litranaut

Sam had moved up in the world. From his hovel in the projects, his place as the Go To Man had earned him a penthouse overlooking the squalor and misery that was The Tow.

For the most, he kept his blinds closed.

The only time he looked was when the layer of filth covered the city. A green-grey toxic cloud that sat just beneath his window, tempting him to walk onto it; to see where it would leave him; to just click his heels together three times and say there’s no place like home.

And, indeed. There, wasn’t.

***

He stirred in his sleep and, with thoughts far faster that the written word, processed the following:

The feeling of the room was wrong – there was someone else with him.

Whoever it was had been there for some time.

If this was true, and they had wanted him dead, he wouldn’t be awake to know this.

Therefore – he had some leeway.

His stirring became a half awake yawn.

“If you’ve been here this long, you could have at least made some damn coffee.”

“Good Morning, Samuel. Get up and come to the main room. We shall talk there.” A male voice. Crisp. Clipped.

One that didn’t expect to be kept waiting.

***

Sam walked into the main room, flinched away from the open blinds.

“Yes, Samuel. We feel the same way. That’s why we clothe the ghetto in smog. We have no wish to see it, either.”

The stranger was dressed in a fashion Sam had never seen before. It was a suit – but the fabric, the cut, the way it hung was entirely alien. The owner motioned for Sam to sit opposite him at the table. It was set for a meal but, again, there was nothing on the table that Sam recognised.

“We also don’t eat that filth you call food – or drink that piss that you call coffee.”

***

Breakfast…oh, who are we kidding? The late lunch was strained. Sam played with his food until hunger got the best of him. The food was amazing. Entirely different from anything he had tasted. He wanted to gorge, but the figure opposite ate with control and he took his cues from that behaviour.

Soon the stranger put down his chop sticks. “You have restraint, Samuel. That places you above the animals here. And you have ambition and ability. Which physically placed you above them, in this apartment.” He paused to pick a piece of lint from his suit. “There is concern with your sense of compassion but that will work itself out. After all, only one can ride the elevator.”

If double-takes were the soul of comedy, Sam would have been inducted in the Hall of Fame. “I’m sorry?”

“Only if you have caused me a wasted journey, Samuel.” There was no mirth in that reply. The stranger sighed. “Either you misheard, in which case you would ask me to repeat. Or you do not understand, in which case you would ask me to explain.” A small pause, to let the lesson sink in. Sam felt like a small child being scolded.

Which meant the stranger was doing his job.

“Now, Samuel. Shall we try that again? Blah blah bah.. After all, only one can ride the elevator. And, now, you say…”

“I’m sorry.” Sam couldn’t take the edge of out his voice. “I don’t seem to understand that. Maybe you should explain yourself.”

The two stared at each other.

For a long time.

“Very good, Samuel. You really are the little dog that can. Very well. You are on a list. You might have the chance to come up in the world. However, only one person can ride the elevator. At the moment you are called, you will come to the elevator door. The elevator will descend. The door will open. Inside, there will be a gun. You will kill your crew and step into the elevator, and into your new life.”

There was a pause.

“Go on.” Sam was sipping whatever the guy brought with him for coffee.

“To ensure your compliance we have implanted you -”

“WHAT?”

“With various devices. Everything you see and hear, we do too.”

Sam was on his feet. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO-”

“Let me stop you there, Mr Allan. We are in a very controlled environment. And we intend to keep it that way. If you are not…suitable for life on the top, you will not be getting into that elevator. If you warn your associates – you will not be getting into that life. If you tell anyone about this meeting – you will not be getting into that elevator. If you change your behaviour in any way, so as to alert anyone about you potential relocation. You. Will not. Be getting into that elevator. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Sam glowered at his guest.

“Good. Then I shall bid you good day, sir. We will watch you for one month, Samuel.” A flick of the wrist.” Keep the food. It’s not like I’d take it back with me.”

And with that Samuel was on his own. He downed his drink and smiled.

“At last.”

Around this time, Litranaut normally had an Advent Story.

This year we’re doing something a little different.

