Sycamore 2

by Craig A. Falconer

  A girl, presumably Lisa, soon appeared from inside a store near the one Ty had emerged from. Ty pointed her towards the group without stopping and continued on his way to get Ernesto.

  Val was visibly annoyed by Ty’s inability to follow the most basic of instructions, shaking her head and cursing his name under her breath.

  Lisa hurried down the pathway to catch a glimpse of the famous Kurt Jacobs. She had messy blonde hair and an excited face. She was also very young, and Kurt wasn’t the only one to notice.

  “Are there any other adults around here?” Harry asked, half seriously. “It’s like Lord of the goddamn Flies.”

  Kurt saw the funny side but also understood Harry’s concern. He had expected to meet more hardened holdouts like Val, and Ty and Lisa didn’t strike him as fitting that particular bill.

  “Oh… my… God…” Lisa shrieked. “I thought he was joking! What are you doing here?” she asked Kurt, much happier to see him than anyone else had been for a long time.

  Lisa’s accent was so strong that it took Kurt a second to process what she had said. He couldn’t place the accent at all — maybe somewhere in England? — but it somehow suited her buoyant nature.

  “Wait,” Lisa said, before Kurt could answer. Her bubbly aura evaporated when she saw Minter. “Why are you with him?”

  This was becoming a common theme. Kurt had known that Minter wasn’t likely to be popular among a group of people bound by a desire to take down Sycamore, but the level of personal hatred came as a surprise.

  Kurt didn’t answer Lisa’s question. Val told her to leave the area.

  “I’m going to tell Mary and then I’m coming back,” Lisa said. She walked off the way she came. Val didn’t care that Lisa was coming back sooner than she would have liked, she was just glad to see the back of her.

  Harry sighed loudly and spoke out of turn. “I can’t help but feel like we might meet this Ernesto fella quicker if we were walking towards him.”

  “I didn’t want the others to see you all,” Val explained. Her glum voice reflected the total failure of this plan.

  Harry didn’t push any further. He asked Joyce how she was feeling. She said fine, but she sounded weary. Around 30 hours ago, Joyce had been arriving at the gas station for a regular day’s work. Now, she was here. Whatever it meant to be here, which Kurt didn’t yet know, Joyce was as much a part of it as the rest of them.

  “No no no no no,” Minter suddenly said. “No.”

  “What?” Kurt asked.

  “It’s him.”

  Kurt followed Minter’s eyes to the fork on the right of the path near the entrance, from which a well-dressed man with an amused look on his face was now purposefully striding towards them. Kurt hadn’t known what to expect of Ernesto in terms of looks or anything else, but he certainly hadn’t expected him to be an African American.

  “That’s not Ernesto, right?” he whispered after a few seconds of thought. He recalled the night when Stacy told him about the crash that killed her father. When she was talking about her family, Kurt could have sworn Stacy said our parents, indicating that she and Ernesto were full siblings and that this man — this “him” who Minter so clearly recognised — was someone else entirely.

  “Worse,” Minter said. “Anthony.”

  Anthony, who looked roughly Minter’s age but much better for it, crossed from right to left directly in front of the group. He studied Minter from head to toe as he passed, seeming not to care that Kurt was there, too. “Terrance,” he said. “Long time no see.”

  In contrast to Ty and Lisa, Anthony looked like he had just arrived in the mall. Kurt didn’t normally notice things like fashion and grooming but he couldn’t miss how sharp Anthony was; his pencil-thin sideburns clearly hadn’t missed a single day’s upkeep, his creaseless blue shirt looked fresh off the peg, and even his shoes shone in the natural light. Anthony walked with the sureness of a man in a high place. Kurt wondered what he used to do in the real world, guessing he might have been something like a newscaster or an elite sports agent.

  Anthony continued to the far left and entered the Tourist Information booth underneath the monorail station, quickly emerging with a chair. He placed it near the group and sat down. “Best view in the house,” he grinned.

  “Is his dad here?” Minter asked Val as quietly as he could. She heard, but she chose to ignore him.

