by James Tarr
“Don’t spend it in the whorehouse,” Mark admonished Weasel, with a grin.
Weasel flashed a grin, then it died. An image of Sheila popped into his head. The two of them in that upstairs bathroom overlooking the Ditch…then her body, burning and popping inside the engulfed Toyota on the overpass. He swallowed, muscling the grief and tears down, and forced a fake laugh. “You’re not my real dad,” he told Mark, who snorted.
“Hey,” Mark said suddenly. “You see some boots in there, or some gently used cross-trainers or whatnot, you want to grab me a pair?” He lifted his foot up. There was a hole in the top of his right boot, and the sole was nearly worn through. “Size fourteen.”
“Fourteen?” Weasel said dubiously.
“Don’t be jealous. I didn’t do anything to earn it, I was just born this way.”
“What way?”
Mark shrugged. “It says right in the Bible that guys with big feet have huge dicks.”
“The Bible?” Ed questioned.
“Bullshit,” Weasel called out.
“It’s in the book of Leviticus. Or maybe it’s Phallus.” Mark kept a completely straight face. Weasel frowned at him.
“We wagerin’ on willies?” Early said. “I’ll jump in. What’s up for grabs? Food, cash?”
Weasel looked at the older man. He wasn’t quite as tall as Mark but he was over six feet, with a big head and huge hands. “Seriously, you too?”
“Nobody’s pulling their dicks out,” Ed said, raising his voice. “Jesus. Okay, everyone that’s staying here, keep an eye out.” Ed had pulled a fresh set of clothes out of his backpack and now wore a wrinkled gray button-down shirt over stained navy blue trousers, both of which he kept at the bottom of his pack for circumstances just like these. Weasel and Quentin did the same.
The three men exited the house together and walked eastward on the same side street they’d taken out of the burned zone. As they did George turned to Jason.
“Okay, we’ve got a chance to continue your military education. Unload your rifle, and I’ll have you practice positional shooting for a bit.” While he was doing that… “Do you know the difference between cover and concealment?”
“Ummmm…”
“How about defilade? Know what that is?”
Jason frowned. “That sounds like a fancy French dessert.” He looked around at the other members of the squad with a smile, looking to see who else liked his joke. Then he gasped and doubled over when George punched him in the side.
“So you survived your first gunfight, congratulations.” George’s low tone was acid. “It means you’re not totally worthless. But you’ve still got just about everything to learn, and no time to do it. We could run into another patrol three hours from now, and until I’m convinced you won’t do something stupid that will get us killed, or get you killed, I’m going to teach you, and you’re going to learn. Understand?” he growled.
Jason blinked the tears out of his eyes and straightened up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of the squad moving away. Not one of them would look meet his gaze. He was angry and hurt and embarrassed, his mind racing, but he looked back to George and nodded.
Ed, Weasel and Quentin walked leisurely down the sidewalk. To their left the neighborhood continued, mostly bungalows clad in red brick and white siding. On their right they passed two low warehouses which been empty and for lease before the war. The realtor’s sign in front of the second building, whose windows had been destroyed years before, shouted PRICE REDUCED! The men walked slowly, in no hurry, slouching and bent as if worn down by life, but their eyes ran over the fronts of the commercial buildings on their right and the homes on their left.
Past the warehouses were a small one-story office building, then a large parking lot, then several one- and two-story red brick commercial buildings. The street stretched before them for hundreds of yards before taking a ninety-degree turn to the north.
Weasel looked down the wide open street ahead of them. “This is such a kill zone,” he murmured, making a face.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
On the far side of the street, after it made its turn to the north, behind a tall chain link fence, was a huge low building, white with blue trim. That was their destination. Before the war it had been the distribution center for a chain of drug stores. There were offices, roll-up overhead doors for semis to back up to and get loaded, even secure fenced-off areas inside where the prescription drugs for the pharmacies had been kept.
They passed one final commercial building on their right. It was a two-story brown brick cube, the windows and doors on the first floor boarded over, as were the narrow basement windows. The second-floor windows were intact except for one cracked corner pane which had taken a hit from a rock some years back.
There was no one to be seen as they approached their destination. They could hear a low murmur emanating from the vast building ahead of them. Ed led the way, opening the gate in the chain link fence behind the white-sided warehouse. Ahead of them was a pedestrian door next to a double-wide roll-up door that was so rusty it seemed apparent its rolling days were long over. Ed banged on the pedestrian door with the heel of his palm, and after a few seconds it opened.
One of the men who worked security at the site peered out at them. He was big, and well fed. His hands were empty, but they knew there would be a weapon, probably a shotgun, concealed nearby.
The guard looked them over, then scanned the street behind them. Ed thought he looked vaguely familiar, but he was bad with faces. If the guard recognized them he gave no indication. He stood aside and the men of Theodore walked inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The general store covered nearly three acres. The building was in fact three separate structures that had been connected by the original owners of the property before the war. As Ed, Quentin, and Weasel entered it took their eyes a few moments to get used to the dim light. There were a few skylights in the building, and directly across from them was the main entrance and its twenty-foot-wide opening, but that hadn’t been enough with the death of electricity in the city, so windows had been cut into the siding high up on the walls, with rebar grilles welded over them to prevent thievery. In the winter months there were burn barrels going inside the building for warmth, and the window squares cut into the walls provided enough ventilation no one choked on the smoke.
