Stories About Corn

by Ri, Xesin

  “Hurry up!” he yelled. “It’s freezing.” He jumped back around and started walking away from her before she even gained ten feet on the gap between them.

  Her eyes began looking around, instincts dulled by drugs and alcohol were flipping on. There was plenty of light. A little bit of snow was still on the edges of the sidewalks where it hadn’t been shoveled. Black roads were dusted white with dried salt or sand or whatever the newest snow melting chemical concoction might be. A few coffee shops were open on the streets behind them. A few parked cars were clean and dry. Lights were still on in apartments up to the left and the right. Bars were full of cold-day drinkers looking to warm up with a whiskey, a story and some old friends.

  “What’s your deal?” shouted No-bit with a sudden burst of rage.

  “What?” she asked.

  He stopped and talked loudly as she caught up. “You know that we need to be smart and lay low, right?”

  “Lay low?”

  “You can’t spend the money yet. You’ve got to be careful, even among friends, especially among friends. Governments don’t like anarchists. And governments don’t like hackers and free thinkers. What we are doing is for the good of this nation and the world. We are the doers. We are the hungry. We are the energy that keeps the lights on. And we are the warriors who fight for the information when royalty from around the world, oligarchies and other liars steal and devour like they own all the rest of us, devouring what they don’t even need.”

  It sounded right, but Raewyn had no idea what he was talking about.

  “And here you are, Raewyn, buying prescription drugs and alcohol like there isn’t a thing in the world to worry about. Do you even know we aren’t headed for the train?”

  “I thought we were taking a different way?”

  “Great, Raewyn. We are partners in this, partners. We need to protect each other. We are safe if we keep our heads up. We are not going to the train because Dirty-bite gave us his car keys. We are going to the garage where it is parked. Am I talking slow enough? Yes, good. Now, lift up those feet, I don’t care if your feet hurt in those ridiculous boots—“

  “They don’t,” she answered as he started walking again.

  “Well, awesome, a girl whose feet aren’t being destroyed by her shoes. That’s the first miracle. We just need two more to make you a saint.”

  No-bit sped up again. “C’mon,” he called out. “We are in the open. We need to get to that garage.”

  Raewyn tried to keep up, but No-bit just got farther and farther away. Her feet still didn’t hurt, but her calves and thighs were on fire. She wanted to sit down right where she was, but No-bit was probably right about the fact someone might be watching or following them. There really might be some shadowy enemy.

  Ahead, No-bit entered a door into the parking garage. She hustled up the last few yards to the door and got inside.

  It was cold inside the garage, but without the wind, it was a million times better inside. No-bit stood a-ways from the stairway entrance.

  The dirty concrete floor, the dirty concrete walls, the dirty steel railing, and the dirty steel door—even it was painted a dirty old brown—disgusted Raewyn.

  “Watch the glass,” said No-bit rounding the concrete and steel railing. “We’re two levels down,” he said as he walked down the stairs calling up to her. “Keep that butt moving.”

  Raewyn looked down at the shattered glass. She had thought of brown beer glass when No-bit warned her, but the glass on the floor wasn’t brown but was many different colors of glass. There were reds, greens, blues and some clear pieces too. There even appeared to be gold on the floor, little flecks from a broken bottle of Goldschlager was most likely. She blinked back some old, unhappy thoughts and stepped gently and carefully past the broken glass trying to hurry-up and catch up to No-bit.

  Down the stairs, she was following a nervous man, who was acting strange, into an unknown location made of concrete and lit poorly by cheap old lights; one light even flickered and died out like the cliché-foreshadowing scenes in horror movies.

  A heavy door opened and shut somewhere down below.

  She walked down to the door and opened it onto the second sub-level.

  “Was it that hard to avoid that glass?” said No-bit before Raewyn could even make it through the doorway.

  “The colors reminded me of a dress I loved when I was younger.”

  “How high are you? Women. We are in—You know what? Just follow me and walk faster. We are at the end to the left just over there by the top of the down ramp. Right where Dirty-bite said it would be.”

