Wisely was in a ramshackle hospital dorm with five beds, three of them empty. In the corner besides the door a sweaty, corpse of a guy lay slumped over himself in his hospital bed. He was unconscious. He was muttering and even drooling and he smelled awful. Mateo walked passed him quickly. He saw Wisely in the corner, grinned, prepared to speak and was interrupted.
“There you are, you sly tart.” Wisely grinned back.
“Hey Wisely,” Mateo sidled up to the bed and put his hand on the plastic railing. “How you doing?”
“Surviving. More than I can say for the guy in the corner. Did see him? They won’t move him. I dreamt about you, you know. How’s the weather? It looks all sunny out there.”
Wisely lay in a standard hospital bed, propped up on a nest of cheap, plastic pillows in transparent sheathes, a medical blanket pulled up to his stomach. He was in a t-shirt, had casts on his arms and a brace around his neck. His medium, dirty blonde hair was greasy, and his mullet, which normally looked cool and careless, now made him appear scruffy and beaten up, which he was.
Mateo chuckled. “Want me to bullshit you?”
“Sure. That’d be nice.”
“It’s nasty out there. The clouds are down and it is too hot and all the beautiful women have gone away.”
“Damn,” said Wisely. He tried to push himself up with his elbows, then gave up, grinning more. “Might as well stay here then, eh?”
“You got a TV?”
“No.”
“I’ll send Glow round with a TV.”
“Sure. Send him round with a sixer, why don’t you?”
“Sure.”
Mateo stood next to the bed. He felt tense. Wisely felt tense, too. He could tell. He and Wisely had been together since they were little, alongside Underarms. They had all been best friends until Prince came along and even after that they’d been close. But these days there was always something getting in the way, getting between them. They were too similar, maybe. Wisely would recoil if Mateo’s let his pity onto his face, so he was careful to stay casual and emotionally distant. He lifted up the bag of food.
“I didn’t think about a sixer, but I got a couple of Sure Jonnys.”
He kicked off his boots and sat on the bed crossed legged. Together they devoured the sushi. Mateo had to put it into Wisely’s mouth with the chopsticks, of course, and he had to beg a straw from the receptionist, but they got by. The delicate, almost feminine tenderness involved in feeding his friend was at first awkward and then natural, and it broke the tension. It was good food. The opportunity to sit in silence together meant something. Like old times, or at least closer to them.
“So,” said Mateo, swallowing his sushi and taking a slurp of Sure Johnny. “How long they got you hooked up for?”
“I don’t know,” said Wisely, swiping at his lips with the back of his hand. “Have you met Giggler?” Mateo said he hadn’t. “Well, no surprises, he’s a funny guy. Crazy though, never stops talking to himself, even when he’s in a real conversation. Can’t imagine the shit he’s seen working under the Kid for so long. He tells me I need five days on the wire.” He shrugged. “Two weeks in the casts, maybe three.”
Mateo looked. Sneaking into each of the casts was a thick red tube, which would be screwed into the bones to somehow accelerate the healing. “And-” Mateo cut himself off. He glanced at Wisely and caught his eye and then looked away and stared out the window.
“Yeah,” said Wisely. “They gotta fuse my neck. Gotta do an operation with a special guy who understands neck bones or whatever, gotta get gas and a guy who understand the gas to make sure it doesn’t kill me.” Wisely shook his head. He grimaced. “Says he can do it for two hundred X.”
Mateo nodded, trying not to show how the figure shocked him. He reached into his pocket and took out the thick envelope: seven-hundred and fifty X. Wisely whistled, and Mateo shook his head in agreement. “You sure you want Giggler doing it?” he asked.
Wisely shrugged. The shrug said: do I have a choice?
Mateo went on: “Well I had a chat with the fence and we ended up getting 750 for the job.” Wisely watched him, silent, his eyes fixed in place. “Now me, you, Arms, Thrift and Paunch are full members. No No and Jake are half patches. Glow and Dove aren’t getting shit.” Mateo had done the maths all the way back in Phelix’s bar. “It’s 120 each.”
Wisely nodded. This was fair. Wisely wasn’t the kind of guy who’d argue over how to split the stack, not when it was nice and fat anyway. He watched as Mateo dealt out a hundred and twenty X and put it on the blanket on his lap. Mateo took a deep breath. “How much you got saved up?” he asked.
“I got some tucked away,” said Wisely. It was too casual.
“How much?”
Wisely thought about it. A long time passed. He didn’t take his eyes off the stack of X in his lap. “Maybe twenty,” he said at last.
Mateo nodded. “Alright, well, I gotta tell you something Wisely. My bike got fucked up real bad last night.”
Wisely’s eyes jumped up. His face was full of concern.
“No! Your Dayzl? Fuck. How’d it happen?”
