Along the way, one burned out shell of a building made Cooper’s heart leap into his throat. As they approached, everything moved in slow motion.
“Wow, that’s the Pinehouse Arcade?”
“It used to be,” Dranko intoned.
The building had burned almost to the ground. The neon sign that had for many years proclaimed “Pinehouse Arcade, Fun for All!” lay half-splintered on the ground. Shattered glass and a few piles of debris lay strewn about where the front entrance had previously resided. The buildings to either side lay singed, but mostly intact. It was clear the fire had started inside the arcade.
“Why the hell would anyone do that?” Cooper bellowed.
“Who knows? What’s the big deal? It’s just a bunch of old coin-operated video games from the 1980s,” Dranko asked, surprised at his friend’s outburst.
Cooper’s face grew long, “It was more than that.” He inhaled deeply, “Jake and I used to come here all the time. It was his favorite place.”
Dranko responded with awkward silence, but reached across the cab to put his hand on Cooper’s shoulder, “You’ll come here again someday, just like before.” Dranko’s forced optimism sounded like an instrument played off-note. Cooper managed a quick grin for his friend’s effort.
They drove onward in silence through the decaying city.
******
As they rounded a corner, Cooper exhaled, “Well, look at that!”
A blazing neon sign above a low-slung, nondescript building, called out, “Hungry Hoang’s, Chinese-American Cuisine.”
“They still got juice,” Dranko said, stating the obvious.
“Lit up like this, they want everyone else to know that they do,” Cooper added.
As they approached, the parking lot was full of vehicles: lowered Hondas, Toyota pick-up trucks, a few Cadillacs. Cooper did a double-take when he saw a World War Two-era halftrack with a machine gun mounted on top.
“Well, I’ll be…” he exclaimed.
Two of the Toyotas were configured as “Tacticals”: pickups with an improvised machine gun mounted in the bed. “Those are straight off of CNN when they report on an uprising in Africa,” Dranko called to Cooper out of the side of his mouth. The welding work on the machine gun mounts were shiny and appeared hastily done.
A half-dozen guards were scattered throughout the lot, as well. One was resting on the halftrack’s machine gun. Two stood by the main entrance with matching Uzi submachine guns. The others were armed with an assortment of M16’s and AK-47’s. While their weapons were different, they wore a common uniform made up of dark sunglasses, black slicked back hair, black dress pants and white-button shirts that had the first few buttons undone. The crew wore identical black leather jackets and similarly wore them unzipped.
“These guys out front are going for the look of TV gangsters meant to intimidate the general public. I wonder if they have more men either hidden or inside that are the real deal—dressed for, trained for, and ready for combat?” Cooper asked himself as much as Dranko. Dranko simply grunted in agreement.
All the guards moved from their various positions of relaxation to alertness as Dranko navigated the pickup into the lot. The guard nearest to them spat his cigarette out and gestured with an AK-47.
“Come out. Real slow. Hands where I can see them.”
Cooper and Dranko complied. As soon as they had disembarked from the pickup, the guard asked, “What’s your business here?”
Cooper responded, “We are here to see Michael Huynh. We are here at Mr. Joe Vang’s recommendation.”
The guard nodded and barked orders in Vietnamese to one of his men near the door. Everyone waited in silence as several minutes ticked by. Cooper noted how quickly the guards lowered their alertness and slowly drifted back to relaxed positions, although no one resumed sitting. The guard closest to them wore a deep scar across his right cheek, most likely the result of a knife wound.
The other guard returned and waved Dranko and Cooper on to approach the door.
“You’ll need to leave your weapons…all of them…in your pickup. We’ll keep a good eye on them,” the first guard grunted with a mischievous grin.
They both removed the pistols from their holsters and laid them on the seat in the pickup. Cooper gave the guard a stern look as he did so, telling him not to disturb their weapons with the cock of his left eyebrow. They turned to the entrance and briskly walked towards it. When they arrived, the guard frisked them and then told them to follow him inside.
As they entered the restaurant, another half dozen men in black fatigues and carrying M16s were lounging in the lobby. Three were shooting dice in the corner, one dozed in a chair, and the remaining two were playing a card game that Cooper couldn’t decipher. They barely gave Cooper and Dranko a glance as they passed through.
The guard talked as they walked, “It is well you were recommended by Mr. Vang. He is respected here. The boss is comfortable with those he recommends to us. What part of town are you in?”
“Near Mount Tabor,” Cooper replied curtly, hoping his gruff tone would curtail the conversation. It didn’t.
“That is a nice part of town. Very close to here. How are things there?”
“We’re doing OK. Better than most.”
“Yes, it’s been very bad in parts of town. Did you hear what happened over in Sellwood?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t,” Cooper replied.
“Burned to the ground, all of it. Last night,” the guard said nonchalantly.
“All of it?” Dranko asked in surprise.
“Nearly so.”
“Why?” Cooper asked.
“We heard it was a very large group of teenagers from over in South Portland. Some clown down there claiming the plague is here to end the old world and that the youth must rise to build a new one.”
