Broken Paths Options

[redsrock]

Here's something I've been working on. It's for my post-apocy world, and before I start I need to explain something. The setting for the story (for the most part) is inside the Pentagon, and I need to explain what the Pentagon is for those who don't know. It's located roughly in the middle of Indiana. It's a system of five cities, and around the five cities is an extremely tall concrete wall, and if you were to look down at the wall from the sky you would see that it looks sort of a like a pentagon, hence the name.

Enjoy.

The man with the black overcoat glared at Alan in the tiny room while sitting across from him at the even tinier table. His yellow teeth showed and he was starting to become impatient. And even with the room dimly lit, both men could the see the anger in each other’s eyes very clearly.

“I don’t believe you, Alan. You’re trying to tell me that it wasn’t you? You’re innocent and they’re the ones who are guilty? great compassion. That doesn’t make any sense. We found you lying outside of the building, blood covering your body and an Uzi gripped tightly in your right hand. Excuse the cliché, but we literally caught you red-handed, dumbfuck.”

“I know all of that dammit, but it wasn’t me! I’m not lying! I swear to you I’m not lying!”

“Prove it then, Alan. Prove to me that it wasn’t you. If you can then maybe I can persuade him to let you live. But if I catch you lying I swear to God I’ll fuckin’ shoot you right here. I don’t have time to play games with you, Alan. Do you understand that? You lie and you’ll die. You’ve already had plenty of chances. I know you’re some kind of baseball nut, so consider this your third strike if you lie again.”

“I…it’s hard to remember everything. I don’t know if I can remember it all in one sitting. Give me another day so I can rest. Then I’ll be able to remember everything. Then I can tell you all of-“

“No! You tell me now! Think hard, Alan. Surely you can remember what happened. It’s not every day something like this goes down. Think…”

“Fine, alright. I’ll do my best. But first give me some water. I need something to help my throat. It hurts like compassion.”

“No, you tell me the story first and then you’ll get your water. Until I find out what I need to know you ain’t getting nothing.”

“No water, no story.”

For almost a full minute two simply stared one another down. Eventually the man with the black overcoat began to sweat, and he swiped away with the sleeve of his massive hand. He sighed.

“Goddamn you, Alan,” he said, shaking his head and sighing loudly. Then he turned toward the closed door behind the two of them, and yelled outside to one of the guards. “Pete! Get the prisoner some clean water! There, you whiney umbrella seller. He’s getting your goddamn water. Now talk.”

“I want to wait for the water first. I just said my throat was hurting. Don’t you think I need a drink before I actually start?”

The man gritted his teeth and turned back towards the closed door. “Hurry the hamster up, Pete! Jesus Christ, how long does it take to get a glass of fuckin’ water? What the hamster is this, compassion! A goddamn parade?”

Right on cue, the lock to the door turned and into the room walked an extremely thin man holding a plastic cup of fresh, clean water. He was wearing a black mask that covered his entire face, just like the man with the black overcoat was wearing. The only features that showed through the masks were their eyes, noses, and mouths. Other than that there was nothing else to see. Even their hair (if they had any) was covered.

“It’s about fuckin’ time!” The man yelled. The much thinner man set the cup of water down on the small table and then left even quicker than he had arrived, locking the door once it was it was closed. The man with the black overcoat turned back to Alan and looked him in the eyes with a most serious expression.

“There’s your water. Now drink up and talk, you prick.”

Alan downed the cup of water in seconds, but it barely did anything to help his throbbing throat. Still, even he knew he was better than nothing. After clearing his throat he set the cup on the table and stretched his neck.

“Alright, alright…I’ll talk. But you have to promise not to interrupt me, alright?”

“Yes, yes, just get on with it!”

“Fine…”

************************************************************

He stood in front of me with a dirty shovel and an even dirtier smile. Sebastian always was a schemer, but at least he and I were on good terms. I couldn’t say that for many other money-borrowers to the Boss. Most of them wanted me dead, and in fact several had tried that, both by themselves and with hired killers. Both tactics failed of course. It actually found it surprising that Sebastian hadn’t tried to kill me yet. I was lucky he and I were somewhat friendly with one another, or at least as friendly as a Hunter and a money-borrower to the Boss could be. Though with a clever man like Sebastian you never could be sure what he was thinking.

“You look so much like you’re father, Alan. Did you know that?”

“Of course, Sebastian. How could I not? You only tell me every time I come to collect payment.”

He chuckled at that. I was well aware that it was a forced laugh, though. Just another way to stall time until I forced him to get the money that he owed. He was always good at that as well.

“The Boss wishes for money that was never his to begin with. Don’t you find that ironic?”

“I don’t think about any of that because it means nothing to me. The only thing that matters to me is payday, and I can’t get that if I don’t get the money from you. So hand it over, Sebastian. You’re already a month late and he’s not going to give you any longer.”

Sebastian laughed and dug his shovel deep into the shovel where it stayed upright. Then he took his gloved right hand and wiped the sweat from his tanned, wrinkled forehead. The bright sun shined down upon the field, offering its energy to the growing plants underground that Sebastian was digging at with his long wooden shovel. His house right beside the tiny, pathetic excuse for a field, he could have run inside and locked the door if he wanted to. But he did not. Instead he was just as brave as he always was.

“I ain’t the smartest man in the world, Alan, but I already know I’m a month behind on my payments. But things have been tough. People don’t wanna buy my food, and that’s mostly because one of the other Hunters told everybody that I sell outdated vegetables. That’s horseshit, by the way, but the people believe it anyway cause I am a lowlife peasant. Of course, most of us are anyway. This is Henderville after all. It’s funny, life is. People don’t want to have anything to do with until they need you. You know what I mean?”

I raised a hand for him to stop talking, because it was too damn hot to stand around listening to him ramble on.

