Ellie leaned against the wall outside the dispensary, waiting behind an older couple leaning on each other. The woman steadied herself by placing her blue-veined hand against a framed sign. The sign was behind thick plastic, protected, and Ellie thought it must be some sort of collector’s item by now, at least within the confines of Flowertown. It was a large, soft-focus photograph of a young man swinging his daughter over his head, the sun making both of them glow on the edge of a field of sunflowers. Behind them, laughing and smiling, stood a small crowd, family presumably, with a picnic laid out behind them, complete with a healthy jumping dog. Beneath the photo, in understated type, was the caption “Bringing families together.” And beneath that, nearly hidden in the green, green grass, was the Barlay Pharma logo.
Someone with stunningly bad judgment had decided years ago to place those ads around Flowertown, and the graffiti that covered them was both instantaneous and obscene. A couple of times, Ellie had even had to look up what some of the words meant, and she and Bing never tired of seeing the new vulgarities. After a while, Barlay and/or Feno decided to save the PR for the outside world. Now the only place to see the Barlay logo was behind Plexiglas in the heavily guarded dispensary. She couldn’t tell if it was an accident or intentional, but when the old woman pulled her hand away from the sign, she left a greasy smear over the center of the photo.
As soon as she made it to the corner, Ellie fished out the roach she had snubbed before going into the med center. Not caring who was watching, she pinched the brown bunch between her fingernails and noisily sucked the lighter’s flame to the tip. A few deep hits and nothing remained but a scorched twist of rolling paper that Ellie flicked into the shrubs. Her slow exhale was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass, followed by sirens and the sound of a voice on a bullhorn. Ellie followed the sounds down the block and joined a growing crowd at the corner where a string of military trucks formed a barrier around an apartment building.
“Stand down!”
Ellie couldn’t find the owner of the bullhorn. She figured he was probably hiding in one of the trucks, letting the security forces do the actual enforcing. The soldiers were certainly ready. They had riot shields and batons and helmets with thick eye guards. They seemed more than a match for the dozen or so elderly women who were throwing rocks and pieces of broken pavement both up at the building and across the yard toward the trucks. None of them seemed to have the strength to hurl the missiles far enough to be any real danger to the soldiers, but they found a good bit of success smashing out the windows on the lower floors. Around her, people were laughing and cheering the women on.
“Come on over here and arrest us, you little chicken shit!” A short woman in her early seventies brandished half a brick like a hand grenade, threatening a trio of heavily armed soldiers nearest the building. “Come on! Arrest us! Your country club jail is better than this rattrap shit hole you’ve got us stuck in! What’s the matter, boy? You scared of an old lady?”
The men looked back to whomever was in command and, either by order or by instinct, stepped away from the woman as a group. The crowd cheered and the woman held her brick up in triumph. “These are the living conditions we’re supposed to accept!” The woman’s voice was strong, despite her age and small size. “They put us in this building, this ‘senior center,’ because they claim it’s the safest place for women of our age to live on our own. I had a house!” The crowd yelled back, encouraging her. “A lot of us had houses, and we had to give them up, and for what? For safety? For convenience? How convenient do you think it is to have sixteen old women living in a building where the toilets don’t flush half the time?”
Beside her, a larger, older woman hefting a heavy chunk of asphalt chimed in. “Hell, we’re lucky to make it to the toilet half the time, so it’s not like we’re overtaxing the system!” The crowd roared out a laugh, and the smaller woman continued.
“We’re not asking for special treatment. We’re just asking for safe and hygienic conditions and some goddamn air-conditioning before the catchall trenches start to stink!” All around the building, people yelled and clapped, everyone dreading the days coming up soon when the spring rain runoff that was caught in containment trenches around the city would begin to stink with the cleansing agents. Somebody, somewhere behind Ellie, started the chant, “All you want! All you want!” and soon the sidewalk was rocking with the words. A young man beside her put his arm around Ellie, trying to get her to sway with him, but she pushed her way back through the throng. Orchestrated demonstrations were never her thing.
As she cleared the thickest part of the crowd, the chorus broke down into boos and catcalls. Looking over her shoulder she saw a soldier in riot gear step up to the ringleader of the rock-throwing. He didn’t flinch when she held her brick high in her hands. Instead he flipped up his visor and came even closer. Everything about his posture was relaxed. With all the gear he looked like a catcher for a strange baseball team heading out to the mound for a conference with the pitcher. The woman lowered her brick and her friend put the hunk of asphalt down on the ground. The three huddled together, other women on the lawn coming in closer to listen in. The crowd quieted down and even the military radios stopped squawking. Nobody could hear anything of the conversation until the soldier pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to a fat and sweating soldier perched on top of a jeep and the smaller woman threw back her head and cackled.
All of the women were laughing and the lead soldier shrugged. He turned to face the crowd, and the women put down their bricks and rocks and headed back toward the building. Ellie watched, as curious as the rest of the crowd, as he unstrapped his helmet and tucked it under his arm. It was Guy. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed the swagger. Guy headed back toward the convoy, speaking loud enough for the crowd to hear his Boston accent.
