The drive was a short one and from Morgan’s perspective a frustrating one. When he got in he tried to introduce himself to his fellow passengers but none of them seemed to be interested in talking. It didn’t seem to be him, they wouldn’t talk to each other either. Refusing to be discouraged Morgan grinned inanely at anyone who would look at him. Taking a more careful look around he saw that many of these men were wearing high visibility jackets under the overcoats. Combining that with mostly filthy dirty work boots and the occasional hardhat under a chair and some sort of construction work was looking likely. When he reached a building site a certain amount of satisfaction for his deductive abilities was felt.
The vans pulled up and everyone started out so Morgan got out as well. Whilst everybody got changed (in the open) into more normal looking work gear Morgan just looked around until the driver walked up jabbering rapidly in some foreign language with too many k’s and z’s in it. He felt a brief moment of sympathy for English who visited Wales and then crushed it because they were English. The Driver looked at him and then grunted. Changing to English he started to berate him “What for you waiting – I know Brit lazy but dumb as well. Get your work clothes on. Are you too dumb for work clothes or too good. Lazy brit” with which he spat again. Wondering how he could spit so often Morgan tried to explain “look nobody told me what to bring, just where to be and at what time”. Spitting again he stared at him then “Skender fix this, you work for Skender so Skender fix this. You owe Skender, you work to pay Skender then you work for yourself.”
As reasonable as this seemed it still set up alarm bells, Morgan raising his hands said “look what am I going to owe you for? You still haven’t said what my pay is either”. The eyebrows on Skender tried to reach the sky failing at his hairline and in a raised voice “Skender fair pay – no bastich say other. You owe for hat, you owe for jacket, you owe for trousers, you owe for boots” waving his hand at a safety notice all those items did seem to be relevant. “Skender pay good, Pay foreman for you to work here, you owe for that. Dont see food – Skender get you food as well. Complain eh? Well Do you complain Eh?” He had moved closer and was almost but not quite invading his space so Morgan backed off hands out “ no no thats fine, you haven’t said the rate?” Spitting again (was it something medical?) he said “you look new, strong back I hope. Pay you twelve an hour. Stay here”.
Morgan watched him walk off and realised he had no idea if that was a good rate. More concerning was that the majority of the rest had started to leave but the ones that remained glared at him with something between contempt and hate. Finally a tall blonde fellow walked over pushed him on the shoulder “you should fuck off – Skender will eat you alive and we’ll just watch grateful its not us. Go on just fuck off. While you can”. Confused by what seemed to be an attempt to help coupled with aggression he tried to make sense of that while the blonde man stalked off.
A few minutes later having decided that he did not want to walk back to town and that he might as well get paid Morgan watched Skender stalk back with a bag full of clothes. Throwing them down on the ground and spitting near them he waved his hand “Shit clothes off, find fitting and use them. Leave old clothes here Skender look after them”. He then just stood there staring at him. Morgan looked round “is there somewhere to change?” but that just got a laugh. “You think scared of tiny peepee, just change no one cares about little problem”. Finally seemingly bereft of options he started to sort through the clothing finding items that seemed reasonable, after a few moments helped by Skender. It took a few minutes but a reasonable facsimile of workwear was found for him.
Taken through to the work site a well muscled man with a belly just on the edge of moving from a pot belly to too big looked up and asked “why did this one take so long – don’t need another runner you know”. Skender did something uncharacteristic, he smiled. “No Mike this ones no runner, look I listened to your complaints. This guys English”. “Like hell I am” Morgan interrupted “Welsh, not English. Local actually though not recently”. Mike looked up “Really. Got a trade?” “No, just a need to work”. Mike looked to Skender then back to Morgan “Well that must be true I suppose. Can you carry bricks? Theres a hod outside, go find Jason on the mezzanine you’ll be his brickies mate – understood?”. Skender stopped him on the way out giving him a bag, opening it up there was a fried egg sandwich. Gulping it down he found the hod and went looking for Jason.