Mateo sighed. “That’s a long story.” He paused, watching Wisely and thinking about it. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked. Wisely nodded.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Mateo told filled him in on the last 24 hours or whatever it was, from the Lumin attack he had witnessed all the way up to killing the Peep. In the story, he killed the Peep with a knife in the back of his neck, but concealing his Mantle was the only detail he changed. Wisely listened calmly, gasping only when the Peep first took of its helmet and when Mateo’s bike was destroyed.
“Fuck,” said Wisely. “You fucking thug, Smoke. That’s too bad man, I’m so sorry.”
Mateo shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m alive.” He paused, then forced out the words. “I wanna rent your bike.”
“What.”
Mateo repeated himself. “You’re gunna be in here for, what, five days, at least, probably out of action for a month with your neck. You aint using it. You need cash for your operation.” He shrugged. “And I don’t think you’re gunna let me give you this money. Are you?”
“No.” Said Wisely. He moaned. “But my bike man. I don’t know.”
“It’s a fair price.”
“It’s more than a fucking fair price Smoke, but it just isn’t done.”
“I know. I need a bike. You have one. I won’t fuck your bike up, Wisely. I’ll treat it like my own.” Wisely shot him a look. “I know,” said Mateo. “But that was a Peep, man. I never spill. I’m not gunna run into another fucking Peep, not likely at least.”
“You’re a wanted guy, Smoke. The Kid doesn’t mess around with that shit. I’ve heard stories like this. The guy always winds up dead and displayed somewhere. Mateo, that’s you. You’re the dead and displayed guy.”
Mateo shut up. He finished off the last off his Sure Johnny, then took out 80 X, most of his share, and put it on the blanket just in front of the other stack. It was an insane amount of money to pay to use a bike for a month. There was a long silence. Wisely took both stacks of money and slid it under one of his many pillows. He shook his head, then raised his arms, both in casts.
He sighed. “Well? You’re gunna have to take the fucking key, Smoke. I can’t hardly fetch it for you.”
Mateo leaned forward and gently lifted the key from around Wisely’s neck and put it over his own, next to the key for his Dayzl. He sighed. There was nothing else to say. He could see a mood was on his friend now. It was hard to blame him.
“Where’s the bike, Wisely?”
= = = = = = =
Wisley rode an Okü Trace—a modded 3-series with widened exhaust and double lock breaks. It was a good looking sportbike, quicker but not as dynamic than the flashy Dayzl. In baby, gunmetal blue, the Okü left a river of shining metal through the air when it sped.
And it always sped.
Mateo unlocked the wheels with the key, then popped the seat locker. Inside was a carton of cigarettes, a few empty beer cans, and Wisely’s helmet. Mateo fished out a cigarette and smoked it. After the job, Underarms had driven Wisely’s bike to his uncle’s liquor store and locked it up in the shade of the awning outside. The liquor store was on a street corner by a busy main road, with the Jadranju skyway going above it. Mateo stood on the corner and smoked and watched the vehicles zipping by, considering his next moves.
He’d go pick up the Orikon Heart and stash it himself—he might need it at short notice. He was itching to get on the F-bike already, fantasying about finding a fence for the oil bike. He’d get a nice bit of X for it. For now he’d leave it here. He tossed the cigarette, called Arms on his uncle’s phone and told him to arrange a meet so he could hand out the cash. He knew the guys wanted it. Everyone was broke. Then he jumped on the bike and sliped up on to Jadranju.
Lia was home. She gave him the box and asked if he wanted to stay for tea. He told her he didn’t have time, suggested they could hang out next week and she agreed. She seemed preoccupied with something, relieved when he said he wouldn’t stay. He kissed her goodbye and quickly forgot about her, head full of stuff, staring at himself in the elevator mirror. His mind was racing, working over all the things that had happened recently. He hadn’t really processed it. Everything felt different. There was still a faint sting in his finger. He was anxious, but he didn’t know why. His muscles felt strong, powerful, but also strange, and there was a strange new feeling in his gut: a kind of dim craving. He couldn’t place it. Poro had been silent all day.
He drove home, guiding the bike with automatic movements of the hips, automatic twists of the handlebars, not even seeing the streets but seeing his thoughts and his problems. He pulled down the nameless alley and up to Sally’s bar. When had he last been here? Less than 2 days ago. So much had changed for him, and nothing had changed here. Same crack in the glass of the convenience store, same cinder block holding back the door to the building. The same list of bright, intrusive neon letters declared the names of the block: DayLight SAVINGS and LOANS, Groovin’ Roovin’, UltraThin Glass, Catch & Release, Sally’s Bar & Bistro. He pulled up and parked the bike across the street in its usual spot, locking it and throwing on the tarp, carrying both his and Wisely’s helmet. The day was at its hottest and the street were pretty empty. He walked into the shadow of the building, through the bare, empty lobby and onto the stairs.
“SMOKE,” roared a friendly voice from behind him.
He turned. It was Leitz, the shark Mateo still owed 100 X for his Dayzl, leaning casually in the doorframe. “There you are. You’re a slippery little fish, you know that, kid? Come on outside, I wanna talk to you.”