  “Excuse me,” said a quiet male voice.

  No-bit and Raewyn stopped and looked to the sound.

  The man was large, and he wore a long black coat, matte finish, weather-resistant. His face was white and fat and difficult to remember. His hands were out. He held a manila envelope down near his crotch, both hands latched firmly to it creating a poor “U.” “Are you still selling those ADD documents?”

  Raewyn was frozen and staring at the man’s puffy face.

  No-bit looked down the ramp behind the man who stood at the top of it. Then he looked behind himself and then to Dirty-bite’s car.

  “How much do you have there?” asked No-bit

  “I thought we were going to negotiate. I’ve heard you negotiate. And since the information has already been sold to several sources, I think I am entitled to paying less since I will not be the first, fair?”

  “Sure, we can negotiate. Five grand.”

  “Huh. What should I call you?”

  “You can call me No-bit. Do you have the five thousand with you?”

  “I heard this information was going to be free in just a few hours.”

  “That’s right. And if you know that then you must really need this information.”

  “True. Will it do me any good?”

  “Maybe, h. h. corn, people, places and laws are all talked about. Still five grand.”

  “You’re a quick one. When did you learn to negotiate?”

  “Last month. Five grand. You need it now or you can wait?”

  Another man came around a corner at the bottom of the ramp.

  “Who’s your friend? By the way who are you?”

  “That—that man is my associate, Mr. Taft. I am Mr. Jackson,” he said without taking a look down the ramp. “What do you mean you learned to negotiate last month?”

  “I’ve been selling this thing for us. I had a guy give me some trouble.”

  “Ray Synad,” chimed in Raewyn.

  The name was like a bitter wind passing over Mr. Jackson.

  “Oh yeah, his name was Ray Synad. He made some good points. Got me thinking. Really messed with us both. Bit of an asshole.”

  “Should you be telling me the name of your buyers?” asked Mr. Jackson.

  “He told us to tell anyone who tried to buy this information. That nut actually paid us to tell everyone else who tried to buy this document.”

  “He paid you to tell your buyers his name?”

  Mr. Jackson let go of the envelope with his right hand letting the left and right fall to his sides. Raewyn saw his right hand turn, slightly, so that the palm was facing directly behind him. She saw a flash inside of a car at the bottom of the ramp. She wasn’t sure if someone was in there or if she’d seen anything. She was still not back to herself from all the chemicals running around in her system, playing upon the strings of her brain.

  “Yeah,” continued No-bit. “He was quite clear about it.”

  “That’s incredible. And very unexpected.”

  “Do you know Mr. Synad?” asked No-bit.

  “I know of him. What did he look like?”

  “Short, an old-ass midget,” said No-bit.

  “Anything else?”

  “He talked a lot, like a woman—I thought he might be a faggot at first.”

  Mr. Jackson narrowed his eyes. “Interesting. I’ve made a lot of misjudgments. I would not have thou
ght you would have said that, Mr. Lund.”

  “Excuse me.”

  “Mr. Lund, it’s your name. An anarchist who wants his version of freedom and an open society by any means necessary, who doesn’t tolerate difference.”

  “I don’t care about that. I just didn’t like the guy. He’s exactly the type of person I’m working against. You know, superior assholes who think they run the world, and their henchmen, like you.”

  “Good enough. About that document.”

  “Why did you call me Lund?”

  “You are Mr. Todd “No-bit” Lund,” said Mr. Jackson.

  “Have you been following us?” asked Raewyn.

  The man smiled and leaned to his left until he came to rest against one of the huge gray concrete supports of the parking structure. “We had a whole list of countries and groups. And, due to the level of sophistication and dedication, we never really thought we would end up finding an anarchist-hacker group were the people at the end of the hunt. And yet, here we really are. But I do want to buy that information.”

  “I asked if you’ve been following us,” Raewyn repeated sternly.

  “No, Mrs. Dean, these days people track themselves.”

