Twisted City

by Jeremy Mac

  The motion sensors live feed camera has a signal of two hundred yards. Staying within that range he goes across the street and enters a building where he sets up shop in an old cleaning closet. The picture on the screen is in crisp black and white resolution. He’s able to adjust its magnification, zoom in and out and rotate up and down and side to side, sweeping a wide range of the area. The screen shows everyone suspiciously checking their work area and questioning one another. Too bad he doesn’t have a listening device anymore, he lost his long ago and hasn’t been able to find another one, because he’d love to be able to hear their stupid comments. At one point Lathan goes out of view, toward the stairwell and elevator bank. He’s gone for about twenty minutes and when he returns everyone checks the area once more. Once everyone is satisfied that everything is as they had left it, they go back to work.

  He watches for more than an hour, observing who does what to where. He concludes that they are building some kind of heavy duty vehicle out of the SUV Mr. Hero rode in on. But why?

  No matter, he isn’t going to have the chance to enjoy it.

  He discretely leaves the cleaning closet and out of building, going back to his place. There is much to do.

  44

  Every once in a while someone will come ambling up to The Pinnacle’s gate, some are crazy and out of their loony minds and wandering aimlessly about, some are totally sane but beg for admittance with sincere hope of being granted a better life, and then there are those who simply want to barter. Most are turned back: The Pinnacle is not going to jeopardize its good order and its civilians by allowing just anyone to enter no matter how needy they appear to be.

  But there are rare occasions when an exception is made, like if someone shows up with a(n) extremely interesting piece(s) of merchandise (EIM) to be bartered then they are given anything ranging from a daily pass with an officer escort to full acceptance as a new citizen of The Pinnacle, circumstances depending. The hard part is convincing the thick-skinned gate keeper to make that call. First he evaluates the merchandise and if he decides it is in fact an EIM he then calls headquarters and explains to the officer in charge what the merchandise and/or situation is and it is then decided if the outsider is allowed in.

  Such an occasion has currently presented itself.

  “Let me get this straight,” the gate keeper says skeptically, eyebrows raised, recalling with a razor sharp memory the list of merchandise he was told. “You’ve got several bottles of painkillers and antihistamines, plus rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, iodine, antibiotic cream, and gauze, along with several vials of valium, methadone, and morphine?”

  “That’s right,” Mongoose says, hitching up the bag containing all of said contents so the gate keeper can see.

  “Would you mind opening your bag so I can actually see its contents?”

  Mongoose unzips the duffel bag and holds it open so the gate keeper can get a real good look inside. The gate keeper leans forward, peering through the bars of the window at what appears to be a bag full of exactly what he’d just mentioned.

  The gate keeper snatches the phone up from his desk, cranks its lever a few times, and speaks into the receiver. Another officer is there in five minutes. The officer enters the gate keeper’s office and studies the boy waiting on the opposite side of the barred window outside the gate. He can’t be more than sixteen years old, short and skinny, not much of a threat, although looks can be deceiving. The officer notices the dog sitting by his side.

  “Is he friendly?” The officer asks, referring to Max.

  “If I tell him to be,” says Mongoose.

  The officer scrutinizes the two for a moment then says, “Let ‘im in.”

  The gate keeper gives the order and the side door of the gate is opened. Mongoose is led into the office with Max close behind.

  The officer gestures to the bag. “Do you mind?”

  Mongoose hands it over and the officer opens it, taking out several items and inspecting each one.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” the officer asks.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really. But I am curious.”

  “I found it all in a clinic on the east end. There were some cabinets that were apparently overlooked so I cleaned them out.”

  “What would you like in return for all this?”

  “Some new clothes and food, maybe a comfortable place to crash for a few days.”

  “Are you sick that you know of?”

  “No, I’m not sick. I’m healthy.”

  “You’ll still need to be checked. You’re going to need to leave any weapons you have here but you’ll get them back when you leave. And you’ll need to leash your dog. All’s nonnegotiable. Agreed?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “Okay then, welcome to The Pinnacle.”

  45

  The officer takes Mongoose to the hospital and when Dr. John is shown the contents within the bag his eyes light up.

  “Oh yes. Yes indeed. Every bit of this is needed,” Dr. John says, carefully examining each item he pulls from the bag. “Amazing you were able to find such valuables.” Dr. John puts everything to the side and then regards Mongoose. “Now let’s see about providing you with a clean bill of health, shall we.”

  Mongoose has never had a doctor’s examination before. Well, other than Jizell, and that was an entirely different kind of examination. He is given a complete physical and blood samples are taken. In less than an hour he’s certified healthy. A little on the thin side, but healthy nonetheless.

  He’s then taken to headquarters where his photo is taken and documented, and is given a fair amount of Pinnacle token money to spend on whatever he may want or need at the markets. The officer escorts him through the residential area and puts him up in a nice, comfy office-room on the second floor of one of the oldest bank buildings in Claxton, the Harrington International.

