Inveigle

Chapter Six: Memorial or Campaign Rally?

Nathan wouldn't look at me as he continued, "The Speakeasy that we just came from, well, other innocents had positive things to say about it. Not all the Speakeasies are the same. Some are run much more...clinically."

He inhaled a trembling breath. We sat in absolute silence for a few moments, listening to the voices so muted from the television down the hall the words couldn't be made out. Soft footsteps on the creaking floor broke the intense silence. Ava shuffled her feet across the wood and crawled up into her grandfather's lap. He picked up the wish sandwich and tore it in half. He handed the side without a bite mark in it to Ava, who happily ate the soggy bread.

The next day, The Palace wasn't getting any business. I couldn't take sitting in the pink chair next to the silent Pam another minute, and I had no other entertainment to my name. I stood up and walked to my room to slide my shoes on.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked from my doorway. Startled, I looked up to see him leaning on the chipping painted frame.

"Walk."

"Can I join?"

I nodded at him. I was sure anywhere away from Pam was good for him. Out the door and into the late afternoon sunlight we went. Not anywhere in particular in mind, just something to do. We didn't talk, just looked around us. The sidewalks were cracked, in dire need of repair. Gum littered the cement. I purposely avoided the streets that had been looted. We began heading towards the nicer side of town. The side with Persim Tower looming large over all. We received a few strange looks, and one woman in her work clothes clutched her Louis Vuitton to her chest and crossed the street, making no effort to hide her accusing eyes.

A news drone hovered high above a well-to-do apartment complex. The clean balconies with well trimmed evergreens in decorative pots were barren of people, but the speaker reached the passersby on the sidewalk. The broadcast was loud and clear. "Rally with President Persim, tonight at 8:00 at Persim Tower Park. Memorial to follow." The drone took off to the next commercial site. I watched it zip away over the rooftops when I felt a rough hand slip into mine and pull. Sam tugged at my hand, and I made no move to follow until he pointed with his eyes at the police cruiser parked on the opposite street. The cop inside leaned greedily over his steering wheel, ready to jump out for some action. So we walked hand in hand, until we got back to the place where we belonged.

I had full intentions of arriving at Persim Park early, but The Palace had a couple families that were displaced by the fires that spread to their apartments check-in that afternoon. Pam insisted that I clean out the refrigerator and check the rooms for dead roaches before I left to go anywhere.

I looked in Sam's room after I threw the last cockroach into the trash. He had never expressed interest in going, but he had heard the drone announcement. Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed reading an old newspaper left by a previous tenant. He examined it like a relic because it was a relic. Most people got their news by other means: phone, ear implant downloads, tablet, drone fly by if you lived in the right neighborhood. But the thing about the "modern" means for news was you had to have money or live by money to hear it. So newspapers still barely survived in places like the East End because paper was cheap.

I knocked on his already open door. "Going to Persim Park," I said. He folded the newspaper and set it on his bed. His eyes glanced at my face and back to the newspaper before making eye contact. He was slow to speak, choosing his words carefully.

"Our president has my full respect...but I will mourn here."

The tone in his voice told me he had doubts. Everyone "respected" our president. The walls had ears, and most people who did openly disagree with the president tended to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. Rick's face appeared in my mind's eye with his face filled with terror before the needle in his neck subdued him.