  “That’s not her name,” said No-bit.

  “I know Loretta isn’t her name, Mr. Lund. Finding out that Mr. Dean had married Loretta Shultz from Gary, Indiana, who was seventy years old and nearing her journey’s end through Alzheimer’s was a nice twist. Quite a bit of a thing to do. You are quite dedicated to your cause and stopping ADD, among others. All this over some corn, Mrs. Dean?”

  “It’s not corn; it’s an abomination,” said Raewyn.

  “Not just an anarchist, a green anarchist.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Raewyn. “You want to buy it or not? You want the info, so you and your bosses can ruin the world, control things? Then buy it and get out of here! We know your type!”

  “This doesn’t need to be contentious, Mrs. Dean.”

  “ADD is an evil corporation. Its lobbyists, along with men like you, are forcing farms to grow this stuff against economic development and use. That means less land for food. The world is over 7 billion persons rich, and fools like you don’t care about the starving and dying in this world. It is all about control and systematizing life and by that very system destroying nature. ADD and its hellhounds can all burn in hell, you stupid jerks!”

  “Mr. Charles Dean was not a bad man, Loretta; in fact, I think he was a pretty smart fella, and he does seem to have loved you—I think, at the very least, his child could have been forgiven for being an ADD subordinate. Don’t you think Charles deserved that?”

  “His friends call him Chuck.”

  “I am not Mr. Dean’s friend.”

  Echoes of a car leaving rattled down through the parking structure. Concrete echoed eerily similar sounds back-and-forth surrounding the four of them for that moment.

  “Five grand,” said No-bit.

  “I’ll give you two hundred,” said Mr. Jackson.

  “You want to do this by ones; you’re the one in the open, mister; and I’ve got time to waste.”

  “Twelve hundred dollars.”

  “Twenty-two fifty,” said No-bit.

  “I’ll do seventeen fifty. That should get you a better mattress, Mr. Lund.”

  No-bit looked at Raewyn. She nodded.

  “Done.” No-bit handed Mr. Jackson a business card. Mr. Jackson parted with some of the cash he’d brought. “E-mail that address with only the words ‘document send.’ No caps. No punctuation. One space between the words. We can wait, if you like, for the automatic system to download so that you can get your document.”

  Mr. Jackson said nothing. They all waited as Mr. Jackson sent the message and quickly got the document.

  “Good,” he said. “Goodbye, No-bit.” The man nodded and said, “Goodbye, Raewyn.”

  Raewyn watched as the man in black strode down the ramp to his associate, turned the corner and was gone.

  “Let’s go,” said No-bit with nervousness returning to his voice. “I don’t think we should be here any longer.”

  They got into the car. Before Raewyn even opened her mouth to ask if there was any danger turning the car on, No-bit had it started and was already pulling out. Fear surged through her body.

  “Raewyn, how do you think he figured out you were married to Dean?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he just assumed since we had the ADD stuff?”

  No-bit drove towards the exit sign.

  “Maybe,” said No-bit. “But how would he know my real name?”

  “I think he told us that answer when he said, ‘These days people track themselves.’ Have you used a private cell phone or e-mail for group stuff? Talked with other group members about your life?”

  “You know Dirty-bite and I have been friends since middle school.”

  No-bit headed up the ramp to street level.

  “Dirty-bite also gave us a car that just so happened to have unknown men waiting at it,” said Raewyn.

  “Yeah, but he didn’t really understand the situation. He gave me the keys in a way that anyone watching would have known I was getting keys. A dozen people could have seen that, probably security cameras in the club, too.”

  No-bit brought the car to a halt behind three others who were waiting to pay the attendant who seemed to be trying to watch television while he worked.

  Raewyn looked at Todd “No-bit” Lund. She looked at him and thought about the group. The jinx had done its job. Ray Synad had won. No-bit, despite his nervousness, was terrible at this. He wanted to hurry to this location that turned out unsafe. He hadn’t anticipated or tried to anticipate the real dangers his games would or could cause in response to his actions, or he thought he would simply overcome all adversity without even a fight.

