out and about in the city, maybe on his bike.

  He had his watch back—thank you, Arik, but not really, you big lump—and could call to see who could meet up with him to do something. Too bad it couldn’t be Jantzen Hefferly and his purple fog, but maybe he could hear about it. When second best was dished your way, sometimes that’s what you had to take.

  He burst through the door to the parking lot and drew up short. Arik sat on his bike, sideways, one leg propped up on the jet-assist tube, and a smoke dangling from between two fingers. When he saw Garik, he blew out a twin stream of smoke through his nostrils.

  “What are you doing down here?” Garik couldn’t think what else to say. Arik, Arik was sitting on his Street Strider.

  “Better said, I knew you would be down here, and now you are. I need this bike unlocked.”

  “What for?” Garik felt of the fob around his neck. It was his, his fob, his bike, his thumbprint to unlock the lock. Arik had no right.

  “Now, kid, easy or hard, which way do you want it? It’s not my fault you let the fridge break, not my fault that you took that dinky skaterboard looking for parts, not my fault that you’re such a good-for-nothing that this whole complex is falling apart brick by brick.” The man had gone from a light rain to a thunder squall in the space of one sentence and was now yelling.

  “How am I responsible for how the complex is maintained?” You, he thought. You’re the one who won’t look for a new apartment. You’re the one who’s credit keeps my aunt and me living in this hovel. You, Arik.

  Anger boiled, but Garik dared not breathe those words, not if he wanted any freedom at all. He’d be grounded for the rest of the summer if he gave Arik the least reason.

  “Unlock, please.” Arik was calmer, even placating, but that was like him, softening up his prey so he could strike again. He crooked the two fingers holding his smoke and pulled them to him several times in rapid succession. “Now.”

  “Sometimes the bike breaks, Arik. It just stops dead, and I have to pull over and repair it.” And Arik wouldn’t know how, would walk off from it, and it would be unlocked and easy pickings for anyone who happened to be interested.

  “Should’a thought of that when you let the milk spoil. And I ain’t walking. Now, little man, or I might decide to take this bike away, just like I did that watch.”

  Arik nodded at Garik’s wrist, and Garik tried to hide it before he caught himself, realizing that’s what the man wanted him to do.

  “Just because you put it behind your back doesn’t mean I don’t know it’s there, Gari.” He spit the name like soured milk. “Don’t insult my intelligence. Now, the bike, cause I’m hungry, and that milk’s not getting here on its own.”

  “I’ll go for it.” Desperation clutched at Garik, pounding in his head. “Right there and back.”

  “Not with my money.” He swung one leg over the jet-assist tube and squirmed to settle himself in. “Never ridden it. Might be fun.” He leered at his girlfriend’s nephew, and he winked like he intended to treat it like he stole it.

  Which was what he was trying to do.

  “Arik?”

  They both looked up. Irina was in her robe, her hair in a tangle, with Mrs. Waggoner’s greenery above framing her into a sleepy garden nymph.

  “Gari, here.” She held out a twenty, the twin to the one from the day at the food court. “You forgot this on the way out the door. Besides milk, can you get me a candy bar? Coconut, if they have one. At Masti’s?”

  “At Masti’s, right. They have them. Only one?” Thank you, Irina, he breathed. Thank you, thank you.

  Without waiting on Arik, Garik darted into the stairwell, took them three at a whack, and tried to walk calmly down the balcony to Irina. When he reached for the bill, Irina pressed it into his hand and wrapped both hers around his.

  “Sorry, Gari. I want Arik to be a good man. I know you do, too.” She smiled weakly, and her eyes watered. “This is my last one. Get yourself something, too, cause I don’t know when I’ll have more. Arik, well, Arik can’t find a job, and he needs money, sometimes.”

  “I love you, Iri. Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right back with the milk. And your candy bar.” He grinned as he turned to walk away. “Thank you again,” he said, blowing her a kiss.

  Downstairs, Arik was leaning against a post, a blackened and discarded fag on the ground at his feet. He ground it into the pavement with the sole of his shoe. His shoulders were hunched, and he drew in a deep breath. A fresh smoke brightened between his lips.

  Garik felt the man’s eyes burn into him as he tucked the twenty into a pocket and buttoned the flap. He thumbed the fob, caught the lock as it released, and stowed it away. The fuel pack and the injector were a nuisance mostly, but today, he fiddled with them, taking longer than necessary, and making a point of how much trouble his bike was to operate. He thumbed the starter, inserted the injector and thumbed it again, only relaxing when the jet tube burst into flame.

  Arik pulled away from the pole, walked by Garik’s bike, and blew smoke into Garik’s air. Garik coughed and cleared his throat, trying to stay focused on the machine rumbling between his legs.

