The Artful (Shadows of the City) (3 page)

“We can’t leave without him.” My stomach dropped knowing Smith might leave me no choice. I could only plead my case. Once Smith’s heart was set on something, there was no changing his mind. “You know Dodge; he’s having a laugh. But he’d never do anything too reckless―” I was lying, trying to calm Smith down. At this point, I could use all the help I could get, and I needed Smith to keep his wits about him.

“Dude, It’s Dodger! He’s the reason I stopped running with you guys in the first place, because of situations like this, he’s always asking for trouble. Hadn’t had this much stress since I last saw him.”

“Okay, yeah. He’s probably doing something reckless. But you were already here, remember? No way would he get caught.”

“Twist, I’m not worried about him getting caught. I’m worried about
us
getting caught!”

The door banged under the weight of a body. I ducked down behind the counter, and Smith ran over to my side. We both held our breath like foolish children. The commotion and the muffled sound of voices shocked my nerves. I strained to make out their words. The door was too thick, but it didn’t matter what they were saying. Obviously, it wasn’t anything good.

Smith eyed the window; he wanted to make a break for it. I couldn’t blame him. We both stared out as a dim ray of morning started to creep in, painfully slow, illuminating the room in a monotone gray. Smith made his way to his knees, ready for a sprint. I imagined he wouldn’t even bother with gear. He looked about madly, his eyes shifting from door to the window lingering with desperation.
Should I go with him?

Before I was forced to choose, the door burst open. There was a rustling, a grunt, a body flying over by our side, and Dodger crumbled to the floor like a heap of boneless flesh. It was maddening. I felt a moment of hopelessness. It shames me to say I was filled with an overwhelming panic; being gripped with the possibility of facing the unimaginable without Dodger was too much to bear. The thump his head made hitting the unforgiving tile sickened me. I had only a moment to despair before I realized the Suit was still about, probably stalking over to finish off his prey.

Smith and I were both hidden from sight; wild-eyed, he held tight his bag of medications. I held a shaky finger to my lip, begging for quiet. Foolish, really; Smith was never a talker to begin with. I looked over at Dodger’s prone body, covered in clothes too big for his lanky form and a tattered coat worn with age. The Suit’s steps grew nearer. Given how far he’d thrown Dodger, the Suit must be a mass of pure muscle. My body begged to run, but I was locked in terror. The lighting was dim; there wasn’t much to see, just the body of my best friend in front of me and the echoing sound of impending doom cautiously marching forward.

The giant came over, rubbing at the nape of his neck. He knelt down next to Dodge, checking for signs of life, his back to Smith and me. I foolishly tried to meld with the counter, hoping beyond hope I could somehow push myself through the wooden shell. Eventually the Suit would turn around and find us. Then he would kill us, or worse.

Smith tapped my leg and smiled. The gap between his teeth always seemed reassuring. The only time you could see it was when he smiled. Why was he smiling?

“Hey,” Smith yelled, and my heart all but stopped. I was dizzy and close to fainting. “We over here!”

The guard turned around with such speed I had to question if he was human. His mouth contorted into a stiff smile as he knelt next to Dodge, one hand placed on his chest. He didn’t make to grab for us; he knew we were trapped in his den. There was nothing we could do but struggle, and, from the smile on his face, he hoped we did.

“Check it,” Smith said, wiggling his fingers in a strange motion, as if they each had individual lives, dancing to a siren song. Smith smirked with pride. While the guard stared back in confusion, Smith pushed the palms of his hand forward, yelling, “Sonic Boom!”

A crackling sound echoed through the room and the guard shook uncontrollably, his jaw clenched, head jerking. He made an unintelligible sound before collapsing.

Smith was still smiling, wiping his hands clean in a theatrical manner. “Victory.”

“How the hell did you do that?” I asked in shock.

“With showmanship.” Dodger sat up and waved the guard’s taser. “Pulled it off him, while he was kicking my butt. Thanks for the distraction, worried you missed my signal!” He crawled over to Smith, grabbing his face between his hands and laying a big kiss on his forehead. “Beautiful, beautiful, Smith, fancy meeting you here!”

“Dodge,” I said. “We gotta get out of here. It’s gettin’ early. Grab what you can!”

“Not the way we came, I’ll tell you that much,” said Dodger.

I made my way over to the window, while Dodger haphazardly stuffed his backpack with supplies. Looking out, I laughed. If Smith had jumped head first, he would have made quite the mess. We would have to climb. Luckily, Smith had a couple of feet of rope, and so did I.

As soon as we hopped the ledge and shimmied over onto the hanging rope, the heat of morning baked our flesh. Smith and I put on our shaded goggles, and Dodge rolled his sunglasses down. He was first, me second, and Smith last. We had to make it down thirty-one stories, using a rickety rope that swayed and cut into my leather gloves.

Sweat dripped down my back and tickled the tip of my nose. I wanted desperately to be home.

