After Hope Dies

by Lilly Haraden

  ‘Scuse me?’ says the man as he comes in beside the little girl. J gives back a smile and Baxter thinks that she may be trying to impress him. Leaning over the arm of the sofa, girl scoops up a big picture book from the floor; Bax is about to question the validity of reading a picture story out loud at her age but notices the script and closes his mouth. J explains, ‘I’m learning as much as I can from school, but I can’t make out lots of these Chinese words...’

  ‘Well,’ Bax says as he takes hold of the story book, ‘Lucky for you I’m fluent.’

  J claps her hands together. ‘I knew you’d be!’

  ‘Sorry kid, I’m pulling your leg. Just squiggles to me.’

  ‘Aww.’

  Not wanting to let that sad look linger on the child’s face one moment longer, Bax tries, ‘Well, we can make up a story as we go, can’t we?’

  ‘Mm, mm.’

  ‘Ok, let’s see.’

  Two whopping cranes adorn the cover. Maybe they’re two sisters flying the length of the world, only resting in this swampland of oozing black water and starry nights. So Bax concludes, ‘We got the story here of two sisters on the run from the law. They’re wanted in all jurisdictions for the crime of thieving the Queen’s Jewels.’

  ‘Ooooooo.’

  Page 1: Snowy landscape, the two sisters dancing over a frozen pond with flakes of pure silver flowing gently from the sky. Sort of like where Baxter and Macey drove past on their way to Manitoba, right Bax? The man nods, hums, and says, with matching character voices (Key and Peele, for instance), ‘Ok, so here’s Themla. Thelma be sayen, “Bitch” – ooo, there’s gon be some bad words in this story, don’t tell daddy, okay Jacky? – So Themla says, “Bitch it’s freezin out here, why we gotta dance all over this frozen lake.”

  “Sorry, Louise, it’s just what I do, you know. I’m a crane, I can’t help it. I dance. It’s what we’re made for.”

  “You got the jewels, though, right?”

  “The jewels?”

  “Yeah, I gave you the jewels on our last stopover.”

  “Uh…”

  “Did…did you lose the rubies?”

  “We had rubies? I thought we had sapphires?”

  “Bitch, you serious? Well, where the sapphires at?”

  “I thought you had the sapphires.”’

  Jacqueline laughs behind her hand as if this is the funniest shit she’s ever seen before. God, kids are amazing. Right up until they get bored of your story and pick up the Nintendo controller with a knowing glint in their eye. That’s when the fear of God slithers through Baxter, as Smash Bros loads up (epic theme music plays) and he realises he’s about to have his ass handed to him by a nine year old.

  I’d better not describe the carnage that happens next. Rest in peace, Mr. Game and Watch. You didn’t deserve to die like that.

  All tuckered out now. Little one rests her head against the three-hundred thread count pillow and peeps at Baxter as he waves from the door, closes it just the right amount with the warm hall light slipping through the crack. Dylan’s in the dining room where they left dinner; the man nods to Bax as he comes in, says, ‘Mary’s not home til much later. Stay and help me.’

  Baxter says as he takes a seat, ‘I hate myself.’

  Dylan doesn’t reply, just waits for his brother to get comfortable, to find his words as the man shakes his head a little and finds: ‘Shit. What sick turn of events does life throw at you to end up here and not twenty stories high in a Shit Stack.’

  Sardonic: ‘The grace of God.’

  ‘Fuck God.’

  ‘Fuck God indeed. But that doesn’t get us closer to fixing things.’

  ‘I dropped that girl – the girl trapped in the room – I dropped her home tonight and felt guilty for not seeing her upstairs, safe. Instead, I should have felt guilty for rescuing her at all and trapping her inside my web to profit off.’

  ‘“Girl needs to work, though”.’

  ‘Girl needs to work.’ Baxter muses cold, ‘How many policy drafts does it take for me to wipe myself clean?’

  ‘As many as you think it does,’ and the man slides his Shandian pad across the table. ‘Read it. Don’t come complaining to me when you realise the consequences of the path you chose.’

