Angel Of The City

by Leahy, R. J.

  The headache is fading into a dull throb, but I’m still fighting to keep the bread down. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t dream.”

  “Everyone dreams.”

  “Not everyone.” I toss the rest of the loaf to her. “Go ahead, finish it. It might be sometime until your next meal.”

  She tears off a piece, chewing it slowly. “So how much did Kingston pay you?” She asks.

  “I told you, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “All right, but someone obviously hired you. Surely you can tell me who.”

  She’s right. Devon said he wanted to meet her and she might as well know what she’s in for.

  “Devon Blaze,” she says. “I’ve heard of him. Nothing good. Why would someone like that help me?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out myself. But whatever the reason, he’s anxious to meet you.” I glance at my watch. “C’mon. It’s time we were moving again.”

  We continue to the one twelve using only back streets and alleys. Neither us of will trigger a scanner but there’s always the chance of being picked up on a stray monitor, so we keep to the shadows. We reach the nest a few hours before dawn.

  I’ve barely opened the door before Pen and Abby are hugging, tears flowing. Again I notice Abby wincing in the embrace.

  “Pain worse?” I ask, when they separate.

  She nods.

  “Show me.”

  She hesitates, looking between her sister and me, then slowly lowers the zipper of her station uniform.

  Her breasts are swollen and tense with a deep purple color to the skin. Angry red lines mark the skin where the breast attaches to the chest wall.

  I grab my medical kit.

  “What did they do to you?” Pen gasps.

  “Binding,” I answer. “They take thin twine and wrap it around the base of the breast, cutting off circulation to the tissue.”

  Pen makes a look of disgust.

  “The pain is bad, but nothing compared to what happens when they cut the cords free and the blood suddenly flows back. It can be excruciating.”

  I pull a hypo out of the kit and draw up a clear liquid through a vial.

  Abby watches me closely. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  “I know enough. There won’t be any permanent damage, but the pain can last for days. This is will help.”

  She only hesitates a moment before nodding.

  I inject it quickly into her right hip, then check my watch. There’s no sign that we’ve been missed, but that will change shortly. A dead Counselor; two escaped prisoners—soon the streets will be thick with Blueshirts and Counselors.

  “We’ll have to spend the night here. We can try for Devon’s tomorrow night. It will be too risky to move during the day for a few weeks at least.”

  Abby finds a chair and sits down, the effects of the drug already apparent. “I’m thankful for Devon’s help, but I’m not interested in meeting him. I have to get to my own people.”

  “Look, he’s the one who hired me, so you’re at least going to meet the man and hear what he has to say—got it?”

  She closes her eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  I shouldn’t do it, but my whole body is still aching from the shocks. I draw up a small amount of the drug and self inject. I’m barely able to throw off my clothes and climb into bed before the world dissolves around me.

  SEVEN

  I awake with a start, every muscle in my body tense and sore. It takes me a moment to realize where I am—the one twelve nest—and I relax. The calm doesn’t last long. The place is absolutely silent. I throw back the blanket and enter the living area. No one is there. Same for the second bedroom.

  It’s eight am by my watch, by Ellison’s watch. The streets will be crowded with people going to work. I fling on my clothes, cursing. The pain med should have kept Abby down for hours, but she’s proving to be tougher than I gave her credit for. I have no idea how long they’ve been gone. If they’ve been picked up by Counselors then it’s over, for them and me. If they haven’t been caught, then I only have one workable lead—Faisal, the Blueshirt. If he works the eighty-ninth, then Reed will know him.

  I leave the nest cautiously, crawling out of the pit and clinging to the wall of the building as I make my way around to the street. It’s pretty much what I expected. Blueshirts are out in force, trying to look at the face of everyone as they pass, comparing them to photos on the flip cards each are carrying. But it’s an impossible task. Too many people and all moving.