“Crisis averted, sir. I promised them we’d have services come out immediately and fix their plumbing. Of course, they wouldn’t take my word for it, so I had to up the ante.” His eyes slid to the side to see if he still had his audience. “I told them the good news was if it didn’t get done, one of our guys would give them a lap dance. The bad news was I told them it would be from Fletcher.” He gestured to the fat soldier he had pointed to during the powwow, and even the soldiers laughed. Fletcher flipped him off and the convoy began to disband. Guy, along with a few others still in riot gear, moved through the crowd, shooing people away from the scene.
“C’mon, c’mon, let’s go.” Guy waved his arms as he walked along the sidewalk. Ellie stayed where she was, watching the crowd obey him as they stepped back into the streets. He started to turn back and then noticed her standing there. He grinned and tucked the helmet farther up under his arm. “Don’t you have anything better to do than watch a bunch of old women throw rocks?”
“Not really.”
Guy moved in closer, his heavy gear not impeding his grace at all. “I guess we can’t all have those cushy office jobs, huh?”
“Guess not.”
She stood still as he stepped in close enough for her to feel the heat coming off the black vest and gear. His face shone with sweat, and she could smell a fresh version of the aroma that lingered on her body from last night. He tossed his helmet into the open back of a covered truck and stripped off his flak vest.
“That’s a lot of gear for a bunch of old women.”
“Yeah, well, you know when we get the call, dispatch doesn’t specify.”
“Just sends in the big guns.”
Ellie let her eyes drift over the damp T-shirt that clung to his chest, sweaty from the riot gear. He stepped in closer—too close, as he always did—and her hand drifted up to rest on his chest. On the edges of her vision she could see a wicked smile on his lips, but her focus remained on the blossom of dampness beneath his collarbone and the two-tone of the drab shirt, wet against dry. Her cottonmouth was back in force, and she licked her lips pointlessly. At the sight of her tongue, Guy pulled her by the hips into him, his
mouth stopping less than a whisper away from her own. His lips just grazed hers and his tongue darted out in the lightest touch. She knew he knew what that did to her, and even his arrogant chuckle at her response didn’t put her off.
He pushed forward, between her legs, walking her backward until he pressed her against the rough canvas of the truck. Less than an inch taller than she, Guy seemed to Ellie to be a wall, a hot, breathing wall that she wanted to throw herself against again and again. Around them, soldiers reloaded the trucks and cleared away bystanders. Pressed deep into the canvas and using the flak vest that hung from his wrist to shield them from sight, Guy took her hand and slid it down to his groin.
“I thought you didn’t like my riot gear.” He ground himself against her hand, whispering into her ear.
“I don’t.” Ellie felt him harden in her hand. “I like it when you take it off.”
Guy laughed and took a quick look around for his superiors. “Don’t you have to work?”
“Don’t you?”
He reached around and grabbed her ass and squeezed. “I think you’re probably worth a good disciplinary hearing.”
“You could talk your way out of anything.” Ellie let her head fall back against the truck, the canvas pulling at her ponytail, as Guy kissed her neck. “You talked those women down.”
“What can I say?” He spoke into her skin. “I have a way with the ladies.”
“What if you didn’t?”
He bit down on her earlobe. “Then I guess I’d be getting a hand job from Fletcher.”
Ellie pulled her head to the side. “I mean what if you weren’t able to talk those women into surrendering today?” Guy cocked his eyebrow and laughed at the question. “I’m serious. What if they hadn’t put down their bricks? Would you have shot them?”
He sighed, putting his hand over hers on his crotch to resume her massage. “It never would have come to that.”
“What if it did?”
“It wouldn’t.” He pulled away and Ellie resisted, pulling him back to her. “What do you want me to say, Ellie? That we’d mow down a bunch of old women for being upset that they have no water? That we’d take our batons to them to shut them up? Is that what you think?”
“No.”
“No. That’s not what we’re here for. We’re the ones keeping those women safe. We’re the ones making sure nobody tampers with the water or the food or the power stations. We’re the good guys, Ellie. Or don’t you believe that?”
She sighed and nodded, and he leaned back into her again.
“Good girl.” His hands tugged at the belt loops of her jeans, banging her softly against his pelvis. His mouth went back to her ear and his breath was hot on her skin. “Now why don’t you tell me exactly where, when, and how you’re gonna thank me for my services? And use all the dirty words.”
Ellie had to laugh as his hands slid inside the waistband of her jeans and his fingers played softly on the small of her back. “It’s an awfully big debt to repay. We may actually have to break with protocol and find a bed.”
“Ooh, kinky. Go on. Remember, I’m the good guy. A really good guy.”
She felt him getting harder against her, and her hands grabbed at the thick plane of muscles in his back. She let her eyes drift up from his neck and saw the broken windows.
“What if they told you to withdraw?”
“Hmm, baby?” Guy purred into her neck.
Ellie hooked her hands around his back, clinging to him, unable to look away from the shattered glass and the damaged building. “What if they told you to withdraw from Flowertown?”
“Why would they do that?”
“What if they did?”
She felt him tense beneath her hands.