It was far from the only such market in the city, just the largest one. Still, the men were surprised at how crowded it was. The murmur of conversation filled the air inside the large building, as did the smell of unwashed bodies, animals, smoke from cooking fires, and fresh produce.
“Wow. You ever seen it so crowded?” Weasel asked. He looked around. There had to be a hundred people inside the market, maybe a third of them vendors or security. The people bringing goods to sell at the market gave the “building manager”, as he liked to be called, a cut up front.
Both Ed and Quentin shook their heads. “I wonder if it’s because of that trouble we heard about at the government distribution center,” Ed said quietly. He gestured at the rows of goods on display and for sale. “Wander around, see what they’ve got. See what you hear. Ten, fifteen minutes, meet me over in the corner, and we can check out what they have that’s not on display.”
“Gotcha boss,” Weasel said and wandered off. Quentin nodded and headed down a different aisle.
They tried to keep things organized. Those vendors selling repaired appliances or tools, items salvaged from houses like shoes and clothing, were at the south end of the building. Fruit and vegetable growers were in the middle of the building, and anything and everything that could be grown in the climate, from raspberries to marijuana, was offered for sale. Almost all of it was seasonal, and the offerings changed from week to week depending on who the vendors were and what they’d planted in their gardens. Anyone selling meat or live animals were next to the produce salesmen and -women. At the far north end of the building partitions had been cons
tructed for privacy, and there women—and a few men—engaged in the oldest profession. Next to the “Pleasure Palace”, as the bare-walled stalls were jokingly referred to, was an attraction just as popular as sex—barrels of water heated over carefully tended fires. For a not-insubstantial fee, you could have a hot bath or shower. They even had soap—for a price, of course.
Ed remained in place for a while, looking over the market, his eyes landing on various displays and following different people. After a few minutes he moved away from the back wall and wandered toward the animal pens. As the weather was nice, everyone grilling meat was doing it in front of the building, out from under the roof. He paused between a pen full of playing, barking puppies and one cage holding a few squawking chickens.
“Busy day today,” the man behind the animals said happily to Ed. “You lookin’ to buy? What do you have to trade?”
“Just window shopping right now.” Ed cooled the salesman down with a smile and a shrug. The man shrugged back and went back to digging through a box.
A figure ambled up and stood beside Ed, staring at the animals. “Ed.”
The corner of his mouth curled up just a tiny bit. “Rochelle,” he replied.
“Goddamn, it’s Shelly, I told you I hate that name,” she growled.
Ed’s grin grew wider and he turned to look at her. A stout black woman his age, Shelly had frizzy hair pulled back off her face with a headband and was wearing a green button-down shirt that on him would have looked like a military uniform but on her was a fashion statement. She was just over five-and-a-half feet tall, and he looked over her head to the nearby aisles. “I see a few familiar faces,” he said quietly. The noise of the animals masked their muted conversation. “How is Mickey doing? Or is it Michaela now?”
“Mickey do just fine,” she said with a snort. “What about Theodore? I saw Weasel weaselin’ around a few minutes ago.”
“We’ve had a few downs and ups, but we’re still here. Mostly.”
She nodded, not looking at him. “Same.”
Neither ARF nor the ARF Irregulars turned anyone away, and Sheila in Franklin had been far from the only female dogsoldier. Mickey was a bit unusual in that a majority of squad members were women, or at least had been the last time Theodore had run into them. However, they weren’t out in the field very often. Ed was under the impression they gathered intelligence for ARF much more often than they were tasked with pulling triggers. Rumor was at least one of the women on the squad was getting intelligence from an Army officer she was sleeping with, but whether he was giving it knowingly Ed didn’t know. And wouldn’t ask. He’d also heard rumors that at least one of the girls working in the Pleasure Palace was passing on info from her military clients to Mickey. He didn’t want to know any information that could compromise another squad or their mission. The squads were compartmentalized for a reason.
“Franklin’s gone,” he told her quietly.
She turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh, no. All of them?”
He nodded. “Kestrel. Although they took it down.”
She hissed. “Doesn’t make it any better.”
“Doesn’t make it worse.” They moved casually down the aisle. Ed glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Before I head into the back room and start dealing, are you short on anything? Little blue pills?” It was her nickname for bullets if he remembered correctly.
“We’re always short on those. And, um, I have the feeling they might come in handy soon.” That was as close as she would get to telling him she’d gotten a message from Uncle Charlie, maybe the same one as Theodore, but he wouldn’t ask. “Why?”
“We had a good day. Got some extra AR mags, fully stuffed. Interested?”
“Shit yeah, how many you got?”
He stopped his slow stroll and turned fully to her. The smile split his face. “How many do you need?”
“Need, or want? Honestly, we need at least five, we’re a little thin. Ten would be a hell of a lot better.”
