by C. G Harris
First, I acquire the delightful ability to enjoy bionic fruit funk, now this. I prayed the super smeller came from the coin. At least that would be temporary. I’d rather have the power to fit my head up an elephant’s ass than deal with a smell of that fruit for the rest of eternity.
“What did you do when you lived up here?” Alex asked. “I mean, when you were alive.”
A momentary panic washed through me. After all this time, the secrets of my past still catch up to me. “I worked in a junkyard, with my cousins.” My voice came out rushed and stammered.
Alex raised an eyebrow. “Okay ... Maybe that’s where this …rust thing came from. Junkyard ... rust ... makes sense. We’ll work with it.”
“Thanks.” I ignored the guilty pangs in my stomach for telling Alex the lie—or at least the half-truth. “I appreciate that. At least things can’t get much worse. If I work at it, I might be able to rust out the rear quarter panel of an old Ford truck.”
Alex laughed and started walking. “Good luck finding one that’s not rusted already.”
I nodded. “Maybe I should set my sights on something a little more challenging.”
She laughed again.
We passed through a tight alley, and Alex tossed a homeless guy the last of our cash. He caught it and scrambled to his feet, nodding his thanks and waving the cash as he headed for a convenience store. Alex never glanced back at him.
“So why don’t you develop your power?” I asked, politely ignoring her shocking generosity. “I mean it seems like you have one of those strap-on-the-cape-and-tights abilities to fight crime and strike terror into the hearts of pimple-faced teenagers everywhere.”
Alex jerked her head in my direction, and her eyes grew red, watered and furious. For a second, I gave serious consideration to turning around to join the homeless guy, but then she sighed. “If you’re going to be my partner I guess you have the right to know.” She turned her face forward again, not looking at me as she spoke. “Before I died, I had a brother. He was autistic, and we were pretty much on our own. We didn’t have the best parents, so I made it my job to look out for him.” Alex crossed her arms, and the hard-edged woman melted into a vulnerable little girl. “See, my brother, he liked to watch fires, any kind of fires. Matches, fireplaces, barbecue grills, campfires, didn’t matter. It calmed him down and put him into a sort of Zen place. I didn’t see the harm as long as I kept things under control.”
Alex kept walking, but her head was down, and her voice got small. I had the feeling she wasn’t so much talking to me, as to herself. “But then things got out of control anyway. Sean found a book of matches and started our living room couch on fire. I took the blame—and the beating. That just upset Sean more. Me getting in trouble, I mean. He ran out and threw his lit matches into a dumpster. The dumpster happened to be sitting next to our ratty, old apartment building, so before we knew it, the whole place went up. My brother ran back in to find me, but I was already out. I went back in several times looking for him. The place didn’t even have fire alarms. I screamed for everyone to run, going door to door for as long as I could, hoping he’d gone to the wrong place. A lot of people got out, but I never found my brother.”
Tears rolled down her face and trailed the ground, but her voice never cracked. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then she fell silent.
I lifted a hand and almost laid it on her shoulder, but stopped at the last second, unsure if she would appreciate or resent the comfort.
I thought about the skeleton in my own closet, and another pang of guilt twisted my insides. She had trusted me with her darkest secret, her deepest sorrow, but when I had the chance to do the same, I glossed right past out of shame.
“I’m sure you know this, but none of that was your fault.”
Alex peered up at me, a mix of anger and sorrow in her eyes. “Wasn’t it? I was never a stranger to unhealthy vices, I mean look at me. I’m not exactly Betty Crocker, but I should have warned Sean off his obsession with fire. I knew where something like that might lead, but I never stopped him. It was easier to let him have his security blanket.”
I shook my head. “Life doesn’t work like that. You can’t control someone’s actions, not even your brother’s. Not all the time, anyway. You could have sent him to every therapist in the country and never changed what happened. You can’t look back and wonder what you could do different. You can only look forward and figure out what you can do different now.”
Alex stared at me. “Tell me you read that in a fortune cookie or something.”
“The back of a cereal box, actually.”
“That must have been some horrible cereal.”
I nodded. “Bound me up for a week. I was never the same again.”
That made her laugh.
“Thanks,” Alex said. “I still think you’re full of crap, but it helps a little.”
“Well, it’s the least I can do after you got me this incredible outfit.” I did a little spin and showed off my patchwork ensemble.
“It fits you, what with the whole rust thing and all.”
I glanced down at the rusty orange, brown and grey squares. “Maybe you should be the one making fortune cookies.”
“I think I’m more of a fortune pizza sort of girl.”
“Pizza’s better; you can print the fortune on the bottom of the box.”
Alex nodded. “Thanks for listening. I’m sorry to unload on you. Feel free to toss any of your baggage my way if you feel the urge.”
I paused.
“All my baggage is checked for now.” I forced a confident smile that felt more like a total fraud.
“But I’ll let you know.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nine days had passed since our trip to the Salt Lake City Tech Show and our Battle Royal in the back lot. My life in the shop always made me happy, but it surprised me how much I wanted to return to the Agency. At least being away from the spy biz gave me some time to spend with Stray at the shop. She had a knack for making deals and seemed to be in line with my way of thinking when it came to helping those who might need a little extra push. I couldn’t believe anyone could use her as a Disposable. She possessed an innocent and giving personality that drew people like a magnet. I couldn’t help but wonder how much her personality might change when her memory returned.
