Pipe Dreams
Page 2
“No, Sir. I can’t. Not today.” She stood. The driver slapped her face and she fell back into her chair. He leaned over, cupped her chin with his hairy paw, and grinned.
“Vanessa,” he said. “Don’t be stupid. Get up and lock the door.”
CHAPTER 4
In an abandoned storefront across from the bus stop, Jeremy waited. The setting sun gave the dirty, gray concrete and weathered brick a golden hue. His favorite time of day, twilight promised respite. He shifted his weight and scratched a bug bite on his elbow. Vanessa Kovalic hadn’t taken the bait this morning, but that didn’t mean the trap had failed. If she returned to the bench this evening, he could approach her, but she had to come voluntarily, or not at all.
The bright, yellow school bus pulled to a stop near his shadowy alcove. Descending the stairs, the workers all looked the same. Women and girls wore their hair in neat buns. Men and boys had buzz cuts. Everyone dressed in identical, navy jumpsuits. Grateful for his own garb, Jeremy stuck his hands in his pockets. Though worn, the soft jeans, cotton tee shirt, and sturdy jacket suited him.
Eventually he spotted Vanessa in the crowd. She merged with two others into a small cluster. Together, they walked toward the park. Jeremy followed, sticking close to the buildings. Under the graceful arch, the small silhouettes paused in deepening shadows. He inched closer. Two of them took a left, leaving Vanessa behind, and his heartbeat accelerated. She hesitated, unmoving. When she turned and walked stiffly after the others, he swore.
Stepping off the curb, Jeremy crossed the street and hurried toward the bushes that edged the park’s wrought iron fence. Dry leaves crackled under his feet when he picked up the pace. As he arrived at the park’s west entrance, Vanessa climbed the steps to an old, two-story Brownstone. She glanced behind her and then disappeared into the stairwell.
Jeremy hunched down between the bushes, but the cramped space didn’t provide adequate cover. Wriggling to get comfortable in the dirt, he lay on his stomach and supported his head with his hands. The tangy aroma of earth and foliage promised hope. Unlike the decaying buildings and cracked concrete, what died here would be reborn. He inhaled deeply and resigned himself to waiting.
Vanessa didn’t visit the Brownstone often. The NSO frowned upon unsupervised activity, proclaiming it invited sin. Jeremy spat at the hypocrisy. He had spied on the mating games the NSO encouraged. Hunched old men and teenage boys lusted after young virgins in silly games of Duck, Duck, Goose, their eager eyes blazing as the girls chased each other around the circle. The memory sickened him. Then again, so did the NSO’s treatment of single, mature women. Beyond the jobs they performed, women like Vanessa were meat. Their bodies fed the insatiable appetites of the men who drove them.
Jeremy shifted uneasily. As blue twilight descended, he pulled a cloth-wrapped package from his pocket and opened it, his stomach rumbling. The cold rat was gamey and tough, but he devoured it. When only tiny bones were left, he flung them into the bushes, wiped his mouth, and took a swig from his water bottle.
Dark crept over the city, drowning the buildings, trees, and streets in indigo and black. Jeremy glanced nervously at the Brownstone. He didn’t relish being out late, alone. When the door finally opened, Vanessa scanned both directions before stepping onto the sidewalk. Walking up the street, she held her head high. These visits gave her strength and Jeremy whispered a small thanks to the lighted window on the second floor. He wished she had gone back to the park, but didn’t begrudge her this small comfort. Straightening from his cramped position, he trailed her until she reached her building. Then he turned toward home, following his trap line through the park.
The first three were empty, but a healthy squirrel was in the fourth. He bent to release the trap, pulled the limp body free of the jaws, and wrapped it in the paper from his dinner. Stuffing it in his pocket, he moved to the next one. As he came upon it, he stiffened. A man was kneeling in front of it feverishly working the snare. Jeremy took two long strides, grabbed the man's collar, and jerked him back so he landed with a thud in the dirt.
