Pipe Dreams (3 page)

CHAPTER 5

Behind his metal desk, Detective
Ramirez rubbed his eyes. The office was his prison, the job his living hell. Sighing, he opened the file on his desk, unimpressed by its contents.

Name:
  Vanessa Kovalic

Race:
  Caucasian

Sex:
Female

Age:
25

Marital Status:
  Ineligible

Assignment:
Sorter.

Length of service:
One year.

Prior:
Administrative assistant

A list of questionable activities filled the dossier. Ms. Kovalic had been anti-social and did not attend approved recreational activities. He didn’t blame her for that. At best they were lame. At worst, they were mind-numbing propaganda. He avoided them, too. Skipping ahead, Ramirez looked for the cause of the investigation. On the second page, he found it. Recently, Ms. Kovalic had awarded food allotments to two injured individuals without reassignment, frequented a residence not her own, and had been seen interacting with the Fallen.

He unclipped the picture from the file jacket. Not surprisingly, Kovalic was a beautiful woman. That explained the administrative assistant job. Slipping the CD that accompanied the report out of its sleeve, he popped it into his computer. A black and white recording showed Kovalic squatting in front of a bench in
Union Park, then leaving. A few minutes later a tall, black man reached under the seat and pulled out a young, white girl. The girl was naked and bruised.

Disgusted, Ramirez let the video run through twice before putting the disc back in the file. The report revealed nothing of merit. A good looking woman had a friend, compassion, and balls. What kind of crime
was that? He looked at the photo again. Someone was after the woman, but he would never be allowed to find out who. Those kinds of answers were above his pay grade. Instead, he was expected to confirm she had fallen. Based on the paltry bit of evidence in the file, he didn’t think she had, but then who knew?

He glanced at the clock above the door. If he was going to talk with Kovalic
’s friend, he needed to get going. Picking up his notepad, he stepped into the bright hallway and grabbed a set of car keys. Watchers weren’t required to walk the inner-city after dark.

It was quiet in the cruiser. The rebellion had silenced all forms of communication, including the radio chatter that
use to fill the dead hours. The streets were empty. People no longer went out at night. Nightclubs, movie theaters, and restaurants were a thing of the past. Now, shopfront windows were boarded with gray painted plywood. On every block, huge red and white banners proclaimed the NSO slogan, “Where there is no need, there is no greed” in large, block letters.

Ramirez missed the energy, but he didn
’t miss the traffic. In minutes he sped past the unmanned guard shack and into the inner-city. In the early years, the Zone had been rigorously protected. Then, after the retaliatory purges, it wasn’t. Those violent attacks had cemented the new order and few dared defy the mandates.

The absence of light outside the Zone clearly delineated the flimsy border. Here, most buildings were without electricity and only a few windows glowed where the last of the older, single adults
still resided. There were no street lamps. As his headlights cut a swath through the menacing twilight, Ramirez fingered the forbidden cross hidden under his shirt and uttered a prayer.

At the Brownstone, he entered the vestibule and climbed the stairs to the second floor landing, where light was clearly visible beneath a closed door. When he knocked, Isaac Cohen opened it instantly. A warm smile creased the old man
’s wrinkled face and his watery eyes twinkled as he beckoned Ramirez inside.

Ramirez hesitated.
Watchers were usually greeted with fear and suspicion.  Peering into the room beyond, he frowned. The loneliness of old age was evident everywhere – faded photographs adorned the walls, knickknacks covered dusty shelves, and the air was thick and cloying. Isaac ignored his confusion and reached out a hand.

“Come in, come in,” he urged.

“Thank you, Sir. I just have a few questions,”

“Only a few? Could you not make some up just to stay a little longer?  I don
’t get many visitors these days.”

Ramirez couldn
’t help it. He returned the smile and followed the hunched, old man inside. A candle burned in a wax covered saucer on a low table. Pungent incense wafted from a large, oak desk darkened with age, and a prayer shawl was draped neatly over the back of a worn, leather chair.

“Don
’t mind the mess. Without the TV, what’s an old man to do all by himself?” Isaac said, gesturing at the piles of papers and books littering the room.

“Yeah, I read more these days, too. Turns
out, TV’s not something I miss.”

“Ah, yes. What we think we need is in our imagination most of the time. What do you miss, Detective?” Isaac cleared a section on the sofa for Ramirez to sit.

“I don’t know. Noise mostly. Energy. Life. The streets are too quiet for my tastes.” Ramirez sat stiffly on the edge of a cushion, his back upright.

“Can I offer you some tea?” Isaac asked.

“No. Thank you. Really, I won’t stay long. It’s just a few questions.”

“Always hurrying. That much hasn
’t changed, has it Detective?”

“Sir?”

“When I was your age, the world didn’t spin quite so fast. Things took time. We took time,” Isaac said. Ramirez laughed.

“My grandmother used to say the same thing. She went to mass twice a day and prayed for hours. My mother never figured out how she managed to do that and run a household.”

“So you are a Catholic?”

“Of course not. I am an officer in the
NSO.”

“Come, come my boy. The threads of our hearts are not unwoven so quickly. Catholicism and Judaism are not so different. The guilt alone would prevent us from abandoning
God, don’t you think?” Isaac eased into the leather chair and held his hands over the candle. “So what questions can I answer for you?” he asked.

“I
’ve been assigned to investigate Vanessa Kovalic. Can you tell me why she visits you?”

“Why?  Is there ever an answer to a question that big?  No, I don
’t think so. If you had asked me how we knew each other that would be simple. I was her family’s rabbi. I have known her since before she was born, but as to why she keeps visiting an old man who talks too much, that, my dear boy, is something I would not dare to fathom.”