This year Christmas is in peril. Santa has contracted Swine Flu and turned into a Christmas Pig!

Only his Elf Service can save Christmas.

Join in the fun and play one game a day, throughout Advent.

http://sicksanta.ning.com/

Take off was imminent.

He checked his spime. ‘He’ had no name. No name he was going to keep beyond the flight, anyway.

He hooked up to the net and cheked his program. In the wrong hands it was a virus. In his it was merely a tool.

If he set it going before take off, by the time he landed, he would cease to exist.

***

It was after, while stealing some of his own belongings from a storage unit he got a complete stranger to rent for him, in a faked name.

It was only then that he realised how good a burn it was, and started taking notes.

***

He had spent days pouring over websites and books: compiling notes on where could go.

He had visited cities and communities, cultivated contacts and social networks. He even bought tickets. And sat in the airport bar listening as each of his names were called off, until the gates closed and another name died.

Of course, the plane he now sat on wasn’t on that list.

“Excuse me, sir.” The stewardess leaned in. “You’ll need to put that into flight mode.”

He knew people would look so he left cards. There were many reasons he did, but his main one was to stop them looking.

The cards were hand made, folded in half.

Outside, ornantely inscribed was the question:

“You want to know where I have gone?”

“That’s cool.” The Passenger’s fingers flew over the screen.

Inside the card was one word.

He switched his spime off. The program was running.

It was done.

“Away”

The source of Sam’s shame sat through a tinted window, across the children’s playground.

He wanted to think that he was better than this; that he was entering this phase of his journey through the noblest of intentions. But that was the man to oversaw his beating, and what was about to happen to his was by no means noble.

His spime buzzed. The boys were in place.

Sam stepped from the car. He took a deep breath. Finally he pulled at his suit sleeves, to straighten them. “Faking it everyday from now on, Sam.”

***

He crossed the playground. He’d played there as a kid dodging needles, stepping over junkies. But the trade has scared the rest of the kids away. He nodded at … he realised he didn’t know the name of the man he was about to destroy. Probably better that way. If he didn’t think about him as “a man.” The nod to the help continued.

“Gentlemen” He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked up and the bleached out sky. “Nice day for a drug deal.”

The boss looked up. “Oh, someone put the monkey in a suit.” They all laughed. “Not that it helps.”

“Do you like it?” Sam spun around. “Same tailor as Jefe. I tell you, no one was as surprised as me. Nice man, Jefe. You met him?”

The laughing stopped.

“You know the rules,” Sam continued, as if bored. “The help gets murdered, the boss gets beaten.” He paused for effect. It seemed to work. “Gentlemen. Put your guns down and work for me. We don’t have to spill any blood.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” The boss spluttered.

Perhaps it didn’t work as well as Sam had wanted. He tried again, speaking directly to The Help this time.

“Gentlemen. Think about your next moves very carefully. I’m offering you not only your lives, but jobs.”

The boss had had enough. “Fuck the rules. Kill him.”

Sam turned his back on the small group and walked a couple of steps. He heard guns pulled from holsters before he spoke. “Boys?”

He turned. His men slowly faded in. Those stealth suits were fantastic and worth every penny of he paid for them. His boys’ gun barrels were firmly placed at the temples of their opposites.

“Now. Before we were so rudely interrupted, you were putting those weapons on the floor and I was offering you jobs. You may want to spend some of the next few minutes thinking about that. Boys, get them on their knees.”

The henchmen were forced down. Sam walked between them, fishing something out from the pocket of his jacket.

“I happen to value my boys. That’s why you never saw them. You’ll find that keeping your team safe. Not putting them in the line of fire. These simple things grant you loyalty.” He fitted a knuckle duster over his fist and flexed his fingers until it settled. “I also think that, as a boss, you should never be afraid of getting your hands dirty.”

It was a sloppy punch, telegraphed from a week ago. It had time to have a couple of lunch dates before it arrived. But when it arrived it brought with it years of resentment and frustration and pain. It landed with the force of a thousand beatings that Sam had endured.

The punch that followed didn’t dally as much as the first.

It shattered his victim’s nose.