  There are Counselors too, which only encourages people to keep their heads down, making the job even more difficult. My guess is they’re concentrating on re-capturing the girl. They want me as well—killing a Counselor won’t go unpunished—but I’m no political threat, just a hired gun, a shade.

  I time my move into the crowd just as a group of taller men pass by, stepping in between them and matching their stride. I stare at the back of the man in front of me and keep my head down and my expression grim. It’s sixteen blocks back through the Bonifrei to Reed’s store. I don’t see how I can make it all the way without being stopped, but what choice do I have?

  After seven blocks the crowd begins to thin. This is what I was afraid of. From out of the corner of my eye, I see a Counselor staring at me with concentrated interest. He looks down at the card in his hand and begins to make his way through the crowd, heading toward me. Any change in pace or direction on my part will only give me away. I slip my hand in my pocket, fingering the knife. Killing him shouldn’t be difficult, but I don’t see how I can escape all the Blueshirts ringing the street.

  The crowd is still thick enough that it takes an effort for him to move through it, pushing those aside who don’t automatically cower back on his approach. The border of the Chojo quarter is right ahead, but he’ll reach me before then.

  Suddenly there’s a commotion; pushing and shoving along with shouted curses in the street marking the quarter boundary. From the snippets of conversation I can catch, it seems someone from this quarter has crossed into the Chojo for flour. The shortages continue. But buying staples out of your quarter is considered disrespectful and apparently the border guards have taken exception to it. The volume of the exchange increases. More people are becoming involved. And then, like a match set to gasoline, the street erupts. Lengths of lumber and machetes appear as if out of nowhere.

  People scream and run in all directions. I watch the Counselor get jostled, then fall to the street under the weight of the fleeing crowd. A moment later a gun goes off. He’s trying to get back up, shooting at the rioters and anyone in his way. Blueshirts come running to his aid, swinging their clubs wildly.

  I run, not away from the mayhem, but into it, holding my arms up over my head to ward off the blows. I take several hits, but nothing serious and before long I can hear the noise fading in the distance behind me. I pass Counselors and Blueshirts running by me, back into the riot. Sounds of more gunfire.

  I run for several blocks before ducking into an alley to catch my breath. My right elbow is bruised and I have a small cut above my left eye, but otherwise I’m uninjured. The streets are practically empty and I manage the few blocks to Reed’s place without incident.

  She makes a startled sound when I enter the store then quickly composes herself. Only one customer, an elderly man, is browsing leisurely over the cases. Reed comes over to where I’m pretending to admire a row of cheap silver necklaces.

  “There are rumors about an escape from the One Twenty Seven,” she whispers. “They say the Angel got away.”

  “Any mention of me?” I ask.

  “Not by name, but word on the street is that a shade broke her out, and the description is dead-on for you”

  “Can you close early?”

  She nods. “The riot has people spooked. A lot of shops are closing for the day.”

  When the old man leaves, I leave with him. Reed flips over the Closed sign in the window and draws the shades. A moment late
r she’s letting me in through the window of her apartment. She embraces me and I can feel her trembling.

  “I thought the worst.”

  “You may still be right.”

  She pulls away. “So this was the job? A raid on a station house; a direct assault on Counselors? It’s insane.”

  She gets no argument from me.

  “But why would Devon…?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Do you know a Blueshirt named Faisal?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I need to speak with him. As soon as possible.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s nothing. Reed, I need to see him. Can you arrange a meeting—quickly?”

  “I think so. I pay him a little on the side to keep an eye out on my shop. He’ll probably be working the riot. I can go and try and find him.”

  “No, send someone. Have him meet you here.”

  There’s a rap on the store front door and Reed opens it. With the store officially closed for the day, the cameras are dark. We’re as alone as possible in the city. The man who steps in is short, but thick, with heavy brows and a dense dark mustache. Aramaic quarter. A flash of silvery metal gleams from his left forth finger.

  “The boy said it was urgent. What is it? I can’t be gone long from my post.”

