Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2)

by R. R. Roberts

  The truth was, Payton didn’t exactly know what he would do once he got to Zhang. Take him out? That sounded so gangsta. Convince him to return to WEN 2341 and face the music? Already Payton knew Zhang would refuse. Why would he return to their own time when by all accounts he had the world by the tail here in WEN 2036? No, Zhang would resist. It would be up to Payton to get him back into the Bore…

  Payton shook away these worries. He had a ton to do just to get within reach of Zhang. What he’d do when he got there he’d figure out at the time. He shut down his terminal and sagged back into his chair, his day’s activities rushing in and overwhelming him. Was it only this morning he’d woken up in Dom’s shelter and walked out looking for his new life? For a brief moment he allowed thoughts of Coru to leak into his plans. If he’d had Coru here with him, things would be so very different. Where was his brother?

  Since his mugging and imprisonment in Harmony House, he’d also allowed the idea to form that his brother hadn’t abandoned him as he’d first thought, but might instead be trapped somewhere, unable to reach out. Payton’s painted signs had gone unanswered, and as angry as he’d been at Coru, that anger had burned itself out. He knew in his heart Coru would have found him if he could.

  Rousing himself from thoughts of Coru, he tucked his precious papers in his brand-new briefcase and exited the library. He saw it was later than he’d realized, so hurried along, but not before indulging himself in a quick little side trip to visit the Time Bore entrance. Just for a laugh, he tested it, tried to enter, and was rejected. No? Not even a little bit of encouragement? Standing before the barely discernable waver in the air that was the bore entrance, three irrevocable truths finally and truly hit him.

  One: Longing to jump back to WEN 2341 and leaving this for someone else to clean up was never, ever going to happen.

  Two: Jumping back wasn’t an option. Unless he changed something here, there would be no future to jump back to.

  Three: Coru was gone and he wouldn’t come riding in to Payton’s rescue, no matter how much Payton wished it could be true. Payton had to save himself.

  Strange, but finally letting go of that boyish fantasy of escape or rescue made things better. It made it clearer and easier to carry. This was on Payton. Period.

  Free to make his own way, his own destiny, Payton turned from the Bore and left the alley. Back on the street, he hurried down to the soup kitchen closest to the park, mindful of his limited breathing. Here he was viewed with some interest by the other patrons and the staff dishing out the food in measured portions. He’d forgotten he didn’t look the same, that he looked normal, like he had a home to get back to, maybe a wife and kid, even.

  But he wasn’t turned away. He ate quickly, aware of the stares, downing a single-serve carton of milk, a bowl of beef, vegetable and barley soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a battered apple. All the major food groups. Ha ha. Any kind of food was welcome and would do, but he did look for the best nutrition when he could. Protein, fiber, vegetables—fruit if he was lucky.

  He dropped into Dom’s shelter on his way to Tree but didn’t catch sight of him from the doorway, again aware he didn’t fit in, so moved on to the park and Tree. He’d catch Dom tomorrow for sure. As he walked, he began to notice many of the familiar faces he’d come to expect weren’t here. Was there some kind of homeless meeting happening somewhere he wasn’t aware of? Was there a secret handshake, a coded knock on some shrouded door where only the very special were accepted. He smiled at the whimsy.

  But now that he was looking, he saw there were more cops around as well and they had that determined expression he’d learned to respect and avoid. Something was going down. It wasn’t only Payton who had changed; the mood of the inner city had also changed, and he didn’t know why or how to react.

  Was the regular crowd in hiding?

  His instincts were screaming that’s exactly what he should be doing right about now.

  He picked up his pace, keeping it just below fleeing and his expression relaxed. It was not good to show fear.

  Rounding a corner, he smacked into a pair of cops.

  “Oh, sorry, sir.”

  Sir? Payton gaped at them, unused to their reaction before pulling himself together to behave appropriately to the situation. Keeping his voice pitched low, older, he thought, he replied, “Oh. My fault, entirely. Wasn’t watching. Sorry, officers.”

