New Reality 2: Justice (10 page)

With no air conditioning in the taxi, the heat was stifling. Marie leaned forward to stop herself from sticking to the seat and opened her window a slit. The gassy smell of decomposing waste instantly filled the car. The palpable stink forced her to screw her nose up. "I've had a rough week at work. I—"
 

When Marie saw the taxi driver watching her in the rear view mirror, she stopped talking; taxi drivers couldn't be trusted. It was one of the better jobs given to people from the estate, and part of the privilege was the willingness to tell the government anything that may be of interest to them. Nothing said in a taxi was private.
 

"Well, I think that extra work I was telling you about is going to come through," said Frankie. "I should get a large payment up front."

Although he was saying the right words, his face was taut with anxiety. The thought of working two jobs was probably getting to him.
 

After adjusting her corset, Marie glanced at the taxi driver in the rear view mirror again. Maybe it was an act, but he seemed to have lost interest in their conversation. Which made sense; they weren't exactly saying anything out of the ordinary—everyone worried about money and hated their jobs. That was what living in Nirvana was all about. If anything, he was probably trying not to hear what they were saying. Who wanted to listen to the wealthy complain about money when they lived on the estate and struggled to feed their children each day?

***

Silence had returned to the car, so Marie looked out of the window again and watched the streets fly past. It was a rare opportunity to see that part of the city. Other than in the back of a taxi, the privileged never saw this part of town. Apparently, it was too dangerous because of the estate rats.
 

The baby suddenly shifted in her cramped home and Marie covered her small bump with both hands as she chewed the inside of her mouth. Her heart shimmered as if being clenched in a tight grip.
What kind of a life was her child going to have? Would they get out of this? What was the second job Frankie was planning? It wasn't like she had a right to push him for more information, especially with what she was hiding from him.

As they passed a bus stop, Marie stared at the orderly queue waiting for the next bus. The people looked bored and it was hard to see the malicious intent that—if the media were to be believed—ran through all of them. The streets around them were virtually deserted. She shook her head.
So much for it being awash with crime on a Friday evening.
 

Every time they passed an alleyway, she looked into it. Each one was as deserted as the one before; not a single mugger or rapist was in sight.
Nirvana TV
must have to search hard to find crimes to report to the city.

As he released a long sigh, Frankie rubbed his face. "I'm not
overly
looking forward to tonight, Marie."

No shit,
Marie thought. She laughed and pointed at herself. "How do you think
I
feel? At least Kitty likes you."

Frankie's eyebrows pinched in the middle. "I'm sorry." He shook his head and looked at his lap. "You should have stayed home."

Yeah, right! Kitty would love to be left alone with Frankie all night. "What did you see in her?" It wasn't the first time she'd asked that.

"I met her at a time in my life when everyone in Nirvana seemed glamorous."

When the driver glanced back at them, Marie frowned at him and he looked away.

Frankie shot air from his mouth in a laugh. "Her bullshit was appealing to me at the time."

"We live and learn, eh?" Marie said.

When the taxi suddenly stopped, Marie's heart jumped.
 

Frankie sat up straight. "What's going on?"

Marie leaned forwards and saw a police blockade. "Excuse me," she said to the driver. "Can you tell me what's happening?"

The driver pointed to a sign that explained he wasn't allowed to talk to passengers; it was against the law in Nirvana… although he didn't have a problem with listening to them.

A quick headcount and Marie saw there were twelve officers. They formed a semicircle around four people from the estate, trapping them in an alleyway. It was impossible to hear what was being said, but the men and women in uniform leaned over their four cowering victims and jabbed their fingers and batons at them. "What are they doing, Frankie?"

A sheen had come over Frankie's wide eyes as if tears, although not yet forming, weren't far away. It was a rare glimpse of the pain he carried from his previous life. "It's a shakedown of some sort. I don't know what they're claiming the people from the estate have done, but they ain't happy."

