High Tech / Low Life: An Easytown Novels Anthology

by Brian Parker

  “Manuel. What’s your game, here? Are you trying to prove something to Carlos? That you’re tougher than him; that you’re in charge of the two of you? Or are you trying to impress me with your bravado? Trying to show me that you’re some mind of a mensch, and that I need you working for me because I need another pair of balls swinging between the legs of my empire?”

  Manny stopped his forward advance and tried to answer Saul, but couldn’t find a clever or imposing way to do it. Before he said anything, Saul started talking again.

  “This is Easytown, Manuel Castaneda, father of two. I don’t run Easytown, but I run enough of it to walk around without fear. I’ve worked very hard for years to put myself in this place, and very little impresses me more than people who are professional.”

  Manny remained silent.

  “That’s good, you’re learning. Professionals listen to people who know more than them. Professionals know that ladies like Dolores here will put three holes in their chest if they can’t toe the goddamn line,” Saul growled. After an awkward pause long enough for Manny to look over at Dolores and her humming energy weapon, Saul continued with a smile. “Perfect. Now, you two have a job to do for me tonight because they don’t make robots cheap enough for me to buy to do it.”

  “What do you need, Boss?” Carlos asked, palms raised.

  “There’s a storage container coming in on a ship at midnight tonight. That container is very valuable, and a little illegal. We are delivering the container on a flatbed to an address not far from here, parking it, and leaving it there. You’ll be going home after that, and forgetting everything about it.”

  “That’s it?” Both Manny and Carlos asked him in sync.

  “That’s what we do here, gentlemen. We bring things in on boats in ways the authorities don’t realize, and we bring those things to the people that wanted them brought. We don’t kill anyone, we don’t make the news. We do all that, and we do it professionally, for a reasonable price.”

  “What do we do if the cops show up?” Carlos asked.

  “You know nothing. You’re no more culpable in the committing of a crime than a delivery man dropping off a package. As long as you keep your mouths shut, and play dumb, the worst you’ll suffer is a brief detainment.”

  “What’s in it for us?” Manny asked.

  “I’m glad you asked, Manuel,” Saul said. “Because were it not for your own personal enrichment, why else would you embark on a life of crime?”

  “For the fun of it?” Manny offered.

  “I’ll explain what a rhetorical question is next week,” Saul said. “I am paying you for three things tonight; I am paying for your physical labor to load the container onto the truck. I am paying for your ability to ensure that the correct container is lost from our records and placed on the truck for delivery, and I am paying you for your silence, both if you’re arrested, and forever more after regarding anything illicit you do for me.”

  “So what’s in it for us?” Manny reiterated.

  Saul sighed. “Five hundred. To each of you.”

  “That’s it?” Manny asked. “You want our eternal loyalty for that? I don’t think so. You can leker my tokhis.”

  Saul erupted in laughter, clapping his leather gloved hands over and over and walking in circles, overcome with Manny’s comment. After he regained his composure with a deep breath he walked near the stiff Dolores and patted her on the rump. She didn’t respond to the gesture.

  “What’s funny?” Manny asked.

  “Stop, Manny. Don’t insult Mr. Goldstein,” Carlos said.

  “It’s okay, Carlos. He was just attempting to use my language against me, and for that, mazel tov to Manuel. And Manuel, this is what you will get paid for the jobs you do for me, each time. I am committing to you, so you will commit to me. Sound good?”

  “Each job…?” Manny said, chewing on the thought. “That sounds like good work.”

  “And benefits, of course,” Saul added. “Access to my medical resources, discounts at the Show ‘n Tail—”

  “I’m in,” Manny blurted.

  “It was the benefits?” Saul asked, amused.

  “The Show ‘n Tail club is my favorite. I have one of their customer cards. One more punch and I get free anal from the robots for life,” Manny said, proud of his achievement.

  “Well I will see to it you get that punch, if this job gets done,” Saul said. “Questions?”

  “What boat are we looking for? What’s the container number?” Carlos asked.