“Why Sellwood?”
“Not sure. Because it was close by? They just rioted after a speech given by this guy. Hundreds of them. Lots and lots of dead. They killed and burned without discretion,” emotion did not cloud his voice. It was if he was reporting the weather. “OK, we are here. It was nice talking to you gentlemen.”
They stood before a large door that looked to be made of solid oak. It was in the far back of the restaurant. Two more guards stood on either side of the door, armed with shotguns in their arms and pistols on their hips.
An elderly man and an attractive young woman, both Asian, were leaving. The man was bowing to everyone and grasping a tattered black hat in his gnarled hands. The woman was holding him by his shoulders, supporting him, as they shuffled by.
“Your turn, good luck,” their escort said to them as he pushed open the large door. It groaned on its hinges.
They stepped into the room that lay beyond. Michael Huynh sat at a massive desk of solid mahogany. The dark wood shined and they could smell the fresh oil that had been rubbed into it. The legs were carved in the shape of dragons and the feet were large claws. Huynh had his jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail and he wore a finely-tailored black suit, with a white silk shirt, and a blood red tie, also made of silk. He fingered an unlit cigar in his left hand and twirled a thin, gleaming knife with his right. The desk was clear of any objects, save a nickel-plated 1911-style pistol that lay within easy reach.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. You come to me on the word of my cousin Joseph Vang?”
Two large-framed guards stood on either side of the desk. They were attired in suits, with submachine guns resting on a sling across their chests.
Cooper took a step forward and chose his words carefully, “Yes, sir. He said you have trained staff to provide protection.”
“Why, yes. Yes, I do. For a small fee of course,” a wide grin spread across his face, revealing a small scar that dipped from the left corner of his mouth towards the side of his jaw line.
Cooper clenched his jaw, “And what would the fee be?”
A knife was laid upon the table and Huynh slowly, methodically retr
ieved a butane lighter from a breast pocket. This guy knows his theatrics. A bright blue flame spat from the lighter and a puff of smoke drifted from the red circle on the end of the cigar as he lit it.
“Mmmm, that is good. You like Cuban?”
“Of course,” Cooper responded.
“The complexity of the tobacco is like none other.” Cooper endured the staged silence. He refused to shift on his feet, despite the inclination. He knew something of negotiation tactics from his father’s days of standing up for the rights of the common man.
A few puffs later, Huynh spoke again, “Where were we? Oh yes, the bothersome business of the costs for services rendered. As I said, it would depend on how many men you want and in what currency you will be paying.”
Cooper cocked an eyebrow, “Currency?”
“Why yes. In times like these, Mr. Adams, the forms of currency multiply. Unlike some, I still accept the US dollar. Unlike others, I think we will bounce back from the current challenges facing us as a nation. But, I accept other forms of payment as well.”
“Such as?”
“Some are paying me in gold, some in jewelry, and a few are paying me in commodities I can use in my other lines of business,” he said in between blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. Drugs and women, Cooper guessed.
“We would be paying in dollars.”
“How many men?”
“Do they come armed with automatic weapons?”
“They could.”
Cooper thought for a moment, “We would need four.”
Huynh took a long pause, “Four men. Automatic weapons. That would be $20,000 per week.”
Cooper let loose a false cough and then paused a long moment, “With all due respect, that would be very challenging for us to come up with.”
Recognizing the negotiation, Huynh’s smile returned, “Come now, Mr. Adams. Do not take me for some simpleton. I know the neighborhood you live in. You will have the money if you value your safety and are willing to pay for it.”
“The challenge is gathering the cash. My neighbors use banks to keep their money and do not have large sums of cash on hand.”
“I like you, Mr. Adams. I will tell you what I will do for you. I’ll accept $10,000 in cash and a promise from those in your neighborhood for another $15,000 when the crisis abates and the banks reopen.”
Cooper retained a straight face, but smiled inside, “That should be more doable. My other difficulty will be convincing my neighbors that this sum is legitimate for only four men. While I can see the value of your men, my neighbors who do not understand security will be more challenging to convince.”
Huynh’s smile faded and he deliberately clipped his words, “Alright, I can add two men.”
“Thank you. That will make my task of convincing easier.”
“Surely. We are here to help one another, after all. The extra two men will carry shotguns only.”
Taking care to be overly polite, Cooper smiled and nodded, “Of course. I would not expect more than that.” Translation: he will send two untrained expendables with shotguns.
“I will take your generous offer before our neighborhood tonight. I can let you know soon whether we will move forward with your protection.”
“Good enough. But do not delay in making your decision. I have many requests for protection and a limited number of men I can deploy.”
“Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Huynh.”
Huynh responded by turning the large leather chair he sat in to face outwards towards the windows.
Cooper and Dranko retreated from the room. Their escort led them back to the parking lot. This time he was silent. I wonder if the Sellwood story is even true? Maybe it was all to heighten our fear of random violence before we met with Mr. Huynh?