“I need that money, Sebastian, but I also know you probably don’t even have all of it to begin with. You’re a pitiful farmer and a pothead, and that’s not an economically smart combination. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Give me seventy-five percent of what you owe, and I’ll persuade the boss to give you an extra week to come up with the rest. Seventy-five dollars are all you owe me. How does that sound?”

His wrinkly, hairy face lit up with happiness, because once again I was letting him off the hook. It was a nasty habit of mine, but at least I was getting something. A lot of times borrowers would try to get out of paying anything at all.

“That sounds like a fair deal to me. Thank you, Alan. You’ve always been my favorite Hunter, you know…”

“Just stop stroking my thermos and get the money, Sebastian. You’re not the only person I’ve got to deal with today. It’s only noon after all.”

Sebastian simply laughed at that and then walked inside his small, sorry excuse of a home. Broken windows, graffiti spray-painted onto the walls that I knew he was too lazy to wash off. I was actually surprised that he had enough will to do anything, let alone farm a field, even if it was the tiniest farm I had ever seen. It was probably because he was so desperate. Desperate to feed his hunger. His hunger for more drugs. He lived in the lowly parts of Henderville, and Henderville was the poorest and lowliest city of the Pentagon anyway. So I shouldn’t have been surprised to see such pathetic lives being lived, especially when I was around it all day. Hunting down druggies certainly had its downsides, but it definitely had its perks as well. It’s taught me never to fall down to their level, because I know that if I do I’ll never get back up.

Sebastian came out of his house holding a small, wooden box. He opened the box, and inside were eleven bills total; ten tens and a five, the tens green and the five a burnt orange. It was highly likely that he had more money inside the house, but since I was lucky enough to get anything at all I didn’t pester him any further.

“Here you go, Alan. Seventy-five dollars, seventy-five percent of what I owe the Boss, just like you asked,” he said, handing me the bills and then snapping the box shut. “Thank you again for giving me more time. I promise I’ll have the rest next Friday. You did say I had a week, right?”

“Yes, I did. And be sure you do have the money, Sebastian. I’d hate to think what the Boss would want me to do to you if you don’t. I’m serious about that. He’ll likely want you dead. I advise you to get that money as soon as possible. And don’t even think about running away from town, because you’re being watched. You’re all being watched. Don’t tell anyone where you heard that, though, because I don’t tell that to everyone.”

He nodded, and I saw him swallow hard. “Thanks, Alan.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He went back to his digging into the earth, and I walked away, slipping the bills into the large zip-up pocket inside my dark green coat. The bills were lonely, but that would change soon enough.

Howie’s Eats and Treats was jam-packed when I arrived at around twelve-thirty in the afternoon, as soon as I had left Sebastian’s in fact. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but there were so many people that all of the seats were taken. But just as I was about to leave, I was spotted by one of my fellow Hunters, Edgar Roosevelt. He quickly shooed away a civilian from another table and pulled the chair up for me.

“Alan Duncan! Sit your boat down and stay for a while!” he yelled. “I know you’re eager to bust some more balls, but drink a few glasses with us for once, will ya’? We hardly see you around Howie’s anymore. It’s been what, a week since you last appeared around here? Hell, I haven’t even seen you in Henderville for that long! Where’ve you been, man?”

“I just got back home last night after taking care of some business in Tull, and that’s all I can say,” I said, giving Edgar and the boys a quick wink. They sure loved that, just like they loved me. It was agitating sometimes, but I guess that’s what I got for being the Boss’s favorite.

“compassion, I prolly don’t wanna know anyway.” Edgar motioned for a pretty waitress from across the medium-sized tavern. “Hey Wanda! Get your sweet boat over here and pour Alan a drink! Put it on my tab, alright?”

The table laughed, and I looked around to see four other familiar faces: Rex Hughes, Tony Dunn, Leroy Williamson, and Miguel Hernandez. All five of them together made up the Boss’s Hunters, and I was the Boss’s main man. I didn’t quite like to think of it like that, but I had to admit it was true. After all, it was always me he asked when he needed the toughest jobs done, other than my regular duty of money-colleting of course. In fact, it had been a while since I worked with someone else. At least a month. I almost didn’t consider myself a Hunter anymore, and rather something else. Something more, something…bigger. The townspeople felt this as well, for they treated me differently. A lot of them were downright scared of me, and I didn’t really know why. Sure, I got the job done when I had to, but at least I wasn’t an boatmaster like Edgar and his goons.

Edgar looked back and me and smiled. “I’m sorry you have to drink our nasty beer, Alan. I know it’s not nearly as good as the wine in Tull,” he said mockingly, laughing along with everyone else at the table.

“Thanks for the drink, Edgar. But, after I’m done I will get back to the field. I have catch up to you all, since I’ve been gone for a week and all that.”

“compassion, Alan, you’re already ahead by too much! We’re still catching up to you! Come on, man, just stay a while. When’s the last time all six of us sat down and talked to one another, huh? I’ll tell you how long, ever since the Boss decided you was his favorite!”

Again he laughed, and again everyone else did as well. That’s how it always went. Edgar would say something, and no matter how funny or not funny it was, everyone laughed as hard as they could. It was almost to the point where the laughter actually sounded pure and not fake. The reasoning behind all of that was because Edgar was sort of the “leader”, and they laughed because they thought they had to. Maybe they did have to. Edgar was a mean sonofabitch sometimes. Not to me, though. With me he was more of a smartass, but he was also intelligent enough not to go too far. He knew the Boss liked me most, for reasons I still can’t explain.

“Fine, whatever. But only for a little bit. I have to hit up at least Jangles before I call it a day. And then Jimmy of course.”

“Jangles? Old “Johnny”? That Jangles?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“He’s dead, man. Leroy and I found him a couple of days ago with a bullet in the back of his head. He gone, Alan.”

