by Sam Ryder
Instead of showing everyone in the bar how much I was paying, I deposited the coins directly into the tender’s hand. I overpaid by about double, but the coins belonged to dead men anyway. The bartender’s eyes widened when he realized how much I’d given him, but he managed to recover well. “Can I get you anything else?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“Information,” I said, keeping my voice low so only he could hear.
He leaned in. “What sort of information?”
“We’re looking for a man named Keenak. I have no clue what he looks like, but he’s supposed to be a loner. Maybe doesn’t even live in the cit—”
“Oh, I know Keenak,” he interrupted. “He’s a drunk. Had to kick him out a few times, so he hangs out on the other side of town where the standards are lower.”
“By himself?”
“Oh hell yeah,” the bartender said, shaking his head. “He’s a bitter old man. Nobody knows much about him and everyone learns to steer clear of a dog that likes to bite.”
“What’s the name of the place we can find him at?”
“Old Dog Saloon,” he said. “Tell them Billy sent you and they’ll help you out there too.”
I nodded, thankful, and then met the others at the table they’d procured. Billy’s hired help delivered our drinks almost at the same time. I tossed him a quarter and he thanked me profusely, pocketing it.
When we were alone again, everyone stared at me. “Well,” Simon said.
“He knows where he’ll be. No rush though—he’s not going anywhere. Finish your drinks.”
I followed my own command, savoring the scotch to the last drop before standing to exit.
~~~
The Old Dog Saloon had seen better days. The door was chipped and rotting and the lone window was cracked in three places. It was a wonder it hadn’t shattered completely, especially during the heavy wind overnight.
“I should go in alone so we don’t spook him,” I said.
Simon cursed under his breath but didn’t argue. I could tell he was accustomed to being the leader, so this was hard for him. We’d have to figure out the power dynamics of our alliance later on, but for now I knew this was the right play.
I pulled open the door, somewhat surprised it didn’t fall off the hinges, and immediately saw a man sitting at the bar. His head was down, his shoulders slumped. His gray hair sticking out from the wide brim of a hat and gray mustache made him look like an old cowboy or something.
An empty stool stood next to him, so I strolled over and eased down, hearing the wood creak and hoping it didn’t collapse under my weight.
“You’re Keenak, I assume?” I asked.
“Depends on who’s asking,” he slurred back. He didn’t even look up. A line of drool tracked from his lips to his glass, which was half empty.
“Name’s Cutter.”
“Never heard of you,” he said with a rough-as-nails voice.
“I know. But that’s not the point. I’ve heard of you,” I said. “I know who you are.”
“I’m nobody,” he said. “Just lemme drink until oblivion comes.” He lifted the glass of amber liquor to his lips and tossed the other half back, gritting his teeth as he choked the piss-water down.
“You’re Atticus’s father,” I whispered, leaning in so we wouldn’t be overheard by the bartender, who’d been ignoring me so far. I guess he could tell I wasn’t here for the gnarly concoctions he served.
He chuckled but it soon turned into a hacking cough. He motioned to the bartender to refill his glass and the man swiftly complied. He didn’t request payment which meant Keenak must be good for it, or perhaps had prepaid. Bleary-eyed, the aging man turned toward me. “Atticus who needs no last name,” he said.
“I’m glad we understand each other. Look, I need information, and only you can provide it.”
Keenak rolled his eyes. “He’s not my son,” he said. “Not anymore. My son was a sweet kid. The monster in Rome is playing God. Now please leave me alone.”
“No.”
Fire burned in his red-veined eyes. “You get the hell out of here,” he barked. “I don’t want anything to do with Atticus, Rome, Enders, whatever the hell you are... I just want to drink in peace until I die.”
I sighed. This was going even worse than I expected. Figuring I would be there for a while, I raised a finger to the bartender and ordered a scotch. As usual, I would dream it was the real thing, genuine Scottish whisky, but this would probably be one of the nastiest drinks I’d ever had. Still, the burn in my throat would help with the conversation to come.
“Fine,” I said, waiting for my drink. “If you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to. But you’re going to listen. I know what Atticus is doing to the Ends. I know what he is doing to the people, even those closest to him. I don’t pretend for a second to know what it’s like to be his father. You are probably dealing with a hell of a lot. But this isn’t the time for brooding, or we’re all going to end up dead or enslaved.”
The bartender slid my glass of scotch across the bar. I slid him three quarters, which was three times too much for the drink in the hopes he would know to keep his distance unless we needed a refill.
“What the hell are you talking about?” The question was as lucid a thing as the man had said so far. Good. I’ve got his attention.
“Atticus is going to act soon. Enders, and anyone that supports them, will be exterminated if we don’t do something.”
Keenak looked up from his drink. “You’re going to try to kill him?”
“If he doesn’t kill me first,” I said.
“How? No one can get near him.”
“We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
His questions were coming faster now, and I got the sense that his drunken state before was partly an act to keep people away from him. Now, his voice was steady and composed.
“A group I’m with. Well, technically a group I created, composed of both Enders and humans. But regardless of how, we’re planning to execute a change of government.”
