CHAPTER 8
We finished collecting our leftovers, then reattached the chain and padlock to the front door and walked to the Vespa. It was lying on its side, evidently knocked over by the thugs before they had entered the factory. It looked like Gray might have even taken a few swings at it with his crowbar.
“Those bastards!” Dee exclaimed, “Now I wish I hadn't gone so easy on them.” She levered the scooter back upright and brushed it off as she peered at the scratches and dings. “It's OK Martin, we'll get you all fixed up,” she whispered to the scuffed machine.
After she finished examining the damage, we climbed on and rode away. When we reached the police station, Dee jumped off and dug the newspaper wrapped gun from her backpack. We had parked next to a large metal bin emblazoned with signs that read 'The Safe Streets Project' and 'Please remove all ammunition from weapons before depositing'. Dee chucked the gun and ammo magazine in, but hung onto the newspaper it had been wrapped in. We could hear the gun slide and clunk its way through a series of barriers no doubt intended to deter theft. She wadded up the paper and stuffed it back into her backpack.
“OK, one more stop and then coffee,” she declared as she climbed back onto the scooter.
We zoomed off, zigzagged down a few back streets, and eventually found our way to the parkway that ran through Veterans Memorial Park. Dee pulled up to a memorial statue, some old timey soldier astride a rearing horse.
“Put the food up there,” Dee instructed, waving toward the pedestal the horse stood on. I dug the boxes out of my backpack and lined them up on the concrete platform. She saw my puzzled expression and explained, “don't worry, the people who need it will know to find it here. This has become a sort of dead drop every since the city made it illegal to feed homeless people.”
“They did what?” I asked.
“Yeah, some stupid law they passed last year. Supposedly it's to encourage the homeless to enroll with social services, but then they also cut funding to the shelters and the food bank, so that sounds like bullshit to me. Maybe they just want to starve the problem out of existence. Anyway, doing it this way, we are not technically feeding anyone, just littering perhaps, and the penalty for that is a lot less.”
We rode on, eventually arriving at our destination. It was a converted house on the edge of the business district. Over the front entrance was a colorful sign saying, 'The Intergalactic, an out of this world cafe!' The stylized lettering was contained inside the billowous flames and smoke coming from a Flash Gordon style rocket ship.
“You'll love this place,” Dee assured me as she led the way in.
She was right. As soon as I walked in, I wondered how I had not stumbled across the place before. Every wall was covered with science fiction themed murals or classic sci-fi movie posters. Even the ceiling was painted with a detailed night sky studded with various little space ships and aliens. A person could spend hours just lying on their back drinking in the details.
Dee didn't bother looking at the menu board. She simply strode up to the counter and said, “We'll have two double dark cold brews, hot.”
The barista tapped a dark fluid from a complicated glass and copper contraption while Dee dug in her jacket for several crumpled bills. After receiving the steaming cups, she carried them over to a table containing various packets of sweetener and little pitchers of cream and such.
“Fair warning,” she said to me as she handed me a mug, “this stuff is rocket fuel. You'll want to cut it with plenty of milk.”
I watched Dee pour milk into her over-sized mug, then I poured a similar amount into my own. We wandered about looking for an open table or sofa, eventually finding a barely occupied room full of bean bag chairs. We plunked ourselves down in two of the bags. I leaned back and looked at the ceiling. It was covered in a large mural in the style of the Sistine Chapel, only instead of Adam and God, a spacesuited figure was reaching toward a tentacled alien. I took a sip of coffee. I immediately took a larger sip.
“This is really good,” I commented.
“That's the cold brewing process. They steep it overnight in cold water. It brings out all the flavor without the acidity. Go slow. The mild flavor hides how strong it really is.”
“I'm not really much of a coffee drinker,” I admitted even as I took another greedy sip.
“Me neither, actually,” Dee replied, “I usually drink tea, but when I need a serious caffeine infusion, this is the only stuff I'll drink.”
We drank our coffee in silence for a while. As my caffeine levels increased, so did my apprehension regarding the day's events. My worries spun in dizzying circles, like particles in some mad accelerator, eventually spinning free only to have new ones pop into existence. Dee finally broke the silence.
“It was very brave of you, Barry, the way you stepped between me and that jerk.”
“Uh... yeah. Thanks,” I replied.
“Don't ever do it again.”
“I give you my solemn vow,” I immediately responded. We each took another long sip of coffee. “So, what now?” I asked.
“Me, I'm going to dig into this Hillsburrow company,” she answered. “You... you will go back to school. Go to class. Study. I'll call you if something develops.”
“So just pretend none of this happened? What if those maniacs come after us again?”
“Unlikely,” she insisted, “this was just a negotiating tactic. They were trying to create an incentive for me to sell the building... convince me that the neighborhood isn't safe. Make it seem like there was some gang problem in the area or something. Problem was, they hired a bunch of paste eating slack jawed idiots to do the job.”
“So you don't think the neighborhood is dangerous?” I tried to rationalize that with the events that had just transpired.
“No more so than any other part of town. There's some gang activity, but that's Hermanos del Fuego territory, and they keep a low profile... they mostly just tag buildings and sell pot. I scanned those jokers right off as not being Hermanos.”
“Your lair is in gang territory...” I couldn't believe that she was so completely unconcerned by that. She saw the worried look on my face.
“Barry, the entire college is in Hermanos territory. They run the campus drug trade.”
“And that's supposed to make me feel better?”
“My point is that you really shouldn't worry,” she explained, “not all gangs are as overtly violent as TV would have us believe. I'm not saying they are boy scouts mind you, only that they are more concerned with making a profit than bashing heads and drawing police attention.”
“So you really think there is nothing to worry about, from those three thugs I mean, or that investment group that hired them.”
“There shouldn't be, not after I give in to there demands,” she said with a coy smile.
I nearly spit out my coffee. “But I thought you... I mean... you seemed so...”
“Oh I'm not really going to sell, but I'll open negotiations. It'll buy us some time and give me a chance to learn more about them. Like I said, you sit tight. I'll call when things get interesting.”
I thought about telling her to leave me out of it, that this all had nothing to do with me. For some unfathomable reason I stayed silent. I continued sipping my coffee, pushing my caffeine levels to dangerously high levels. I found myself fidgeting and playing with my phone, turning it over and over in my hand. I glanced at the time displayed on it.
“Holy crap,” I exclaimed as I jumped up, “I'm going to be late for my afternoon class!” I tried to down the last of my coffee but discovered the mug was empty.
“Reign it in there, Tonto,” Dee laughed, “I think you're overcaffeinated. Don't worry, I'll get you there on time.”
We headed for the door, leaving our mugs in a plastic bin held by a full size Robby the Robot mock-up. Once outside, we strapped on our helmets, jumped on the Vespa, and launched ourselves toward campus. Dee drove even faster and mo
re erratically than usual.
It must have been the caffeine... but I found the ride exhilarating.
Devious Origins Page 12