Jangles, dead? It didn’t surprise me that much since it had always been rumored that he was running with one of the minor gangs. But still, I had collected money from Jangles ever since I was inducted into the Boss’s circle. It was a weird feeling thinking of him dead. He was tough as nails and as sharp as a razor.

“Goddamn. Dead? Did you find out who did it?”

“Nope,” Edgar said, taking a long drink from his beer and then belching loudly. “But the bullet went clean through his head. When I picked up the bullet I knew it had to have been shot from a long-barreled revolver. And who the hell uses long-barreled revolvers, Alan?”

“The Steely Knives.”

“Exactly. We ain’t been able to prove anything, though. Those bastards are as slick as compassion. I can’t believe they haven’t ever attacked us, y’know? They got about...compassion, I guess around twenty or so members, and there’s only six of us.”

“It’s because they’re afraid of Alan,” Leroy barked, and the table again erupted with laughter, because I had to admit that time it was something that was actually funny.

“Who ain’t?” Edgar asked. “Alan could shoot a fuckin’ bear with his bare finger if he had to. In all seriousness, though, you’re prolly right, Leroy. Alan sure is good with a gun. Just like his daddy was. I’ve read the books and I’ve heard the stories. How’s the old man doing anyway, Alan?”

“Alright I guess.”

“Alright? What, you don’t talk to him?”

“Not much. I’m too busy to talk and he’s too busy to listen. That’s how it’s always been, though.”

“Ah come, on! He had to have taught you what you know, right? You two seriously don’t talk?”

“Not really. Not as much as we used to at least. But he does travel a lot in the hills and mountains outside the Pentagon. When he’s home it’s usually not for too long. Like I said, that’s just the way it’s always been. It doesn’t bother me really.”

The answer seemed suffice enough for Edgar, because he simple shrugged his shoulders and took another drink from his dark bottle of beer. A few seconds later mine arrived as well, as did the others’ lunch. Edgar asked me to order some food but I shook my head and told him that I’d drink my beer and then be on my way. Then about ten minutes later I left the tavern heading towards the home of another money-borrower, and also my brother, Jimmy Duncan.

************************************************************

The man with the black overcoat snickered and pounded his fist on the small table, making it bounce several inches off the ground before coming to a rest.

“Liar! I knew you’d lie to me, you sonofabitch! You didn’t go to Jimmy’s! Jimmy was away visiting Indianapolis! That’s what you said!”

“You said you wouldn’t interrupt me!”

“Lying is different, boatmaster! You weren’t supposed to lie!”

“I’m not even lying, dumbass!”

“Yes, yes you are! Jimmy wasn’t in Henderville that day. That’s what you told me earlier. Remember?”

Alan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“No, I never said that. I told you he was going to, but then he got sick and decided to stay home. Well, I think some of it had to do with him being poor as compassion, just like everybody else in Henderville, and he probably didn’t have the money to travel, and-”

“Will you shut up for a second? I could swear you told me he left Henderville that day. Are you sure you’re not lying, dickhead?”

“I’m as sure as you are fat.”

The man stood up from his chair and reached over to Alan, taking him by the collar. Alan only smiled as the man’s angry breathe filled his nostrils. The man shook Alan as close as possible and glared into his eyes.

“Listen here, smartass,” he whispered. “You’re not in the position to be cracking jokes. You’re arms and legs are bound. I sure as hell would hate to accidently break your nose. Wait, no…I take that back. I would love to break your fuckin’ nose. And believe me, Alan. I’ll do it if you keep up with this compassion.”

“Threatening to kill me, eh? That’s very stupid of you, especially since you and your bosses won’t go anywhere if I don’t give you the information you want. In fact, you should probably be a lot nicer to me. I’d sure hate to seal my lips and not say a damn thing. Wait, no…I take that back. I would love to.”

The man let go of Alan’s collar and sat back down in his chair. He took out a fat cigar and lit it with his black-painted lighter. Taking a long puff from the cigar, he blew the smoke in Alan’s face. Then he sighed and shrugged his enormous shoulders.

“Just get on with the fuckin’ story, Alan.”

“Fine. Where was I?”

“You said you were about to visit your brother.”

“Oh yeah, Jimmy…”

[redsrock]

No, I haven't been ignoring this story. I've been creating characters and outlining the plot. However, I've decided that I'm going to redo the first chapter, transforming the entire story into a third-person view. I think it'd be much better that way, and I thought it would be best to do it now since we're not very far into the story as it is.

[redsrock]

Chapter One

The dazzling sun had finally risen over the grassy hills to the west when Alan Duncan arrived back in Hinesville. Coming from a job in Tull, his legs were tired and his mind was fatigued. What he wanted to do was walk home and sleep for the rest of the weekend, but what he had to do was visit a few of his clients before meeting up with the Boss. The Boss would undoubtedly be overjoyed to see his prized Runner back in town and hear of his success in Tull, but he would be even more excited to see a few drug payments to go along with it.

And so Alan walked through the tall, metal gate of Hinesville, smirking at the fact that Mayor Bryant had always considered the gate to be something of a masterpiece. In reality it was nothing more than an old chain-linked fence that had once been used at and old elementary school, before it was burned down by one of the city’s gangs. Atop the high fence was a thick set of barbed wire. Looking at the wire, Alan couldn’t help but smirk again. What good was barbed wire when one could easily smash the entire fence down?

“Good mornin’ to ya, Mr. Duncan! I haven’t seen ya around for about a week!” called one of the standing guards inside the city, Marty Jenson.

The first thing Alan noticed was the man’s pistol that was strapped to the right hip of his pants. Alan chuckled inside, for he knew Marty hadn’t ever pulled it on anyone. Even with the crime and gang activity, Alan had never heard of an instance where Marty had shot at someone. He was a nice guy, but it was going to get him killed someday.

Alan tipped his tattered red baseball cap and offered a worn-out smile. “Same to you, Marty. I’ve been in Tull for the last week. How’s Hinesville been?”