  “See, those are professional questions. That’s why I came to you, Carlos. You ask the right questions,” Saul said, rubbing his black gloved hands together. “You’ll get a message around eight tonight with all the pertinent details written in code. Manuel, you’ll receive the cipher for that code. Together, the two of you will be able to decipher the message and get the job done.”

  “Alright,” Carlos said. “It’s an honor, Mr. Goldstein. I’m thankful for this opportunity.”

  “I know you are, Carlos. Your wife wouldn’t have sent a message to me asking for it if your family didn’t need it,” Saul said. “I’m a family man. All about the tribe.”

  Carlos nodded.

  “And you,” Saul said to Manny. “You show me you’re a professional, and I’ll make you part of my family, my tribe.”

  “Yeah. I will,” Manny replied.

  Saul started to turn away and froze as his eyes caught sight of where the garbage from the two men’s lunch sat. He sighed.

  “What’s this? Opfal?”

  “It’s our trash, Mr. Goldstein. From lunch while we waited,” Carlos explained.

  “Well clean it up,” Saul ordered. “I don’t pay you to litter on my fucking wharf.” He strode back to the limo, and stopped before ducking in the open door. He pointed at the container for Manny’s lunch. “That’s a good sushi truck.” He disappeared into the limo, and his silent, professional bodyguard slid in behind him.

  The limo backed away, slipping around the corner in reverse.

  “Robot driver? He’s got the money for one, I guess,” Carlos said.

  “Yeah, he’s a Jew, whatta you expect?”

  “Manny, please, what if he has a drone listening?”

  “He won’t be surprised, and hey, I told you about that sushi,” Manny said. “It’s good.”

  The sun had set, and the smog had disappeared into the orange, caustic haze of the New Orleans night sky, but the heat of the summer hadn’t gone away. The humidity stuck around too.

  Robot-controlled tugboats guided the Dutch freighter right up the wharf with the precision Manny and Carlos had come to expect. More robot-controlled boats and drones escorted the freighter, but these were armed and blistered over with sensors to protect the billion-dollar boat. More robots operated the gear to tie off the enormous boat, and even more robots running the cranes began to unload coded containers from the ship. Humans were an afterthought, it seemed.

  The boat hadn’t been in New Orleans for ten minutes before the precious goods on it were hitting the concrete. Manny and Carlos—in a very untraditional change in protocol—boarded the ship to find their treasure. They found it right where Saul’s decoded message told them it would be. Perched at the very aft of the craft, right atop the highest port stack.

  Right near the “disabled” crane Saul told them to use to unload it.

  “Go get the crane up and running. I’ll watch this and make sure no one tries to move it,” Carlos said to Manny. Manny took off to handle the task. Carlos held the dock master kill switch for the automated cranes. If one tried to pick up Saul’s special shipment, he’d hit the power, and the whole dock would grind to a halt until he got the plan back on track and turned it all back on. He who held the switch… The one switch to rule them all….

  Carlos smiled. He’d only ever held the master like this once, and it was when the foreman who hired him had to go home sick after eating food truck sushi.

  His phone rang in his pocket. He
answered it.

  “I’m ready,” Manny said. “Heads up.”

  A warning klaxon blared, and a powerful thrum shook the ground of the dockyard.

  Carlos turned and looked at the gargantuan iron scaffolding that held the cranes that hung over the docked freighter. The yellowed, rusting steel frame dwarfed the leviathan boat docked beneath it. He found the egg-shaped glass canopy where Manny sat, and watched as the experienced man guided the bright yellow monster over the boat. Like a giant crane descending into a pit of toys the wide machine found and gripped the shipping container. Carlos watched as Manny’s tool lifted the thousands of pounds of steel and cargo a hundred feet into the air without effort or strain. The freight transporter was but one of four of the same devices, all doing their own dance. Up and down, back and forth, left and right, one and two.