Jason was eventually found. Grateful to have an assistant who spoke English he nevertheless kept Morgan busy. Most of the time his job was to make sure there were always bricks available for Jason to lay. Occasionally for variety he would carry bags of mortar for Jason to mix, Jason seemed to think he was doing him a favour letting him watch how to mix the mortar but any benefit just passed Morgan by. It was hard gruelling work and Morgan was not bothered by it at all. Halfway through the day he was reprimanded for skipping whilst carrying a full hod. Not at all bothered by the hard physical effort he was whistling happily to himself when Skender came round and spat. “Dinner, you not cause problems yet so me not angry”.
Morgan smiled back taking the greasy bag with its unknown contents “Piss off. The accents phony. I heard you talk to Mike”. Skender looked at him for a few seconds and then said “ the rest expect it – if I don’t have an accent they assume its an immigration sting. My name really is Skender though and I really will kick your ass if you piss these people off on your first day. Besides you didn’t bring any ID so I don’t think you really want to annoy me. No more comments about the accent ok?” Morgan agreed and he left. It took Morgan some time to wonder how Skender knew he had not brought any ID with him.
By the end of the day Jason made him promise to work with him again if he came back here. That was an easy promise to make, the work was constant and physically demanding but that was not bothering him and Jason seemed a nice fellow if a little bit obsessed with spirit levels. Humming he went back to the van and sat in beaming at his fellows, there was just something about being appreciated for an honest days work. The other occupants did not return his good spirits. The tall blonde guy who had pushed him earlier just looked at him with shock on his face and muttering “you have got to be kidding” turned away. Skender got in the van and they drove back to town. When they got back to the street corner they all got out and as they left they got handed an envelope with a name on, presumably there’s.
Morgan waited patiently but soon there was no envelopes left. The driver stared at him waiting. Morgan decided to oblige “Pay?” which of course prompted a spit. “Yes you will. Ok The first hour is my pay for driving you sons of bitches. After that the second hour is my bribe to the foreman for not looking at your documents. Food, don’t forget I bought your food. And then we get to the big items. Hard hat seventy. High Viz jacket one twenty. Work pants are cheap, thirty. Boots ninety. All in all you owe me three three eight. Against which you have 7 hours wages at twelve an hour. On the plus side you got good reports so I can place you easily tomorrow so not going to demand it now. I expect you here tomorrow. On time. Enthusiastic. If I keep buying you food should only take a week for you to actually earn some wages. If you don’t turn up well lets just say I don’t take kindly to people welching on debts.” He glared at Morgan, then as if to signal he had finished he spat.
Morgan protested “I worked, for wages. I worked and you damn well owe me wages”. Skender grinned again this time not a happy smile more with satisfaction “heard it all before mate. Hope you do not mind if I do not care enough to hear it all again. My heart bleeds it really does. Now that we got the sympathy out of the way you owe me and that means I own you. You’re mine. See you tomorrow or I’ll get the debt some other way. You won’t like that.” With that he just turned round got in the van and drove off.
How had this happened, it had all seemed so reasonable. Get work, get paid and spend money. Now his whole free week at the YMCA was going to be used up just breaking even. That of course assumed that there was no other debts that could be piled onto him, breakages maybe? Skender owned him. Owned him. Had Brian known? Who could he talk to. Suddenly the sullen looks on the other occupants seemed more ominous than anti-social. Mind going in circles Morgan started to walk back to the YMCA.
On the way back he saw a large DIY shop and decided to check a few things out. Upon reaching the catalogue he decided to check the prices of the items Skender had quoted but despite his initial optimism those prices seemed about right. It was only while idly flicking through he saw a word that resonated with his dilemma, chuckling to himself he continued back running conversations through his head. His problem really had been being surprised and just not knowing how to react, next time he would have the arguments, be able to prove his point and get paid.