“My territory, asshole,” he said. The man stood and raised his arms, not wishing to fight. As he did, Jeremy caught a glimpse of his wraith-thin body.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean nothing. Just hungry, is all.”
“Get out of here and don’t come back. I catch you at in my neighborhood again, I won’t be so easy. Understand?” The man nodded and backed away. As he took off running, Jeremy swallowed the lump in his throat. Once, he might have been willing to share the catch. Now, the numbers of the Fallen were increasing and there wasn’t enough food. Without surplus stores, winter would be merciless. He glanced around, looking for more intruders, but there were none. Nevertheless, he would have to put more callers in the park. Michael was right. Scaring away the hordes was the only way to remain safe.
At the Gate, Jeremy gave a low whistle. When it was returned, he checked the alley again before wedging his body inside the narrow crack. The tunnel was completely dark. It slanted downward and made several turns before leveling. A series of steel doors opened into closets, rooms, and different passageways. The cell members had taken a long time to memorize the route because, at his insistence, the tunnel was never lit.
Stepping into the vast basement, Jeremy heaved a contented sigh. The smooth, concrete walls were windowless. Steel beams and fluorescent lights ran across the ceiling. When illuminated, the basement was bright as day.
He waved at the people gathered around the long, stainless steel counter in the kitchen to his left and looked with longing toward the closed curtains at the back of the living room. Behind them lay his private quarters and the comfort of his bed.
Scanning the room for Ashley, his eyes softened as he took in the heavy shelves in the library. Made from cinderblocks and wooden planks, they formed three substantial walls filled with books in every genre and category. Armchairs, reading lamps, and a rectangular coffee table made of rich, dark wood complimented oriental style rugs colored in reds, blues, and greens. In the children’s section, bright cushions were scattered between baskets filled with storybooks.
Ashley was curled on her favorite couch, her body tiny against the oversized cushions. He approached and tenderly stroked her long, blond hair.
“Rough day, huh?” he asked. She didn’t reply.
“Come on, girl. Get past it.”
“Just leave me alone, Jeremy.”
“Can’t we talk?”
Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him. “No. There’s nothing to talk about. Aren’t you the one who told me I needed to learn to shut my mouth?”
Jeremy pursed his lips and straightened his shoulders. Without another word, he turned and went back to the tunnel. There was one more thing to do before he could rest for the night. With a hand trailing the wall to his left, he counted doors until he reached the one he wanted. When it opened, a cool light illuminated the blackness and the smell of warm, wet soil filled his nostrils. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If he prayed, the success of this room would be his prayer.
Long, rectangular boxes, lined with plastic and filled with dirt, covered the floor in rows. Soft, white lights hung from the ceiling above them. Michael bent over a box where tender leaves uncurled on tiny, green seedlings. Jeremy smiled as Michael’s fingers moved nimbly in the dirt, carefully thinning them.
“Think they’ll make it this time?” Jeremy asked.
“They’re lookin’ good so far.” Michael replied.
Across the aisle, Mariah worked with squash and potatoes. Jon bent over the salad garden where lettuce, spinach, chard, and kale grew in a lush riot of green. After losing the first crops to their inexperience, they had read everything they could find on gardening, grow lights, and vegetables. They couldn’t afford any more mistakes.
Walking the rows, Jeremy bent his long, narrow frame to avoid the low hanging lights as he documented the crops. Then he inspected the bins that held the organic seed packets, fertilizer, and spa
re parts for the drip irrigation system. If the mice got to them, they wouldn’t have another chance. Finally, he checked the thermostats and returned to the basement.
It was a bounty. Mariah had led them to it. Before the rebellion changed everything, she had been putting herself through school and raising her daughter on her own. Needing extra cash, she had become a small time dealer. Through an acquaintance, she had met Charlie and, when they fell in love, he had shared his sanctuary – a giant, underground facility for growing marijuana inside the city. The basement was a fortress of solitude. City Hall didn’t have the plans. Power and water companies didn’t know it existed. Illegal and secret taps into the city mains fueled the enterprise.