As promised, their pickup and weapons were undisturbed. Cooper and Dranko piled back into it and steered towards home.
Chapter 29
They arrived back at Cooper’s home with a half-hour to spare before the meeting would begin. Dranko collapsed on his living room sofa and was snoring before Cooper had removed his body armor and stowed the rifle.
Cooper went immediately to Jake’s room. Angela was seated on a chair next to his bed, dozing. Jake was sleeping soundly on his bed, his chest rising and falling with regularity. Thank God. He turned his view back towards Angela. He had been impressed with how she had stepped in and done what was needed to be done. Cooper admired that trait in people. He took a moment and smiled as he watched her peaceful face bob up and down as she slept in the chair.
He tip-toed over to the edge of the bed and then knelt down beside it. Jake lay just a few inches from the edge. Cooper buried his face into his hands and pressed them deeply into the softness of the bed. Exhaustion, worry, and grief overtook him. Tears came readily, washing down his face. He struggled to remain quiet, so that Jake’s sleep would remain undisturbed.
His thoughts pleaded: Please God, let him live. Let me find a way to save him. I cannot, I will not, survive if I lose him, too. His fists tightened into balls of frustration as he pressed them hard against his ribs. He turned his head from side to side, welcoming the almost painful friction from the mattress’ edge.
After a few moments, his tears stopped and his thoughts turned. I’ve given too much already. Elena is gone. I’ve been forced to kill again. I have no more to give.
He raised his eyes and looked at Jake again. The only telltale signs that he was ill were his flushed face and the tiny beads of sweat across his face. Damn you God, you cannot have him too. I will not let you have him. Damn you if you try.
His own face, flushed with anger as he stood up resolutely, and walked from the room. He failed to notice Angela watching him from the corner of her eye. She had watched him transition from grief to rage by witnessing the shifting lines in his face. It had been like a violent summer storm rolling across the Plains. At first, distant and seemingly calm. Then building to a sudden, and growing, fury that seems like it will never end. Suddenly, it passes as swiftly as it had arrived.
******
He had scarcely stepped into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind him, when he heard someone rapping on the door. Looking out a window, he saw Calvin waiting on the doorstep.
He opened the door, “How ya doin’, Calvin?”
“Good, considering the circumstances,” he chuckled briefly. “We have the reports in from the survey teams.”
Cooper invited him to sit down in his living room with a wave of his hand. Cooper still couldn’t get used to the sight of people visiting him with a handgun on their hip and a long arm in their hands. Calvin sat down heavily into the soft welcoming arms of Cooper’s sofa. Everyone must be dead tired by now.
Calvin looked up with worry-worn eyes, “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
A wry smile crossed Cooper’s lips, “Today, I will take the good first.”
“The two-block area immediately to our north is pretty well organized. They have defensives positions and patrols up, much like we do. However, they are not very well armed. ”
“Thank God for Dranko’s paranoia, eh?”
Calvin’s head bobbed up and down, “Absolutely. I guess he turned out to be not so paranoid, did he?”
Cooper nodded in reply before Calvin continued, “They have also taken over the Second Lots grocery store and are disbursing the food in an organized fashion.”
“Lucky for them to have a store selling odd lots of canned goods and jars of peanuts in their backyard.” Inside, Cooper was kicking himself for not having thought of that store as a resource point, since it was so close to them.
“I’ll say. However, we might be able to trade a few weapons for some food. Our survey team told me that they were salivating as they saw the weapons our guys were carrying. All they have are a handful of old hunting rifles and a couple handguns.”
Cooper scratched his chin, “That’s a good idea. The better defended they are, the better it is
for us. For example, we can reduce the barricades on our northern side and use the few extra people elsewhere. We will have more warning if a serious threat develops there.”
Calvin nodded; chin in hand, “Good. I will talk to Dranko about it and see what we can do.”
“Right. OK. So what’s the bad news?”
“Just to our south, some bad elements are developing. Apparently, there were about a dozen families who all belonged to the same church in that neighborhood. The church has become a focal point of organization.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cooper interrupted.
“You’re right, it should be. However, the churchgoers are using their access to food and other supplies as a heavy-handed recruitment tool. Our team talked to some in the neighborhood who are getting pretty upset about being forced to attend daily services at the church if they want food. It’s very possible it could turn violent,” Calvin concluded gravely.
“That’s too bad. From what Dranko has told me, churches have become a rallying point in lots of different places. All kinds of religions too—from Christian, to Buddhist, to Muslim, to Jewish. Why would these guys take this route?”
“They are short-sighted. Or, maybe their God told them to do it this way. It is small church, so who knows what their religious grounding is.”
Cooper shook his head, “Alright, we should make a point to keep in contact with those we met there and keep an eye on that situation. Anything else of interest?”
“Not really. To our east and west are mostly just disorganized. There is one last tidbit,” Calvin finished and a wide grin spread across his face, despite his best efforts to control it.
Cooper’s brow wrinkled, “What is it, man? Spit it out!”
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