“Ah, more of the same I guess, which ain’t much. Of course, it’s much better now that you’re back.”

“Naturally.”

Marty laughed and Alan grinned back, but again, an exhausted grin. He had done too much smiling in Tull and his jaw bones ached with a pulsing pain when he tried to smile. But Marty was a nice guy, and Alan was used to the attention anyway. It was somewhat of a gift to all Runners of Boss Sheppard. What Alan didn’t quite like, though, was the brown-nosing that often went on, especially with his clients. But it was something he had become used to over the years.

Marty laughed again and then waved his hairy sun-tanned hand. “You have a good day, Mr. Duncan.”

Alan nodded and then left the city gate.

It was only a few minutes past six o’clock, but already the cracked stone streets were filled with bustling bodies. Alan counted through the people and guessed that about half of them had hangovers, a quarter of them were high, and then the last quarter was probably looking for trouble or trying to get out of it. That’s how it was. One big, dirty dump. The lowliest and poorest city by far in the region of the Pentagon, Hinesville wasn’t a very pleasant place to live in. People in the other cities referred to Hinesville as “The Stain” of the Pentagon. That said, the drugs were plentiful and so was the booze, so the lowlifes kept coming. Alan didn’t consider everyone to be a lowlife, but those that were definitely outnumbered those who weren’t. But, just like the brown-nosing, the lowlifes were something he had gotten used to over the years. And besides, without them he wouldn’t even have a job to begin with.

He passed the center of town as fast as he could. It was easily the busiest part of the city, both day and night. The shops were located in the center, as was Howie’s Eats and Treats, the local bar and restaurant. The city itself looked as if a tornado had passed through. The walls rusted and cracked, the streets littered with trash, used cigarettes, and plenty of empty beer bottles. Tall, rusted metal poles stretched up into the sky, lighting the town during the night. But what the light shined down on wasn’t pretty, and Alan could remember plenty of times where he wished the lights would go out, for all they showed was the evil and bad that Hinesville had in it. The druggies and drunkards used the light to talk all throughout the night. Mayor Bryant had once threatened to instate a curfew, but nothing had ever come of it. It didn’t matter, for it wouldn’t have been enforced anyway.

Finally he entered the southern section of Hinesville, often referred to as the Slums. Alan had always found this description quite ironic, for the city as a whole was a slum, and to categorize one part dirtier and lower than another was rather pointless. Even the Mayor’s mansion wasn’t much of a mansion, mostly because the gangs wouldn’t stop terrorizing it with graffiti and nailed signs screaming. Unfortunately for the people who tried to live a decent life, the “army” in Hinesville wasn’t much of one. Basically a small militia of men no better than the people they were fighting. Some were respectable, like Marty Jenson, but most were as about as straight as a broken nose. Alan couldn’t believe the Mayor hadn’t been ousted by his own men yet.

Digging a hole in his front yard was Sebastian Forester, Alan’s first stop. As he saw Alan walking up, he stopped what he was doing and tipped his head slightly. He stood in front of Alan with a dirty shovel and an even dirtier smile. Sebastian had always been quite the schemer, but at least he and Alan were on good terms. That couldn’t be said for many other money-borrowers to the Boss. Most of them wanted Alan dead, and in fact several had tried that, both by themselves and with hired killers. Both tactics had failed of course. What Alan found most surprising, though, was that Sebastian hadn’t tried himself. Alan was lucky he and Sebastian were somewhat friendly with one another, or at least as friendly as a Runner and a money-borrower to the Boss could be. Though with a clever man like Sebastian one could never be too sure.

“You look so much like you’re father, Alan. Did you know that?”

“Of course, Sebastian. How could I not? You only tell me every time I come to collect payment.”

Sebastian chuckled at that. Alan was well aware that it was a forced laugh, though. Just another way to stall time until he forced him to get the money that he owed. He was always good at that as well.

“The Boss wishes for money that was never his to begin with. Don’t you find that ironic?”

“I don’t think about any of that because it means nothing to me. The only thing that matters to me is payday, and I can’t get that if I don’t get the money from you. So hand it over, Sebastian. You’re already a month late and he’s not going to give you any longer.”

Sebastian laughed and dug his shovel deep into the shovel where it stayed upright. Then he took his gloved right hand and wiped the sweat from his tanned, wrinkled forehead. The bright sun shined down upon the field, offering its energy to the growing plants underground that Sebastian was digging at with his long wooden shovel. His house right beside the tiny, pathetic excuse for a field, he could have run inside and locked the door if he wanted to. But he did not. Instead he was just as brave as he always was.

“I ain’t the smartest man in the world, Alan, but I already know I’m a month behind on my payments. But things have been tough. People don’t wanna buy my food, and that’s mostly because one of the other Runners told everybody that I sell outdated vegetables. That’s horse[censored], by the way, but the people believe it anyway cause I am a lowlife peasant. Of course, most of us are anyway. This is Hinesville after all. It’s funny, life is. People don’t want to have anything to do with until they need you. You know what I mean?”

Alan raised a hand for him to stop talking, because it was too hot to stand around listening to him ramble on.

“I need that money, Sebastian, but I also know you probably don’t even have all of it to begin with. You’re a pitiful farmer and a pothead, and that’s not an economically smart combination. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Give me seventy-five percent of what you owe, and I’ll persuade the boss to give you an extra week to come up with the rest. Seventy-five dollars are all you owe me. How does that sound?”

His wrinkly, hairy face lit up with happiness, because once again Alan was letting him off the hook. It was a nasty habit of his, especially with Sebastian. But at least Alan was getting something. A lot of times borrowers would try to get out of paying anything at all.

“That sounds like a fair deal to me. Thank you, Alan. You’ve always been my favorite Runner, you know…”

“Just stop stroking my thermos and get the money, Sebastian. You’re not the only person I’ve got to deal with today. It’s only noon after all.”

