by Mark Souza
When the train stopped at the end of the Michigan Street line, Moyer followed the few remaining passengers out of the car. A string of prostitutes waited on the street at the entrance to the station. One flipped a boa over Moyer’s neck and pulled him in. “You look like you could use a good time,” she said. She reeked of perfume and halitosis.
Moyer ducked under the boa and mumbled that he was meeting someone, and kept walking.
“I’d give you a real good deal,” she promised. “And I can do things your wife can’t or won’t.”
It was then that Moyer realized he’d forgotten to wear Perko’s ring. No matter, he was here now and the rendezvous minutes away. It was better to attend than not, even if conditions weren’t ideal and Perko didn’t get exactly what he wanted.
The last vestiges of light clung to the edges of a clear sky and the streets were darkening. Streetlamps along Harland Avenue had been busted out. Dark is how the denizens of this neighborhood wanted it. They preferred being hidden from Security Services cameras, able to do what they wanted without interference or repercussion. And the government saw no need to invest in new bulbs that would only be shattered the next day.
As Moyer walked down the sidewalk, the birds of fear nervously tested their wings within his chest. Everything about the situation shouted ambush. The spire of the church towered like a beacon over the dark canyon walls of the apartment buildings crowding the street. Clopping footfalls behind him urged Moyer to maintain his pace. He detected interest from the men trailing him. To them he was prey, and they were gaining. He ducked left down a side street – a mistake.
An alley piled high with garbage ended after thirty meters at the windowless façade of a building. The footfalls grew louder. Moyer scrambled behind a pile of garbage and flattened against the grimy wall. The stench of rotten tofu and vegetables assaulted his nose. He covered the Digi-Soft logo on his coat with his hand so its glow wouldn’t give him away.
Two men stopped at the mouth of the alley. They waited as cats would, hoping their prey might flush and reveal itself. Moyer instinctively held his breath. His heart hammered in his ears and Moyer was sure the men could hear it. Doubt crept into cracks in their attentiveness while the air trapped in Moyer’s lungs turned to fire. He didn’t think he would outlast them.
The church clock chimed four bells. Moyer was late for his meeting. Would Begat wait for him? Would it matter? In another few seconds, the breath would burst from his lungs and they would hear it and pounce. Sweat slid down his neck, and though it tickled, he didn’t budge.
As the ring of the last bell waned, foot clops echoed into the alley from the street. They were moving on. Ever cautious, Moyer remained frozen in place a little longer. He slowly released the breath trapped in his lungs. Inside his head it sounded like the compression brakes on the tube letting go. He greedily sucked in fresh air and waited. The footfalls from the street grew faint. Still, Moyer waited a little longer just in case. He moved from the wall and crept cautiously out of the alley.
Though the street was clear, Moyer couldn’t shake the feeling he was walking into a trap. The men were nowhere in sight. Had they moved off to some hiding place to wait him out? Were they circling back for him, offering the illusion they had moved on? They knew the neighborhood. Moyer did not.
He spotted the church spire and quickened his pace. When he entered the church courtyard, it was empty and eerily still. A glow flickered through the stained-glass. The light on the tithe reader was out. That disturbed Moyer. They were usually lit day and night, ever ready to take money from the guilt laden, repentant, or those trying to avoid the crowds.
Moyer opened the door slowly. The lights were off. Inside, a man wearing a hooded robe knelt at the front pew before a broad bank of votive candles in red glass flutes, the only source of light in the building. The man wasn’t large enough to be the giant, though clearly he was Begat. Moyer was uneasy. Where was the giant? Why the bait and switch? Was the giant waiting in back until he was sure Moyer hadn’t brought security agents?
Moyer’s footfalls resonated from the concrete floor and pinged off the walls as he approached the altar. He slid into the pew behind the man in the robe. The man continued to pray and acted as if he hadn’t detected Moyer’s presence. He made the sign of the cross and shifted his weight off his knees and sat. “Did you come alone?” he asked.
“Yes, where is the giant?”
“Why do you want him?”
“He asked me to meet him here,” Moyer said.