  “It’s not much but I’m sure you’ll find it better than what you may be used to,” the officer says as he shows Mongoose his space. “Please keep in mind that there are people here who hold permanent residence, so respect their space. You’ve been given a week, so I’ll come to collect you at the end of that time. Unless, of course, you acquire permanent residency.”

  “How would I go about doing that?”

  “Put in a request to The Pinnacle Board of Citizenship at the town courthouse. It’s next door to headquarters. You can’t miss it.” Before the officer is about to step out the door he remembers one last thing. “If you will, please keep your dog’s mess cleaned up. You can get yourself a sack or bucket at the markets, to keep everything sanitary.”

  After the officer leaves Mongoose takes a moment to soak everything in. The room is bare, not a chair to sit on or a window to look out of.

  “Well. . . here we are, Max.”

  Max whines his disapproval.

  “Come on, let’s go see what we can see.”

  They first venture through several floors of the building but quickly loose interest as there is nothing interesting about the place, no one roaming the halls and all the doors he tries to open are locked. He and Max go outside and down to the markets.

  He now understands the Maddick’s envy of the place: An unlimited supply of clean water, bushels upon bushels of fruit and vegetables, an abundance of poultry and swine. The aroma of food cooking on grills fills the air and makes his mouth water. Max licks his chops. Mongoose does a 360° turn, searching for the source of this cooking food. Following his nose he spots two cooks at work on their grills, tending to their chicken legs, thighs, breasts, and veggies. Whole chickens are roasting on a spit over an open fire. Mongoose pulls up alongside the rest of the customers and places an order for two whole chickens with side orders of veggies.

  He takes their meals somewhere they can be away from the crowds and Max tears into his and has every bit of it gone in no time. Mongoose savors his meal. It’s been forever and a day since he’s tasted something so good. Chicke
n and vegetables, the real deal! Mmm-mm.

  After finishing their meals Mongoose and Max amble through the markets, shopping around. Although he has good clothes back in Maddick, he wore his dirty dingiest here just so he will look the part. He buys a couple of good pairs of pants and two shirts along with two blankets and one bowl for Max’s water and one bucket for Max’s “mess”.

  He stops to watch a puppet show with several others, laughing along with the adults and their children. The innocence of it is half the humor and it feels good to have a laugh incited by the laughter of children. But the reason for his presence here comes back to him and that guilt sinks in, as if to say, “You see now don’t you? Their hopes and dreams, the innocence of their lives will forever be stained on your heart. And for what?”

  He pushes it aside.

  An advertisement gives a schedule for children’s shows, which is this one, and adult shows. Intrigued, he makes a mental note to come back for the adult show.

  Mongoose eases his way toward the front, taking his time to consider each concession along the way. Keeping a considerable distance from the front gate and acting like he is still shopping around, he observes the gate’s entirety. Two men keep perpetual post on the top planks and several others are on ground level. He assumes it is the same throughout the night.

  Nothing to it but to do it.

  He turns back around to go catch that adult puppet show.

  46

  Claxton, the City of Cities, as it had once been known. The largest in the nation in circumference and per capita. Now divided into two opposing forces with sprinklings of outcasts throughout the megatropolis. The boundless architecture is still a wonder to see. The skyline can be seen for miles out.

  The city is blanketed under long streaks of clouds dragged through by a light breeze which now and again cut apart to open the cloud-blanket in sharp knife slices, providing seconds long peeks at the star filled universe beyond. The clearest night in weeks. Thousands gaze up to those unchartered heavens as if the answer to it all is there. No matter their belief or what moral code they live by, from Maddick to The Pinnacle and beyond, for millenniums their gods have lived in that same place up above. But do they listen? They never seem to, not then and definitely not now. Yet in the end thousands and maybe even millions beyond Claxton still take their woes and praise skyward.

  Preparations for the evening celebrations were carried out throughout the day. Two different societies of this once great city, a democracy and a dictatorship, both celebrating starkly different causes. One, for what they’ve already accomplished and for the life ahead, and the other for the life that is yet to come.

  The Pinnacle feasts on hog and merrily sips fine whiskey and wine. Games are played much like the ones played at the city fair. Piñata’s are strung up and knocked around until they burst open and spill prizes of dried fruit and homemade candy to the ground. Everyone dances in the streets to live bands, celebrating life, love, and the onward path toward the new world.

  The streets of Maddick are also filled with the frenzied dancing of men and women. Bootleg spills heavily down their gullets. Smoke is rolled with thin bible paper and thrown into crowds and passed around. Fights and fornications ensue out in the open. Celebrating the life that is promised to be given to them soon.

  In the midst of it all, on both ends of the spectrum, are those who care little for it. Even though they partake in the festivities their minds are wrapped up in their own greedy agenda. Selfish needs and desires under false pretenses fueled by loathing or envy or empty promises. And caught in the middle of it all, unbeknownst to them, are those who will suffer the most because they possess a disparity of goodness, which is only a curse in such a dog eat dog world.

