The Line

by K J Southworth

  The third guy grabs me from behind while his buddy stumbles backwards. I drop my stance and ram my fist into his balls. His grip slackens and he slides to the ground, squeaking. When I turn around I coldly watch his eyes rolling back into his head.

  I ready myself for the next attack but it doesn’t come. Whipping my head around, I see the fourth man, pasty faced and unhealthily skinny, standing there with an astonished look on his face.

  He shakes his head dumbly. The first attacker can barely stand, the second is still clutching his nose, and the third isn’t moving at all. Nobody has come to see what happened because nobody cares; that’s why Jack chose this part of B.

  Emerging from my detached state, I take terrible delight in this man’s fear. I savour his friends’ intense agony. The three wounded men, moaning and whimpering, are slowly crawling away from the alley.

  “You want to follow your friends the fuck out of here?”

  I don’t bother to watch them leave. They’re nothing but a waste of skin and space.

  Striding down the narrow alley, I take a left, right, and another left before I reach a dead end. I remove a brick from the wall to my right and press the flashing button behind it. The lift activates as soon as I put the brick back in its slot. Holding onto a rail that looks like it belongs to a fire escape, I’m lowered into the foyer of Jack’s hideout.

  14

  When my head clears street level another lift takes it place. That’s a new feature; the crew has been busy.

  “Fancy shmancy,” I mutter as I’m enveloped by darkness.

  The lift moves fast for a piece of crap. It only takes a few moments to get me two stories below ground. I could take out my flashlight and have a look around, but the black is so comfortable. Besides, by activating the lift I’ve automatically triggered the hideout’s traps. Someone must be inside because the lift wasn’t disconnected. They’ll be waiting for me to use a light source so they can have the tactical advantage.

  Stepping off the lift, I walk forward eight steps, turn to the left and walk five more. I could use my psychic talent to see in the dark, but that talent tends to give me a headache if I abuse it. At any rate, it wouldn’t help me. I already know every nook and cranny of this place. Even with the lights out, I know that directly ahead of me there’s a steel door. Beyond it is Jack’s hideout.

  I wasn’t sure how I would feel once I got here. Nostalgic, I guess, maybe even a little sad. There are parts of me that are made of steel; I figure their sufficient protection from any part me that’s still connected to this place.

  Standing in the dark, I hesitate on the threshold of my past.

  Wulff pleaded with me for months to accept Jack’s offer of becoming part of the F Sector crew. Back then I wouldn’t even consider it. I’d decided never to work with others, to make my way as a loner even they usually end up crazy or worse. Then the Criminal world discovered my Cop origins. Overnight, I lost nearly every connection I’d made in five years of clawing my way off the streets. A few people stood by me—Lily, Kentucky Jim, Wulff—but they couldn’t give me work. They were struggling, just like me. I was going to starve if I didn’t do something.

  I know now that the only reason Nick Redden contracted me was because he guessed that I wouldn’t be able to kill in cold blood. He wanted me to fail so that he could avenge everyone he’d lost to the Prison.

  I suspect that Wulff was the one who convinced Jack to renew his offer. I was in rough shape, but Jack decided my A Sector background would be an asset to his team. He didn’t see me as an ex-Cop who needed to be beaten into oblivion. I was a source of previously inaccessible information. I could teach him about Cop fighting techniques; I could help him anticipate Cop strategy; I could design new ways to infiltrate Cop security. But the truth is, I didn’t take his offer because of his clever speech. I took it because he fascinated me.

  Jack isn’t an easy man to describe. When we first met I admired his quiet strength. He has a calming effect on people—on me. I felt safe around him. There was something about the way he treated me; no psychological fight for dominance or deliberately sexual scan of my body. He just held out his hand and warmly asked me if I needed work. When I hesitated he launched into his speech, but it was his gentle confidence that prompted me to accept. I was completely disarmed.

  Years of working and living with him turned my admiration into a deep and aching respect. He would sit across the table from me, cleaning his equipment, while I pretended not to be totally aware of everything that he did. Those were interesting hours.