As the officers tightened their semicircle, their victims held their hands up in submission. One of them pressed his palms together in prayer and his lips moved fast as if he were invoking the compassion of his god.
 

The taxi driver blatantly knew what was going on. Marie spoke loudly to try and drag him into the conversation. "Whatever they've done, it must be bad."

The driver's dark eyes narrowed as they looked in the mirror. He'd taken the bait.
 

"The people from the estate have learned how to crack open the garbage disposal chutes," he said. "They now come out at night for the scraps of food that people throw away."

Nausea rolled through Marie's guts. How could anyone eat the slimy scraps from bins? Before she could think on it any further, the semicircle of officers broke and they rushed forwards. Each man was set upon by three officers, and the air was filled with swinging batons and flying boots. The men from the estate capitulated instantly, but the attack didn't stop.

The window next to Marie was open enough to let the sounds from outside in. Wet thuds filled the air as the batons connected with bodies and wheezing screams were beaten out of the men from the estate. Curse words flew as freely from the officers as their attacks, "Scum bags, street rats, stealing bastards." The occasional high-pitched yell from one of the three female officers stood out in the chaos.

This shouldn’t be happening; it wasn’t on.
When Marie reached for the door handle next to her, Frankie clamped a strong grip on her right arm. She looked across at him and he shook his head.
 

"You can't do
anything
about this."

While she was looking at Frankie, the sounds of the men getting beaten stopped. She looked over to see the officers backing off and the four men from the estate lay limp and lifeless.
 

"Are they dead?" she whispered.

Silence filled the car and the dark eyes of the cabbie looked back in the mirror again. "The government is thinking about forcing businesses to incinerate all their waste food; they'd rather burn it than feed the poor."
 

One of the officers, a petite black woman with a dark scowl, opened the back doors to their meat wagon. Four others grabbed the flaccid men and dragged them across the street by their ankles.
 

The men's heads bounced off the asphalt and Marie covered her mouth, her heart thumping.
 

As they were dragged into the back of the meat wagon, their heads clattered against the metal step leading into the vehicle. Marie's vision blurred and a lump burned her throat as she croaked, "How can they do that to them?"

Frankie reached over and planted a soft hand on her knee. "They don't care about them, Marie."

"Not only that," the cabbie—who had seemingly lost regard for the rules in Nirvana—said, "but those poor bastards will each be given a five-year custodial sentence without trial—if they survive, that is. Justice is too expensive for an estate rat. We're a drain on the system as it is, so we don't get a trial."

When Marie looked to Frankie, she saw him staring straight ahead, his strong jaw set. Behind his steeled-glare were memories that she would never hear about—the pain he would never share.

Slam!

Slam!

The meat wagon was closed up and suddenly it was over. In the silence that followed, Marie's stomach dropped. No wonder Frankie was so worried about ending up on the estate again.

The taxi driver moved off. As they passed the police officers, he shrank away from their fierce glares. The life of a person from the estate was one of perpetual fear. At any point, the police could take an interest in them and they could lose everything.

***

The next sound in the silent cab was the driver popping the back doors of the taxi open once he'd pulled up outside the restaurant.
 

Just before Frankie got out, he leaned forwards. "Can I give you a tip, brother?"

The man shook his head and shrugged. "All fares are paid up front so we don't get tips. If there's any hint that I've taken more than the cost of the journey, I'll lose my job and be put straight on New Reality for theft."

"Sorry to hear that." After patting the driver's shoulder, Frankie sighed. "Stay strong, man. Good luck to you and yours."

Marie hadn't heard that phrase before.

A flash of recognition passed across the driver's face when he looked at Frankie. It was clearly something said on the estate.
 

"I hope it all works out for you," Frankie said.

A sharp nod and the man straightened in his seat. "Thank you, sir. I hope you both have a good meal and a pleasant evening."

Once they were outside the cab and the taxi was driving away, Marie said, "He seemed like a nice man. It's nice to see some people from the estate getting by."