  Finally, a man came into view in the distance and Val quietly confirmed that it was Ernesto. “Whatever you do,” she said to Kurt, “do not talk back.”

  Given the stakes, Kurt didn’t need to be told twice.

  “I hope you’ve checked their eyes and hands,” Ernesto called to Val as he approached. The depth of his voice surprised Kurt.

  The surprises didn’t stop there, either. Ernesto didn’t look an inch taller than Stacy, for one thing, and his skin was noticeably paler than hers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His head was shaved to the same few-millimetres level as his uniform facial stubble, giving him an overall look not too far from the video-game stereotype of a low level mobster.

  “Kurt Jacobs,” Ernesto said when he reached the group. His voice had an effortless resonance, even at low volume. Kurt calmed his nerves by imagining that Ernesto would have had no trouble landing the voiceover role for his own mobster character. Ernesto’s stare was intense, too, and even his posture exuded strength.

  In the moment, Kurt couldn’t quite figure out whether replying to open-ended statements would count as talking back. He played safe and stayed quiet.

  “Bold move, coming here.”

  Kurt kept quiet again.

  “So I see you’re with him?” Ernesto said, half question, half statement.

  This time Kurt decided he should answer. “He’s… it’s, uh…” he stuttered uncharacteristically in the face of Ernesto’s overbearing presence. Eventually he got the words out: “It’s more like he’s with us.”

  Ernesto’s expression perked up into a smile. “Us?” he echoed.

  Kurt nodded meekly.

  “Untie his hands,” Ernesto boomed. Val hastily followed the order and freed Kurt from the cord.

  Kurt stretched his wrists and adjusted the dressing on his wound. “Thanks,” he said, intending it for both of them.

  Kurt looked back up from his hand and met Ernesto’s gaze, which was more intense than ever. And then, from nowhere, Ernesto threw a brutal right hook into the side of Kurt’s face. Kurt’s legs crumbled and his head smacked into the marble floor.

  Harry fell to his knees in a desperate effort to help Kurt but the cord around his hands rendered them useless. Anthony sprinted over from his seated position and placed his hand under Kurt’s head, rolling his unconscious body onto its side.

  “What the hell?” Anthony screamed at Ernesto.

  Ernesto held Minter’s eyes in his for a few seconds then casually walked away. Without turning back, he boomed one more order to Val:

  “Retie his hands.”

  II

  9

  Kurt regained consciousness in an unfamiliar location. His head was pounding and his hands were restricted once again. To add to this, he found his right foot tethered to a row of airport-style chairs. Kurt looked around. Anthony was with him. They were in the elevated monorail station.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Anthony asked. He crouched down to Kurt’s level.

  “How long was I out?”

  “A few minutes,” Anthony said. “How many fingers?”

  Kurt could see fine. “Four. What the hell was that about, anyway?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Anthony replied. “Ernesto is a mess right now. But surely you can kind of see why he would hold you responsible?”

  “He could have just asked me what happened,” Kurt said. “I came here to help.”

  Anthony’s attention turned to the spectacular bruise on Kurt’s upper cheek. He touched it lightly and Kurt recoiled. “So does your face hurt more than your head?” />
  “What happened to my head?” Kurt replied with a question of his own.

  Anthony felt for a bump but didn’t find one. “It looked like it hit the ground pretty hard.” His hand then moved to Kurt’s thick cotton hood, the inside of which was lined with a dense brown faux fur. “Maybe it’s a good thing you were wearing this,” he said.

  “Where’s Joyce?” Kurt asked, distracted. “And Harry?”

  “I think Val said she would take them to Mary. Or maybe it was Lisa.”

  “Who’s Mary?”

  “Don’t worry,” Anthony said. “She would look after them. Same with Lisa.”

  Kurt had no reason to disbelieve Anthony, and no way of doing anything about it even if he had. “What about Minter?” he asked.

  Anthony hesitated.

  “Where’s Minter?”