I considered going out to search for Scarecrow, Stray’s supposed Disposable handler, on my own, but without a lead, finding him would be like wandering around New York City hoping to recognize some guy who held a door for you two weeks ago. I had to dig up information at the Judas Agency or hope the Disposable dealers had assumed she had regained her memories and had cut their losses.
I doubted the latter would ever be true.
I glanced at Stray. She stood at the counter talking to a local Woebegone, smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and I guessed she didn’t. She still had no idea who she was or what she had been used for, and I had no idea how I could ever tell her.
Stray giggled, and I watched the other Woebegone relax, uncross his arms and smile. He dropped his guard.
Stray had something the Woebegone wanted more than anything my shop could offer. She had love, and she shared that love with everyone she talked to. I wanted her to hold on to that for as long as possible.
I realized I had a moment alone. Stray was occupied, and no other Woebegone wandered around the shop looking for a deal. I went to the outside wall and laid a palm on the corrugated steel. The icy metal felt rough under my hand, and I almost felt the years of torture it had endured. I closed my eyes, shutting out any distractions. The odor of rotted earth filled my nose, and the clanging bustle of Scrapyard City tried to beat its way into my ears, but I took a deep breath and pushed the diversions away. I focused all my energy into a single spot on my palm. A trickle of warmth, either power or my imagination, rolled down my arm and into my hand. I focused harder, squeezing my eyes closed and pressing my weight into the metal.
�
�Hey, Rookie.” I jumped at the familiar voice and spun to face her. “I told you that doesn’t work down here.”
Alex made her way across the road and grinned at me.
“I wasn’t ...” I stammered. “I just ...”
“You were just thinking real hard about holding up that wall? Concentrating on what you wanted to buy me for Christmas? Have to take a ...”
“Alright, alright,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re back in.” Alex grinned and glanced at the hand I still held against the wall. I jerked my arm down, and she let out a little snort. “I really need to talk to them about getting you a place. I’m not coming all the way out here every time we have a job.”
I tilted my head and looked around. “What’s wrong with this? You too good to come out and slum it with us little people?”
Alex laughed. “Nope, but all this walking is murder on my boots.” She bent her leg and peered over her shoulder at the dirty blue leather. “Look at what this place is doing to the heels.”
“I’ll buy you your very own can of blue shoe polish when we get back. I might even pay for a shoeshine.” I winked.
“Like you could afford it.” Alex turned toward my shop and walked toward Stray, who was already meandering out the door. “So, this your place? Looks like you got a little side thing going here.”
She peered at Stray, and Stray aimed a dangerous expression in Alex’s direction. It was the first time I had ever seen anything approaching dark or sinister color Stray’s features.
“And who is this?” Alex walked toward Stray, and I got the sudden sense that static electricity was about to spark over a tank of gasoline.
“I’m Alex.” She held out a hand toward Stray, ignoring the Woebegone who now seemed content to retreat at a sprint. “And you are?”
Stray shook her hand. “I have no idea, but we’re working on it.”
Alex nodded. “Interesting.”
“Stray’s been helping me out while I settle in at the Agency. She stays here and takes care of the place while I’m gone.”
“And what does she do when you’re here?”
“We sleep together,” Stray answered, a little faster than she had to.
She let the statement hang without further explanation.
“She means in the shop.”
“Right,” Stray said. “We sleep together in the shop.”
Alex raised her eyebrows and peered back at me again.
I felt a sudden compulsion to lock myself into the back room and probe my major arteries with a sharp pair of scissors.
“Well, we should go.” I motioned Alex away from the shop. I got the idea touching her might cause me to lose a limb.
Alex nodded. “We should.” She shot a plastic smile toward Stray and waved a princess parade goodbye. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Stray, to my shock, one-upped Alex in the fake smile department and waved back. “Can’t wait. We’ll get together for some girl talk.”
Alex’s smile faltered a bit. “Right, well let’s go, Gabe. We have a long walk.” She laced her arm around mine as if I were her date for a night on the town.
A jolt of simultaneous pleasure, topped with a double shot of dread, surged through my body and forced a nervous squeaky giggle to erupt from my throat. I tried to block our arms from view, but I moved too late. Alex made sure of that.
I smiled, acting as clueless as I felt, and pointed toward a small recess in the sheet metal wall. “We don’t need to walk. We have a ride.”
Stray stared white hot laser holes into my head as soon as the words came out of my mouth. What was it with these two?
Alex leaned to the side and followed my gaze until she saw the Vespa 98. “You have got to be kidding.”
“I can’t tell you where I got her. That would be unethical, with that whole no owning property rule and all, but she runs like a rocket on greased rails. I promise it’ll be a lot better on your heels than this dirt.”
Alex’s lips tweaked into an expression of confusion and disgust, then she seemed to catch a glimpse of Stray’s reddened face.
“Looks like fun.” Alex smiled and waved me toward the scooter. “What are we waiting for?”