Four men wearing robes filed out from behind the altar. Moyer’s adrenaline surged. He froze at first, his mind and body racing under a flood of hormones, stuck in neutral, caught between think and flee. A man started toward him from the end of his pew. Moyer turned to run the other way. The man who had been kneeling when Moyer arrived planted a hand on Moyer’s chest.
“Who sent you?”
Moyer struggled to break free. The Begat monk was strong. Moyer fought and felt the monk’s grip slipping. More hands clutched onto him and pushed Moyer down onto the flat surface of the bench.
“Who sent you?” the monk repeated.
“No one. The giant gave me his card as I was leaving Hogan-Perko headquarters. He said if I had problems getting a baby, to call him.”
“Liar,” the monk roared. The sound echoed harshly in the hollow emptiness of the church. Hands pressed Moyer onto his back. The monks hovered over him, faces shrouded in shadow under broad hoods, the peaks of their features highlighted by the flickering orange glow of the votive candles. It didn’t seem real, any of it. It felt more like a nightmare, and that at any moment he would awaken and be safe in his bed.
“Who sent you?” the monk asked again.
“No one, I swear.” The sound of his sniveling disgusted Moyer. It reminded him of being bullied at school and how he’d say anything, no matter how degrading, to make the bullies stop. He was weak then, and he was just as weak now.
“He swears,” someone mocked.
One of the monks leaned close, his breath smelled of decay. “What did Viktor Perko ask you to do?”
Moyer’s mouth hung open. He was too stunned to speak. His cheeks buzzed as if he’d been slapped. His consciousness retreated deeper within himself, as if it wanted to be far away in case something bad happened. How could they know, he wanted to ask. By the time he’d thought better of it, the word “How?” had already escaped his lips.
The monks smiled, glossy eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Because we also have spies,” one of them said.
A monk pulled a metal shaft from under his robe. He pushed a button on the handle and the tip lit up with a blue luminescence. It was a security agent’s wand. Moyer wondered how they’d gotten it. Did it matter? The monk’s face broke into a sadistic grin and he lowered the wand close to Moyer’s cheek. The scent of ozone filled Moyer’s sinuses. “What did Viktor Perko ask you to do?” the monk asked again.
Moyer swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He wondered if any of this was going out on the net, if Viktor Perko might be watching. Was help on the way? He let his mind drift to make a link and search for his own presence.
Someone slapped Moyer’s face. “Don’t go drifting away on us. We need you in the here and now. It won’t do any good anyway. The whole building is shielded.”
Moyer had forgotten. In a narrow decision, the Supreme Court had upheld the sanctity of confession and the right of parishioners to privacy while counseling with clergy. That was why Begat had chosen this site for the meeting. It was far from Security Services in a rough part of town, seldom patrolled, and isolated from the net. Moyer was on his own. Begat could do with him what they pleased without the risk of interruption.
“He wants me to get the names of as many Begat members as I can, and to identify how Begat is organized. He gave me a ring with a camera in it, but I didn’t wear it.”
“The truth shall set you free, brother,” someone said.
Though the wand buzzed next to h
is cheek, Moyer sensed the weight of doom lifted off his chest. The truth shall set you free. They were going to release him. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up. They jammed him back onto the pew.
“What do we do with this traitor?” one of them asked.
“I say we kill him and throw his body into the tube so it looks like another jumper,” was the reply.
The tip of the wand hit Moyer’s face. At first the pain was sharp, as if he’d been bitten. Then his body thrashed and flailed of its own accord. His limbs beat themselves against the wooden pew. Moyer fell into a cavern of darkness. A tiny dot of candlelight raced away into the distance till it finally vanished from view.
Chapter 13
Robyn propped a pair of Bixby’s bags full of baby clothes against the wall in the hallway and poked her head inside the apartment. Eve wouldn’t let her leave the store empty handed. Moyer would label Eve a bad influence. To Robyn she possessed an inordinate amount of common sense.