The tunnel was the result of Charlie’s elaborate design. Since the cell had destroyed the freight elevator, there was no other entrance, unless you counted the escape tunnel that opened into an old branch off the sewer main that few knew still existed. The entrance to that tunnel was closed and locked now. Jeremy had the only key. After Charlie was killed in the second purge, Mariah had brought the cell here. It had become home.
CHAPTER 5
Behind his metal desk, Detective Ramirez rubbed his eyes. The office was his prison, the job his living hell. Sighing, he opened the file on his desk, unimpressed by its contents.
Name: Vanessa Kovalic
Race: Caucasian
Sex: Female
Age: 25
Marital Status: Ineligible
Assignment: Sorter.
Length of service: One year.
Prior: Administrative assistant
A list of questionable activities filled the dossier. Ms. Kovalic had been anti-social and did not attend approved recreational activities. He didn’t blame her for that. At best they were lame. At worst, they were mind-numbing propaganda. He avoided them, too. Skipping ahead, Ramirez looked for the cause of the investigation. On the second page, he found it. Recently, Ms. Kovalic had awarded food allotments to two injured individuals without reassignment, frequented a residence not her own, and had been seen interacting with the Fallen.
He unclipped the picture from the file jacket. Not surprisingly, Kovalic was a beautiful woman. That explained the administrative assistant job. Slipping the CD that accompanied the report out of its sleeve, he popped it into his computer. A black and white recording showed Kovalic squatting in front of a bench in Union Park, then leaving. A few minutes later a tall, black man reached under the seat and pulled out a young, white girl. The girl was naked and bruised.
Disgusted, Ramirez let the video run through twice before putting the disc back in the file. The report revealed nothing of merit. A good looking woman had a friend, compassion, and balls. What kind of crime was that? He looked at the photo again. Someone was after the woman, but he would never be allowed to find out who. Those kinds of answers were above his pay grade. Instead, he was expected to confirm she had fallen. Based on the paltry bit of evidence in the file, he didn’t think she had, but then who knew?
He glanced at the clock above the door. If he was going to talk with Kovalic’s friend, he needed to get going. Picking up his notepad, he stepped into the bright hallway and grabbed a set of car keys. Watchers weren’t required to walk the inner-city after dark.
It was quiet in the cruiser. The rebellion had silenced all forms of communication, including the radio chatter that use to fill the dead hours. The streets were empty. People no longer went out at night. Nightclubs, movie theaters, and restaurants were a thing of the past. Now, shopfront windows were boarded with gray painted plywood. On every block, huge red and white banners proclaimed the NSO slogan, “Where there is no need, there is no greed” in large, block letters.
Ramirez missed the energy, but he didn’t miss the traffic. In minutes he sped past the unmanned guard shack and into the inner-city. In the early years, the Zone had been rigorously protected. Then, after the retaliatory purges, it wasn’t. Those violent attacks had cemented the new order and few dared defy the mandates.
The absence of light outside the Zone clearly delineated the flimsy border. Here, most buildings were without electricity and only a few windows glowed where the last of the older, single adults still resided. There were no street lamps. As his headlights cut a swath through the menacing twilight, Ramirez fingered the forbidden cross hidden under his shirt and uttered a prayer.
At the Brownstone, he entered the vestibule and climbed the stairs to the second floor landing, where light was clearly visible beneath a closed door. When he knocked, Isaac Cohen opened it instantly. A warm smile creased the old man’s wrinkled face and his watery eyes twinkled as he beckoned Ramirez inside.
Ramirez hesitated. Watchers were usually greeted with fear and suspicion. Peering into the room beyond, he frowned. The loneliness of old age was evident everywhere – faded photographs adorned the walls, knickknacks covered dusty shelves, and the air was thick and cloying. Isaac ignored his confusion and reached out a hand.
“Come in, come in,” he urged.
“Thank you, Sir. I just have a few questions,”
“Only a few? Could you not make some up just to stay a little longer? I don’t get many visitors these days.”
