I sit back up from the slouch I’d somehow sunk into and drink a bit more.

  “D, that guy Eli’d sometimes talk to is from around here, right?”

  “Which guy?”

  “The one you’d send her to talk to.”

  She goes quiet for a while again. Is it something she doesn’t want to talk about? Or is someone around? Either way, I get up and start walking again. I need to find somewhere to stay for tonight. Preferably not a street corner.

  Once we’re a bit further away from where most people are, D starts talking again. “He wouldn’t trust you.”

  “And you can’t tell him I’m coming?”

  “No.”

  “Then tell me where he is.”

  She stops talking again. As much as I appreciate her putting more thought into what she says, it can get annoying being in the middle of a conversation just for her to stop it dead in its tracks.

  “Just find somewhere to stay. Someone at La Dama Mexican Restaurant in east mid can help you. Ask for Ivan.”

  I guess that’s her contact. “Alright,” I say. “I’ll wait a while first.”

  I wander around for a while, occasionally sitting at benches, before finding the nearest bus stop and waiting for the one to the part of town the restaurant is at. I get on when it gets here.

  Something I’d heard while I was still going to the university down here was that the buses used to not run through most of Valley City. It was mostly some of the older professors who’d say that, that they really mostly just went through Center, University, and the different areas near the smaller colleges. It’s weird to think about, that people around here used to have to own cars to get most places. Even back home most places had buses run through them. Aside from the neighborhoods, of course. Even then, though, you wouldn’t have to walk too far unless you lived way on the outskirts. Then again, they do still grow stuff like corn and I think oranges around here, so I guess it’d make sense that some places wouldn’t have as much infrastructure, or whatever. Still, though.

  While one the bus, I pull the phone D had given me back out of my bag and turn it on. Better to do it while moving than to wait until we’re there. I check for the location of La Dama. It’s on one of the main roads, so it won’t be too hard to find, at least. Right near a big church. I turn off the phone and get back to waiting.

  Some minutes later, we arrive at east mid, near one of the grocery stores. Most of the people who get off with me head there, probably being some of the people who got on later than I did. I, meanwhile, start heading off in the direction of the church, passing the front of the store in the same direction the old part of the expressway goes. It’s barely any time before the old church comes into view with its huge mural on the front. Or basilica, I guess.

  Apparently, the city tried to get an electronic version of the mural put up on that wall at some point. According to one of the professors I had, it was really bright and could be seen from the other side of the old expressway. People kept spray-painting over it, writing stuff about how the original artwork was the way it should’ve been and that the new one was just showing off wealth, or something. Eventually, the city complied and took the screen version down. Apparently, they put it in the main arena they have down here instead.

  I turn right once I pass by the front of the basilica completely. Eventually, I can see the sign for La Dama across the street. Not seeing anyone around, I just quickly cross. I enter the restaurant and am met by an older Hispanic lady with dark reddish dyed hair.

  “¿Para uno?” she asks.

  “No,” I say, leaning closer to her. “Estoy buscando a Ivan.”

  She looks me up and down, then says “Sentarse donde quieres.”

  I move past the tables to sit at a booth at the wall opposite from the door. There aren’t that many people right now, but more will probably come in later to drink at the bar.

  Eventually, someone comes up to my table and asks what I want to drink and if I’m ready to order. I go with a tea to drink and tell him to give me a little bit to look at the menu. I hadn’t been planning to eat, but I guess I could just take the rest with me if I end up not eating all of it. Now that I think about it, we’d stop at Mexican restaurants whenever we’d head to another town to avoid MediTech’s people. Or person, I guess.

  A bit later, the guy comes back and I ask for the chicken enchiladas. While I wait for my food to come out, I try talking to D again, putting the helmet onto the table and my head down next to it, making it harder to see me talking.

  “You there?”

  After a second, her voice comes in all staticky. “Yes.”

  “I think the signal’s bad in here. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay.”

  I move the helmet to the side just as the waiter comes back out with the food. Just like what’s happened before, back when we would drive out to a different town, there’s a slip of paper tucked under the plate. Just like with those times, there’s an address. I put the paper into one of my pockets and get to eating.

  The food’s pretty good. Some of it tastes like the food from some of the other restaurants, other parts of it tastes kind of different. The cheese in particular tastes pretty good with the sauce they used. Really, it’s been kind of a while since I’ve had something with a good amount of cheese in it. Usually we’d get the botana when we were on the way to a new town, and the taste of the cheese in those were usually drowned out by the taste of the beans. The fajita in all of those were good, though. Seasoned differently from each other, too, even if just a bit. I should get something with fajita if I ever eat over here again. Maybe their stuff might taste way different. If I didn’t get sick from how greasy a lot of the stuff is, I’d try each of the different kinds of food they have later. Maybe it’s just something I have to get used to, or something.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Once I start getting full, I get a to-go box, pack up the rest of my food, then head to the front desk to pay. The lady there tells me that “he” will meet me there, then I head out and off in the direction I was originally walking in, stopping outside a nearby store to turn the phone back on.

  Checking the map and looking up the address I was given, it seems like I need to keep heading out in that direction, out past the high school in the area. I memorize the street it’s on, turn the phone back off, and head off in that direction as the sky begins to turn from orange to the light-polluted dark blue.

  Some time after I first head off, I reach the street the place should be on. It’s past a couple neighborhoods behind the nearest high school. Still keeping the map in mind, I turn left and walk for a while, past a couple fields of orange trees and open land and over a canal. I didn’t expect there to be such an open area in the city, but I guess I haven’t seen most of it. It does take up half the county. Eventually, two things come into view: a few houses with huge lawns on the right and a gated neighborhood on the left. It would probably be one of the ones with lawns.

  “Over here.”