  Baxter nods and reads the abstract of his brother’s paper, hoping to divine some sort of retribution in the art of Single Transfer Voting.

  Mistake #6 – The Dead Man

  What caused the divergence between brother and brother? Could Bax have ended up in one of these picture perfect White houses had he stayed the honourable course during college? Could he too be the owner of a BMW SUV with tinted windows and automatic reverse parking had he chosen to go into the firms and practises instead of sliding sideways into social work? What would have happened if Bax had refused Chell’s offer to come and help with legals at the Front Door? What would have happened if Baxter hadn’t got it into his head that he could double Chell’s efforts and put his money where his mouth was – to run a legal practise and remove some of the negative utility in this world?

  What would have happened if Baxter hadn’t wrapped the Carpet Ride around the traffic pole between fifteen and third that night three years ago? Would he and Macey have settled down and bought a house on top of the Power Down slope and squirted out a little black baby like his brother? Would he have missed the whole section of his life where he encounters the supernatural and plucks his dying girlfriend’s soul from her mouth to forge her into a shadow of memory?

  Beside him, and in his memory, Macey replies, “Life is one fucked up party, Baxter Monae.”

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘But on the balance of things, I’d say you’re doin’ pretty well.’

  He doesn’t remember her saying that before. Bax looks into the heart of the shadow on the passenger seat but there’s only the blind-spot smudge of the spirit over the traffic-light stained leather. Buzzing away. Nothing. Off they go again. Where? Here. This place between his brother’s home and the Magic Carpet Ride. It’s a little street that the locals often mistake as quiet, but Baxter knows the pattern of traffic better than anyone else.

  He parks the car beside the streetlight where, not three years ago, that drunk fool lost control of his X6, veered across the median and T-boned Baxter’s car right up against this metal stalk. Man peers outside the window and sees the whole thing replayed fresh over his mind. Macey crumpled and folded over herself like a piece of paper, vertically pressed, head lolling against the glass. Blood everywhere – double ruby splashes of leather and life. Bax murmurs now, ‘I told you to get your damn feet of the dash.’

  The shadow beside him turns to inspect the place where it died and murmurs back, ‘Ain’t no one gon tell me what to do in my place of pride.’

  ‘Pride got you killed.’

  ‘And what bought me back to life?’

  ‘Most of my soul. And a promise to a very powerful daemon.’ Bax reaches over into the backseat and pulls out a dried bunch of flowers he picked up the previous morning. Brittle and just a tad stale, the lily petal feels like sandpaper under his finger now. With eyes on the gift, he says to the shadow, ‘Do you even care that I leave flowers?’

  ‘Hell no.’

  Bax laughs and chucks the useless plant genitals over his shoulder, says, ‘Let’s get goin, then. Got an important meeting with the daemon that saved your life.’

  And so, they drive. (Good time for “Drive Slow” by Kanye West – but only if you have money leftover in the budget).

  The Magic Carpet Ride’s in the last hours of business by the time he arrives back at his domain. Parking’s no trouble when you have your own fold-down security box. Bax steps into the crisp night, watches his shadow disappear into the bricks of the brothel, then folds the car away to hidden safety. The man notes with a hint of pride that most of his clientele choose their rides with care. Audis, Great Walls, Mercs, Lotus. Shit. He’d better hire an extra security deuce or two to stand guard and protect the merchandise. Still
, given the number of cops who come here to fuck children, it’s no surprise that nothing ever gets vandalised or stolen. And fencing hot cars like these is practically suicide – rich people will lean on the cops and you’ll find your sorry ass in jail before you can even start filing off the engine serial numbers. That’s the power of building solid connections within your community, Baxter.

  Could also go a ways to explaining why Fritzy always looks so bored. His bouncer gives him a look by the back door. Hands deep in pockets, eyes askance, as if he’s about to refuse entry to the boss of this place.

  ‘Evening, Fritzy.’

  ‘You not from this earth, Baxter Monae. I see what you be doin on the Aqua level. Either you hackin, you payin for time-down crystals, or you unnatural.’

  Baxter slaps his friend on the shoulder. ‘Keep practising, good things will come.’

