The Fate Merchant

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

     125 Aurora was situated in a part of Hanford unofficially called the Basement, a warren of concrete bunkers on the outskirts of the city known for its liberal views on garbage collection and mugging. The Hanford Police Department’s unofficial stance on the area was that if one willingly descended into the Basement of one’s own accord, then one waived one’s right to adequate and timely protection because, frankly, one should know better, and there were smarter and more responsible people to protect.

     The Basement had once been a thriving industrial park, but most of the legitimate businesses had picked up stakes and moved on to newer, more spacious concrete bunkers on the other side of the city, a promised land where honest business could be conducted without worrying about the sort of Monday morning downer that only an accurately thrown Molotov cocktail can provide.

     A taxi stopped in front of 125 Aurora, a squat, one-story building with a faded sign above the door that read Ray’s Tires. A giant spray painted skull and crossbones adorned the wide garage door to the right of the main entrance. Over top of the skull, someone had painted a dagger. The dagger entered the top of the skull and protruded out the bottom. Over top of the skull and the dagger, somebody else had painted a pair of lidless eyes with bright red pupils, and had scrawled under the eyes the phrase: HE SEES U.

     Jasper got out of the taxi. He’d barely closed the door before the car sped off, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust and grime. He coughed and scanned the street as the cloud dissipated. The setting sun cast long shadows down the empty street, and a light wind twirled the pages of a discarded newspaper. In the distance, glass clinked against asphalt, and a car backfired. If the guy with the shaved head had followed him from the theatre, then he hadn’t made it obvious. Jasper had hopped two buses, walked five blocks, and taken two taxis to get to the Basement. He’d even done a bit of window shopping, pausing to check the reflection for a tail, like they did in the movies. At one store, after ensuring that no one was following him, he’d turned away from the window to find an elderly lady fixing him with the same unimpressed expression that would cloud the faces of his teachers every time he answered “Present!” during attendance.

     “See anything you like?” the old woman had asked.

     Jasper had looked back at the window and had been surprised to see that, from her perspective, he’d been staring for nearly two minutes at a mannequin wearing crotchless black underwear.

     “It’s not what you think,” Jasper had responded.

     The woman had frowned, clicked her tongue, and shuffled off.

     Jasper doubled checked the street in front of 125 Aurora. There wasn’t a shaved head in sight. Satisfied, he took out the key ring from Doyle’s desk and walked up to the door. He selected a key at random and slid it into the lock.

     “Hey, you open for business?”

     Jasper looked back over his shoulder. Two teenagers in ripped jean jackets stood in the middle of the street.

     “You Ray?” asked the teen on the left.

     “Yeah. I need some tires, Ray,” said the teen on the right. They sprinted across the street, their black boots clomping as they closed the distance between them and Jasper. The teen on the right slammed Jasper against the door, then brought his hand up and pressed the blade of a knife to Jasper’s throat. “And everything you got in your wallet.”

     “Then we go inside,” said the teen on the left, “and you show us what you got in the cash register. How’s that sound, Ray?”

     “Uh, I’ve never been in this situation before,” Jasper said. “Was that an actual question, or do I just open the door?”