Keenak sighed. “My son wasn’t always like this, you know. It wasn’t until my wife died that he changed. He started running with a bad crowd a few years after the Blast. He got a taste of power and wanted more. By any means necessary.”
“Right,” I said. “And there’s no stopping that desire, is there?”
He shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. I’ve tried. That’s why I’m here and not in Rome.”
“I heard about an altercation of some kind.”
“The kid punched me in the face.”
It was kind of funny to hear the man call Atticus ‘kid’. I guess to a parent their child will always be a kid, even once fully grown and in the position of dictator. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was a parent, once. So you understand where we’re coming from, right? Your son has got to go or we’ll destroy what’s left of the Ends.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?” he said, and I found it interesting that he hadn’t voiced one word of concern about the fact that I was talking about assassinating his son.
“We could use your help. You know your son better than anyone. His strengths. His weaknesses. Anything you can give us would be helpful.”
“I used to,” he replied, staring at the bottles behind the bar. “You know he was a kid before the Blast? A sweet boy, too. Had some good friends, spent his days playing and laughing like any other kid. All I wanted to do was protect him after the shit hit the fan.”
I nodded. “Of course,” I said, thinking of the photograph in my pocket. “You protected your boy.”
“You got it,” he continued. “But as he grew, he hardened. He was too smart for his own good. Even as a teenager, he commanded attention. He could get anybody to do anything. He had the charm, the confidence, everything you need to lead people. And if you remember in those early days of the Ends, nobody knew anything. We were all just freaking out, trying to survive.�
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“Of course,” I said. “Nobody had a moral compass guiding them. We were all in it for ourselves.”
A distant look entered Keenak’s eyes as he continued to stare longingly at the alcohol behind the bar. “Atticus stepped up. Someone had to. One by one, people fell in line behind him. Hell, I fell in line behind him, too. I’m his damn father. At first, it was fine—good even. We needed a leader and he knew how to lead. But I failed him. I didn’t guide him, I just let him do whatever the hell he wanted. Everyone else did too.”
“You fell for the charm,” I said. “He has a way of controlling people.”
“No shit,” he replied. “It became clear pretty early that he was the wrong man. But even then, the damage was done. I’m ashamed that I let him take as much control as he did. Maybe I could’ve stopped him if I’d acted sooner. By the time I finally did, it was too late. Now he hoards the power, tries to control all the resources... even the shit he pulls on Enders. It’s terrible. When I finally confronted him, he said horrid things. We fought, exchanged blows. The only solace I can take is that he let me go rather than executing me. Maybe somewhere deep inside that cold, hard shell the little boy is still inside.”
I wished I could tell him there was a way we could spare him, imprison him and try to rehabilitate his son. But I wouldn’t lie to this broken man. “So you understand why we need to do this,” I said. “Why we need to stop Atticus. Please, come with us. You must have something that we can use—some knowledge or advantage.”
“He’ll kill you,” Keenak said, looking down. “You may be a badass, I don’t know you. But my son…those around him will die for him.”
“I know that,” I replied. “But I don’t fear death. And your son will only kill me if he can. An hour ago, a bunch of his guys were throwing grenades at me. That’s just a normal day in my life right now. Am I dead yet? We took the fight to them and kicked their asses. And we’ll keep doing that. Atticus can try to kill me, but I’m betting he won’t be able to. Join us.”
“My legacy is set, Cutter,” Keenak said. “I’m the guy who brought Atticus into the Ends and let him run amok. If it wasn’t for me, the Ends might be a different place.”
“Oh, bullshit,” I said, taking another slug of my drink. “Your legacy isn’t set until you’re six feet under. Help us take him down and your legacy can be part of the group that saved the Ends from Atticus.”
“He’s my son.”
“Exactly,” I said. “He’s still your responsibility.” It was a risky thing to say. The man could easily put his walls back up and charge headlong into his drunken stupor. My words seemed to cut him to the quick and he flinched, his eyes darting up to meet mine.
“I—I know he is. I know.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I didn’t pressure him, sipping what was left of my drink and waiting patiently for his response. Finally, Keenak looked at me, shook his head, and raised his glass. We clinked and drank. “I sure as hell hope I’m doing the right thing,” he said.
“Fuck it,” I replied. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter 35
Insights
We walked out of the bar and met up with the group. One by one, I introduced Keenak to the Insurgence. Of course, I didn’t need to—he already knew them.
“The fuck?” he said, his eyes widening and darting back and forth between Simon and Vega.
“Hey Keen,” Simon said. “Long time no see.”
Vega, to my surprise, rushed forward and hugged the old man. Apparently they knew him even better than I expected. Information that would’ve been useful before I went to meet with him as a random stranger. She probably could’ve gotten his support far more easily. Or maybe not. Maybe he would’ve been even more resistant if he didn’t hear the truth from a less biased person like me. I don’t know.
Next I introduced Keenak to the Enders in our party. Before shaking Belogon’s and Derig’s hands, Keenak hesitated. And for his part, Derig showed the same hesitation.
“It’s all right,” Belogon said, targeting the comment to both of them. “We are allies in this war.”