  “This time, boy.” Arik flicked ash at him, sauntered away without looking back, and disappeared into the shadowy stairwell.

  “AND AFTER that? You smashed his face, right?” Robbie Icardi grinned as he dangled his legs off the side of the bowl nestled in the corner of the Connel Street Skate Park. He wore crisply creased yellow shorts, a bright blue polo shirt, and his shoes were brilliantly white and spotless. Needless to say, Robbie had never mounted a skateboard, and as he would tell anyone who ribbed him about it, he hoped he never did.

  He flinched when Muhammad Saud flew up and caught the rim with his board, yelling out, “Dundersaps,” before dropping back into the bowl.

  “Yeow, I wish he wouldn’t do that.” Robbie straightened his shirt. “I would have, you know, smashed his face if my brother did that to me.”

  “He’s not my brother. He’s my aunt’s boyfriend, and yes, I have to take it.” Garik waited his turn for Muhammad’s board. His Strider hadn’t restarted after his milk run, and he hadn’t wanted to give Arik the satisfaction of inserting the knife and twisting it, too. He had locked it and left on foot, too embarrassed to even retrieve his board knowing Arik might be watching.

  “He’s only five years older than you. My brother, Lawrence, is seven older than me, and I don’t do anything he tells me to do.”

  “Well, so—” Garik raised an arm and called, “Mo, my turn.” He clapped Robbie on the shoulder and leaped to his feet. “Sorry, Robbie. My turn.”

  He was tired of talking about Arik. He couldn’t do anything about Arik. Nobody understood. So he did what he could, leaped on Muhammad’s board and dropped into the bowl. On the other side, he worked himself over a protruding hip, down a sloped rail, and dropped into the funbox to grind along a steel-edged bench. He came off and hit the ground running, popping his board up and grasping it in his arm, panting.

  “Whoo!” he yelled, pumping one arm into the air. His watch began to chime, and he popped an earbud into his ear. “Yeah, who is it?”

  “Me, you ridiculous ape. Who do you think? I heard you and Arik going at it this morning. You grounded?”

  “I think everybody heard it.” Garik dropped to sit on a rail that was vacant of riders.

  “Yah, and your aunt was brilliant. Did Arik enjoy his milk?” Marisa tittered.

  “Probably. I didn’t stick around.” Muhammad waved for his board, and Garik pointed to his watch and motioned for him to come get it.

  “I hear wheels. Are you on your skateboard?”

  “Nah. I walked. But I am using Mo’s. Are we still on for our date?”

  “Date?” Marisa laughed. “What date? But yes, we’re still meeting at Ai Kee! Do you need a ride? I bet I could drum up a skateboard somewhere.”

  “You don’t ride.” He pictured her falling off eve
ry four feet.

  “Walk, then. I’ll be at the skate park in an hour.”

  Garik pulled out his earbud just as Muhammad strolled up. He kicked the end of his board and caught it, then he dropped beside Garik.

  “Allah be praised. Garik’s talking to a girl.” He grinned.

  “You don’t know.” He tucked the earbud in his pocket and looked across the park. Robbie was following a skinny girl in green tights and a clingy skirt. She looked about thirteen and very uninterested.

  “You and Marissa still on for the thing at Ai Kee!? What, a movie or something like that?” Muhammad grinned.

  “Something. Not a movie. You know Kevin Lee?”

  “A trainer, er, instructor at the Center?” He was tracing the skull on his longboard with his finger. He wasn’t into martial arts, as he insisted to anyone who asked, but to watch, that was okay.

  “Plus, he competes—”

  “Won at Nationals last year, right? See, I do know a little about him.”

  “He’s auditioning for a movie roll. Marisa and I are going to be part of the audience.” It felt good to Garik to put them together in a sentence, Marisa and I.

  Still, the sun had found a spot just overhead to pummel the skate park, and Garik made his way to the shaded pavilion on the east side of the park. A water fountain, a quarter hour of roughhousing, and several wet shirts passed the time until Garik saw Marisa waving from the entrance, their two tickets in her hand.

  “Yo, guys,” he called, leaping to his feet. “Pray I get a movie roll. I’ll move to Corona Tower in one of the fancy apartments, and you can all come visit.”

  “Yeah, pah!” Muhammad waved him away with a languid hand motion. “We be moving in with you.”

  He and Robbie laughed, and Garik took off running. Kevin Lee. The movies. Some people got all the luck. But he had Marisa. He leaped over a low wall, and he slowed down as he reached her.

  “You ever talk to Kevin?” She was a martial arts freak. If she’d been to the Center, Garik knew she must have.