  “Not a safe place to be on your own this late,” one of the beat cops grimaced, glancing significantly down at Payton’s briefcase. “You’re a target after dark down here.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t aware.”

  “You’re not from around here?”

  “No, I’m here on business and my meeting ran late. On my way back to my hotel now.” He rolled his eyes. “My company booked it for me—thought they’d save themselves some money, I guess. Not the best room I’ve ever had.”

  The cops grinned, and the second one said, “We hear ya. Best be getting there soon. Or catch a cab.”

  “I’ve been on my ass all day. The walk feels good, frankly.”

  “Have a good evening then, sir.” The cops each tipped their caps and moved along.

  Moved along. Payton almost laughed out loud.

  By the time he was moving along himself through the park, he wasn’t laughing anymore. There were cops everywhere and they were obviously looking for someone. There was no way he would even get near Tree. And the shelter would be filled to capacity by now, like every other night. Where would he go? The cops were right, he did look like an easy mark.

  He eased back into the shadowed alley of a park-side building, where during the day the sun’s heat had baked into the dirty bricks and warmed the stink of garbage to a stomach-roiling stew. Silently he scrutinized the park. Lots of cops; very few homeless. There was something going on here he didn’t understand, something big.

  He looked down at his brand-new briefcase, currently holding everything precious to him, everything he’d worked so hard for, his whole future inside it. He didn’t dare stash it. He didn’t dare continue walking around with it. He couldn’t get to the safety of Tree.

  He was in trouble. He needed information.

  He knew where he could get it.

  He pivoted and headed in the opposite direction for the red-light district. The hookers would be out tonight, as always, and they were a chatty bunch. They’d tell him what he needed to know.

  Within half an hour of dodging between buildings, keeping in the shadows, he found what he was looking for. There were two girls half a block away, with three more another block further, all waiting on the boulevard, dressed too lightly for the cooling evening weather. He hung back for a while, observing, making sure it would be safe for him to step out into the streetlight. He watched each car as it cruised by, many of which slowed to look the girls over before speeding up and moving on. Not to these Johns’ liking, it seemed.

  Payton didn’t see why not. They looked attractive, in a hard kind of way, but then you had to be hard to survive down here. If you weren’t hard, you weren’t here.

  He noticed when one girl got into a car, the other wrote down the license number and told the driver that’s exactly what she was doing. Twenty minutes later, the first girl was back, adjusting her clothing, reapplying lipstick, meeting the eyes of her safety partner and nodding.

  Nice. So, they were watching out for one another.

  He’d heard the girls in this particular area had no pimps—they’d got together and run them off, refusing to be controlled by men and had to work all the harder on their own. He’d also heard they were much healthier as a result and kept the money they earned instead of handing it all over to a brutal pimp. He couldn’t help wondering why more of the street girls didn’t follow suit.

  “Hey, baby,” a short little blonde greeted him as he finally approached. She was dressed in a tight white dress that fairly glowed in the dark, her eyes saucy and inviting. “Looking for a good time?”

  “Lo
oking for information,” he managed to say, though his throat was suddenly dry.

  Her expression changed to wary and she stepped closer to her partner. “Information?”

  Remembering how bluffing had got him through Weazer’s bullying, he pushed out attitude. It’s what he had in spades, according to Ellen back in Harmony House. God knew he had little else to bargain with. “Hey girls. Looking good tonight.”

  The little blonde’s expression softened at his compliment—not a lot, but some.

  He came to stand beside them and gazed down the street along with them in the direction from which the traffic was coming. As expected, no cars slowed down to look the girls over now.

  The blonde’s companion, a stouter brunette dressed in a short black leather skirt and barely-there white tank top that displayed her best assets prominently, remained wary. She said, “Say what you need to say, then scram. We’re working here.”

  “You girls know your way around downtown. What’s up with all the cops and where is everybody? Someone throw a party I wasn’t invited to?”

  The little blonde laughed. “If there’s a party, we don’t know about it, right, Val?”