“I can get you what you need. Actually, I can get you what you want. And maybe a little more.”
“Yeah? No shit? What do you want for ‘em?”
He shook his head. “We’re on the same team. Let’s call it paying it forward.”
“Screw that. Ten mags, three hundred rounds of ammo? How about a case of energy bars? Fresh from the guv’mint warehouse. Least I could do. Don’t tell me you don’t need the calories, you’re skinnier every time I see you.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
She turned, and Ed followed her gaze. She was looking at the livestock dealer, or more specifically at the puppies he was selling for meat. “I fucking hate to see that,” she said through her teeth. “I want to rip that cage open, let them all loose, and stab him in the fuckin’ eyes. Nobody should be eating dogs. Nobody should have to eat dog.” She sighed and shook her head, then looked at him. “I’m so ready for this thing to be over. Too much damn death already, people living like animals. They need to figure out a way to end it,” she growled. She looked at Ed. “You think they can?”
He shrugged. He didn’t have an answer.
They both looked over toward the main entrance at the sound of engines. Growlers, Ed’s educated ears told him. Two of them. He fought back the instinct to run. The sound grew louder, and then the engines cut off one at a time. People near the large open main entrance pretended to ignore the six soldiers that sauntered in, and the soldiers, for their part, pretended to not notice. Which told Ed that these troops were there to shop as opposed to being on the hunt for anything illegal. When ordered to search through the vendor stalls for illegal or “gray market” items, the soldiers were anything but subtle or friendly.
“I’ll send Quentin over,” Ed said quietly
“Go with God,” Shelly murmured to Ed, moving away from him.
“If he’ll have me,” Ed responded, which got a snort out of her.
Moving unhurriedly, Ed made his way toward the back of the building. He didn’t ignore the soldiers but he didn’t stare at them either. They had their rifles slung over their shoulders and for the most part looked young and inexperienced. There was, however, one crusty NCO who stood back and eyeballed everything and everyone. Adult supervision, perhaps. The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched at that thought.
The soldiers wandered down several different aisles, looking at the wares, talking amongst themselves, but after a few minutes, perhaps long enough for them to gather their courage, all of them were headed north through the building, the NCO trailing in their wake. The unoccupied women loitering outside the Pleasure Palace perked up as they saw incoming customers.
With the attention of the soldiers firmly affixed on the flesh ahead of them, Ed moved to the south end of the building. Weasel and Quentin sidled up behind him. “Q, go talk to Shelly,” Ed said over his shoulder, and Quentin peeled off.
The southwest corner of the building was all former offices. The man who ran the place had an office there, with BUILDING MANAGER on the door. Two very large men stood out front, hands clasped in front of them. They appeared unarmed, but even if they were Ed knew there had to be guns within reach. There were boxes and barrels stuffed with random items nearby.
“Looking to talk to Curly, do a little private business,” Ed told the guards. He was sure they recognized him, but gave no sign of it. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Quentin heading out of the building with a gray-haired black woman in her fifties, one of the members of Mickey. Barb looked like the grandma that she was, but Ed knew she was as hard-hearted as they came. One guard put up his hand for them to wait while the other opened the office door and went in. He reappeared a few seconds later and waved them inside.
There were two more guards just inside the door, but unlike the men outside the office, these two made Ed nervous. The pit bulls looked enough alike to be brothers, and had to weigh close to a hundred pounds each. Their heads were enormous. The man behind the desk had a huge head as well, although his
was bald.
Ed had a pistol, but he knew he wasn’t very good with it. He’d only ever used it to kill a few wounded soldiers. Weasel, on the other hand, was a hell of a pistol shot, and fast. He’d been really good when he’d joined the squad, and after training with George for a few years he was amazing. How well handguns would work on dogs that size Ed hoped he’d never find out. His gaze wandered from the dogs to the man with his feet up on the desk.
The three men stared at each other for a few seconds. Curly, for his part, knew they were dogsoldiers. Even if the goods they bought or traded in didn’t mark them as such, over the past few years he’d gotten very good at spotting the type. He knew dogsoldiers frequented his establishment, and he did business with them. Not because of patriotism or loyalty. He wasn’t on their side. He wasn’t on anybody’s side but his own. Hell, the government still offered a reward for information on “anti-government activity” as well as “terrorists”, but with the super- and hyperinflation over the past few years, those reward dollars weren’t anywhere what they used to be. But that didn’t really matter. What mattered was that while he could identify a good number of customers as “terrorists” to the Army, for a substantial reward, he couldn’t identify them all. And if he ratted out a single dogsoldier, he knew his business would be on fire and he’d be dead with a bullet in his head before the week’s end. He’d also figured out if the war continued to drag on, the military would be too busy to bother shutting down local entrepreneurs such as himself. All he could hope for was that the Army officers he bribed to reduce the hassling he received would manage to avoid being killed by the ARF for as long as possible.
“I thought you got killed,” he finally said to Ed. “Something involving a Toad.” He frowned and cocked his head.
“If this is heaven I’m sorely disappointed,” Ed said drily, not surprised at how well-informed the man was.