Careful; pints; rescue
I drink my coffee and watch the snow. It falls thick, coverin over the gutters and the filth, blanketin the roofs a'houses and the blue tarps strung over coffee stands. Everythin's burnished orange by the street lamps, softened, and with the snow it's almost beautiful, more like a paintin or a movie than the shit hole I grew up in.
The woman workin the coffee stand scowls at a pair a'kids throwin snow at one another across the street. There's a hot edge ta their game, an intensity that could turn violent. One a'the boys curses the other, and then laughs. The woman spits, her wrinkled face flushed with cold, or maybe alcohol – most a'the stand owners spike their coffee with whiskey on nights like this.
"It's too cold for fightin," she says.
"Kids don't care."
She spits a second brown wad onta the snow, and smiles, flashin a mouth full a'yellow, tobacco-stained teeth. I pay for the coffee and leave the stand, walkin down the block ta the bar.
The crowd inside the Eft is buzzin, the usual collection a'miners and students interspersed with a fair number a'refugees from the capital. Those are easy ta spot, girls mostly, tryin and failin ta blend in or else goin out a'their way ta flirt with the mine-heads. The heads have a reputation for stamina that extends all the way ta the capital, but I guess not a few a'these girls are gonna wind up disappointed; a reputation like that can be a hard thing ta live up ta, especially when the boy in question has been downin beer and whiskey for much a'the night.
Auld sees me enter and gets up from his place at the bar, the crowd partin around him as if he had the routine choreographed. For a moment the line cuttin his face catches the light, and I can see the barest hint a'movement reflected inside it, like streaks a'gasoline on a skin a'water.
"Careful tonight," he says, keepin his voice low. I glance around us, but it's not as if anyone in here can hear him, not unless they're on the powder, and if they are it's because I sold it ta them.
"Careful?" I ask.
"Something's going to go wrong."
"What something?"
"With your deal. Don't make the hand off here tonight. It's not safe. There are agents from the Institute coming. Just tell Tam to hold off."
"He's only in town tonight. You know that. We don't do this now we won't get another chance for two weeks."
"Just hold off," he says, and brushes past me, headin for the door.
"Where are you goin?"
"There's somewhere I need to be," he says, and then he pauses. "Tell Hazel I said hello."
I watch him exit the bar, wonderin what I'm supposed ta do with that; I've never known Auld ta be wrong, not when it comes ta predictions. Too cryptic maybe, and misleadin, but never wrong altogether. Still, if I don't make the hand-off tonight things'll get uncomfortable. Rent doesn't wait on psychic warnins.
I catch sight a'J in the back and on my way over I scan the faces a'the people seated at tables and standin round the bar. Any one a'them could be from the Institute, or none. No one so much as looks at me, and I don't see Hazel anywhere.
Seated with J is Tam, and for some reason R is there as well. The three a'them are halfway through a pitcher, with another empty one beside it. J has an extra glass ready for me.
"You're late," he says.
"Had ta speak with someone."
He fills my glass with beer, then refills his own and Tam's, and finally R's. By this point there's hardly any left, and all that drips into his glass is the dregs.
"I paid for that round," R mutters.
"Yeah?" says J, and leaves it at that. I can't help smilin.
"Where ya been C?" R asks me. He drains his glass and sets it down hard on the table.
"Out," I say. He laughs, his eyes gleamin.
"Just saw J sittin here and it struck me I hadn't shared a pint with you boys in a while."
"Well now you have," I say. J takes out a'pack a'loose leaf and starts ta roll himself a smoke.
R shakes his head, makin an act a'bein disappointed.
"J and Tam here can be civil. Why can't you? All that was done a long time ago."
"All what?"
"You know what I mean," he says, very quiet, the tension between us stretchin like a fine cord across the table. J looks at the ceilin, while Tam has suddenly discovered an abidin interest in the back a'his hands.
"Thanks for the pint R," I say, tippin the glass in his direction. He shakes his head again.
"Alright," he says, standin up. "Have it your way."
I nod, not botherin ta watch him go.
"You still on that?" asks J, his big fingers smoothin out the wrinkles in his hand-rolled.