Despite some misgivings he was on the corner again next morning. Skender acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world, of course he was there. Opening the van door he was told to hop in but Morgan just stood there. When Skender turned to him he picked up a bag with the work items and proffered them to him. “Heres the items I rented yesterday. Pay me the deposit back and the wages held for surety and we need never see each other again”. “Dumb lazy stupid bastich brit – you too dumb to know sold. Get in van or beat your lazy ass”. So far Morgan mused no surprises, Walking up to the van he reached in and took the keys. Pocketing them he turned to look at Skender ready with another demand. He had heard a metallic click but not understood its significance so the collapsible rod swinging towards him was a surprise. Really – he had gone straight to assaulting him, surely there would be more conversation first. Morgan’s reaction was both astonishingly fast and incredibly dumb. Even while trying to process his surprise his arm shot out and grabbed the end of the rod. The pain in his hand was sudden and took up all of his attention. By grabbing the swinging end all of the force had been directed into his hand, broken bones seemed the only explanation for the mind numbing shock.
His primitive body reacted much better than his mind was – by simple instinctive reaction he pushed Skender away, palm in the face and shoving. Even while trying to decide what to do his arm was pulling back and a spray of crimson was coming from the big man’s cheeks. Somebody had hit him so hard that Skenders cheek had ripped against his teeth. Was that him? Shit was that him? What should he do – pulling himself together he decided to stay on script. Keeping his left arm behind him protecting it he pointed at the reeling Boss. “Give me my money now. Its gonna be much easier than hotwiring your van” Dumb. That threat sounded great in his bed last night but things had gone way beyond that already.
Skender it seemed did not react to pain the way Morgan did. Instead of becoming alarmed he became enraged, looking at his slightly bent rod he hissed “you’re gonna regret that. After I finish beating you with it you better believe that the replacement is coming out of your wages. Property does not fight back. Not twice” . He settled himself and then came forward clenching the rod.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Morgan might have been amused by how quickly the accent had gone but he crushed the urge to comment, maybe later might be appropriate but at the moment his left hand was sending throbs of agonising pain each one turning his vision momentarily white. Wasn’t adrenalin supposed to suppress pain. Maybe shock. Something anyway really should be suppressing or looking at Skender he was going straight back to long term care if he couldn’t focus to fight. The pain reduced as he thought about it which was a relief now he just needed to be stronger and faster. As Skender swung a massive overhead strike which was going to hit his head or collarbone Morgan stepped into the technique, his right arm going under Skenders shoulder to smother the strike and his right knee aimed to his thigh to give him a numb leg. Well it half worked anyway, the striking arms movement was halted by having nowhere to go smothered by a body check but the knee strike missed and instead hit him in the buttocks ineffectually. With no idea what to do next he pulled Skenders hair down with a yanking motion to the back of his head schoolyard fights coming to the fore, the results were shocking. There was a ripping sound as Skenders head was pulled down taking his body with him. Hearing a sharp thud Morgan did not look to see what had happened. He was looking at the lump of hair and flesh in his hand.
Apparently that was enough even for Skender to seem shocked. Whether it was the blood, the lump in Morgans hand or just the experience of bare bone striking concrete the fight was fast leaving him. He scrambled backwards and then threw his wallet at Morgan. Even in these circumstances though he could not stop threatening “Take it you bastard – this isn’t over, take it, enjoy it. Ill be back and you will need to have” he tailed off seemingly unsure of how to finish it. Putting a hand to the back of his head and it coming back bloody he just hissed “bastard” and staggered to the van. The other occupants seemed as shocked by the events as anyone. Skender threw them out of the van with curses and then started to wrap a towel round his head. Morgan approached and holding out the lump of flesh in his hand asked in a slightly dazed way “do you want this back?” receiving profanities in reply. With his other hand he tossed the van keys at him “Whatever. Pretty sure you need these if you’re driving to hospital”. It was a cool line and Morgan would have been basking in self congratulation the whole day if he had thought about it but instead he was confused. He had just used his left hand. Naturally, easily, pain free. A cloud of exhaust brought him back, walking over to the wallet he saw it was full of large denomination notes. Picking a few out for himself he walked over to the agitated group and passed it to one “Sure you folks are owed something as well. If any of you see him again can you make sure he gets his stuff back.”