  The first car left the garage.

  Ray Synad had even saved them, even saved No-bit. Raewyn looked at him. Did he see that flash? Something had moved in that car at the bottom of the ramp. Someone was in there, and that turned out palm of Mr. Jackson’s was a signal. A mistake was made. She’d seen it. Her grave and No-bit’s grave might well have already been dug. What had Mr. Synad known about his own name? Why would it save them? Did they work for him? Did that short, little strong man really wield the sort of power that violent wolves would stop mid-hunt? The image came to Raewyn of a nature video she’d seen in high school: A wolverine standing in the snow stops a pack of wolves. The wolves know the animal and go around the angry beast, not even letting their curiosity bring them too near.

  The second car left the garage.

  A pair of men, not Mr. Jackson and Mr. Taft, walked out of the garage bundled up like tourists. Their clothes looked brand new. Their hats looked old. They didn’t speak to each other. They looked straight ahead and kept the bills of their hats close to their eyes. And they turned the corner and were gone.

  What if they knew about the files she still had? She had been extra careful on that one, but still, what if they knew? It was a smoking gun of sorts. A man named Al Duncan talking with a man who sounded to be law enforcement in the county where Ray Synad had lost a silo, something about an ambush.

  The third car left the garage. No-bit pulled up to the cashier’s window.

  No-bit handed the man the car’s parking lot ticket.

  No one, not even No-bit, knew she had that.

  The machine read the ticket. “Two hundred and forty dollars, buddy.”

  “What?” No-bit looked at the digital read-out outside of the booth.

  “Two hundred and forty dollars, you’ve been here for over four days.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” yelled No-bit

  “Hey, that’s a good deal for garages around here after the city increased the taxes. You’re lucky it isn’t twice that, buddy.”

  No-bit yanked out some of the cash they had just gotten in their deal, handed over the money, got his change, and pulled up to the exit of the garage.

&nb
sp; “No-bit,” said Raewyn. “I think I need to go somewhere where nobody knows me.”

  No-bit sighed a long angry sigh. His breath ran out of him in the cold car not yet warmed up. He turned on the left blinker, looked at Raewyn and he said, “So, you’re going home. I guess the group is done now anyway. Even with the release—I doubt we’ll do any real damage.”

  No-bit placed his head on the top of the steering wheel.

  Raewyn patted him gently on the top of his back. She felt for him. He looked just like a sad child.

  “That Ray Synad,” said No-bit in frustration.

  Raewyn withdrew her hand.

  “Get out of the car, Raewyn.”

  “What?”

  “Get out of the car! Get out now!”

  “It’s freezing out.”

  No-bit backhanded her.

  “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  She undid her seatbelt as he yelled at her and threatened to hit her again with his upheld hand.

  She shut the door, and he put the pedal down and spun the tires leaving the garage.

  The car accelerated up to the next intersection, turned the corner, squealed its tires, and was gone.

  “Damn,” she said realizing No-bit had all the night’s cash on him. She’d forgotten her share.

  She looked up at the parking attendant inside his warm booth. He was watching his little TV and hadn’t even noticed the drama behind him.

  Raewyn started walking down the street towards an all-night McDonald’s. She got her phone out and began searching for a cab company. While looking for anyone who might be following her, she spotted a cab. She put out her hand. The cab pulled over and stopped for her.

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “Take me to the train station. Do you know if they have trains all-night long?”

  “I don’t know. I think they’ve got them pretty early and pretty late.”

  “Good enough.”

  The driver pulled away and drove to the intersection ahead. When he was at the red light, he looked into his mirror and asked, “By the way, you wouldn’t be the singer Nomi Ruiz, would you?”

  “Who? No. What are you talking about?”

  The cabbie was smiling. “Hey, she’s pretty too, like you. You should check her out. I like her singing, bet you would too. Romantic stuff, White Horse is pretty good.” The cabbie paused and added, “It’s a compliment, pretty lady.”