  Sure enough, a middle-aged-looking man in a T-shirt and jeans walks out from behind all the plants in front of the second house.

  “He’ll see you, but only for a little bit.”

  I follow him and am led into the living room, which is covered in a gaudy flower-print wallpaper, shelves containing porcelain plates and dolls lining the walls. In the center of the room is a very old-style couch with intricately-carved wooden parts, on which a grey-haired but obviously physically fit older man sits. Despite the late hour, he’s fully dressed in a grey three-piece suit, his hair neatly combed to the side and his mustache well-groomed.

  “¿Me llamó?”

  The man who came to greet me, staying standing behind the older man, speaks up. “He said- “

  “I know what he said,” I interrupt. “¿Eres Ivan?”

  “Pos, sí. Puedes sentarse.”

  He motions to a chair across from him with a similar design to the couch. Not wanting to get into any trouble with this guy, especially if he could help me, I comply, placing the helmet on my lap.

   “¿Y usted? ¿Quien eres? Con esos, pareces que eres de MediTech.” He motions at his own arms and legs to mean mine.

  “No soy de MediTech. Trabajo para D.”

  The two men look at each other, then back at me.

  “¿Y donde esta D?”

  “En una de los buildings de MediTech”

  Ivan looks at the middle-aged man, who says “’Building’ se significa ‘edificio’.”

  He nods, then says. “¿Y que quieres?”

  I give my answer simply and to the point. “Ayuda.”

  Ivan makes a sound like he’s thinking, then, after a moment, asks “¿Y que vas a hacer por mi?”

  I tap the top of the helmet. “Este es de MediTech. Tiene tecnología. Si me ayudas, I’ll give it to you después de getting D out.”

  The middle-aged man, again, translates the English parts of my request. Ivan lowers his voice and the two seem to discuss the matter right in front of me. With how fast and low they’re speaking, it’s hard to make out what they’re saying. Eventually, Ivan nods, gets up, straightens out his suit, then leaves the house. I can hear the garage door opening, a car door opening then closing, then the car turning on and leaving, the garage door closing as it does. The middle-aged walks off to some other part of the house, then comes back.

  “Follow me,” he says.

  He leads me back outside through the front, across the street to the gated community. He enters a code to open the gate, then leads me further in. There’s a slight smell of rubber here, like new tires. Maybe it’s the new-looking cars in the driveways of most of the same-looking two-story houses. Eventually, we stop at one towards the back. It, of course, looks exactly the same as the rest.

  “Here,” the middle-aged man says, holding out a keyring with two keys on it. “Ivan has decided to let you to stay here while he checks on your information. If it proves worthwhile, he will provide you with more resources.”

  “So, you want me to stay in here until then.”

  “You can leave anytime you want,” he replies. “But I won’t let you back in. In the meantime, though, yes, he wants you to stay here. Unfortunately, there’s nothing in there right, but I can bring you an air mattress and some food to stock the fridge with.”

  I sigh and take the keys. “Yeah, whatever. How long will his background check take, anyway?”

  “Depends. You’ll just have to wait.”

  I sigh again and open the door to the house. Feeling around near the door, I find a light switch. It seems to not work. I look at the middle-aged man, who, after seeing what I meant, turns on the light on his phone and enters the garage through the house. I hear a click, then the light connected to the switch I flipped turns on.

  “Stay awake,” he says as he comes back out. “I’ll be back within an hour with the groceries and mattress.”

  Once he’s back out of the house, I close the door and start wandering around. The inside is kind of small, but I guess that’s why it’s a two-story. The stairs, which are just past the entryway, are carpeted, which gives me hope that the bedrooms are, too. I don’t really feel like laying down on tile. After putting my leftovers in the fridge, I head up and, sure enough, the first room near the top of the stairs has carpet. I take the bag off my back and put both it and the helmet on the floor, laying down by the two.

  “D, you there?”

  No answer. Must’ve unplugged her. Guess I’ll just have to stare at a wall, or something.

That guy with the other helmet. I wonder how many times he’ll keep coming for me. Maybe until he gets fired for incompetence, or something. Even then, they’d probably just hire someone else to take his place. I mean, they’d already tried to use D for that.

I roll onto my side, hold my head up with my hand and close my eyes, trying to keep myself from falling asleep despite being tired. The thought of the guy with the helmet somehow finding me so soon after I fought him crosses my mind and makes my heart beat faster

After what feels like a couple minutes but probably was longer, the doorbell rings. I slowly stand back up and shake my arm to loosen my now stiff shoulder. I definitely fell asleep. Peeking out from behind the staircase, I can see through the door’s window that it is the middle-aged man who’s back. I can see where the bald part of his head starts in his silhouette. I get out the rest of the way and open the door for him.

“Here,” he says, handing me the bags. “I don’t know what you know how to make, so I bought what you would need to make what’s written in here.”

He pulls a booklet out from his back pocket. It seems to be the kind that they just have for free at the grocery store with some seasonal recipes in them. It’s a bit hard to tell in this light. He tucks it into one of the bags.

“It should last you a couple weeks. If it doesn’t, my number’s written on the cover. Now let me go get the air mattress.”

He walks off again and I head into the kitchen, turning on the light as I do. I start putting stuff away and eventually hear a thump back towards the entrance.

“I’m leaving it by the door,” the guy says. “The water should be on by noon at the latest.”

With that, he closes the door. I finish up with putting the frozen and refrigerated stuff away and take the box with the mattress upstairs. “Pump included,” it says, so at least I won’t have to just blow it up myself.

I set it up and finally lay down to rest. Maybe I’ll sleep the whole night tonight, too. Even if I don’t, at least I won’t have a hangover tomorrow morning. And I have somewhere to stay, at least for a while. I get back up, turn off the light, then lay back down, eventually falling asleep.