"
Getting by?
His job hangs in the balance every day. I have no doubt that the person that owns the taxi firm doesn't give him enough money to survive on, and he's not allowed to take any tips. I wouldn't be surprised if his family are starving like everyone else's. They're very fucking far from getting by, Marie."

So maybe it was a stupid thing to say. "I just thought—"

"No you didn't, Marie. Life on the estate is
shit
. The sooner you realise that, the sooner we'll both be pulling in the same direction. This is why I feel so worried about our future; I don't think you
get it
."

Pulling in the same direction? If only he knew what she was enduring on a daily basis to get them enough money for a marriage certificate.
There were other patrons walking into the restaurant so Marie lowered her voice. "If you
tried
telling me what it was like, then maybe I'd have more of an idea. You get shitty with me for not
getting it,
but you never try to help me understand."

Frankie nodded in the direction of the restaurant. "Come on, we're running late."

Chapter Eighteen

The heat in the restaurant stood in stark contrast to the icy chill between Frankie and Marie. An ineffectual tug at her collar did nothing to cool Marie down. She spoke from the side of her mouth. "Is it me, or is it
really
hot in here?"

After a quick scan of the dimly lit restaurant, Frankie threw spiky words at her. "It's not
that
hot. The air-con's on."

"Come on, Frankie; let's not do this now—not here."

Although Frankie didn't reply, he relaxed slightly and put a hand on her back. That was the good thing with them; when they argued, it never lasted long.
 

A waiter appeared in front of them and Marie jumped back. It was like he'd sprung from nowhere.
 

For a moment, Frankie and the waiter stared at one another before Frankie said, "Where did
you
come from?"

The waiter didn't respond.

The silence hung for a second before Frankie said, "The Trollope party? Are they here yet?"

With his arm across his front—a white towel draped over it—the waiter dipped a nod and walked into the restaurant.
 

As Marie followed Frankie and the waiter, her skin itched. Not wearing anything beneath the corset was really taking its toll but she didn’t have much choice. In this heat, she'd rather itch than wear another layer.
 

The room was so poorly lit, it was impossible to tell how large it was. Several twists and turns later found Frankie and Marie presented to the table. The waiter still hadn't spoken.

A loud cheer went up and Kitty sprang to her feet, shooing the waiter away with a wave of her hand. "Frankie! My darling! It's simply
delightful
to see you again. How are you?"
 

She kissed the air on either side of his face and Marie screwed her nose up at the smell of Kitty's sweet perfume. It wasn't the quality of the fragrance; it was the quantity. She smelled like she’d taken a bath in the stuff.
 

Kitty sat down, pulled out the seat next to her, and patted it as she bestowed a horsey smile on Frankie.

A quick glance at Marie and Frankie sat down on it.

There was a seat to Frankie's left, which Marie pulled out herself and dropped onto. If she looked at Frankie or Kitty, or anyone else for that matter, she was going to swing for them. Instead, she picked up the digital menu in front of her and ordered an orange juice; hopefully, no one would notice she wasn't drinking alcohol.

As Marie swiped through the options on the menu, the beating she'd witnessed on the way over played through her mind. She relived every wet crack of batons breaking bones; the shock still sat in her stomach like a rock as she wondered where the four men from the estate were now.
Would she be watching their fantasies on a screen next week? Were they even still alive?

When Marie tuned into the conversation around her, she had to fight the urge to head-butt the table. The inane and pretentious babble droned from Kitty's mouth, mostly, and went directly into Frankie's ear. Drifting away again, Marie looked around the restaurant.
 

The waiting staff glided between the tables in silence, communicating with nothing more than a dip of the head or a broad smile. It wasn't a law yet, but in anticipation of what was to come, most restaurants had already banned the workers from talking to the patrons. That was probably why Kitty chose that particular place; as kind as she was to Frankie, she was cruel to anyone else form the estate.