  The brunette scowled. “Rebecca. You need four more clients to make quota. Unless this guy is a paying customer, send him on his way.”

  “Oh.” Rebecca frowned.

  Payton decided she must be new at this. Too bad. She was kinda cute.

  Val was speaking into a small phone inside her palm. Payton didn’t like her expression.

  He hurried now. “My friends. They’re not around, as far as I can see. More than a few. You know what happened?”

  Frowning, Val answered him, “You mean the sweep?”

  “Sweep?”

  “Yeah, when someone high up gets their tightie-whities in a knot and thinks a sweep of all the homeless is the best step, fills the jails with them for a few days before they let them all go. They might be an inconvenience, but they aren’t illegal.”

  Did this have anything to do with the Harmony House information on that phone Weazer delivered to the cop shop? Had he put his only friends here in danger?

  “And you’re not part of that sweep?” Payton didn’t want to appear rude, but technically what these girls were doing, while yes, they were trying to make a living and stay alive in a tough city, was illegal. Weren’t they more “sweep-worthy” than a bunch of guys looking for their next meal at a local soup kitchen?

  The three from down the street were approaching them at a fast pace, their heels clipping along the sidewalk in an aggressive manner. So, Val had called them over on the little phone. Well-oiled machine. Maybe this was a mistake. Hookers could be deadly if you rubbed them the wrong way.

  He plunged his hand into his pocket, looking to grip the knife Dom had given him, just in case, and encountered the bag of jellybeans instead. You, Payton Wisla are a total loser.

  He stepped back awkwardly, ready to make a quick escape before he was surrounded by an eye-watering perfumed cloud of estrogen to the power of five. He twisted his ankle, righted himself with a wild swing of his arms, thus producing the bag of jellybeans, like a stupid magic trick.

  “Ooh! You have candy!” Rebecca’s eyes lit up like a little girl, but then she couldn’t be much older than fifteen.

  “Yeah.” He glanced at the bag and on impulse, extended it toward her. “You like candy? Have some.”

  She snatched it from his hand and opened the bag.

  “Wait on that a moment.” Val’s hand covered Rebecca’s. Together, their long, painted fingernails appeared more talon than human, and Payton shuddered at the damage a set of nails like these could do to a man. “What’s this all about? This candy, or is this candy?”

  The other three had pulled up, their hard bodies stuffed into tight fabrics bursting in predictable manners, taloned hands on hips, their dark made-up eyes glittering with suspicion.

  “They’re jellybeans,” he stuttered, all thought of smooth-talking forgotten. He was way out of his league with these women. “I just got them today, same time as I bought this.” He held up his briefcase as evidence of his innocence. A lightbulb went off in his head. “In fact.” He opened the briefcase and brought out the receipt he’d been given, another first for him here in WEN 2036. An honest to God, “I paid money for this” receipt.

  “I can prove it.” He thrust the till tape at Val, who seemed to be in charge. “Take it. You’ll see.”

  She took the tape and studied it for a moment. “Oh, you mean real candy.” She nodded at the others, who all pounced on the bag of candy.

  “You’re different. Maybe not so smart. You do know we work for cash, not sugar?”

  “He’s sweet!” Rebecca declared.

  “He’s broke,” Val countered, helping herself to a handful of jellybeans just the same.

  One of the other girls, this one with short curly black hair and big dark eyes, dressed as a school girl asked, “Where you from, sugar?”

  “Another world.” Payton replied, relaxing now, both hands on the handle of his briefcase as he watched them inhaling his only ever purchase of food here in WEN 2036. Who knew he’d made such a wise choice?

  “This one’s cotton candy!”

  “Mmmm. Cherry.”

  They all laughed at this.

  Turns out, jellybeans were catnip for street walkers. He asked, “What’d I miss?’

  One of the new-comers answered. “Cherry. Cherry Pie. She’s our girl. She protects us out here.”

  “So—you have a woman pimp?” He hadn’t heard that.