Ramirez couldn’t help it. He returned the smile and followed the hunched, old man inside. A candle burned in a wax covered saucer on a low table. Pungent incense wafted from a large, oak desk darkened with age, and a prayer shawl was draped neatly over the back of a worn, leather chair.
“Don’t mind the mess. Without the TV, what’s an old man to do all by himself?” Isaac said, gesturing at the piles of papers and books littering the room.
“Yeah, I read more these days, too. Turns out, TV’s not something I miss.”
“Ah, yes. What we think we need is in our imagination most of the time. What do you miss, Detective?” Isaac cleared a section on the sofa for Ramirez to sit.
“I don’t know. Noise mostly. Energy. Life. The streets are too quiet for my tastes.” Ramirez sat stiffly on the edge of a cushion, his back upright.
“Can I offer you some tea?” Isaac asked.
“No. Thank you. Really, I won’t stay long. It’s just a few questions.”
“Always hurrying. That much hasn’t changed, has it Detective?”
“Sir?”
“When I was your age, the world didn’t spin quite so fast. Things took time. We took time,” Isaac said. Ramirez laughed.
“My grandmother used to say the same thing. She went to mass twice a day and prayed for hours. My mother never figured out how she managed to do that and run a household.”
“So you are a Catholic?”
“Of course not. I am an officer in the NSO.”
“Come, come my boy. The threads of our hearts are not unwoven so quickly. Catholicism and Judaism are not so different. The guilt alone would prevent us from abandoning God, don’t you think?” Isaac eased into the leather chair and held his hands over the candle. “So what questions can I answer for you?” he asked.
“I’ve been assigned to investigate Vanessa Kovalic. Can you tell me why she visits you?”
“Why? Is there ever an answer to a question that big? No, I don’t think so. If you had asked me how we knew each other that would be simple. I was her family’s rabbi. I have known her since before she was born, but as to why she keeps visiting an old man who talks too much, that, my dear boy, is something I would not dare to fathom.”
“A rabbi? The new religion must be hard on you.”
Isaac chuckled. “No, it’s not hard. It’s actually quite easy. You see, the new bible is just a symbol. It has snatches of Christianity, smatters of Islam, a dab of Taoism, and a bunch of new age nonsense. It is easy to remember and doesn’t hurt. God does not care what words we read aloud. He only hears the words in our hearts. Don’t you agree, Detective?
Ramirez didn’t respond, but sitting with someone who understood his love of God was a miracle. The old man patted Ramirez’s arm. He hadn’t been touched in so long his eyes wate
red and a wave of gratitude pushed his heart into his throat.
“I used to love being a cop,” he choked, sagging against the cushions. The rabbi stood, smiling.
“You know, my boy, I think I will make that tea after all.”
CHAPTER 6
In the shower, Vanessa could not rid her body of the filth. Rubbing her skin raw, she conjured images of her driver’s hands wielding first his belt and then his raging erection. The sour smell of his sweat clogged her nostrils. Even the scented soap could not mask its odor.
Still, the steady stream against her shoulders was calming and she stayed under it until the water ran cold. Then she stepped out onto the cool, black and white patterned tile of her bathroom floor. The water dripped into a puddle at her feet. She stared at the mirror, mesmerized by her long, wet hair and pale, sad face. She had been proud of her beauty, once.
Reaching for a towel, she slipped on the wet floor and fell. Naked on the cold tile, her thigh throbbing from the impact, she thumped her fist against the floor and howled. The tears cascading down her face did nothing to assuage her misery. Eventually, exhausted and shivering, she limped to bed.
In the morning, red-eyed and sore, she lingered at the window. Hercules had come and gone — his scrawny frame a sad reminder of her untenable life. Thinking of Isaac, her lips curled in a wan smile. What would she do without him? He had been her touchstone since her parents died and last night had been no exception. They had lit a candle, whispered an ancient prayer, and read aloud from one of the forbidden texts. His wavering voice had, again, returned a small measure of grace to her shattered soul. She shook her head, willing away the memory of her driver’s violent lust, and vowed to be more careful.