Desperate By Dusk

by Alexander Salkin

  They quickly pulled out their guns again and motioned for Jessie and Ramone to get back against the opposing wall. "Step back," one politely told them.

  Ramone stared back, growing hostility in his eyes and sweat on his brow. He was breathing as though he just ran a short marathon. Jessie looked similar. "How about no?" Ramone growled. As he said that, Simon and Jessie felt a strange twinge. Fighting somehow felt like a good idea right now, regardless of the outcome.

  "We can do this right here too," the same Clayforged stated.

  Jessie coughed, shaking his head, as if distracted by the sudden thought of fighting. It suddenly seemed like a terrible idea to him. "Hang on, hang on… maybe we can come to an understanding."

  The talkative Clayforged sighed. "Your wounded friend already tried that. You have nothing to offer us and you have seen too much. Let us dispense with the tiresome bargaining."

  "No, no, no… I don't think so," said Jessie. Ramone looked back and forth, heavily agitated.

  "Jess, what are you doing?! We have to kick their asses…" he whispered through a hiss. "I can take these bastards…" Simon sat ready to throw anything near to him to create a distraction. His pillow, the rolling IV holder attached to his wrist, a remote control…

  Jessie licked his lips, ignoring Ramone for a moment. To the Clayforged, he said, "Has it occurred to you that you can't actually kill us?"

  "I fail to see how," one replied.

  "Of course. Let me walk you through it. If I or any of my friends go bye-bye because of you clowns, there are contingencies in place to assure you will never, ever, be a thing of mystery again."

  "Explain yourself, Mr. Aberdeen."

  "Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're living in a modern age of technology. Cars. Planes. And recording devices. As well as many, many places to put such information. Stop me if you've heard this one before."

  Jessie cleared his throat and continued. "Now, you geniuses have made it pretty clear you get off on making sure certain secrets don't get out any more than they have to. Maybe you're concerned with a certain meeting? Or the terribly interesting book we found from that meeting? Great secrecy, by the way. Passing a case back and forth in public, even if just on a dark rainy night in an abandoned military base… well, it's not exactly a clandestine rendezvous, you know?"

  "Please arrive at your point, Mr. Aberdeen."

  "Sure. The point is if something happens to us, there are steps in effect to make sure certain bits of 'information' go public. You might be able to find some of my sources and I'm sure you can guess who some might be, but… this genie will not go back in the bottle. In fact, I'm recording this conversation right now." Jessie quickly flashed his cell phone with a glowing red light and then slipped it back in his pocket.

  "You, the book, the whole exploration of the Green Militia base- you'll be the talk of the internet. There'll be reporters everywhere and all sorts of amateur sleuths, completely undeterred by my death, mind you… looking into things. We live in an age of mass data and an endless consumption for it, no matter how junk or relevant it is. You want to put yourselves on the map? Pull that trigger. Watch how out of control this wildfire gets."

  "And of course… there's Leonard. Did you know we had a lot of conversations about you guys? About what you are? The man can't stop talking; he's a regular chatty Cathy! There's enough insurance out there against you- enough to fill a book, and then some, if you try anything against us. Yes, this is going to spiral out of control, my friend. Go on. Shoot me. I dare you. Watch everything get released… documents, recordings, pictures…"

  The room was dead silent. Ramone looked at him incredulously. Simon had no idea what was happening either. The Clayforged adopted a tense expression.

  "You're lying, Mr. Aberdeen. You would say anything to save yourself right now. We know your conversations with Leonard have been limited to mere intellectual games of one-upsmanship at best."

  "You're partially right," stated Jessie. "I would say anything, but I'm not lying, and you don't have the time, let alone the savvy, to prove I'm wrong. Want to risk it? That's a big chance, friend. You don't know half the shit Leonard and I talk about. I don't even tell these guys. You think Leonard doesn't know how to let you hear exactly what he wants you to hear? You've been strung along for ages by that guy and it's just painful… PAINFUL to watch you goobers try to play damage control. It's like trying to hold back a tsunami with a small piece of cardboard, because you can block a few droplets."

  "Well, what's it going to be? Do we go public with this or do you drop the matter? Go on… spin that wheel. Or face this truth- you were outpaced from the moment this began."

  The Clayforged reluctantly lowered their guns, staring ominously at Jessie. "It appears we've been checkmated."

  "Not necessarily," said Jessie, waggling his finger. "It's real simple. Just go away. We're tired of dealing with you. I won't reveal any information on you or the video of that night at the Militia base. You scurry off, stop bothering us. We'll both be happy. Or at least, we'll be possessed of an understanding. Let us lead our lives. We have a lot of things to learn. But the less I know of you, the better. And I think we're all content to deal with you as little as humanly possible."

  "Oh yeah…" "Very true," acknowledged his friends.

  The Clayforged eyed the young men in consternation. "Very well. Chances are, the lot of you will be spending less time here as a whole. We'll back off. But heed this- the masses do not get to know about what you do and who you are as Drifters. They're not ready and it is not their place to know. We're aware some fragments of truth are out there, but the damage can be contained as small fires. The masses have their opiates, both figurative and literal. They will not understand. They are not weaned off of their protective convenient mediocrity. They must crawl before they walk, walk before they run, and run before they fly on their own. This is why the Drifting is exclusive to a few. Do not squander your gifts or your time."