  “I don’t know. Val left him downstairs when she asked me to help carry you up here. Then she, uh, secured you to the chairs and told me to make sure I was here when you woke up. She took him away somewhere. Maybe to my dad. It depends where Ernesto went.”

  “Who’s your dad?”

  “Michael,” Anthony replied in a tone which suggested he thought Kurt already knew.

  “Wait,” Kurt said, finally putting the pieces together. “Michael Richardson? So you’re the lawyer? I thought you would be much older.”

  “I’m 26,” Anthony said, as though this countered Kurt’s point. “So I guess Minter told you the lawyer thing?”

  Kurt nodded. “I think he had a feeling the two of you might be here.”

  “What else did he tell you?” Anthony asked. His expression turned suspicious. “What other feelings did he have?”

  Kurt refused to answer.

  “Come on, Kurt. We’re on the same side here.”

  “Any side I’m on includes Minter,” Kurt said.

  Anthony intensified his gaze. “Terrance Minion cannot be trusted.”

  “I trust him.”

  “Why? How do you know he’s not still with Amos? How do you know he’s not here undercover?”

  “He let me cut out his Seed with a kitchen knife,” Kurt said.

  Anthony shrugged. “So he’s committed to the role…”

  “He came here to help,” Kurt insisted, his frustration turning to anger. “Think about how stupid you sound right now. If Amos wanted someone to infiltrate your group — which he wouldn’t, by the way; he would just kill you — why would he send someone who you all recognise and hate? None of it makes sense.”

  “I guess…”

  “Listen,” Kurt said. “If either Ernesto or your dad touch Minter, he won’t help us. He’s not doing this for his family or anything like I am. He’s doing it for himself and because he hates Amos. So if they give Minter a bigger reason to hate them, it’s game over. It might already be over after what Ernesto just did, but I need you to make sure that nothing else like that happens. Because trust me when I tell you, we can’t do this without Minter.”

  “I’ll talk to my dad,” Anthony said, rising to his feet. He walked to the stairs.

  “Wait,” Kurt said. “There’s a letter in Val’s pocket. Stacy wrote it last week. Get the letter and give it to Ernesto as soon as you can.”

  “Okay. And you’re sure your head’s okay?”

  “Go!”

  Anthony left.

  Kurt couldn’t see downstairs; there were plenty of windows which would have given him a great view of the mall, but the foot restraint meant that he couldn’t get near them.

  The only thing he could make out from the floor was a three-dimensional map of the mall near the edge of this elevated monorail platform. The map would have given context to the oddly positioned walkways but, unfortunately, he could only see the side of the model.

  Kurt slouched against the wall, reflecting ruefully that the whole journey and the massive risk he had taken had all been for this. This was even worse than the back of Harry’s truck, where he could at least pass the time with his phone. Here there was nothing. For what felt like forever, absolutely nothing.

  The nothing ended perhaps an hour or two later, when Kurt heard footsteps approaching the monorail station. The footsteps grew more deliberate as they climbed the stairs.

  Kurt considered who he most wanted it to be. Minter, ideally, but there was no chance of that. Harry would be a good second choice. Or maybe Ernesto, he decided. They would have to talk eventually, and it was better to get it out of the way now.

  Kurt got his wish.

  “I read the letter,” Ernesto said. His face displayed none of the malice Kurt had seen on it in his last glimpse.

  “Where’s Minter?”

  “Val should have shown it to me straight away,” Ernesto continued, totally blanking Kurt’s question. “I didn’t know you and Stacy were… you know. And obviously I had no idea the two of you were on the way to try and take Amos down on Friday. It all makes sense now.”

  “Punch first, ask later. That’s my motto, too,” Kurt said flatly.

  “Anyway. Terrance mentioned the video on the computer. Is it Terrance or Terry?” Ernesto paused to ask.

  “It’s Minter,” Kurt reiterated. “Where is he?”

  “The other monorail station. North end of the mall.”

  “If you so much as laid a fing—”

  “I didn’t touch him,” Ernesto interrupted. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Kurt didn’t answer. As far as he was concerned, the bruise on his face spoke for itself.

