Dieselpunk ePulp Showcase (Anthology)

Pandora Driver: Who are the People in your Neighborhood

Pandora Driver:
Who are the People in your Neighborhood

Created by John Picha

INTRODUCTION

Can you imagine a time without computers, the Internet, or TV? Telephones were connected to walls by wires, and a "cell" was a place to put bad guys. The daily news was delivered by a paperboy, not a cable. Laptops were where children sat to tell Santa their Christmas wish lists. Magazines were presented on pulp, not iPads. Entertainment in the airwaves was received by vacuum tubes in a wooden radio, the centerpiece of the family room. 

In the spring of 1940 women wore bright red lipstick, men followed new hitter Ted Williams, kids packed peashooters, and everyone wore hats. In theaters "The Grapes of Wrath" was shown in black and white. Warm Philcos put many "In the Mood". And down-on-their-luck dreamers followed the council of a cartoon cricket by wishing upon a star.

Overseas the war in Europe expanded. Encouraged by the successful blitzkrieg of Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands, Hitler's Wehrmacht invaded France. In England Winston Churchill responded with his "blood, toil, tears, and sweat" speech promising "victory at all costs. He hoped to inspire British troops and recruit international allies. But most Americans weren't listening. They had no appetite for another war and a growing number of isolationists turned their backs. They had plenty of homegrown problems to deal with.

The Great Depression nearly smothered Citadel City due to high reliance on manufacturing jobs. As the country slogged its way out of the economic downturn the unemployment rate decreased to 15%, but the modest prosperity didn't trickle all the way down.

Opportunists with a class advantage continued to pick the bones of the hungry... 

CITADEL CITY, SPRING 1940 

Ray Walker, a Scot in his mid 20s, wasn't exactly sure where the cry for help came from when the harrowing words ricochet in through the kitchen window of his apartment. He was working on his breakfast, but now he couldn't just sit and eat knowing someone else was in trouble. He can tell the voice came from somewhere on the street below, but he didn't waste time for a peek. Instead he races down two flights of stairs in worn socks sometimes skipping four steps at a time. 

CLUMP- FUMP CLUMP-FUMP CLUMP-FUMP 

THUDD

At the second floor landing, he grabs the knob of the worn oak banister and swings around it to pick up speed.

CLUMP- FUMP CLUMP-FUMP CLUMP-FUMP 

THUDD

He hit the first floor with a leap, then races past a wall of brass mailboxes. Bursting through the entryway of the brownstone, he lands on the concrete stoop and discovers the confused and concerned faces of his neighbors gathering up and down the tenement block. From above, many onlookers crane out apartment windows desperately trying to locate the source of the distress call. 

An old man's voice, with a distinctly Yiddish accent, cries out.

"HELP ME! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!"

The 100 or so witnesses all turn in unison to face Hooperman's Bakery on the South corner.

He yells again. "GET AWAY FROM MY STORE YOU FARZEENISH! FEH! FEH!" He punctuates his words by spitting twice.

The old man wears half-frame-glasses, a bowtie and a white shopkeeper's apron. He is struggling with a much larger opponent, a thug in a crisp black suit with wide shoulders and maroon Mossant hat. Growing agitated by the old man's resistance, the thug forces his exasperated victim back inside the store. After all, the original plan was to have a private meeting to make a deal. He kicks the door shut behind them.