  We also I played games like siblings. There are some people I can’t sense with my psychic talent. I don’t know why, it’s a conundrum. They’re invisible to my inner radar. Jack is one of them. He used to milk his gift for all it was worth. Scaring me out of my wits was one of his favourite past-times. I used to check every corner no matter where I went but he still managed to get me. Punching him afterward only made him laugh harder. He loved that I was such an easy target.

  One morning I didn’t hear him coming up behind me. I was concentrating on my tea, listening to Wulff tinkering in the garage, laughing at Frenzy’s nervous good-bye as he left to get his oatmeal snacks. It suddenly occurred to me that I was happy. That kind of realization is Luck’s greatest temptation. I froze in terror.

  A few minutes later and it wouldn’t have happened. I would have filed it away for a moment alone. But Jack came up behind me and gave me his brotherly shove. His touch threw me into a state of shock. All I knew was a terrible and hollow sense of loss. I had reached that inner void where my brother lay dying on the floor; where Ivana’s neck snapped like a twig; where Nick Redden grunted on top of me. I was the nine-year-old who watched her mother die and the eleven-year-old waiting for her father to come home.

  Jack carried me to my room, wrapped me in a warm blanket, and stayed at my side until I came out of the shock. I only knew one thing when I did: everything was going to slip away. My happiness guaranteed it.

  This memory shakes me to the core. For a moment, I consider stepping back onto the lift and disappearing. Locket will find me in two days, but I could spend those days in a blissful, drug-induced euphoria. Forget Lily, forget the City, and forget the slim chance of sidestepping Madman’s trap.

  Torn between my loyalty and my fear, I stand wretched and alone in Jack’s foyer.

  Frenzy’s rough but hopeful voice filters through the com-system.

  I don’t know if I should answer. Before I can make up my mind, whirs and clicks echo through the large cement room—the traps have been disabled. I can hear the wheel on the steel door turning. When it opens, Frenzy pops through, the light from the hideout creating a bright halo behind him; his familiar, deep brown eyes welcome me home.

  A strange mixture and relief and pain settles around my heart as I study my blurry-eyed, messy-haired, lean-bodied friend. I want to pick him up and spin him around, like in the old days, but I can’t move. There’s too much to feel and I’m too exhausted to do it. I quickly retreat behind a stony façade, leaving his warm-hearted expression hanging in the cool foyer air.

  Cocking his head to one side Frenzy gawks at my haggard face. “We didn’t think we’d see you again.”

  “I’m here on business,” I state, hating my brusque tone. “I’m sure you guys heard about Madman’s little errand.”

  “We heard,” Frenzy answers. “We figured you’d choose Locket.”

  “Well, I’ve got two days,” I snap. “I haven’t really made up my mind yet.”

  Frenzy stands uncertainly on the threshold of Jack’s hideout. He doesn’t know me anymore. That doesn’t concern me much, though, because I can still read him. His cautious behaviour screams that he’s alone and that I’m making him nervous. I torture him by letting the heavy silence stretch on. Being here on business, it isn’t my job to make him feel better.

  “I’ve still got your tea,” he finally offers. Stepping to one side, he hesitantly us
hers me in. “I’ll make you a cup.”

  A long, white hallway leads straight into the common room. I’m instantly enfolded in the masculine smells of Jack, Wulff and Frenzy. Wulff likes to shave with a strong, mint soap; the invigorating smell helps soothe the tension behind my eyes. Surrounding it is the rich aroma of Frenzy’s favourite oatmeal snacks, hand made by Lenny. Frenzy uses them as an excuse to flirt with Lily in the mornings. Lingering beyond the mint and oatmeal is the earthy smell of Jack’s leather cleaner.

  To my left and right are the cubbies where the crew sleeps. Cubbies are big enough for bunk beds and a dresser. I lived in the second cubby on the left, right next to the bathroom, the worst cubby in the place. Someone would flush and the ghastly noise would wake me up every time. I remember, about a month after I moved in permanently, Wulff came back from Bragg’s Bar staggeringly drunk. He didn’t want to wake me so he went into the kitchen. The sink was too far away so he ended up puking all over the floor. We found him the next day, passed out on his stomach. His face was covered in vomit and he was muttering about how everyone got a good night’s sleep. The funny part was that I wasn’t in my cubby that night. I’d stayed out late with Lily and crashed on her floor.