  Carlos left the deck of the massive boat and trotted over the gangplank to the cement shore. He kept up his pace until he reached the semi they’d be using for the container. The engine turned over and started the moment he sat in the car and put his hand on the antiquated shifter. The employee chip in his wrist was responsible for that. Mr. Goldstein was responsible for the truck that couldn’t be tracked.

  He spun the wheel and shifted the archaic diesel into first, then guided the smoke billowing beast below the crane Manny operated. He let the robot guidance in the dash align the truck with the optimal placement for the crane, and waited for Manny to let his guidance system do the same. In under a minute the enormous, rusty box landed on the semi’s frame with a metallic groan. Carlos felt the truck bob and settle under the weight of it.

  He went to call Manny—to tell him to get his ass down off the crane—but he saw his partner exiting the pod far above and heading towards the ladder to get down. He got in the passenger side and slammed the door.

  “Yeah, hijo de puta! Let’s go. Leave this box of shit where we’re supposed to and go home,” Manny said, clapping his hands in jubilation.

  Carlos put the truck in drive. “You already counting your money?”

  “Nah, man. I’m thinking of that sex bot ass I’m getting on the way home,” he grabbed at the crotch of his jeans. “Gonna get that card punched and enjoy all my hard work.”

  “Hard work?” Carlos snickered. “You fucking androids is not hard work.”

  “I break a sweat every time,” Manny said. “So who are you to tell me it isn’t hard work?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Act natural at the gate. All the dudes in security might not be in on this,” Carlos said as he downshifted. They rounded the corner of a massive stack of containers and saw the three squat buildings by the gate. One on each side of the roads in and out, and one between. Steel gates thick enough to stop a runaway semi blocked the road, and just in case anyone wanted to try their luck with that idea, laser emitters shot invisible beams of energy across the gap. The gate may fall, but any intruders would get a million watt trim at the neck and ankles on the lasers. Armed guards, sniffer drones, and even an armored personnel carrier with a turret-mounted heavy pulse blaster clustered around the area. The man behind that gun spun the turret to face them as they approached. They heard the heavy weapon power up with a faint, trilling hum.

  Two dry mouths appeared in the cab of the truck.

  Carlos stopped at the gatehouse and pulled his ID off his chest to hand to the guard. Instead of taking it, the guard simply held up the chip scanner. Carlos let his left arm drop and the helmet-wearing guard in the black armor waved the wand over his wrist. The device beeped, and the security guard consulted a small screen mounted on his inner wrist.

  “Carlos Montenegra?” he asked.

  “Si,” Carlos responded.

  “Head on through,” the guard said and made a moment of eye contact.

  He knew. He didn’t even scan the box they were hauling, or ask for their shipping manifest info. All things he should’ve. All things Saul said were taken care of.

  Carlos put the truck in drive when the massive gates powered aside, and when the red warning lights on the side of the lasers changed to green, he slid the truck forward and through the gap. They entered the surface streets of Easytown. Carlos heard a metallic click in the cab. When he looked over at Manny, he saw his friend had produced a pistol from nowhere. It was an antique. Blued steel.

  “What? Where the Hell did you get that?”

  “It’s mine,” Manny said, tucking the automatic into his waistband and adjusting his shirt over it. “So what?”

  “If Mr. Goldstein finds out you brought a gun on this job, he’s gonna have Dolores turn you into a slice of Swiss cheese,” Carlos said. He huffed in anger and slammed the steering wheel. “What the fuck, man?”

  “Relax. There’s no reason why I’ll need it, right?” Manny said, ignoring his friend’s distress.

  “Then why’d you bring it?”

  “Insurance?”

  “Against what?”

  “Theft,” Manny said, and shrugged.

  “Manny, I need this money. I need this job. I need this to go perfect. I have a wife and kids, man. I need them to be taken care of,” Carlos was furious, and afraid. “Don’t fuck this up for me. I need to get my family out of Easytown, and this is my ticket. You shoulda told me about the gun.”

  “Relax. Relax,” Manny said, huffing in frustration. “I got kids too.”