“Why would they tell us to withdraw, Ellie? We’re the good guys, remember?”
“I know.” She felt a draft as his damp skin pulled back from hers. “You’re the good guys. If they told you to withdraw, who would protect us?”
Guy stepped back from her, holding her out at arm’s length. “What’s with you today?”
Before she could answer, a rash of obscenities broke out on the other side of the jeep.
“Roman! Goddamit, Roman! Fletcher!”
Guy swore and stepped toward the rear of the truck, letting her fingers slide free of his. “Roman here, sir. What’s the problem?”
Ellie couldn’t see the man shouting, but he sounded very pissed off. “The problem is, Roman, that while you’re giving lap dances to the old broads here, someone vandalized the goddamn trucks!”
“Aw shit.” Guy ran off, leaving her resting against the unmarked side of the truck. “I’m on it, sir.” She heard orders being barked and bystanders being warned to keep back and decided it would be a good time to head back to work. Pushing herself off the rough canvas, she traced her fingers along the rope webbing holding the canopy in place and tipped her head around the corner of the truck to see the damage. Three trucks were lined up along the sidewalk, each one spray painted in bright orange, one word per truck:
ALL YOU WANT.
CHAPTER THREE
Bing wasn’t at his desk when she returned, so she stuck a sticky note to the Little Debbie with a smiley face and the words “Forgive me yet?” Just to be sure, she scribbled a few bubble hearts around the words. Of course Bing would forgive her; these little dustups were nothing new. She was a little surprised he hadn’t waited for her to get back before taking his lunch, but then Bing’s supervisors were a bit more strict than hers about break times. Or maybe Bing just paid more attention to them. She perched the snack cake on the buttons of his telephone just as a page buzzed out of the speakers.
“Ellie Cauley, if you are in the building, Ellie Cauley report to your office immediately.” Big Martha’s voice sounded extra strident, as if she had been making the page for a while. Ellie didn’t hurry—med appointments trumped all else in the magical world of Flowertown—but as she made her way down the corridor, more than one worried face looked up at her. At the last cubicle, Ellie heard a woman whisper into the phone, “She’s on her way up right now.”
Part of her wanted to spin on the woman and call her a tattletale or snitchy-pants or some other ridiculous childhood taunt, but she thought better of it. Until, that is, she heard that same woman whispering over the cubicle walls. God, she didn’t know how Bing stood it down here. At the steps, knowing she had the eyes of a gaggle of HR drones on her, she spun back and glared. “Do you get paid extra for that? Some kind of suck-up bonus?”
“They’ve been paging you for, like, an hour.” With her oversprayed hair and oversized glasses, the woman looked exactly like every cranky librarian Ellie had ever known.
“I’ve been gone for, like, my meds. Like, it’s the law.”
All of her coworkers had ducked back into their cubicles, but the woman was undaunted. “Like you’re so concerned with the law. I guess that’s why the suits are here.”
Ellie headed up the steps. Some people would let anything clench their asses. “The suits” were either Feds or Fenos, authority figures who liked to think they still had some ability to intimidate the population, and judging by the way some people still danced to their tune, she guessed they did. She put on her best game face, which looked very much like her “I don’t care” face and her “I wish I were higher” face, and took her time heading up the steps. There was nobody in the front of the office—not a good sign.
“She’s here.” The new girl, perched as lookout, announced her arrival. Ellie could hear Big Martha swear under her breath and, as she turned the final corner to her little desk crammed as far back in the office as possible, saw that her boss was physically shielding her desk from two men and a woman in matching suits. They didn’t call her Big Martha for nothing. Ellie felt reasonably sure that all three suits, with the new girl in tow, couldn’t have moved the heavyset woman. Once Ellie was in sight, however, Big Martha sighed and, with some reluctance, took a step away from the desk.
�
�Something I should know?” Ellie asked.
Big Martha shot her a warning glance, telling her with overgrown eyebrows that the situation was serious. “It took you long enough.”
“Meds.” Ellie addressed the answer to the three unsmiling suits.
The new girl spoke quickly. “Your appointment was marked for eleven thirty.” She held out her watch. “It’s after one now.”
Ellie leveled her gaze at the girl, no expression on her face. The girl stood her ground for a moment, then another moment, but as long seconds ticked past, her face flushed red. Nobody jumped in to save her, and Ellie let her twist a while before speaking.
“Don’t get a wet spot just yet. The job is still mine.”
“I…that’s not…you were supposed to…”
Ellie dismissed her with a roll of her eyes and turned back to the people in the room who still thought they mattered. “Is there some sort of problem?”
The shorter of the two men tapped a manila envelope against his palm. “Are you Eleanor Marie Cauley?”
“Seriously?” Ellie asked. “Don’t you think we’re past that by now?”
“Please answer the question. Are you Eleanor Marie Cauley?”
Big Martha nodded at her to answer. “Yes. I am Eleanor Marie Cauley. But my friends call me Lady Esmeralda of Wainright.”
The man smiled at that, still tapping the envelope. “Hello, Ellie.”
“Or some people call me Ellie. Whichever you’re more comfortable with, Agent…?”
Flowertown Page 3