  My old cubby is tidier than I left it, but my stuff is still here. Picking out one of my favourite old shirts from the dresser, I press the soft cotton against my cheek. Wulff dyed it purple when I complained about the faded brown I always had to wear. Sick with nostalgia, I cram the shirt into my bag. Jumping onto the top bunk, I move a piece of the ceiling up and to the side then peer into the darkness. Every cubby has an escape hatch. They lead to the hideouts back door. I was using this space to store my black boots.

  After I escaped from Cop Sector I couldn’t wear them anymore: only Cops can wear black boots. It’s illegal to even own a pair. I don’t know why I kept them all this time, but I’m glad I did. My feet stopped growing when I was eleven, so they still fit nicely. If Frenzy agrees to help me I’ll be ready to find the line into A tomorrow. In fact, it’s lucky that Frenzy is here alone. I don’t want the others hearing what I need from him. If they can’t talk me out of it they’ll insist on helping me, and that’s the last thing that I want.

  Stuffing the boots into my bag, I walk into the bright blue common room. Wulff changes the wall colour when he gets the urge. The year I was arrested they were bright yellow, the year before that bright green, the year before that bright orange. The big table sits where it always did, six chairs tucked neatly under its scarred, wooden top. Behind that is Frenzy’s workstation, a wall of bleeping lights and whirring computers. The helmet where he jacks his brain into the system sits on his giant, wing-backed chair. His straightjacket is carefully draped over one of the chair’s arms.

  “Still no cream and sugar?” Frenzy calls from the kitchen in the corner.

  “I’ve learned to appreciate those things.”

  I’m standing near the table, facing him. Directly behind me is the door leading to Wulff’s garage, where he keeps all his vehicles in top condition. Two years ago he had six different models: his favourite junker for casual rides; the hover vehicle for desert jobs; the classy, low-riding two-seater with the perfect paint job and leather interior for the upper end jobs; what he always calls the packer, his big truck for heavier loads; and two crap cars for jobs that require a switch. If I wasn’t struggling so much with memories of him, I’d open the door and take a peek. I’m curious to know if he ever got around to painting the packer.

  I take a seat when Frenzy offers me a mug full of steaming tea. My old companion has cooled it down with a little cold water, making it the perfect temperature to drink. He gags when I take a tentative sip. The familiar, pungent flavour assaults my taste buds and I sigh happily. This stuff is almost better than the chocolate Jules shared with me in the desert. It’s an acquired taste, I admit that, but it’s wonderful.

  “I still don’t understand how you can like that stuff.”

  “It’s what my mom always drank,” I explain for the umpteenth time. “It kept her from ever getting sick, and it does the same for me.”

  “Bullshit.” Frenzy grunts disapprovingly as he sits down and leans back in his chair. Running his hand roughly through his short hair he crosses his arms over his chest. “You drink it because you know it makes the rest of us gag.”

  “Anything to get a reaction out of you.”

  Despite my initial coldness, I slip back into our old pattern. Taking a large portion of the tea into my mouth I stare cheekily at Frenzy as I swish it around. He grimaces, so I tip my head back and start gurgling. After a few moments his face squishes into an expression of revulsion and he has to turn away.

  Amused, I swallow the tea noisily and smack my lips. “Best I’ve ever had!”

  “Disgusting.”

  “I’d bathe in this stuff if I could afford it,” I claim, relishing his gasp of horror.

  “It smells like sewage!”

  “Sewage with cream and sugar,” I correct. I hold my mug under my nose and take a deep breath. “There’s a reason they used to call me Sewer Rat.”

  “You’re insane!” Frenzy starts laughing. “Just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “Never can, never will.”

  “Fine,” he concedes. “You can have your stupid tea.”