  "Let us not meet again under these circumstances." The Clayforged sheathed their guns back into their sleeves with a flick and emotionlessly filed out the door, hopefully to never darken the boy's shadows ever again. Simon, Jessie, and Ramone watched them leave, breathless, expecting them to turn around, or issue one further threat. But after a minute, they were gone. No one knew what to say, although now Jessie was breathing hard and sweating profusely. He held his throat and coughed hard.

  Simon looked out his window, watching. In moments, he saw the three Clayforged step into a waiting black Lincoln Continental and drive away from the hospital. "They're gone now… they're actually gone. Holy crap, man! How did you pull that off? I tried my best to talk them down and they weren't hearing any of it."

  Jessie rubbed his brow and sat uncommonly straight with an expression of exasperation. "I don't know, I mean… I planned it out in the truck on the way over, once I figured out how to use their own motives against them, but… after Ramone threatened them, I felt a lot more confident to do it, suddenly. Like, I was filled with fire and confidence."

  Simon stared at Ramone who looked back at him bewildered. He mouthed "I don't know…?" They silently referred to Ramone's element having a hand in things… a Gift of Fire, perhaps? It seemed a bit too coincidental and Jessie wouldn't be terribly versed in the idea of an elemental vouching yet. Simon assumed he had some kind of equivalent to his own, but Ramone had indicated at one point he didn't really understand what his element meant by some things.

  "Anyway, how did you set up all that stuff? First I heard about any of it."

  Jessie grinned and sighed, growing modest. "I didn't. I bullshitted the whole thing. All of it a complete lie. I just focused on making it sound convincing. I figured a bunch of stuffed shirt types like the Clayforged would be all over a little plausible deniability. People who are information obsessed tend to be paranoid, in my opinion. Once we figured out their shtick, it was just a matter of convincingly exploiting it."

  "What? That's insane. That was your
entire plan?" Ramone exclaimed in disbelief.

  "What else were we supposed to do? Get shot?" Jessie asked tiredly, feeling the adrenalin wear off. "They weren't going to stop."

  "He's not wrong, Ra," piped Simon. "Look at this. While I was trying to dissuade them earlier, they gave me something to make a point. They literally were never going to stop coming after us." Jessie and Ramone turned to find the small smashed dirty metal pellet in Simon's hand. "They said that this was the very bullet Jessie fired into the one he shot at the Green Militia Base. And maybe it was a lie, but… they one who did all the talking claimed he was the exact same one that was gunned down. They don't die. They just reform or something. They even said they'll kill that Leonard guy because it'll turn him back into one of them."

  "Wait, hold on… Leonard's a Clayforged?" said Jessie with a startle, not having realized it earlier. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, they despise him. He's something called a Renegade. They made it pretty clear they will kill him if they ever found him. Not only did they know about you coming here, but it sounds like they might have had taps on him, too."

  Jessie looked at expended bullet and held his chest. "Geezus… I've really been playing with fire, here. Leonard tipped us off, but I got the impression he was testing us... or maybe just me. He wanted to see if I could think me way out of a confrontation with those things."

  "And for the record, they admitted burning down your house, Jess. It wasn't Leonard at all. I don't know what his deal is, but he seems like he could be an ally of some kind. They said he was the kind of Clayforged who delved too deeply into a role. Any idea what that means?" said Simon.

  "Mrmmm… not yet," mumbled Jessie. "But I get the feeling he and I are going to meet face to face sooner than not. And we might get some answers from him, if he's done dicking around for five minutes with the mind games and insinuations. Whether he wanted to provoke a confrontation between all of us or give us a tip on stopping those things… well, I'm honestly content with this outcome for now."

  The boys murmured agreements. Having the Clayforged back off was a load off their minds. No more living in paranoia and thoughts of running off from Dresden Port to hide in disguise. Now they could focus solely on the Drifting. And perhaps try to get their affairs in order.

  "Well guys, this is a banner day if there ever was one," announced Ramone. "I'd love to say let's go party and drinks are on me, but I'm deeply in need of a shower and Peterson has got me working some hard overtime for the next few days to make up for my absence."

  "Ahh, so he forgave you," grinned Simon. "That's a relief."

  "After a thorough talking down and a disappointed speech, yes, yes he did. Also, I don't get to borrow any of his cars for a month, unless it's solely for work purposes at the yard. Hm. I would ask if you called your job, Simon, but I know better."

  "I'm not holding my breath, man. They're not the type to care much. Anyone could do my job, as far as they're concerned. I'll try, but I think the courier gig is done. Times like this make me long for insurance anyway."

  "You gonna be okay?"

  "Sort of. I do qualify for a bit of charity care, but the doctor and the hospital are separate, so… still going to eat an impossible bill here."

  "Alright, well, I should get going," Ramone announced. "Simon, just as a reminder, Jessie is going to be staying at my place until he can get things worked out. Jess, here's my spare keys. You can head home with the hauler, whenever. I'll take another cab and then just walk home from Peterson's later. Or you can pick me up later, it's not that far."