Sebastian simply laughed at that and then walked inside his small, sorry excuse of a home. Broken windows, graffiti spray-painted onto the walls that Alan knew he was too lazy to wash off. Alan was actually surprised that he had enough will to do anything, let alone farm a field, even if it was the tiniest farm he had ever seen. It was probably because he was so desperate. Desperate to feed his hunger. His hunger for more drugs. But Alan was used to such things. Hunting down druggies certainly had its downsides, but it definitely had its perks as well. It had taught Alan never to fall down to their level, because he knew that if he did he’d never get back up.

Sebastian came out of his house holding a small, wooden box. He opened the box, and inside were eleven bills total; ten tens and a five, the tens green and the five a burnt orange. It was highly likely that he had more money inside the house, but since Alan was lucky enough to get anything at all, he didn’t pester him any further.

“Here you go, Alan. Seventy-five dollars, seventy-five percent of what I owe the Boss, just like you asked,” he said, handing Alan the bills and then snapping the box shut. “Thank you again for giving me more time. I promise I’ll have the rest next Friday. You did say I had a week, right?”

“Yes, I did. And be sure you do have the money, Sebastian. I’d hate to think what the Boss would want me to do to you if you don’t. I’m serious about that. He’ll likely want you dead. I advise you to get that money as soon as possible. And don’t even think about running away from town, because you’re being watched. You’re all being watched. Don’t tell anyone where you heard that, though, because I don’t tell that to everyone.”

He nodded, and Alan saw him swallow hard. “Thanks, Alan.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He went back to his digging into the earth, and Alan walked away, slipping the bills into the large zip-up pocket inside his dark green coat. The bills were lonely, but that would change soon enough.

* * * * *

Howie’s Eats and Treats was jam-packed when Alan arrived after leaving Sebastian’s house. He shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but there were so many people that all of the seats were taken. But just as he was about to leave, he was spotted by one of his fellow Runners, Edgar Roosevelt. He quickly shooed away a civilian from another table and pulled up a chair for the Boss’s favorite Runner.

“Alan Duncan! Sit your boat down and stay for a while!” he yelled. “I know you’re eager to bust some more balls, but drink a few glasses with us for once, will ya’? We hardly see you around Howie’s anymore. It’s been what, a week since you last appeared around here? Hell, I haven’t even seen you in Hinesville for that long! Where you been, man?”

“I just got back home last night after taking care of some business in Tull, and that’s all I can say,” Alan said, giving Edgar and the boys a quick wink. They sure loved that.

“[censored], I prolly don’t wanna know anyway.” Edgar motioned for a pretty waitress from across the medium-sized tavern. “Hey Wanda! Get your sweet boat over here and pour Alan a drink! Put it on my tab, alright?”

The table roared with slightly drunken laughter, and Alan looked around to see four other familiar faces: Rex Hughes, Tony Dunn, Leroy Williamson, and Miguel Hernandez. All five of them together made up the Boss’s Runners, and Alan was the Boss’s main man. He didn’t quite like to think of it like that, but he also had to admit it was probably true. After all, it was always him that was asked whenever the Boss needed the tougher jobs accomplished. In fact, it had been a while since Alan worked with someone else. At least five months, maybe even more. Alan almost didn’t consider himself a Runner anymore, and rather something else. Something more, something…bigger. The townspeople felt this as well, for they treated him differently compared to the other Runners. A lot of people in Hinesville were downright scared of Alan, and he didn’t really know why. Sure, he got the job done when he had to and however he had to, but at least he wasn’t an [censored] like Edgar and his goons.

Edgar looked back and Alan and smiled. “I’m sorry you have to drink our nasty beer, Alan. I know it’s not nearly as good as the wine in Tull,” he said mockingly, laughing along with everyone else at the table.

“Thanks for the drink, Edgar. But, after I’m done I will get back to the field. I have catch up to you all, since I’ve been gone for a week and all that.”

“[censored], Alan, you’re already ahead by too much! We’re still catching up to you! Come on, man, just stay a while. When’s the last time all six of us sat down and talked to one another, huh? I’ll tell you how long, ever since the Boss decided you was his favorite!”

Again he laughed, and again everyone else did as well. That’s how it always went. Edgar would say something, and no matter how funny or not funny it was, everyone laughed as hard as they could. It was almost to the point where the laughter actually sounded pure and not fake. The reasoning behind all of that was because Edgar was sort of the “leader”, and they laughed because they thought they had to. Maybe they did have to. Edgar was a mean sonofa[censored] sometimes. Not to Alan, though. With Alan he was more of a smart-[censored], but he was also intelligent enough not to go too far. He knew the Boss liked Alan the most, for reasons Alan still couldn’t come to explain.

“Fine, whatever. But only for a little bit. I have to hit up at least Jangles before I call it a day. And then Jimmy of course.”

“Jangles? Old “Johnny”? That Jangles?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“He’s dead, man. Leroy and I found him a couple of days ago with a bullet in the back of his head. He gone, Alan.”

“Dead? Did you find out who did it?”

“Nope,” Edgar said, taking a long drink from his beer and then belching loudly. “But the bullet went clean through his head. When I picked up the bullet I knew it had to have been shot from a long-barreled revolver. And who the hell uses long-barreled revolvers most, Alan?”

“The Steely Knives.”

“Exactly. We ain’t been able to prove anything, though. Those bastards are as slick as [censored]. I can’t believe they haven’t ever attacked us, y’know? They got about...[censored], I guess around thirty or so members, and there’s only six of us.”

“It’s because they’re afraid of Alan,” Leroy barked, and the table again erupted with laughter, because even Alan had to admit that that time it was something that had actually been funny.

“Who ain’t?” Edgar asked. “Alan could shoot a [censored]in’ bear with his bare finger if he had to. In all seriousness, though, you’re prolly right, Leroy. Alan sure is good with a gun. Just like his daddy was. I’ve read the books and I’ve heard the stories. How’s the old man doing anyway, Alan?”