  I smile triumphantly and we descend into comfortable silence. How many times have we had this conversation? I remember having it whenever I was recovering from a night out. Frenzy always had the tea ready before I woke up. His shy smile let me know he wanted to hear about where I went and what I did. The poor kid doesn’t like to leave the hideout. His past makes him fear the outdoors.

  Frenzy and I sit together like old times—no words, no movement. We used to do this when no one else was around. When you live in an underground space with three other people there’s never a quiet moment. If Jack and Wulff went out, Frenzy and I would haul ourselves out of our cubbies, get a few drinks and just enjoy the silence.

  But this silence is heavy—awkward. Frenzy’s gaze fills with regret and the merriment drains from the room. I wish I had the fortitude to comfort him, but I’m struggling against my own pathetic remorse. There are too many things that need to be said, too many apologies that we have to make. Neither of us is brave enough to step up and be the first. As soon as someone does we have to acknowledge the past, and we’re not ready.

  The day the bounty hunters caught me, Frenzy made a mistake. He doesn’t make them often. The crew was heading out for a job in K Sector. It was a standard grab and go, nothing fancy. We figured we could be in and out in a few hours, but Frenzy wasn’t having a good day so Jack was thinking of saving the job for later. I, however, was in a rush. I hate K Sector: the Scientists freak me out with all their little rules.

  In K there are areas where you walk south and areas where you walk north; lanes where you walk slowly and lanes where you walk quickly; places where you don’t talk and places where you can have a low conversation. Try going against the rules and the entire populace will freak out. And their laws! Days are colour-coded. If you can’t afford the colours of that day you’re not allowed to leave your box. Hairstyles must be short, no facial hair, nails must be trimmed, no stains or wrinkles on your clothes, any visible scars must be covered (some people have to wear masks), no jewelry. There’s an absence of life there that leaves me feeling grotesque. Even the streets are pristine. B, Q, and C are messy and falling apart. The people in the streets are loud, always in your way and never moving directly from one place to another. There’s something comforting about that kind of chaos.

  K Sector not being my favourite place I just wanted to get the job over with. I told Frenzy to suck it up. He was hurt, but he did what I said.

  The identity card he made for me was faulty. To get from one sector to another you need permission. It was Frenzy’s job to convince the system that I was somebody with clearance. The gatekeeper swiped my card and knew right away. He still let me through, but the
bastard tagged me. If a gatekeeper suspects anything illegal he, or she, can stick a locator on the identity card. It immediately sends a signal to whichever bounty hunter pays the gatekeeper for the information.

  Bounty hunters are smart. They knew to follow me before pouncing. Having a forged identity card means that I’m connected and might lead them to other Criminals. But my psychic talent let me know they were behind me. I never made it to the rendezvous with Jack and Wulff. I led the Cops in the other direction, hoping to shake them and use the sewers to get back to B.

  With three bounty hunters on my tail I never had a chance. They took me down when they realized I was aimlessly wandering the streets.

  Frenzy has always been hard on himself. The smallest mistakes send him into dark emotional pits of self-loathing. It’s written all over his face: he blames himself for my arrest. For a while, I did too. It seemed horribly convenient that, out of everyone, I was the one who was handed the faulty identity card. But two years gives a person the chance to go over every detail of how they were caught. Frenzy knew he wasn’t up for the job and I shouldn’t have pushed him.. Guilt is the most uncomfortable emotion. It’s hanging over him like a lead weight, making his chest cave and his shoulders sag. I’m not doing much better.

  I don’t know how to talk to him. My mind is drawing a blank, the words I need are eluding me. I open my mouth a few times but nothing comes out. Frenzy is sinking further into himself. If we’re not careful, we’ll sit like this, waiting for forgiveness, for hours.

  “My friend Hyde needs an identity card,” I finally say.

  Grateful for the distraction, Frenzy launches himself into the task at hand. “Is he a Fix-it?”

  “He’s a ghost.”

  “Not a switch but an insertion. That’ll be a little tricky.”

  “He also needs approval for Lily’s procreation.”

  “Lily’s been ordered to have a kid?” Frenzy gasps. His eyes look like they might pop out of his head. “Does she know about what this guy wants to do?”