That had worked out. It had not gone anything like to plan but it had worked out. After getting out of sight of the corner he looked at his hands. One was covered in blood and little gobbets of flesh, was that called viscera he wondered? The other looked perfectly normal. Not even bruised. His heart rate was normal and his breathing was regular. He should be panicking, he should be in hysterics. Instead he was calm collected, maybe even relaxed. Wondering whether he should be worried or congratulating himself for growing as a person. Morgan snorted, hopefully there was some outside influence because the alternative was that he was capable of thinking such pompous thoughts. Looking at the handful of notes he had grabbed they were all fifties and he had nine of them. Ok that was a few days work at twelve an hour. For the first time in a long time he looked for a cafe to get breakfast.
The plate in front of him was startlingly clean given the full English breakfast that had been on it minutes before. With a quiet gentle burp he sat back and gazed at the tea pot wondering if he would be charged if he asked for hot water to refill it. Something about this place appealed to him, the timeless indefinable aura of a greasy spoon .The cafe looked like it had been stuck in a time warp since the 70’s with plastic chairs and some sort of plasticized cover on the tables. Why should things change he supposed, the people who ate at a place like this would really not care about the decor, calories for fuel. He had a wicked moment of wondering what he would get if he asked for the vegan option but quickly realised beans on toast could get repetitive.
Looking back he had anticipated that there might be violence though he yet again had underestimated the speed it could occur. Obviously he had been right that 5% physical augmentation would help him deal with anything that might happen. For a moment he felt disgusted with himself for being so willing to lower himself to others expectations but then found himself wondering how stupid it had been to offer Skender the lump of scalp back he had accidentally ripped off. Nonchalant perhaps, Bond like maybe. No he was not cool enough to pull that off at least not to anyone who had seen it but if he ever started to tell stories about that horrible incident it was going to be a suave moment. The other problem was that he had not had any problem. No panic or exultation just calm analytical acceptance .Was something messing with his head or was he just more violent at heart than he had wanted to believe. Another question for voice he supposed. “Voice?” he asked out loud drawing a few disinterested stares from the men around him. With no reply he decided to do a daily check if voice was back but perhaps find a more private spot next time.
Another belch and a waft of black pudding scented air convinced him it was time to get on with his day. Now that he had the fare for a taxi a visit to his old company was much more achievable. Alternately maybe he should invest in a wardrobe. He was never going to be able to afford a business suit without stealing it and that stealth function did come to mind. Ninja style fantasises were dismissed with a single thought, every suit he had ever bought off the rack had needed adjustments. Getting a suit adjusted while trying to sneak was an absurd idea. Nevertheless if he was going to meet his old colleagues a work suit may be excessive but street hobo was an indignity too far. These were people who had either respected him or been respected by him, showing the dignity of dressing just felt like anything else would just be lessening him. Ok todays plan was made.
Whilst he could afford bus fare this money was hard come by and his time was by far the cheapest resource he had so he started to walk uphill into the town centre past the historic battlements. It made for a pleasant walk that lifted his spirits but also it seemed to help him burn off excess energy from what he assumed was some sort of adrenalin high. He thought about Dr Scott and wondered if he could ring and ask what was normal both during and after a violent confrontation. No some bridges were burnt, better to work out himself what was normal for himself. He resolved that next time there was some sort of incident – and despite fifty odd years of quiet normalcy he did assume there would be a next time – he would try to keep a note of his mental state. Not getting stomped would take priority of course.
The main clothes shops were all fashion outlets and combining quite appalling colours with outrageously high prices he gave up on those quickly. Despite his best intentions it was back to the second hand and charity shops which to his pleasure had exactly what was needed. His rummaging and searching got more organised as the day went on and shortly after dinner found a pair of work suits exactly his size. There was accompany logo on each for some sort of onsite maintenance firm that he would have to pick off but he managed to persuade them to throw a needlework kit in. The old lady running the shop seemed intent to mother him and dragged him to a box filled with old shoes. “I like to see a young man making something of himself but your mother should have told you. Good shoes are important”. As amusing as that was it was meant kindly and whilst he didn’t need the guidance it was true so he started checking shoes against his feet.