  "Yeah, I got ya. It's not that far. You want a few bucks for the cab?"

  "No, I'm good. Simon? Get better, man. I got the feeling things might start turning around a little now. But we need you back on your feet. If you need anything, you call us, okay?"

  Simon nodded. His friends were generous when one of them needed help. He would do the same for them whenever he could and he trusted them implicitly. "Thanks, Ra. So Jess, maybe I could get a ride back? If you'd like, we can hang out for a bit, as I kind of want go over with you all the things I learned from those guys. I think you'd appreciate it particularly. They're anything but perfect in how their logic works."

  Jessie grinned with uncommon cheeriness. "Absolutely. Damn, I feel good, like I could sell an air conditioner in the North Pole, ha ha ha."

  CHAPTER 26

  In under a week later, things began to return to normal. Or what qualified for it, at that point. Ramone was back to work with Peterson as he always was, seeming no worse for wear. If anything, he seemed to have more of his zest for life than before and it was catching on with his coworkers. During the week when it rained three days in a row, the crew at work seemed unusually motivated, even when they did their tasks outside. No one could explain why, but then, no one really thought about it either, least of all Ramone.

  And while all was well with Ramone, he realized he had some unfinished business. A little something he'd been meaning to do for a while now, only possible thanks to Simon's help. Reaching into his wallet, he eyed a certain scrawled phone number. "Tonight, my dear lady…" he said to himself with a wistful smile. It had been a while since he heard her lovely soft voice.

  Jessie puttered about Ramone's house. With Mr. Chang's Fix-It shop burned down, alongside basement apartment, and a now crushed burned hulk of a VW Bug, he was forced to live on the consideration of his friend. Being a prideful young man, Jessie did not take this easily, although he was appreciative. It also left him feeling less capable of verbally lashing out at Ramone as he usually did, for that would be biting the hand that fed him. And in truth, he just wasn't feeling it. He needed to get back on his feet, so he spent much of his time looking for an apartment and work, rather than sitting around the house, watching television, or feeling sorry for himself. That said, he could not bring himself to ask his uncle for even a shred of assistance, and focused on living frugally with his limited savings in the meantime. Chang's shop might not have paid a great deal, but Jessie was quite competent at living cheaply when he was employed there, only indulging in the acquisition of old nineteen eighties VHS movies and the occasional order in from the local pizzeria. Ramone often went half on a pie with him, although he would eat less than half that amount usually.

  Jessie's former boss, Mr. Chang, to everyone's surprise, seemed to make a positive health turn around in the last week, which required Jessie's attention and signatures as the firebombing was ruled as an act of arson, with no culprit was ever conveniently found. Thanks to fire insurance on the building, Mr. Chang came into a modest amount of money as a result, and although he could have restarted his business, he knew it was time to retire. He was an old man and the repair business wasn't as lucrative in the modern day of disposable items and planned obsolescence. He wished Jessie well, before his relatives took him to China Town in New York, where he could spend his days living in comfort with his children and grandkids. Tearfully waving the old man goodbye, Jessie felt some undefined era coming to a close.

  Simon came to the conclusion that the title of Drifter was a fitting one on many levels. The most common usage of the term implied a wanderer who rarely held down work for more than a few days or hours. So it was most notable to him on that week after the hospital stay, was the confirmation that he didn't have a gig anymore, much as he suspected. They told him flat out that he clearly quit the job from his lack of attendance. Simon knew that neither pleading his case for another chance, nor telling them the truth of what really happened was going to fly. In some ways, he was fine with it. Being a courier in a backwater town, in what seemed like a dying industry in the age of modern delivery companies- there was no point in holding a battle over it. It didn't even pay that good. The downside was, however; it had at least been regular work and held no shortage of hours to make runs on. Part of him considered working directly for an organ delivery service if he could get into it, but his role as a Drifter meant going away on short notice whether he liked it or not, pre
sumably with no identifiable frequency. Work like that required a level of commitment he couldn't give anymore.

  As he sat on his couch, he stared out the window, with the television playing indistinctly in the background for noise. The weather was seasonably warm with a pleasant breeze. He glanced to his coffee table, cluttered with circulars, old magazines, and a few empty cans of seltzer. Placed on a notebook he sketched in from time to time was Rio's braid. It was still there. Somewhere, in the great unknown, she existed, a tormented dark messiah child-woman of her hateful people. And there he sat in Dresden Port, jobless, recovering from an injury, and wondering how he was going to pay property taxes, all while being unable to help. All of those notions just seemed to matter less after the last several weeks… but he was no less bound to their mundane demands.

  He reflected how his world view had expanded so much in such a little piece of time. Whatever the Drifting was, there was a much bigger picture, one that vastly exceeded the humble wooden frame he had lived in until now. There were other dimensions of reality to explore, possibly to an infinite degree. There were new people to meet, both familiar and unusual at the same time according to his senses. There was something beyond all of this. It was staggering to contemplate, impossible perhaps, just as if a dog tried to grasp the concept of more than a few colors. He couldn't determine if the Drifting was a good thing or a bad thing either. Maybe it simply 'was'.