  I step out from the shadows. Although I’ve never seen him before, I can tell he recognizes me. “You know who I am?”

  He glances over at Reed.

  “What are you looking at her for? I asked you a question.”

  He nods. “I know you.”

  “And I know you helped Abby. Where is she?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. He’s sizing me up; trying to predict my reactions. “She’s safe.”

  “I didn’t ask if she was safe.”

  “I can’t tell you anything more.”

  “You’re going to have to. If I don’t deliver her to Devon, he’s going to assume I double-crossed him and you know what that means for me.”

  He stares back in silence.

  I try another tack. “You’re a member of the resistance?”

  “No.”

  “But you help them.”

  “When I can,” he says

  “Like when you brought Pen to Devon?”

  He nods.

  “So you’re his man.”

  That irritates him. “No. I do some work for him from time to time—for reasons of my own—but I’m my own man.”

  I smile. “Sorry, but that’s funny, coming from a Blueshirt. Now listen to me, I don’t know who you really work for and I don’t care. When Abby doesn’t show up, Devon’s going to press me in ways I can’t be pressed and when that happens, you’re the first one I’m giving up.”

  “A threat?”

  “A promise.”

  He cocks his head. “You take a lot for granted. You’re the most wanted man in the city. I could have you arrested right now.”

  “No, you couldn’t. Not without answering a lot of questions I don’t think you can answer.” I point to his ring. “And if you tried, the woman wearing the match to that ring would soon find a visitor at her door.”

  He sets his feet wide apart, ready for a fight. “You?”

  “Devon. If he even thinks you’ve helped hide Abby from him, he’ll come looking for you. And if you know him at all, then you know he isn’t shy about involving family when collecting on his debts.”

  His left hand clenches, hiding the ring. He looks from me to Abby and back again, licking thick lips. “What is it you want?”

  “I meet with Devon at six o’clock. I want her there.”

  “Impossible. There are Counselors all over the city looking for her.”

  “You’ll find a way. You got her out of my nest this morning, didn’t you?”

  “Six o’clock… close to curfew.”

  “Time enough. I don’t expect a long meeting.”

  He rubs his chin, his expression clouded. Doubt; uncertainty. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting a confrontation and he isn’t sure how to respond. He’s smart enough to fear Devon, but he has other allegiances. The resistance maybe, but I sense there’s more going on. He has the look of a man being pulled in too many directions at once. “All right then,” he says. “Six o’clock.”

  I’m the first to arrive.

  Devon’s men start to pat me down, but he waves them away.

  “Here he is!” he shouts and grabs me in a bear hug. “Did I tell you, huh?” he says, spinning me around and pointing to his men. “Did I tell you? Who else could have pulled this off, you slags?” He faces me, his eyes wild, the black of his nose extending to his upper lip. “So where is she? Where’s my angel?”

  “On her way.”

  “HaHaHa. What’s she like?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. We didn’t get to spend a lot of quality time together.”

  He laughs, wagging his finger in front of my face. “Good! This is not a girl you spend that kind of time with. You do that kind of thing with angels, you mess up your soul.” His arm still around my shoulders, he half pulls, half drags me over to the table and picks up a thick envelope, slapping it to my chest. “You know I always make it worth your while, eh?”

  I take it from him without opening it. Three inches thick. Must be thousands.

  “You done good. Now get on outta here; get drunk; buy that pretty lady friend of yours something nice. But if you take my advice, you lay low. You’re getting talked about on the street and for someone like you, that ain’t healthy. Counselors going to be looking hard for you and now they got a face.”

  I don’t bother to mention that he’s the reason they have my face.

  I’m escorted out by his bodyguards. As we reach the exit, the door opens and I’m caught behind it. Faisal steps in, followed by Abby and Pen. Pen’s still wearing the clothes I got for her. No one notices me.