“Alright I guess.”

“Alright? What, you don’t talk to him?”

“Not much. I’m too busy to talk and he’s too busy to listen. That’s how it’s always been, though.”

“Ah come, on! He had to have taught you what you know, right? You two seriously don’t talk?”

“Not really. Not as much as we used to at least. But he does travel a lot in the hills and mountains outside the Pentagon. When he’s home it’s usually not for too long. Like I said, that’s just the way it’s always been. It doesn’t bother me really.”

The answer seemed suffice enough for Edgar, because he simple shrugged his shoulders and took another drink from his dark bottle of beer. A few seconds later Alan’s arrived as well, as did the others’ lunch. Edgar asked Alan to order some food but he shook my head and told him that he’d drink his single bottle of beer and then be on his way. About ten minutes later he did just that, leaving the tavern and heading towards the home of another money-borrower, and also his brother, Jimmy Duncan.

[redsrock]

Chapter Two

If there was one thing about Alan’s job that he wished he could rid himself of, it was the dealings with his brother Jimmy. When it came to drugs and booze (especially the former) Alan was squeaky clean and Jimmy was as dirty as dirt itself. The two were just about as different as two brothers could possibly be. Despite that they were blood brothers, one couldn’t tell by looking at them. Alan heavily favored their father with his thin, dark brown hair, his short thin nose, and gorgeous blue eyes; whereas Jimmy looked just like their deceased mother with his thick, sandy-blonde hair, big ears, and bright green eyes that almost looked magical in a way.

Jimmy lived in the same part of Hinesville as Sebastian, and as Alan reentered the saddest district in town, he spotted his brother sitting on his roofless porch smoking a cigarette. Alan laughed inside, because he knew that what Jimmy was about to pay for was far more lethal than a mere cigarette.

“Back in town, huh?” Jimmy asked when Alan had walked up to the badly-built wooden porch. He eyed not his brother, but rather a group of small children joyfully playing stickball across the street.

“Yep. I’m surprised you noticed I was gone to begin with.”

Jimmy continued to stare at the game of stickball. “I didn’t until dad came.”

“He’s home? When did he get back from the Deadlands?”

Jimmy sighed and shook his head, but still wouldn’t look his brother in the eyes. “He’s gone again. Stopped by for a short few seconds yesterday and asked where his precious son was. That’s when I told him I hadn’t seen you around and that you were probably outta town. Then he left just as fast as he came.”

And there it was again. Jimmy’s same old “I’m unloved” attitude, yet he sat there smoking the deathstick as easy as eating candy. That was what Alan hated most about his brother, that he whined constantly but never did anything to better himself.

“If you weren’t smoking and drinking the entire time maybe dad would come over and talk with you more often.”

Finally Jimmy took his eyes off of the game of stickball and looked directly into his brother’s eyes. The left part of his upper lip twitched slightly, a mannerism that Alan was all too familiar with. Jimmy was pissed.

“You know, brother, I didn’t exactly ask for your opinion. Did I?”

Knowing he probably shouldn’t have poked at his brother, Alan attempted to change the subject with what he had come to get anyway. “How about that money, Jimmy? Two-hundred fifty dollars is what you owe.”

“I don’t have it,” he said plainly, again looking away from his brother, but this time at a dark haired middle-aged woman across the street wearing an exceptionally short black skirt that showed the beginning of her sagging behind. She called a boy’s name out to come inside, and one of the children playing stickball began begging her to let him play a little while longer.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t have it, Alan.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it? You’ve had all week, Jimmy. I need that money and I need it now.”

Jimmy rose from his chair rather fast, and out of instinct Alan reached for the sandalwood handle revolver that was resting in the holster of his belt on his right hip. He only tapped the smooth handle of the gun, and then quickly dismissed the action. But Jimmy saw the whole thing.

“What are you gonna do? Shoot your own brother?”

“No, I…you moved so fast and I-“

“Just shut up, Alan, I don’t want to hear the excuse. You’re so caught up in your compassion that you’d shoot your own brother just to get the money! And that’s sad. Really sad. You think you and I are so far apart and so different, but we’re not. We’re the same kind of person, just different versions.”

The two stood there on the porch for what to Alan seemed like an eternity. Jimmy wouldn’t take his eyes off of his brother’s, and Alan saw pure hate in those staring eyes.

“No, Jimmy, we aren’t the same. Not even close.”

“That’s great compassion and you know it! You may not take the drugs, but you sure as hell profit off of them. Is it really that much better? You don’t deliver the goods, but you collect the payment. So while you don’t actually physically handle the drugs, you’re still a player in the game no matter how hard you try to say you’re not. I can’t see how dad doesn’t see that, but then again he only sees what he wants to see.”

Again they stood there on the porch glaring at each other, except this time Alan made no reply. Finally Jimmy shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“I got your goddamn money. Come inside and I’ll give it to you,” Jimmy said, starting to walk inside his one-story hellhole.

“No, I’ll wait out here.”

Jimmy turned around and cocked his head. “No, you’ll come inside. I ain’t bringing out two-hundred fifty dollars for every sonofabitch out here to see. There are people watching all the time. I know you’re already aware of that so don’t act like you’re surprised. Just get inside. It won’t take more than a few minutes.”

Alan had to admit his brother was right. It wasn’t smart to willingly show money in Hinesville, especially in Jimmy’s part of town. So he simply nodded and followed Jimmy into the house.

The living room was a complete mess. Trash littered the floor, broken and empty bottles covered the tables and other furniture, and an enormous carton of cigarettes rested on the seat of a faded red armchair.

“Who’d you buy those from, Jimmy?” Alan asked motioning towards the carton of cigarettes. “We don’t sell those.”

“None of your business,” Jimmy answered right before disappearing into a dark and unlit hallway.