"On what?" I say, leanin forward. All at once I feel exhausted. "Listen, it doesn't matter does it? R could be the greatest asshole in the world and it wouldn't change a thing. We don't let anyone else in on what we're doin, not with the powder."
"It was just pints," says Tam.
"Just pints," I say. "Right. Now, as I would a'told you had you not been sharin a friendly drink with that bastard, our friend from beyond has issued a warnin."
"What warnin?" J puts the hand-rolled in his mouth, but makes no move ta light it.
"Told me there's some boys from the Institute on their way and we're not ta make the hand-off."
J raises an eyebrow. Tam frowns.
"What'd I make the trip down here for then?" he asks.
"Relax," I tell him. "We'll do it. I got no interest in waitin another two weeks. We'll just go somewhere quiet."
"Outside?"
"Yeah," I say, already risin. "J, stay here and see if anyone follows us yeah?"
He nods, and lights his smoke. Tam and I get up and make our way out a'the bar. I'm almost ta the door when a light touch on my shoulder stops me; Hazel is sittin at the counter, next ta some pale college boy. He eyes me, and for a moment I get the feelin that I know him or that I've seen him before. His face is long and unassumin, his brown hair cropped close ta the head. The only distinguishin thing about him is the leather jacket he's got on, well-worn but obviously expensive. As I look at him a mist seems ta pass before us.
"Leaving?" Hazel asks me.
"For a minute," I say, my voice hardly soundin like my own.
"This is Isaac."
The boy nods at me, and the mist, or whatever it was, some ghost or trick a'light, falls away, along with the sense that I know him; I nod back, our necks movin on strings a'social grace.
"By the way," I tell her. "Our mutual friend says hello."
"Auld?" she asks, too loud. Beside me, Tam flinches. The boy sittin with her looks confused; I scan the faces around us, but no one is payin the least bit a'attention.
"Yeah. I'll be back in a minute alright?"
She shrugs like it doesn't matter ta her one way or the other, which I guess it doesn't, and turns back ta her drink. The college boy stares at me a second longer before he does the same. I leave the bar with Tam behind me and a bad taste in my mouth.
At the first corner we turn inta a narrow alley walled off at the far end by a chain-link fence. I'm about ta take out the package when I hear the sound a'boots crunchin in the snow.
"All right J?" I ask, but there's no answer. I turn around. At the top a'the alley are two men, both a'them dressed in black jackets with a pair a'goggles ta match.
"Must have a good reason to meet in a place like this," says the taller a'the two.
"Must have," replies the shorter one. "Can't imagine what it is though."
"Oh I can think of one or two."
"Yeah?"
"Maybe a couple Northside boys like these might have something to hide from the authorities, such as they are."
"Could be."
"Then again, maybe they were just about to start sucking each other's dicks."
The shorter man lets out a short bark that might be meant for a laugh.
"He's funny isn't he?" he says.
"What the fuck do you want?" asks Tam.
"I like
that," says the taller man. "Straight to the point. No dicking around for this one."
The smaller man smiles.
"To start with we want the powder you're carrying," he says.
"Not carrying any powder," snaps Tam, and the shorter man's hand flashes from his pocket; there is a noise like the hollow poppin of a champagne cork and Tam falls ta the ground, his whole body shudderin. His hands tear uselessly at the air, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.
"What the fuck!" I hear myself yell, uselessly tryin ta still Tam's flailin arms.
"Just a little shock," says the smaller man.
"It'll pass," announces the other, and he's right – Tam's body is almost still, the spasms already subsidin in his limbs. He gasps for air, a line a'spit hangin from his mouth.
The two men move toward me. Tam curls onta his side, vomitin darkly onta the snow.
"Hand over the package," says the smaller a'the two. He has a taser pointed directly in my face. "And then lie down with your hands behind your back."
I push away from Tam.
A shadow sweeps the air and the man closest ta me crumples ta the ground. The taller one turns, but too slow; there is heavy crack, as of some dull thing hittin bone, and suddenly he's down as well, landin in a heap on top a'his friend. Behind them both is Auld, an empty bottle a'whiskey clutched in his right hand, like a club.
"You didn't listen," he says. The line on his face stands blue in the dim light.