He also ended up buying a shoe polish set and some knitting needles. Apparently young men these days needed something to do with hands that otherwise were the devils plaything? Not willing to throw them away he bundled everything into a bag and started to make his way back to the YMCA. Walking in the bored young lady was drinking some sort of glop that actually looked like it might be tasty. When he walked in and gave a casual wave to her she sat up and sharply told him “Go see Brian now. He was very insistent that you go see him. I think he’s in yoga room 2 scrubbing the mats but he was really insistent so go anyway”. Impressed by the sentence length he put his purchases away and went looking for Brian.
Brian was indeed scrubbing rolled up mats, it looked like a tedious and unpleasant task but there was a significant difference in shade between the ones drying and still to be washed. With no smell of bleach presumably Brian was doing a good job, one which he eagerly stopped when Morgan walked in. “Ok its Mr Popular here to tell me why he has so many fans and followers today” Brian stated. It wasn’t a question but Morgan answered anyway. “Skender stiffed me of my wages yesterday; I confronted him today; he attacked me and I won. Grabbed some money, too much to be honest but not really the time or place to stand there with a calculator. Bought some stuff. Came back. Should I assume a problem?”.”Yes you ruddy well should. What bothers you more, police thugs or bystanders?”. That last threw him for a second and Morgan just tried to understand “Bystanders, I, well the other workers didn’t seem upset and not sure I’d call them bystanders anyway. What do you mean?”
Brian threw a sponge into a bucket and sighed “Head wounds bleed. A lot. Apparently Sken made it nearly to hospital before passing out from blood loss behind the wheel of a van doing just over 20 miles an hour. Luckily he was able to park it in somebody’s living room. According to the cops nobody was injured except Sken but they are looking for several someone’s who performed a vicious assault. Sken apparently told a tale of his work gang all ganging up on him, I assume he is worried about his boss or something. Anyway in hospital so not your immediate problem.” Morgan wrinkled his brow then asked “they had insurance right? I mean the people whose house has an unplanned bay window, they have insurance right?” Brian nodded “Or maybe the landlord. Hopefully. No your problem is you now are a person of interest to the cops in an assault leading to actual bodily harm and property damage as well as later in the day some guys I have never met with Slavic accents asking for you. Here. Ok heres the thing. The room is yours for a week unless its not. Any trouble on site? Its not. Is that clear? Do I have to explain myself?” Morgan shook his head vigorously “no that’s fair.” To which Brian stood up straight and pulling his shoulders back snapped “Fair? Fair is not the problem. Clear, is it clear?” Morgan nodded this time “yes clear no problems. Clear” Brian stared at him for a few seconds and then went back to the bucket with the sponge shoulders dropping once more. “So tell me what happened”.
After the situation was explained Brian was actually quite unsympathetic, he seemed to think the prices were fair for those items and that Skender was being fair. “look you just come out of nowhere he gives you stuff, of course he’s going to keep some money back so as not to be out of pocket”. Morgan tensed his legs, it was still a rubbish relaxation technique and then replied ”You weren’t there, maybe I didn’t explain well enough but you were not there. This was wrong, he was talking in terms of owning me. It was wrong. I hope we don’t fall out but I am not sorry about this.” Brian scrubbed at a spot on the mat, maybe there was a stain not obvious to anyone else and just said “Yeh well known him for years. Sent a few people to him for work and always thought he was a useful resource. Maybe I cant do that anymore, cant offer that help. For reasons that sound sketchy to me. Excuse me if congratulations for your prompt brutality are not my first response”
There seemed very little else to say so leaving the sound of scrubbing behind him Morgan left the room and Brian to his ruminations. The sound of scrubbing came through clearly much longer than it should. Were his perceptions and senses that much better while still only 2% improved?