Keenak nodded with an awkward smile. “Old habits,” he said. “I never had anything against the Enders, but that doesn’t mean I’m familiar with your kind.” It probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but the Enders took it in stride.
Before he could go with us, Keenak insisted he had a room rented nearby and needed to gather his things.
Simon in particular was thrilled to have Keenak onboard. Because they already knew each other, it was Simon’s job to make Keenak comfortable. They walked and talked together while we crossed town. “I’m sorry about what happened with Atticus,” Simon said. “I’m know that was hard.”
“More like impossible,” Keenak replied. “It still bothers me. I get the point of all this fighting, but he’s still my son, you know? I shouldn’t have hit him.”
“You can’t blame yourself for anything,” Simon said. “At some point, your kids become adults and make their own decisions. You couldn’t have prevented any of this. And you were only defending yourself.”
Keenak stopped in his tracks and looked at Simon. Everyone else stopped short to keep from running into him. “Do you know what happened that day?” Keenak asked.
Simon appeared confused. “I don’t... I didn’t really think about it,” he stumbled. “I just knew you had a falling out and blows were exchanged.”
“And you don’t know what caused it?” Keenak said.
“No. Atticus never mentioned it. We figured that was because it was hard for him to talk about it. So I never pushed the issue with him.”
“Atticus didn’t talk about it,” Keenak said. “But that’s not because he was sensitive to it. I looked that boy dead in his eyes and saw no emotion whatsoever. He was so far gone it was like looking into a shell of a person.”
“Then what did you fight about?” I asked.
“The chair,” Keenak answered.
We all looked at each other, trying to see if any of us knew what the hell he was talking about. What did a chair have to do with anything? When he noticed our clear confusion, Keenak continued: “Atticus is a sadistic man,” he said. “And the chair is his worst idea yet.”
“What is the chair?” Simon asked.
Keenak continued walking while we filed around him. “You guys worked with Atticus, right?” he asked the Insurgence.
“Correct,” Simon said. “Though I think he got the drop on us so we’re lying low for a while.”
“How would you describe Atticus’s attitude toward the Grid?”
Vega was the first to respond. “Anxious,” she said. “Nervous. Eager. He wants it activated yesterday. That’s actually why I was so successful in sabotaging it. He’s really impatient about it, which makes it easier to slip in some errors.”
“Yeah, well, don’t count on that,” Keenak said. “If I know my son, he has a backup. He always has a backup. You’re probably not the only ones working on it. I’m betting he has somebody else on it, and if he gets that Grid activated, then the chair won’t be far behind.”
“I’m sorry,” I chimed in. “Could you please explain what the chair is? I haven’t heard of this before.” Based on their frowns, no one else had either.
Keenak’s expression twisted in disgust. He stopped again, this time in front of a nondescript building a block or so from the edge of Geneva. “Hang on, I’ll finish this thought in a second.”
He pulled open the door and disappeared into the building. We milled around outside on the street, avoiding eye contact with anyone who walked past.
“What do you think he’s talking about?” Simon asked the group.
No one had an answer.
A few long minutes later, Keenak emerged from the building with a pack strapped over his shoulders.
“I’m ready,” he said. We all waited for him to continue his thought, but instead he led us out of the city. It wasn’t unt
il we were well clear of the eyes and ears of Geneva’s populace before he spoke again. Instead of providing answers, however, he asked a question. “In the pre-Blast days, what did it mean when someone said ‘he’s getting the chair?’”
Oh shit. Framed that way, I knew exactly what he meant. And given what he’d said about the Grid, suddenly it was obvious.
“No way,” Vega said. “If Atticus was trying to build an electric chair, I would know about it. I was his lead engineer.”
“My son doesn’t trust anyone,” Keenak said. “You know that’s true. And when you kept having problems getting the Grid up, he would’ve been suspicious, even if he didn’t show it outwardly.”
“Then how do you know about it?”
“I went looking for him one day. I was going to pour my heart out to him, tell him to stop what he was doing. I stumbled upon him coming out of a room I thought was for storage but was always locked. For security, he always said. Before he could close the door behind him, I saw what was in the room. The chair. I don’t know why, but I knew exactly what it was. I questioned him and he didn’t try to hide it. Hell, he was gloating about it. He said it would be used for ‘compassionate executions.’ I knew what that meant. It meant another way to strike fear into the people. They would capture Enders or human rebels. Atticus would be judge, jury and executioner. Hell, he would probably sell tickets to watch.”
The thought sickened me. “What happened?”
“I did what I should’ve done a long time ago. I poured my heart out to him, told him everything I’d wanted to for a long time. I apologized for not being a better father. He called me weak. It escalated. You know the rest.”
I did, and I was starting to understand what an electric chair really was. It was a symbol. When someone in the old world got ‘the chair,’ you knew they were guilty. Murderers, rapists, the worst of the worst. So if he started executing Enders in such a fashion, it would legitimize their so-called crimes.
“You’re right, he is sadistic,” I said. I couldn’t hold it back, even though I knew my words hurt him deeply.
“I wish I could disagree,” he replied.