  Good things will come to those who work hard.

  Like the club. All of this didn’t just spring up overnight, no. Magic Carpet Ride took time and effort, money and bribes and connections, the capital to buy the warehouse, the insane amount of help and altruism that Chell displayed when she helped co-establish this paradise. And see how it’s paid off – the place is jumping for a Thursday. People swill around the 1 AM glow of this world having the fucking time of their lives, but the pleasure here isn’t simple hedonism. It’s real escape. The patrons escape their troubles, the girls escape dying, and everyone has a nice, clean time. Baxter stops at the mezzanine rail and looks down at the stage where Janelle dances. Oh, the men love her, this pint-sized snack of fluid motion and electricity. She loves the men in return. And everyone has a nice, clean time.

  Baxter heads to his office. Tomorrow’s plan: meet with the PD chief and allocate a discount for the beat cops in return for a reduction in the license fee and expedited protection orders for his patrons and girls. Meet with the school district official to convince that stuffy fucker that children don’t in fact need algebra and black history month and chemistry – what they need is flexible school hours so they can work in the night and sleep in so they don’t fall asleep in class and then at work. Meet with the reverend and get him to stop preaching hellfire and brimstone from the pulpit against the child sinners, remind him that Jesus himself used to help the wicked and poor and slutty. Etc etc etc. On it goes. On and on and on.

  The man slips inside his cosy world of shadows, shuts the thick door tight and all sound from the club filter-cuts to dead silence. The single shadow of his former girlfriend comes to him with a pre-popped soda, which Bax takes with a nod of the head and sips light. Jacket off. Shoes off. Ass on the sofa and eyes closed, shutting away the sight of his girlfriend bee-buzzing about, working hard for him, gathering whispers and secrets. If only he had an army of them to help out.

  This is Bax’s favourite part of the day. Let’s count the mistakes he’s made, in reverse order:

  Mistake # 5: Ingratiating himself into his brother’s life to absolve himself from the moral responsibility for operating a child brothel. Jacquelin would do well to stay away from her nasty, corrupt uncle, unless she wants to get some unforgettable work experience that’ll probably ruin her for life.

  Mistake # 4: Going to the Back Door and stealing one of their clients leaves a bad taste in the community’s mouth. He shouldn’t have been so flippant about taking (even through legal means) someone else’s property. Afro Bitch will remember this.

  Mistake # 3: Maple doesn’t need a new job, and yet Bax has successfully enslaved her into his service on the promise that he can take the pain away from Mistake # 4 and substitute it into the slut.

  Mistake # 3.5: On that topic, Treasure may have been using the ‘ice’ inside of her to protect herself from any abuse she may be suffering outside of the club. Does Bax really know the specifics of her circumstances to pre-empt her situation so? Who is he to declare that he knows what is best for that girl?

  Mistake #2: The Mayor doesn’t take kindly to being threatened.

  Mistake #1: He should have taken on that plain white girl – the shit dancer. Anyone can suck dick if they have a mouth. Bax could have saved her life.

  Mistake #0: He shouldn’t have been so hasty to resurrect the spirit of his girlfriend. Some debts cannot be paid in EUS poly alone.

  Baxter feels something cold wedge itself into the crook of his neck. That little sound – the betrayal of metal – as the gun’s hammer breaks the silence of the room. Baxter opens his eyes and sees his girlfriend’s shadow with her eyes fixed upon him and whatever it is that’s behind him. So the man takes a good sip of his soda, stands carefully, all the while feeling the cold training eye of the metal barrel against his skin. The man sighs. Decides that he needs to face the consequences of his actions, and so turns.

  To find Dani.

  Dani. Standing there all confident behind the couch, gunpoint now trained upwards to some place between Baxter’s eyes. A cold look besets her face, her sea hair so still like an ocean frozen in time. Leathers, confidence, steel. A monster coming to collect what is owed to them for sustaining the memory of Baxter’s lover. Baxter raises his arms out just a little to indicate surrender. With his voice only just scraping by his throat, he murmurs, ‘The sad thing is, I can’t tell who you are. Not until you open your mouth and say something. Or say nothing. Dead Man, Daniella. I hope it’s not you, my friend. But either way, the fact that I’m seeing you in my final few seconds on this planet brings me a great deal of pain.’