Mateo shuffled down the steps, feeling the zen he normally reserved for high speed work fall over him. Outside, the few people who had been in the street—smoking cigarettes, eating their lunch on their front steps—had vanished. Leitz was a big man with a soft, ruddy face. He had a receding hair line and a beard crawling high up his meaty cheeks, and so it looked like his face had slipped up his skull. He had beady, penetrating eyes, a twisting scar on his bottom lip, and bright, sludgy yellow veins that glowed with power. Leitz was a cape, some minor figure in the vast feudal chain of domination and influence that lead all the way up to Dandelion himself.
Leitz had brought a couple of guys with him, both reclining against the laundromat opposite Sally’s on the far side of the street and watching Mateo incuriously. They wore expensive suits with loose neckties, their jackets slung over their arms. Both were old, older than Leitz, and clearly not your garden variety rhata goons. Leitz slapped a hand on Mateo’s shoulder.
“How you been, little fish?” he said. “How’s life?”
“Good,” said Mateo. He waited.
“What you been up to recently?”
“Same shit. Working.”
“Working hard, I hope?”
“Sure.”
“A little too hard, maybe. You were meant to come by my office this morning. Don’t you think of me?”
Pit, Mateo thought. He’d forgot.
“Shit. Sorry Leitz. These few days, they’ve been crazy for me. I’m sorry. I got your money right here. No problem.”
“Well, that’s alright Smoke. I won’t hold it against you. Of course, there’ll be a late fee.”
Mateo swallowed. “What?”
“A late fee, for forcing me all the way out here and makin’ me stand around in this shit heap of a street.”
Mateo noticed he was clenching his fist. Why did he feel so nervous—so alert? Was it that strange craving he’d felt earlier, that hunger to fight, to conquer? He wanted to point his finger at Leitz, wanted to demonstrate that he wasn’t a guy you could shove around anymore.
The world seemed come into focus, to contract slightly. His vision dilated and he could sense something. A pressure, a presence—he wasn’t sure. It seemed to occur at the point in his neck, where energy collected when he used his power, and he could feel it flowing through his body. For a moment he thought he could sense something light and slick and significant, billowing around his shoulders.
It wanted out. He felt like he was bursting at the seems.
“Calm,” sent Poro.
Mateo let go of his breath. The feeling faded, still lurking right on the very edge of his awareness. Leitz was looking at him strangely.
“You alright there, Smoke? You wanna feint, or what? Go ahead, I’ll catch you.”
“Right,” said Mateo. “Sorry, I’m fine. No problem. What do I owe you?”
Leitz smiled and slapped him on the shoulder again. “Fifty for the month. And ten more.”
Mateo grimaced. Ten X was a hell of a squeeze for being less than a day late. But there was no escaping it. If he tried to argue, Leitz would bristle, and then anything might happen. He reached into his pocket. X comes in different notes of thickness and material. Once you get the hang of it you know what you’re holding by touch. Mateo fondled sixty X free of the stack and handed it over. Leitz smiled big and took his time leafing through it, counting outloud. He slapped his palm with the wad of notes and shoved it into his back pocket. Then he put his index finger in his mouth and rubbed it along the side of his upper teeth.
“Fifty left, huh? That’s good. You’re a good kid, Smoke. I was sorry to hear about your friend.”
“Thanks,” said Mateo. He kept his eyes on Leitz and his face empty, waiting. As if on queue, Leitz stretched, rolling his shoulders, and as he did there was a faint thrumming sound and his muscles expanded in the blink of an eye, then slowly shrunk down again. Mateo smelt a faint whiff of starlight. Leitz always needed to ‘stretch’ at the end of the meetings. Less Mateo get any big ideas.
“Cool,” he said. “See you later, Smoke. Let me know if you need something.”
Leitz turned down the street and swaggered off, followed by his dapper cronies. Mateo didn’t watch them go. He turned and went up the stairs and into Sally’s bar. For once, it was almost crowded. Full of large, balding, sweaty men in blue work shirts, chugging beer and cheap, chemical bottles of Falanx. Mateo pushed himself through the crowd and found himself stuck between the pool table and the blood box. It occurred to him that he was broke. With the money he’d given to Wisely, and the cash he’d just given Leitz, he only had maybe 6 X left to his name. He had been planning to get more money for Raia. And somehow he was gunna have to get a new bike or his old one repaired. He shook his head and wandered over to the blood box, stamping his thumb into the needle-print.
The crisp, translucent glass melted away and ran down the edges. Mateo flicked the dial and some of it ran back up, leaving him a peep hole—he didn’t want anyone looking over his shoulder. The box was full of jobs, many times more than he normally had. Phelix must have been saying good things about him. But these jobs didn’t matter. He didn’t even glance at them, eyes caught at the top of the list.
Glowing, radiant in white and gold and wreathed in a green laurel, there was an offer for the Orikon Heart. That wasn’t what shocked him, but rather the person listed as the buyer.
‘The personal representative of His Highness, Chief Executive Rajore’.