  “Either way, he was pretty adamant that you weren’t followed and that your fake death thing worked. How sure about that are you?”

  “Put it this way,” Kurt said, “if Amos thought I was alive, I wouldn’t be. What else did Minter say?”

  “He also said that as soon as he found out Amos killed Stacy, he walked out on Sycamore. True or false?”

  “True,” Kurt confirmed. Well, it was true enough; Minter actually walked out a few minutes after Stacy’s death, when Amos threatened Sabrina.

  “And then Amos blamed him for the murder and for kidnapping you?”

  Kurt nodded. “True.”

  “And when ‘Minter’ tells me that he can access all of Sycamore’s systems and give us total control… is that true?”

  “Yes,” Kurt said, because it was; as far as he knew, anyway.

  Ernesto considered the implications. Whatever plans he may have been working on, the ability to attack Sycamore from the inside was a game-changer. “Maybe you did the right thing bringing him here after all,” he said. “I should apologise for what happened downstairs.”

  “Words are cheap,” Kurt muttered.

  “If I could unpunch you, I would,” Ernesto said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Kurt raised his hands. “You could always untie me.”

  Ernesto agreed. He didn’t bother loosening Kurt’s foot; the knot looked like it would take a while and he knew that Kurt could do it himself. Kurt didn’t ask him to because he also thought he would be able to do it now that his hands were free.

  “So that was all Minter said?” Kurt asked, hoping he wouldn’t have shared the part of the story about him warning Kurt to back down on Friday morning and Kurt neglecting to pass the message on to Stacy.

  “There was just one more thing,” Ernesto said. “He said that Amos made you watch Stacy die from across the street, with two of his guys holding you back. True or false?”

  “True,” Kurt said.

  Ernesto rose to his feet. “We’ll get him back,” he promised. “When this is all over — when Sycamore is dead and Amos is at my feet begging for mercy — you can watch him die from as close as you like.” He patted Kurt on the shoulder then headed towards the stairs. “Do me a favour and stay up here for now. I’ll get someone to bring you some ice.”

  ~

  Kurt couldn’t free his foot. His left palm still stung terribly when he bent his fingers, and the knot was too tight for his right hand to untie on its own.

/>   Shortly after Ernesto left, Kurt heard more footsteps. These were lighter and quicker.

  A young woman stood at the top of the stairs with a bag of frozen peas in one hand and a bottle in the other. She walked over with her eyes down and placed both items beside Kurt.

  “It’s apple juice,” she said quietly. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She turned back towards the stairs.

  “Wait,” Kurt said. “Are you Mary?”

  She met his eyes for the first time and nodded quickly.

  Mary had a young, freckled face, but she was dressed like someone much older. Her look reminded Kurt of the quietest girls he had known at school, with their starchy blouses and the hair so straight it looked like it could cut you. She wore flat shoes and had a cross around her neck.

  “How old are you?”

  “23,” she said.

  Kurt knew that there was energy in youth — theoretically, at least — but he really was beginning to share Harry’s concern over the age of the group’s members. Other than Ernesto, no one they had met in the mall so far was older than Minter and only Anthony was older than Kurt.

  “Well, I’m Kurt,” he said, back in the moment. “In case no one told you.”

  This almost caused Mary to smile. “And how old are you?”

  “24,” Kurt said. “Why?”

  “I dunno, you asked me.” Mary looked at the ground again. “Anyway, I should go.”

  True to her word, she left.

  Mary seemed pleasant enough but struck Kurt as extremely timid. While Ty and Lisa appeared to have settled well in their bizarre new surroundings, Mary seemed out of her element. Kurt wasn’t sure if this was because of some rumour she had heard about him or if it was just who she was. Minter had been a similar way when Kurt first met him at the university: shoulders down, eyes to the ground, voice as quiet as it could get away with.

  Kurt wasn’t trying to pass judgement on anyone, just overthinking the limited stimuli available to him; such was the spectrum of life, he knew that an outside observer might see him as remarkably timid compared to someone as outgoing as Ty.