Alan sighed and looked around the room. Many smells began to clog his nostrils, and not just regular cigarette smoke either. For the most part, Alan had already gotten accustomed to the smell of drugs during his time as a Runner, but since he had been away for a week his defenses weren’t as strong as they once were. He could feel a headache start to come on. As he began to rub his temples with his hands Jimmy appeared from the hallway with a wad of bills being kept together by a dirty-looking rubber band.

“Here, two-hundred fifty. Now get out. I have things to do and it’s already past noon.”

“Things to do? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jimmy’s already agitated expression turned into a fierce scowl. “Why the hell are you being so nosey all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I can’t seem to figure out how in the world you paid for an entire carton of smokes. You can barely stay above water when it comes to paying the Boss.”

“Like I said, it’s none of your damn business. Just take your money and leave, alright? And stop acting like you care, because I know you don’t. You’re just like dad.”

Alan opened his mouth to say something in return, but it wouldn’t have been any use. So he slipped the money into the pocket of his coat and left his brother’s house.

His next stop of the day- and final -was the Boss’s office.

* * * * *

MedCo was the company he worked for, a corporation that made medicine for the five cities (and scattered villages) inside the high concrete walls of the Pentagon. The only medical business in the Pentagon, all of the cities inside the Pentagon went to MedCo for their medicine. And while this was a major source of income for Boss Howard Sheppard and his dear establishment, it definitely wasn’t their only one.

MedCo’s other source of income came from the selling of “dirty” drugs. There were many types of drugs involved with a plethora of streets names; such as Huffs, Choppers, Blues, Reds, Blazers and Cubes, among several others. As one of six Runners in the city of Hinesville, Alan’s job was to collect the payments of those buying these dirty drugs from MedCo, as well as other jobs Boss Sheppard deemed necessary.

The administration building for MedCo was less than a mile outside of the Hinesville walls, just to the west and at the tip of the forest that led to Tull.

This building was also where the dirty drugs were made and shipped out, but there were underground tunnels for that sort of business. And the clean drugs weren’t located in the offices at all, but rather at a factory in Tull.

“Good afternoon, Alan,” a MedCo worker, Davie Watershed, said. He was walking out of the facility just as Alan was about to enter. It was only a little after one-thirty in the afternoon, but the dark clouds covered the entirety of the sky, casting a depressing shadow down upon the already sad world.

“Hey, Davie. What’s going on?”

Davie wiped the sweat from his dirty forehead and smiled. He ruffled through his long set of black hair and terribly unkempt goatee, and then leaned against the iron fence behind him that lined the sides of the stairs leading into the factory.

“Not much, man. The usual compassion. I’m tired as hell, though. At least the sun ain’t out no more. It was a lot hotter earlier. What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you around for a while. Thought one of those clients of yours finally snapped and put a bullet through your head.”

“No, not yet,” Alan laughed. “I’ve been taking care of some business in Tull.”

“Business, eh? Heh, I’ll ask no more. And in Tull? Musta been nice visiting a city where the houses have all of their windows in one piece. I haven’t been there in ages. It still all clean and fancy-like?”

“It’s not Indy, but it sure as hell beats the atmosphere here. And plus they don’t have near as many gangs, and what gangs they do have they don’t do anything but talk. You know what I mean?”

“Yep, I gotcha. Did you hear about old Jangles?”

“Yes, unfortunately. He was a good guy. Crazy, but good.”

“Yep. They say it was the Steely Knives that did it. We don’t know for sure, though. You think maybe they’re thinking about making a move on us? We’re they’re only competition after all.”

“I don’t want to think so, but it could be. I’m sure the Boss will mention something about, though. It’s not every day one of our clients gets shot up for no good reason. Speaking of the Boss, I have to get going. Have a good one, Davie.”

“Hey, you too, man. Maybe I’ll see you at Howie’s later on tonight? Edgar and some others want to start a Hold ‘Em tournament.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m awfully tired from the trip. To be totally honest with you, I’ll probably be heading back home after I leave here.”

“That’s fine. Maybe some other day, then. See you later, man.”

Davie waved his arm and left. Alan waved back and then entered the administration building.

The somewhat clean hallways were completely bare of any life, save for a cleaning crew of three people that were getting a head start on their evening duties. Alan walked down the short, dimly-lit hallway and walked through the last door on the right, leading to a set of stairs. He climbed the stairs and then entered another hallway. At the end of the corridor was a wooden double door, guarded by a tall black man wearing an even darker one-piece black jumpsuit. This man was Darren Miller, the Boss’s bodyguard. He wore a .45 caliber pistol at the right side of his hip.

“Well will ya look at that!” Darren cried happily. “Finally back from Tull I see! How’d it go, Alan?”

“As well as it could have went. You been holding down the fort?”

“Hail yeah! Ain’t no motherfuckas gettin’ through! You know that, though, don’t ya?”

“I sure do. So everything’s been going smoothly?”

“Yeah, I guess. The Boss be gettin’ scared athose gangs, though. ‘Specially the Knives. Can’t say I blame the man, what with Jangles gettin’ his boat whacked and all that. Times are gettin’ tougher, Alan. I can feel it. But, I shouldn’t be keepin’ ya. The Boss sounded very excited this mornin’ when he said you should be arrivin’ today. So, go ahead on in.”

Alan nodded towards the enormously muscled Darren and walked through the double doors that the bodyguard had opened. Inside the room was dark, except for the light coming in from an entirely windowed wall at the end of the small room. It wasn’t much, though, because the sun was on the other side of the building. However, at almost two o’clock in the afternoon it was still more than enough to see the small room littered with random items strewn about, mostly papers and envelopes.

Sitting at a messy desk in front of the window was a man dressed in a black business suit, his beady brown eyes squinting at Alan. “Alan…that’s you, isn’t it?”