“A rabbi? The new religion must be hard on you.” 

Isaac chuckled. “No, it’s not hard. It’s actually quite easy. You see, the new bible is just a symbol. It has snatches of Christianity, smatters of Islam, a dab of Taoism, and a bunch of new age nonsense. It is easy to remember and doesn’t hurt. God does not care what words we read aloud. He only hears the words in our hearts. Don’t you agree, Detective?

Ramirez didn
’t respond, but sitting with someone who understood his love of God was a miracle. The old man patted Ramirez’s arm. He hadn’t been touched in so long his eyes watered and a wave of gratitude pushed his heart into his throat.

“I used to love being a cop,” he choked, sagging against the cushions. The rabbi stood, smiling.

“You know, my boy, I think I will make that tea after all.”

CHAPTER 6

In the shower, Vanessa could
not rid her body of the filth. Rubbing her skin raw, she conjured images of her driver’s hands wielding first his belt and then his raging erection. The sour smell of his sweat clogged her nostrils. Even the scented soap could not mask its odor.

Still, the steady stream against her shoulders was calming and she stayed under it until the water ran cold. Then she stepped out onto the cool, black and white patterned tile of her bathroom floor. The water dripped into a puddle at her feet. She stared at the mirror, mesmerized by her long, wet hair and pale, sad face. She had been proud of her beauty, once.

Reaching for a towel, she slipped on the wet floor and fell. Naked on the cold tile, her thigh throbbing from the impact, she thumped her fist against the floor and howled. The tears cascading down her face did nothing to assuage her misery. Eventually, exhausted and shivering, she limped to bed.

In the morning, red-eyed and sore, she lingered at the window. Hercules had come and gone — his scrawny frame a sad reminder of her untenable life. Thinking of Isaac, her lips curled in a wan smile. What would she do without him? He had been her touchstone since her parents died and last night had been no exception. They had lit a candle, whispered an ancient prayer, and read aloud from one of the forbidden texts. His wavering voice had, again, returned a small measure of grace to her shattered soul. She shook her head, willing away the memory of her driver
’s violent lust, and vowed to be more careful.

On the street, Vanessa tried not to dwell on the loss of her morning
meditation in the park or the girl she had found under the bench. It was enough to be alive and walking. The day was overcast and cool. Devoid of cars, the wide street stretched like a calm, gray river. Outside the Zone, rollup doors or iron gates covered the storefronts. Once, they had dissuaded thieves and vandals. Now, pried open or hanging loosely, they were like broken teeth. When the wind picked up, their loud rattle got into her bones.  The body of an old woman lay against a gray building. Blue skinned, starved, and dirty, it looked more like a prop than a person. Vanessa shivered and quickened her pace. 

At the small Brownstone, she sat on the cement steps and waited. Across the street, the heavy green of swaying leaves soothed her. Parks had always been among her favorite places.
Time slowed and the world rested inside their orderly fences. As a girl, lying on the grass, with the city sounds muted by foliage, she had watched clouds and imagined her future. Those dreams contrasted sharply with her current reality.

The People
’s Protest had shattered everything she knew. Bedraggled hippies had spawned violence unimaginable, rendering the once peaceful city a war zone. Had the Blue Flu not simultaneously affected the mainland, the rebellion wouldn’t have been so deadly and the administrators wouldn’t have been able to seize the opportunity it provided to implement the NSO. Even though she had lived through it, it was still hard to believe.

She glanced at Isaac
’s door. He should have come out by now. Unable to wait any longer, she headed to the bus stop. He was not there and this worried her. Was he ill? He had seemed fine last night. She frowned, upset with herself. Why hadn’t she gone inside to check on him? On the bus, she missed his reassuring presence, a promise that all was not wrong with the world.

Vanessa found a seat, drew her narrow shoulders together, and stared out the window. The bus lurched into motion and began its wide arc around the Zone, picking up workers unfortunate enough to live on the edge. On the street, the patrols circled. They were vultures and she was carrion. Like Prometheus, she mended by night only to be torn apart each day. Averting her eyes, she stared at her hands, fingering the small tattoo on her left ring finger where she had been marked as impure.

At the sorting office, she wedged her body past the sharp knees of her fellow passengers.  Their eyes tracked her, but no one spoke. The older workers had retreated so far into themselves that nothing showed on their dull faces. In front of the building, a few of the Fallen drifted, vacant-eyed. Why they were allowed in the Zone during the day? Was it to remind workers that they, too, could share a similar fate?  Vanessa grimaced and hurried into the lobby.

Her office was located on the second floor of an old accounting firm. Today, her aching legs couldn
’t handle the stairs so she took the elevator. When the door slid open, she entered quickly, keeping her eyes down. The teenaged workers tittered with excitement as they talked about the games they would play on Sunday and the people they hoped to see.

She stole a glance at them, searching for evidence, but their faces looked ordinary. Her stomach knotted and she took a deep breath, trying to maintain a blank expression. Without first-hand knowledge, she would never have suspected the truth. These fresh, young kids were mutants. When they propagated, the mutation would spread. It wouldn
’t be long before the Zone was almost entirely populated with this new breed. As the Blue Flu continued to wreak its havoc on the rest of the world, the administrators were killing the last hope for the human race, and nobody knew.

Every day, Vanessa prayed the world outside would recover. If it did, the military would stomp out the
NSO and everything it had touched or tainted. Then, the drivers and administrators would scurry and squeal like the vermin they were in their futile attempt to escape. She would be here for that. She would watch it happen.