  And in the end, no matter who they are or where they may be, the heaven’s above are forever watching.

  47

  He couldn’t have planned it at a better time. He took advantage of the excitement during last night’s soirée to go set up the device. No one paid him any attention as he came and went. His officer friend was still on shift but was due off in ten minutes.

  “Look, I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with what they’re doing –”

  “Nor is it any of your concern.”

  “All I’m saying is make it quick, because if you don’t then you could be stuck down there till morning.”

  “Then if I were you I’d make sure that that doesn’t happen.”

  Every day he’s been watching their progress through his spy-cam, still undisturbed right where he’d put it. He turns his head up at it and waves. Hi there, me. Here I am.

  The truck appears to be nearly finished. A little more body work, mainly the doors and the hood. It’s a mean, beastly looking thing, like it’s been pulled out of a futuristic war movie. He doesn’t know much about engines but this one looks like it will pull the wheels off a locomotive. And speaking of wheels, four new ones lie on the floor ready to be put on this monster. Good size ones too, much bigger than the originals with thick tread giving him the idea that it will be great for rugged terrain. What the hell is this for? He asks himself that question a dozen times a day and a few things come to mind but none seem likely. A war vehicle against the Maddick’s maybe? But bringing the fight to them isn’t something James will likely do, and besides, the word is that Vincent did not survive the battle outside the gate a month ago. There’s been no sign of hostiles or a threat of any kind since then, so what can it be for?

  He thinks hard. It is obviously being built for durability, speed, and long distance driving. Lathan is going somewhere, and for good reason. That’s got to be it. And it’s got to be for a very good reason because he has every reason to stay here. He has a beautiful woman who is obviously falling in love with him, the people praise him as their hero (there’s now even a marionette puppet show in honor of his heroic feat at the Pinnacle’s gate for Christ sake), and he is in favor of Mr. James Grant. He can’t lose, yet he busies himself with this potential war machine with the help of Loak Bosman who, much to his surprise, is an engine and body genius.

  Yet with all the curiosity he’s mustered into his understanding that this hero of The Pinnacle may soon be leaving them it still does not stop him from proceeding with his plan. A couple of minutes of tinkering and he’s finished. He leaves the parking garage and all there is to do now is bide his time.

  48

  Lathan has been exercising his shoulder and leg daily and is now able to get around without the crutch, though he limps slightly and has full mobility of his arm with minimum pain.

  The SUV’s new production is coming along nicely. Lathan told Loak that he wants the vehicle to have a little more muscle than it did before. Loak built a beautiful 440 with a four-barrel.

  “So it’s got a little more muscle,” Loak states with a sly smile.

  A one hundred gallon gas tank is installed in the back and attached directly to the main gas tank so it will go the distance without the concern of refueling, or where to refuel, for a good distance. The entire frame is armored except for the doors and hood. The doors will have armor built inside the interior walls and the hood will have armor welded under its original hood with a modified hood-scoop. The rest of the body may be placed back on if possible. The original plan was not to have the original body put back on, looks are not an issue, but at some point they decided that if they were able to then they will, having a tank in disguise.

  Last night was something else. The feast was fit for a banquet of kings. However, he did not enjoy the adulation given to him when James made his speech before the feast; it made him uncomfortable, as there were already plenty of smiling faces locked onto him, but he got through it. Amazing what a little booze will do, getting him relaxed enough to go with the flow, and Taya right alongside him.

  As the nights festivities progressed so did he. Everyone seemed to want a piece of Lathan’s time, pulling him from one person to another so to discourse their hero, their saint, and no matter
how many sips he took from his drink the cup never seemed to go empty, thereby lulling him into the monotony of adulation.

  He played games with the children and they cheered him on and bestowed him with hugs as he won them prizes. And, of course, little Matthew Bosman was his number one fan. Even though the boy sees Lathan just about every day, working right there with him on his truck, Matthew still couldn’t get enough of his idol.

  Several men invited Lathan for a game of horse shoes. He managed a few games before Taya came to reclaim him so to dance with her. He protested, claiming to not know how to dance, but with much help from the buzz he was feeling her begs won him over. Slowly they danced the night away, and when it became very late and the crowds thinned out they left for Taya’s place where they danced to their own music in bed.

  Now morning and having just awoke, he thinks back on it as he works out the kinks in his shoulder and leg. Taya still lay asleep, her naked body laying prone under silken sheets, her hair spilled across the side of her face. Looking at her often reminds him of another time, a lost love long ago. The two are so comparable, and maybe that’s why he’s been acting like he has lately, desperate to rekindle those past moments as if he may be able to somehow make those old memories live once again through another. Once when he and Taya were lounging at his place, out of nowhere she asked him who Geneveve is? It took him by surprise, he had not heard that name spoken aloud in years and he guardedly asked why she asked?

  “Last night, when we were making love, you called me Geneveve. Twice. Then you told me that you loved me. You believed me to be her. You don’t remember?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  Taya leaned forward, directing her full attention on him. “So who was she?” she said softly.