Alan smiled and closed the double doors behind him. “Mr. Sheppard, if you can’t see me then you really do need to get your eyes checked. I believe I’ve told you that more than once.”

Satisfied with knowing that it was indeed Alan, Mr. Sheppard smiled back in return and then waved a pair of glasses through the air for Alan to see. “Ah, but I have gotten them checked! A day after you left in fact. Though I’ll admit I don’t enjoy wearing the damn things!” He laughed and then set the glasses back down on his desk. “So, I presume everything went according to plan in Tull? I see that you’re not covered in bullet holes. That’s usually a good sign.”

“Yeah, it all went down without a hitch. Willy had the money as soon as I got there. The only reason it took a week is because of a storm that came through shortly after I arrived. It was raining harder than I’d ever seen it rain before, and I didn’t feel like traveling through it.”

“Yes, that’s understandable. No worries, everything was fine here while you were gone. However, something has come up since you left.”

“Jangles getting gunned down?”

“Yes. I assume you’ve already found out for yourself?”

“Yeah, Edgar told me at Howie’s. He says it was probably the Steely Knives, but we don’t know for sure.”

“Well, that’s almost correct. I know for sure that the Steely Knives murdered Johnny Parks, but unfortunately my source is having a bit of difficulty admitting to the truth.”

“Your source?”

“Yes. Only you and Darren are aware of this, so consider everything I’m about to say confidential. Understand? For now I don’t believe anyone else should know of this. Edgar has a mouth as loose as a penny-mother of mine.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I know who fired the gun that killed Mr. Parks. His name is Lukas Votto. However, this is where things begin to complicate quite drastically. His name is essentially all I know, and also that Lukas himself isn’t part of the Steely Knives. He was contracted by the Knives to kill Mr. Parks.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Unfortunately Mr. Votto won’t divulge anything to me. And this is where we’re stuck. There had to have been a reason for the Knives to want Mr. Parks dead, and it had to have been especially important if they had to pay someone outside of their gang to do it. They arranged this killing as secretly as possible, and I am positive it has something to do with us, but I can’t prove anything until Lukas decides to talk. I’d like you to talk with this man, Alan.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Sheppard. But do you have any information on this Lukas Votto? I’ve never heard the name myself. Is he a newcomer to Hinesville?”

Mr. Sheppard shook his head and sighed. “And so my fears have been proven true. You’ve never heard the name Lukas Votto?”

Alan shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, that must mean that the Knives found the man from another city. Tommy himself likely handpicked him, which makes it even scarier. Something big is happening, Alan. I just know it is.”

“So I’ve heard. What about Mayor Bryant? Does he know anything about this?”

“Fortunately, no. He’s too busy drinking what he claims to be fighting against, if you catch my drift. As far as he knows it was just another sad murder in the slums of Hinesville, and nothing more. And I aim to keep it that way. I don’t want Bryant and his men getting involved. Because if they get involved, others will die. Tommy Valentine and the Knives obviously had Mr. Parks killed for a reason, and we need to find out why before others bite the dust. Tomorrow morning I want you to talk with Mr. Votto and see if you can find out where he came from. We’ll move on from there.”

“Sure thing. Where is he being held?”

“Remember that old holding cell I told you about? The one underground, but separate from the drug tunnels?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s where he is. Be here tomorrow morning at ten o’clock and I’ll have Darren escort you down there. For now get some rest, Alan. You deserve it.”

“Thank you, sir. There is one thing I should mention, though. Something I noticed in Tull.”

“Yes?”

“Marcellus Richardson was in Tull visiting Nicolas Steiner.”

“The mayor of Indy visiting the mayor of Tull? That’s odd. The two absolutely loath each other. Add that to the fact that Marcellus rarely leaves his mansion in Indy, this is especially odd.”

“Indeed. Willy seems to think the two were meeting about MedCo. According to him, he thinks that the other mayors are becoming more suspicious of us than usual. Apparently one of our clients, Yao Ling, was caught in Tull with a carton full of Blazers. Willy told me that the Mayor’s detectives questioned the hell out of him but got nothing. Still, this is dangerous. Ling is one of Mayor Steiner’s doctors.”

Mr. Sheppard leaned back in his chair and sighed, massaging the sides of his head with his old, wrinkly hands. Then he rubbed the side of his thick, gray beard and shook his head.

“Yes, that is dangerous. I assume Willy found out about this from his contact inside Steiner’s administration?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s hope this sort of situation doesn’t repeat itself. I’ve already told you what I think of the other Mayors of the Pentagon. I believe deep down inside they know we’re making and selling dirty drugs, but since we’re the only corporation that makes clean drugs, they let us go. However, sooner or later they’re going to start investigating deeper and deeper, and this will likely begin when a new corporation pops up, which unfortunately for us is inevitable. And when that happens we’re going be out of luck, Alan. But we can’t worry about that right now. First we need to take care of the Steely Knives.”

“Yeah, well…we have to take it one step at a time, and ignore what we can’t control.”

Mr. Sheppard smiled. “Of course, Alan. Now, go get some rest and see me tomorrow morning. Alright?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be here at ten.”

Alan waved to the boss and then left, saying his goodbyes to Darren and then finally exiting the building.

Though when he made it back to Hinesville he did not immediately go home. Instead of taking a right inside the city gates towards his house, he took a left, heading straight for the bookstore/home of Alison Jackson.

[kementari]

This reminds me a lot of the Fallout universe and Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash. I'm glad you switched to third person, I think it flows a lot better.

[redsrock]

Yeah, fortunately and unfortunately the Fallout feel will probably always be there. And I'm glad I switched to third person as well. It does indeed flow better.

Thanks.

[redsrock]

For some odd reason I've had sudden inspiration for a TES story. I'm having a lot of fun with this particular writing, but right now I think I need to take a short break. The inspiration isn't exactly where it needs to be, nor where I want it to be.

I just thought I'd let everyone know that I haven't quit this.