I glanced at Stray and waved, trying a smile of my own, but settled on bewilderment. She waved, crossed her arms, and disappeared into the shop.
I took a step to go after her, but Alex snapped her fingers. “Come on. If we’re going to ride this pig, let’s go.”
I hesitated for a moment, then turned toward the scooter. The conversation would wait until later. I kicked The Rusty Rocket to life, and the rusty tailpipe belched out enough smoke and fire to make a coal train jealous.
I jumped on, and Alex sat on the rack behind me, scooting in close to hold me around my waist. “If you kill us, I am making a note to kill you as soon as I remember how we died.”
I threw The Rocket into gear. We rocketed into the shanty nightmare like a low budget missile on knobby tires, leaving Stray and my shop behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I spit a feather from my mouth and peered out of the corner of my eye at Alex. We’d landed in a gigantic open barn filled with thousands of huge, red headed, waddling turkeys. Our sudden appearance initiated a cacophony of gobbles that echoed off the open metal rafters, redoubling in volume like some twisted sonic holiday weapon. The assault was relentless.
I tried to hum a soft lullaby, hoping to soothe the gobblers into a quieter mood, but all that came out was a cracked rendition of Jingle Bells. My throat was so tense, it choked the squeaky tune into Minnie Mouse range, but I couldn’t stop. I feared my every breath could set off another gobble-ruption, or worse, attract one of the filthy scrotum heads toward me.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you … squealing?” Alex spoke in a barely audible whisper, but the noise sounded more like a riot grenade in the barn where the Splice had dumped us out. I tried to relax. But my lips were sucked in past my teeth, and my arms were crossed tight enough across my chest to crack a rib.
“What—is—wrong—with—you?” Alex spoke a little louder, enunciating each word. A couple of nearby turkeys let out a feeler gobble. I shook my head side to side in jerky little movements, squeaking out the notes to laughing all the way, ha ha ha. I wished someone would zap me out of this Turkey Hell.
One of the over-ripe birds brushed its tail feathers against my leg. I jumped, turning the next few notes into a whimper. My movement, in turn, drew out a few more targeting gobbles. A smile grew on Alex’s face that only meant one thing. She knew.
“Wait, you’re afraid of turkeys?” Hysterical laughter exploded out of Alex’s mouth, followed by the gobble thunderclap of a zillion wattle-dangling, feathered nightmares. They echoed her laughter at a thousand hiccupping decibels in true THX surround sound, making me want to claw out my eyes just to shove them into my ears.
I turned and sprinted the entire length of the massive barn with my hands cemented to either side of my head, parting the sea of pink-skinned scrotum heads, with a shrieking finale of my carol lullaby.
I stopped running and shrieking, once I was out of the Thanksgiving nightmare, and paused to hyperventilate.
Alex followed me out the door several moments later. She was out of breath as well, but I suspected it was from laughing rather than some frantic escape.
“Turkeys? I cannot wait until Thanksgiving.” She snorted out another laugh. “Do you have any other fears you’d like to talk about while we're here? Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy, Bologna sandwiches with extra mustard?”
“Do you know what they do to turkeys in places like that?” I said.
Alex pressed her lips together to control her laughter and raised an eyebrow.
“They inseminate them so they can have more turkeys, and I do not mean they turn down the lights and play Barry Manilow. They use hoses and tubes and syringes the size of bazookas. Turkeys are flopped upside down, stuff flies ever
ywhere. I can promise poop isn’t the only thing marring your fancy blue boots.” I retched.
“If you’re into Turkey porn or something, I don’t want to know.”
“A buddy of mine lived on a farm when I was a kid. He showed me once. I never got near a Thanksgiving turkey again.”
“Look at my boots.” Alex held a foot up for my inspection. I retched for a second time at the slimy concoction of turkey poop, mud, and nondescript goo that hung off the blue leather.
“That’s going to take more than shoe polish.” I held out a palm to obstruct the sloppy mess from view. “Put that down, you’re not helping. The smell is enough to make your point.”
“You’re the one who didn’t want to go through the dumpster again.” Alex dragged the side of her boot along the ground as we walked, leaving a green smear in her wake.
I averted my eyes upward and tried not to breathe through my nose. “At the time, I ran under the assumption that there couldn’t be a place worse than the greasy interior of a fast food dumpster. I now stand corrected. Thank you.”
“You might want to clean off those disasters too.” Alex pointed at my feet. “Check out your shoes. At least mine don’t have treads. I think you’re carrying half the barn floor with you.”
I kept my eyes pointed toward the sky. “I’ll take your word for it.” I dragged my feet on the ground and stomped like a toddler throwing a fit, not wanting to see or even get a whiff of anything that came off.
“So, is there a name for turkey phobia, or ...”
“I do not have a turkey phobia—and it is called meleagrisphobia.”
“Figures you would know,” Alex said. “Will you just tell me if I got everything off my boots?”
She caught herself and tried to appear indignant. “Hey, what if I injured myself?”
“You would heal, but the image of your boot seared into my mind never would.”
“Big baby.”
I nodded. “You never told me why we’re back here in town again.”