  They all rounded on him and he stepped back hastily.

  “Whoa. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Val hissed, “Cherry is not our pimp. We don’t have, nor ever will have, a pimp. Cherry protects us. She makes sure we’re not hassled. She’s the headliner over at ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’.”

  “Oh. Well.” He didn’t know what else to say. Being a headliner at “Girls, Girls, Girls” meant more to these women than to him, obviously. From their faces, he could see they worshipped this Cherry Pie person.

  Val pushed him back into the shadows abruptly. “Get out of the way, Junior, Momma’s got some business to attend to.” A car pulled up and the window rolled open. Val leaned over and looked inside. “Well now, hi there, Sugar,” she greeted, her tone low and husky. “You looking for a good time?”

  Apparently, whoever was driving was, in fact, looking for a good time. Val left in the car with a puff of stinky exhaust. Rebecca had the license number.

  Payton remained with the girls, Val, Rebecca, Cindy, Barbara and Mallory. As long as he remained in the shadows when a potential customer slowed to negotiate a transaction, they were fine with his presence, and chatted his ear off. They’d often start a conversation, negotiate “a date”, be gone for twenty minutes, rarely more, and once they returned, picked up the conversation exactly where they’d left off. The truth was, he thoroughly enjoyed his time with them. They were funny and smart and full of random facts he’d never learn otherwise. And as far as he could tell, he was standing on the safest street in the downtown core at the moment, avoiding the sweep, with the cops staying away. How did Cherry do it, he wondered.

  He’d do well to come here more often. In fact, his safety triangle might be Tree, the library and here with Cherry’s girls…

  Cherry took no money from the girls. She made sure they had access to a doctor when they needed one. She made sure their landlord treated them right.

  There were seven under Cherry’s care, with one named Natalie home sick with a cold. Between them, they had three little apartments that were safe spaces. That meant strictly personal—no Johns. Payton was envious. They took care of each other. They each had a plan to escape the streets, once they had enough cash. Their motto: no girl left behind. Oh, man did he get that, and so badly wanted to ask: Could a boy tag along?

  When dawn began to creep up, the girls called it a night—they’d done well—and headed home. They did
n’t know it, but they likely had just saved his life.

  “Bye Michael!” they called out as they left, still chattering as they went.

  He waved goodbye then stopped, remembering something he’d wanted to know and forgotten to ask. “Hey,” he called after them. “What’s a tightie-whitie?”

  They only laughed and kept walking. Watching them go, he realized they were smarter than he. They’d recognized there was strength in numbers and had banded together to help one another, protect one another, and to raise each one of them out of this life. No girl left behind.

  Tonight’s lesson, boys and girls: He needed allies.

  So far, they were proving to be damned hard to come by.

  He turned away and headed slowly back into the danger zone, surprised to note the air was almost fresh as he journeyed down the deserted streets, and wondering if, by some miracle he’d missed the sweep that had taken away his only friends.

  7

  RIGHT PLACE, RIGHT TIME

  TO CONNECT with the few familiar faces he trusted in order to locate Dom and Weazer, Payton had to play a dangerous game—go out in public without his disguise, show his tats, and more importantly, show his new facial scar.

  The reaction was predictable. Always recoil, often revulsion, and then, surprisingly, reluctant admiration. He quickly became someone to fear, and he went out of his way to nurture this illusion, going so far as to rolling his eyes when asked, if they dared, what had happened to him while he was gone. He’d wanted to murmur something along the old line of “You should see the other guy,” but upped his game, his version closer to, “You should ask the other guy. No, wait, you can’t.” The conversation quickly died.

  He had to laugh, silently of course. How were they buying this? But it was what it was, and he’d take it. He saw no need to say he’d been schlepping along the highway gathering returnable cans for pennies per can, had his clock cleaned by a few thugs and left to die, then was experimented on in some mad scientist’s secret enclave.

  On second thought, they’d think he was not only scary ugly now, but nuts. Not bad assets down here…