  Devon begins yelling and clapping and waving at his men to join in. I’m forgotten as the three are led into the center of the room. Ignored for now, I stay in the shadows and watch.

  Devon stands in front of them, bobbing and weaving playfully, his hand waving between Pen and Abby. Finally he stops and points at Pen. “The sister, right?”

  Pen nods, but looks confused, like she doesn’t understand why Devon doesn’t remember her. But she doesn’t know Devon. She’s unimportant to him and therefore forgettable.

  He laughs and begins to circle Abby, looking her up and down. Her eyes follow him, distrusting.

  “So you’re the Angel of the City? Bet you’re glad to be out of that stinking hole, eh? Well, you got me to thank for that.” He taps his chest. “I’m the one who got you out.”

  “Are you? Funny, you look different from the last time we met.”

  Devon frowns. “Huh? Oh, him. HaHa. That’s good. But who do you think hired him, eh? He ain’t cheap and he don’t work for just anyone. But he’ll work for me.”

  “In that case, I thank you. Now, if we may be excused…”

  “Excused? What am I, the school principal? Angel, you just beat death. We should be having a party.” He reaches into his robes and pulls out the silver box, shaking it and smiling. When Abby’s expression doesn’t change, he shrugs and puts it away. “Ok, so you ain’t the party type, I can respect that.”

  “Mr. Blaze, I’m thankful for your part in rescuing me, I am, but I have work to do.”

  “Mr. Blaze? No, call me Devon; everyone calls me Devon.” He waves absently to the men around him. “That’s right, eh?”

  They nod, dutifully.

  “But since you bring it up,” he continues, “it’s your work I want to talk to you about.”

  “I’m just a bookkeeper.”

  “Yeah, so I hear. I’m sure you’re good too, but I already got one of them. I think he cheats me, but what can you do? No, I meant your other work, the work you do for the resistance.”

  Up until now the conversation has barely held my interest, but suddenly I’m listeni
ng intently.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Let’s not play games, ok? I want to help.”

  “Help?”

  “Yeah, why not? I hear things. I hear the resistance needs money. Well, money I got. And I hate the Ministry as much as you.” He spits on the floor. “That goes for the Council too.”

  “So you want to give money to the resistance?” she asks, and doesn’t even try to hide her skepticism.

  He smiles. “You know, for an angel, you’re kind of suspicious. Ok, so maybe give ain’t the right word. You want Devon to lay it all out on the line, you got it. I know it’s your people who been bringing in guns.” He reaches back into his robes and pulls out a pistol. “And I don’t mean these. I mean the big guns. Machine guns; assault rifles; stuff that ain’t been seen outside of a Counselor station, ever. I want some. Not a lot; you got to arm a rebellion, I understand that. You just sell me a few and I’ll pay whatever you want.”

  The room goes dead silent. I forget to breathe out. What Devon is saying is impossible. Every weapon ever made is numbered and catalogued. One or two handguns might disappear each year, but nothing that could cause a threat to the government. I’ve never heard of an automatic weapon being unaccounted. They’re released in small numbers by the Ministry directly to Counselor stations. I glance over at the door, half expecting a raid to come bursting through at any minute. The rabbit hole just got a whole lot deeper.

  Abby remains impassive. “Your information is wrong.”

  “I ain’t wrong. I ain’t ever wrong. Hey, why you being so cold? Why no love for Devon? We’re on the same side, me and you.”

  “I doubt that seriously. It’s getting late. We have to leave.”

  Faisal checks his watch. “She’s right. It’s close to curfew. I need to have my vehicle off the street soon.”

  Devon rubs the side of his face, pulling on his left ear. “Yeah, that’s right. Can’t have my law guy breaking the law, can I?” he says. “And you are my guy, aren’t you, Faisal?”

  He licks his lips. “You know I do what I can for you.”

  “Like bringing the girl here to me?” he asks, flicking the gun at Pen.

  Faisal nods.