Sam spoke. His voice was calm, controlled. Like the beating he was dolling out.

“You. You don’t get your hands dirty.”

He powdered a cheek bone.

“You just decide what’s enough.”

He cracked a jaw.

“You told me what would do.”

The punch shattered teeth, sliced lips, inside and out. “That’ll cost you.”

Sam was sat astride the bleeding mess. There was no human. Not to Sam. Not a man just doing what The Tow demands. It was a target.

A first step.

It gurgled, tried to lift a hand to protect itself.

“Well, will this do?”

Sam brought his fist down again.

“WILL IT?”

Sam stood, pulled a phone from another pocket. “Hello? Med-aid? I want to report a beating. The victim’s almost dead. You should come quickly.”

He turned and walked to the car. “Lads, I’ll meet you back at the place. Offer these men jobs. If they don’t want them.” He looked at them, kneeling. There weren’t more than kids. “Let them go.”

***

Sam drove the car into an alley, pushed the door open and threw up. He stumbled from the car, tearing the blood soaked clothes from his body, sobbing.

“Faking it. The only way. The only way.”

Lighter fuel, matches and the crime burnt away.

But still he cried.

Despite the shade and air-con, Sam felt uncomfortably warm in the office. There were two sets of lights – one on him, in his uncomfortable, hard wood chair. The other, bathing Jefe – the most dangerous man in The Tow – in a soft glow, picking up the detail of the sumptuous recliner he say in.

Jefe was an enigma. He was, for all intents and purposes, Mr Big – violent, rich, powerful – owning enough henchmen, and city blocks – to stay that way. If you wanted to trade anything above nickel and dime stuff, you went through Jefe. If someone had to disappear, it was though one of Jefe’s assassination bureaus.

Sure there were other Crime Lords – and war between them was one of the major sources of death in The Tow – but Jefe had lasted a long, long time.

But he was still down here. Why hadn’t he ascended? That was the enigma that was Jefe.

Sam had presented his plan, running the mantra in the back of his mind to keep the panic at bay – “It’s the only way. It’s the only way.” – and now he sat, suited, shades in his top pocket, trying to convey the utter calm of the man he was meant to be. He had no idea how long ago he finished speaking but Jefe had said nothing.

Sam was begining to wonder if he was mute.

“So.” Sam jumped at the sound of Jefe’s voice. “You want me lend you -”

Now or never, Sammy-Boy. “Invest,” he interrupted.

Jefe raised an eye brow. “Invest?” He spat the word out like it was a piece of shit someone had fed him instead of his beloved raw heart of the poor. Still beating. “Why on earth would I do that?”

This was it. The only way. Keeping the basics. Changing the tactics.

Sam coughed. “Jefe, with all due respect, you could lend me money – but I’d only pay it back. I’m here, sitting opposite the most powerful man in The Tow. And we both know why.” He grabbed a breath, but didn’t give enough time to lose control of the conversation. “I’m here because of what you heard about me. Out of town criminal looking for a deal. Lots of money to throw around. The silent master behing the thrown.” Sam paused and picked some fluff from his trouser leg. “Jefe, I borrowed the suit I’m wearing about 2 hours ago. And all those stories you heard about me? I planted them at the start of last week and had my boys, also in suits for the first time, ensure they were spread. If you invested, you’d have a stake in this forever.”

Sam sat back in his chair, hoping Jefe couldn’t see he was sweating now.

There was an eternity of silence.

“That’s a nice suit you borrowed.” Sam couldn’t judge the tone of Jefe’s voice.

“It should be. We used your tailor; told him what we planned. He said if it failed he’d bury me in the suit as a gift.”

“My tailor said that?”

Sam nodded.

“He’s never given me so much as a button as a freebie.”

More silence. Then a chuckle.

The crime boss picked up a phone. “Doris? Ah, Doris, do I have anything on later today? Cancel it. Tell everyone I’m going to be busy.”

“My tailor.” Jefe laughed. It was a sound entirely without warmth. “You, my son. You have balls. I’ll give you that. OK, Sam. Let’s talk terms.”