  They drove in silence as they filtered through the wider access roads that led to the highway. They passed a few dozen hookers, just as many wasted addicts, and a few dealers surrounded by their own armed guards. Everyone scowled at them as they drove by. They were the image of legal commerce. State and city-blessed success. Clean living. Taxable living.

  At least on the surface. Then again maybe the locals scowled because they knew exactly how much contraband passed through the lasers of the dock’s gates. Manny and Carlos weren’t afraid of the scowls; they got them every day on the way in and out of work.

  Carlos got them on the highway and pointed west towards Baton Rouge. They didn’t have far to go. They were headed towards one of the few remaining private estates between the two cities. They passed the miles in silence until Manny turned the satellite radio on. Classic electronic blared out. Something too fast and too old for Carlos, but the music bought him protection from Manny’s idiocy. He let the bleats and tones rattle on, and wished for better music on the ride home.

  He saw the exit number he’d committed to memory, thumbed on the directional, and pulled them off. The house was only a mile off the highway. The neighborhood was… opulent.

  “Look at this dump,” Manny said. “How do people live like this?”

  The house they were heading to had an ornate brick and mortar wall ten feet high surrounding it. High as the wall was, the home inside the compound could still be seen. Five, maybe six stories of elegant black wood and white plaster rose up until it dominated the skyline. Japanese in its architecture, the palace looked fit for a king.

  “We’re supposed to leave the truck here. Right at the gate,” Carlos said as he pulled off onto the shoulder. “Two guys are supposed to—”

  As the truck slowed, two lumbering hulks stepped into view from near the home’s driveway. Entirely unlike Saul’s Dolores the two armored brutes carried traditional carbines across their chests. Security like this wasn’t uncommon within driving distance of the city. The wealthy spared no expense to maintain their safety and their wealth. Manny went for his waistband where his pistol was tucked away.

  “Stop, we’re expecting them. Leave your musket be,” Carlos warned. Manny listened, and the truck came to a stop. “Don’t say anything, alright? Like Saul said. Just get out, and walk away.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, pissed.

  Carlos opened the cab door and the truck’s engine retired automatically. Manny did the same and the two men hit the ground. They walked on the crunchy gravel to the rear of the truck, heading back in the direction they came. Manny strutted, humming, happy as a pig in shit that the job was don
e. When they were 50 feet off the back of the container, Carlos slowed a bit, and Manny pulled away, singing a song to himself. They walked like this for a minute or two before Carlos called out to his friend.

  “Manny,” he said.

  Manny turned and looked at Carlos, grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Carlos squeezed the trigger of the pistol he’d been given and a sharp crack split the night. Manny doubled over and fell to the ground, clutching at his midsection.

  “I’m sorry, el hermano, but someone had to take the fall for this. Mr. Goldstein’s orders,” Carlos said, and shot his friend once more in the head. Job done, he fished his phone back out and dialed a number he’d received in a separate message earlier in the night.

  “Are we done?” Saul said as soon as he picked up.

  “Goods are on the side of the road. Manuel is taken care of.”

  “Good. Perfect. Customs will love this take down. It’ll cool the heat we’ve been taking. Head back to the house. The guards have a car I want to give to you.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Goldstein, sir.”

  “And Carlos?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Goldstein?”

  “Welcome to the Dock Tribe.”

  ABOUT CHRIS PHILBROOK

  Chris Philbrook is the creator and author of Adrian’s Undead Diary, Colony Lost, The Reemergence, and the fantasy world of Elmoryn.

  Chris has several years of experience working in game development and editing as well as writing fiction for several major game design companies. He has a business degree as well as a psychology degree.

  Chris has authored eight novels in the horror/post-apocalyptic series Adrian’s Undead Diary, as well as three urban fantasy novels in The Reemergence series, Colony Lost, and three dark fantasy novels in The Kinless Trilogy. He has also edited two anthologies, and has had numerous short stories published in the horror world.

  Chris calls the wonderful state of New Hampshire his home. He is an avid reader, writer, role player, miniatures game player, video game player, husband, and father to a little girl with another on the way.