The apartment was quiet, even for Moyer. Robyn was torn between rescuing her purchases from the hallway where they might be stolen, and establishing where Moyer was so she could spirit the bags inside without him noticing. There was no point in provoking a fight tonight. She needed time to get him to see — how did Eve put it? Ah yes, that the baby should be integrated into the budget now to reduce the impact later. Plan ahead to stay ahead, Eve had said.
She thought of calling his name, but if he was home, he might come to greet her, which was exactly what she didn’t want. She felt guilty enough about spending money they really couldn’t afford without being confronted over it. Robyn collected the bags and brought them in, careful to keep the rustling of polymer from betraying her. She quietly opened the entry closet and stuffed the sacks in the back corner behind the coats. She stepped back and examined her work. She shifted the hangers as Moyer might if he was searching for something. Maybe he’d notice, maybe he wouldn’t. Then she spied an old box in the corner. Moyer had brought it home loaded with old contraband books he’d purchased on the black market. The books went on the bedroom shelves. The box went into the closet where it remained for more than a year. It had been there so long she’d forgotten. She lowered the sacks inside and checked again. It was perfect.
Robyn hung her coat and called Moyer’s name. The apartment seemed to swallow the sound. There was no response. Something wasn’t right. Moyer hadn’t said anything about going out anywhere. She entered the net and searched for him. He wasn’t online, not unusual for Moyer if he was home, though he’d never risk wearing his silly gold cap in public. The fines and risk of rehabilitation were too great.
She called his name again and searched the apartment in case he was asleep. She found his note. I’ve gone out – will be back soon. Still something was wrong, she felt sure of it. Moyer had his twinkle, and Robyn had her intuition, which was almost as reliable. She knew the feel of trouble.
Who could she call? Certainly not Security Services. If he was hurt, it was the right call. If he wasn’t and had gotten into some other sort of trouble, the chances he’d be charged with something were certain. Even if she was wrong and it was nothing, there would be a reimbursement fee for Security Services’ time and effort they couldn’t afford, especially after her shopping trip with Eve.
Petro was the only name that sprung to mind. He was perhaps Moyer’s only friend. Yet she noticed a reticence in Moyer when the two were together that hinted her husband didn’t entirely trust Petro.
She sat on the sofa and anxiously rubbed her hands along her thighs. She felt cold. The wooden box for Moyer’s mesh cap sat on the end table. Out of curiosity she flipped open the lid. Moyer’s gold mesh cap rested inside. If he wasn’t wearing his cap, why couldn’t she find him on the net?
Robyn thought of calling Eve. Eve was a bright woman. She might have some ideas. Again, what did she really know about Eve? Calling in her present state of mind was out of the question. The net browsers would pick up on her anxiety and focus attention toward her.
Robyn plucked Moyer’s cap out of the box and placed it on her head. Better safe than sorry. The stream of background noise in her head dropped to a murmur. When she attached the clip to the radiator, her head went silent and she was alone for the first time she could remember. Totally alone. And it felt… horrible. How could Moyer stand it?
She tried to think, but the distraction of the empty abyss inside her head made it almost impossible. It was like falling through darkness alone, waiting for the crash at the bottom that would never come. How could anyone think in the face of that? How could they stand the emptiness?
Then she heard a voice, one she recognized. It was her own, piping up with the realization that there were places shielded from the net; churches, Security Services barracks, law offices, boardrooms, and laboratories. Moyer could be at one of those. He wasn’t necessarily unconscious or dead. Robyn tried to picture Moyer in a church without being dragged there. It wouldn’t happen. Boardrooms and law offices were just as ridiculous. And if Moyer was at a Security Services barracks, then he was already beyond help.
Moyer’s office must be shielded. He was secretive of what he did there, and she’d never been able to reach him at Digi-Soft. Perhaps he’d gone back to work on something. All that left her with was Petro. He was the only one she knew who could check.
She pulled the cap from her head and sought out Kelsey. Social protocols had to be observed. Many would have made direct contact with Petro. However, any awkward misunderstandings could be avoided if Robyn talked to his wife first.