  Dani says nothing, moves not. Baxter sighs with a bit of relief, continues, ‘I hope that Dani can fill my shoes when I’m gone. So many people’s lives depend on it.’

  Dani says nothing, moves not.

  ‘Ok, I’m ready.’

  And the woman pulls the trigger. Three bullets fire in an automatic round, three meteors that cut canyons through Baxter Monae’s skull. The soda bottle shatters against the office floor as the ghostly shadow screams and scatters and cries and wails…

  In answer to Baxter’s question from before, this is what he sees when he dies:

  A beautiful world opens up right before him – a celestial place framed in the archway created by two whopping cranes. Into the portal of their wings, he is sucked. His soul untethers and the universe accelerates into every colour and sound until the stars and shapes of the universe resolve into a mural. Much like the Shit Stack painting, but a better version. Something vertical and multidimensional. Every creature swims free in this good place, every being of light finds a quiet home in this heaven. The man looks down at his hands but they are wings. He is a bird now.

  ‘Baxter?’

  The man looks to his right and sees a familiar face. Lover. She is a bird now. Close now, she nuzzles into his side – so warm! My god – and whispers into his ear, ‘You and I ain’t done just yet.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Got some business to attend to on Earth. Hope, Despair, that sort of thang.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  So together, they take flight.

  Story 5:

  Thank you, Daniela, for everything you have done for us

  María, llena eres de gracia

  It’s been a full week since the incident with young Yi-Ting. For Dani, the days have come and gone without ease. For something stirs deep inside her: a pestering and festering concern. It rouses her from unready sleep in the morning, and as she wakes to the milky grey pre-sun no-light, she finds the monster has returned to her mind. No, not a supernatural entity (of which she has seen plenty in recent times). This is an internal disquiet. Naked, she slithers from her tiny bed and uses two fingers to prise open the blinds. It is still dark. There’s the middle of Chinatown; there’s Market; there’s the Golden Gate Bridge (I guess. Five minutes with Auntie Google told me that her part of town is a little dicey and fits nicely with the timbre of her story’s expectations. Or…if she squints, she can make out the rolling factories and smokestacks of Detroit.) Blink. Nowhere. Dani rubs her eyes but has no clue where she is
or how life has spun the events that led up to this point in time. She blinks again and Mong Kok spreads out before her, silver and green with the black of neon signs unlit, sticking to the sides of those pencil-thin towers. But focus now. Dani, are you listening?

  Here’s what the monster tells her: you’ve got a big day of work ahead of you, performing a job that is starting to wear your ethical fibre very thin. Spooky monster, no?

  As she finds the cold seat of her toilet, Dani contemplates the trigger: Yi-Ting. Desperation in such a young creature, underpinned by love for another. Dani was used to desperation – take Janelle as the prime example of her exploitation. But maybe this was different by degree, by the sheer potential of wasted opportunity. A mogul’s daughter teetering on the brink of a life that she could not recant or undo…The weight of it felt much stronger than what she was used to. Why? Because she was rich and all the girls before her were not? Because she was Chinese and Janelle is a third-tier nigga?

  You played a part in this, Dani. Or, indeed, were to play a part as the facilitator and recruiter. But as long as you can spin desperation into dollars…

  Sigh deep. Dani brushes her teeth and checks the ocean colour scheme of her hair. She needs more dye. Hand on the breast, praying to god they never sag lest she require perking surgery. Dresses quiet, does up her boots in silent contemplation. ToastyPops spinning in the microwave, jelly and sugar on the lips. Tasteless like most of the food in this fucked up, corrupt, senseless twelve-year-old country.

  Time to work. Leave your convictions at the door, sweet girl, lock them tight. Because the only way you can live and earn and make a life for yourself is by burying these thoughts. Indeed, that fridge, that solar block, that shower, that bed and television and the food and bills and insurance all come down to you forgetting that what you do hurts people.