Dodger was singing a dirty song, adding as many words as he could think of that rhymed with female genitalia. I envied his ability to view every situation as a grand adventure. To him, life was a video game. Death didn’t mean much; you could always start over. Except this was life; at times it felt like I was the only one who realized that. After our rope ran out, we had an arduous task of climbing down the side of the building by hand, using cracks, ledges, enclaves, and worn out climbing gear. It was always the most dangerous part of raiding a tower. But we were the Gutter Punks, and scaling towers was one of our strongest suits.

e marched through the dust and rubble of the street, dwarfed by the skeletal remains of decaying buildings to either side, the Empire State Building looming at our backs. The sun crept into the sky, illuminating the dying world in grays and browns. We were exposed and wanted to put as much distance as we could between ourselves and the tower. There weren’t supposed to be any guards out on the streets, but the raid had been a failure. They had our scent and would surely be out sniffing about. Dodger kept a steady pace ahead of us, hopping around and kicking rocks, not a care in the world. Occasionally, he would jot down a note in his worn-out journal.

Smith, however, cautiously inspected every burned out car or corner we passed, while keeping up the rear. I walked between both, like old times, when the three of us would raid places together, before Smith had enough of Dodger and decided to branch out on his own.

I was unsettled by the turn of events.
Why weren’t they giving chase
? It wasn’t like Suits to let thieves just walk away.

“Dodge, why aren’t they chasing after us?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he said carelessly, returning his journal to his back pocket.

“You don’t think it’s strange? Last time we got caught, they were up our asses for nearly half the day.”

“Didn’t your Momma ever teach you not to look gift horses in the nuts?” Dodge laughed.

“Mouth,” I shook my head.

“Guys!” Smith sounded shaken. “This isn’t right. It’s too quiet. There aren’t even any scavengers out. This area is always filled with scavengers.”

It wasn’t until he mentioned the absence of the bottom dwellers that I realized the streets were indeed empty. The scavengers usually were gone when the sun came up, but still there were always signs of life, a child running about looking for scraps or a shadow moving about the periphery. We passed street corners and marched through the darkness of alleys, and for all we could see, we were completely alone in the world. Not a sign of life but the three of us.

Dodger stopped; turning on his heels, he held up his hands, brought up a finger to his lips and squinted in concentration. “Who cares?” He laughed hard, smacking his thigh. He grabbed Smith’s nose and whispered, “Everyone fears the mighty Dodger!” With that, he continued on. “We got about three more blocks to the train station. You guys going to wuss around all day or you want to get home? Today’s a hot one. The weather man says, ‘Sunny with a chance of gray,’ you know, and, ‘radiation.’”

We didn’t have to question why the streets were so empty much longer. When we reached the corner of 34th and 8th, we spotted a small group of Suits. Eight we could see, standing idly by our train station entrance. One seemed to be yelling something down the stairs to another. We had no way of knowing how many others waited on the platform below. We were lucky to have noticed them first, as we were deep in conversation when we turned the corner. We barely had enough time to duck back around an abandoned clothing store before they saw us.

“What the hell are they doing here?” Dodger whispered, pushing me back further behind cover of the wall.

“This is too much of a coincidence.” Smith sat next to me, hugging his bag to his chest. “All those Suits on duty. I’m always careful to raid when security is low, and what are all of them doing hiding around your station’s entrance?”

“What you thinking?” I asked. “Someone set us up or something?”

“Thinking you set me up!” Smith snapped.

“How would we do that? We didn’t even know you were there!” I said.

Smith Glared. “I’m not dumb. We used to always raid the Empire State on supply drop days. I noticed you weren’t surprised to see me.”

“Nonsense,” Dodger said. “It’s just a bit of Murphy’s Law. You win some, you lose some.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

“I dunno; our hit was too big to get a slap on the wrist. That’s for damn sure. We can’t let them get the stash.” Dodger pointed his chin at Smith’s bag.

“It’s just some meds,” I said. “They never waste so many guys over that much.”

“Well, no point debating. Smith, chill here for a bit. Twist and I will distract them,” Dodger said.

“Wait, what?” I protested.

“Distract them, you and me. Batman and Robin like.”

“But―”

“After they chase me and Boy Wonder, head into the station. Get to the hold up and wait for us there. If it’s thick in there, just get lost ‘till everything clears up, yeah?”

“I can do that,” Smith said, clearly relieved we were taking the heat.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t too sure of the plan. I started to protest when Dodger grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the open, right into the middle of the street.

“Hey!” Dodger yelled, waving a double middle finger salute. “You guys fishing for Gutter Punks?”

They stared at us in awe, quite unsure how to proceed, clearly unused to an act of outright rebellion. Just to hammer the nail into the coffin, Dodger turned around, pulled down his pants, and spanked his bare behind.

“Come on, then,” he yelled, head between his legs. “Come get some!” He barely had time to pull his pants up when they gave chase. We ran down the street in the opposite direction of Smith’s hiding place, the sound of numerous footsteps stomping after us. My body wanted to break down, overrun with panic and nerves, but something about Dodger’s wild laugh made me feel safe. It was all just a game, wasn’t it? Maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t get hurt.