When she made contact, screams filled her ears, high pitched and sustained, quaking with anger, dying out only as long as it took to draw in the next breath. It wasn’t Kelsey, it was Brooke. The sound made Robyn cringe. Kelsey walked the floor with her baby, bouncing Brooke in her arms, cooing softly trying to sooth her, but the baby would have none of it. It screamed until its face reddened and eventually turned a hypoxic purple. The raspy sound died from lack of wind and Robyn was sure the baby would pop. A desperate suck of wind started the process again.
“What can I do for you, Robyn? I kind of have my hands full.”
“What’s wrong with Brooke?”
“She’s colicky is all, what is it?”
Robyn waited for the baby to wind down, for that point where Brooke was out of breath and her scream barely audible. “I’m trying to find Moyer. Would it be all right if I spoke to Petro?”
Kelsey didn’t wait on her daughter and raised her voice to talk over the screams. “Sure, feel free, but he’s not here. He’s still at Digi-soft working late on some project.”
The news eased Robyn’s worry a bit. If Petro was working overtime, there was a good chance that’s where Moyer was, too. She thanked Kelsey and said goodbye. As soon as the connection was severed and Brooke’s screams faded, Robyn pulse started to ease back to normal. She was amazed by the ferocity and volume such a small creature generated, and by the profound physiological affect it had on her.
She searched the net again and sought out Petro. She found him, which wasn’t good news. It meant Petro wasn’t in a shielded location and Moyer wasn’t with him. When she synched and was connected to audio and video, men’s whoops rang in her ears. She emerged in a dark room. Men crowded shoulder to shoulder. It stank of tobacco smoke and stale beer. There was a small platform lit with colored spotlights. Someone next to Petro whistled and shouted, “More, baby, more.” The piercing shrill made her wince. A nude woman stepped onto the platform. Pink, green and blue lights focused on her while she performed a sex act with a large snake.
It took Petro a moment to realize someone was onboard his chip. He immediately diverted his eyes from the show, and in a harsh whisper asked, “Who is this?”
“It’s Robyn, I’m looking for Moyer. Is he there at work with you?”
Over the uproar in the background, she heard Petro chuckle. “I think we both know I’m not at work. I’m out with my colleagues. Moyer was invited but he didn’t
show. He never does. I haven’t seen him today, and have no idea where he is. He disappears a lot at lunch hour, too. Wherever he goes then, maybe he’s there now. Some people are hinting he’s getting some on the side, but who knows?”
Robyn picked up on a sense of glee as Petro poked at Moyer. It was a muddled assault at best. On one hand he was picking on the fact that Moyer was so straight laced he never frequented the sex clubs, and on the other insinuating that uptight Moyer might be having an affair. Now she understood Moyer’s reticence concerning Petro.
“Do me a favor,” Petro said, “and don’t bring this up with Kelsey. It will only hurt her. I told her I was working late. Everything lately has been baby, baby, baby. We haven’t had fun in months, if you know what I mean. I merely needed to blow off a little steam.” A new roar belched from the crowd and Petro instinctively turned his eyes toward the stage, but stopped short. “I promise if I see my man Moyer, I’ll have him get in touch with you – fair enough?”
Light stabbed Moyer’s retinas when he cracked open his eyes. The world was a watery collage of color, shadow, and pain. A dull ache rang out from his limbs and coalesced inside his skull to the steady drum of his heartbeat. He lay prone, his face pressed against a hard surface, smooth and slicked with his saliva. He pushed himself up on trembling arms until he sat with his back against the wall and wiped his cheek. His head lolled to the right.
A pair of forms watched him, waiting. Men, seated across from him, predators restrained. They knew Moyer was weak, an easy mark. They wanted what he had or what they thought he had, yet they hesitated. The intent was present, and the will. Something was wrong. They were nervous. Something was holding them back.
Moyer blinked until his eyes cleared. He turned to his left. A security agent loomed next to him, a statue giving no outward sign that the armor wasn’t as empty as the relics on display in ancient castles. But the two thugs across from Moyer knew the armor wasn’t empty and were on their guard.