Leon sighed, his keys slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. Shifting the bags around, he awkwardly scraped them from the ground, and with some deft twists sank the key in its hole and swung his door open.
He burst past the opening into his apartment, stumbling and dumping his grocery bags. He growled in frustration, letting out a short scream.
It had not been a good week for him. On Monday he was fired from his job. Sure, Leon had been selling trade secrets through the dark web, but who could blame him with his low pay?
Someone squealed to the bosses and it was all over; he was thrown out. No severance, no pay for that week, and he was blacklisted from all reputable companies. His troubles compounded further when on Wednesday, his only two permanent customers ended their contracts inexplicably.
And, finally, today he had bussed across the city to spend the last of his money on groceries. His anger explode. He kicked a can of beans that had rolled under his feet.
He went to seek the only solace he could. He sought his computer. He marched into his bedroom and immediately froze.
A man, elderly with a crop of thin white-silver hair tied tightly at the nape of his neck and plain dark eyes set against tanned skin, sat on his computer desk.
“Good afternoon.”
“What the fuck? Who are you, how did you get in here?” Leon was frothing with rage. He almost ran forward, in a testosterone-fuelled assault, but held himself in check.
“No one would buzz me in, so I climbed the wall, came through the window,” the elderly man answered mildly. “Wiggled the window open. Now I’m here. My name is Gavriel Rencoux, and you must be Leon (name).”
“Get, the fuck, out of my home!” Leon shouted, pointing.
Gavriel raised his hands defensively. “Relax. I just wanted to talk business with you. I popped in to make sure you were legitimate, and I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“What are you talking about?” The mention of business had piqued Leon’s interest, and his anger was beginning to subside to curiosity; plus, he was getting distracted by hunger.
“All this.” He indicated the mass of complex machinery. “I don’t know much about computers, but I know enough to tell this is homemade, and it’s built well. Your boss said you were a genius, but like I said, I’m impressed.”
Leon’s anger had fully dissipated. He motioned him to get off the desk, shoving himself into his computer chair. Swivelling, he snuck his hand into his desk and pulled out a chocolate bar. He munched on it while the man left the desk, sitting neatly in the open window sill.
“So,” He said noisily through bites, “What do you want, exactly?”
“I’ve been looking for my son, and I’m hitting walls. This city’s too big, and there’s too many obstacles with everyone breathing down my neck. I need good information. Your boss told me you were stealing information and selling it. Is that a side gig for you?”
“Something like that. So you just need me to look up information online? We could work something out. But next time, you have to use the door.”
Gavriel smiled. “Deal. It wasn’t a fun climb up here anyway.”
“Who are you, exactly? You climb 11 flights up a damn wall, break in just to talk to me. You’ve got to be crazy, or desperate, or something.”
Gavriel shrugged. “You’re not a fan of the government, are you? Me and the government have some bad blood. They fucked me over, they imprisoned me, and I’m sure they kidnapped my son. At least, I’m going to find out. Nothing is going to stop me.”
A smile broke across his weathered face. “And you’re going to help me. My name is Gavriel Rencoux.”
Leon tossed the crinkly empty wrapper into the garbage can, noisily heaving in satisfaction. “Let’s discuss my rates.”
--------
Leon sent a request out to the cell network. It would take some time, he said. Each cell was made up of a small group of members, like him, that gathered information. Messages were relayed through the network. Information passed back safely this way, though it could take some days for the cell with the needed information to respond.
That’s how Leon explained to Gavriel a week ago.
While waiting, Gavriel returned to more conventional methods of gathering information. He started hitting the street: spending time in homeless shelters, making up excuses to hang out in police stations, riding the subway for hours.
He learned little bits on his excursion, but not enough, like having a few pieces without the rest of the puzzle. He mostly updated himself on the state of the city, the government, and the military.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
The population had ballooned since he had left those years ago; all told, it was over 12 million people. No longer a military base and beyond an overcrowded, run-down refugee camp, Reliance had blossomed into a true concrete jungle. The city-state’s economy was thriving. A new oil refinery was being built across the river, affectionately called the Little Bay. The city was filled with jobs and new opportunities.
All in all, it was a waste of his time.
Frustrated, as the evening turned late on a Friday, Gavriel left the fifth police station he visited in the week and decided to change his tactics. He had a new plan. He would drown his sorrows in alcohol.
The police station was well placed, close to a strip of avenues and streets holding the city’s seediest and most crime-riddled section. Searching the street up and down, he found the perfect place – an ugly little dive named The Gash. It’s garish neon tube light name, in bold multi-colours, burned brightly above the dark windows and interior.
He sauntered in as the noise slammed into him. He pushed forward through a thick crowd, their faces muddled in the dark. Strips of neon lights in bright, eerie blue and a backdrop at the bar made the room seem unearthly. The chatter was rough, loud, and mixed with crashes and uproars of laughter.
With a few well-placed elbows, he shoved his way through the thick press and came out the other side to the bar proper. The bar was small with only four stools and space for the bartender behind.
The young woman’s goth style and variety of studs on her face was enhanced by the unnatural blue light. “What can I get you?” She asked, shooting him a quick glance.
“Whisky on rocks, thanks.”
She poured deftly before he had finished speaking, handed him his drink and took his bill in one neat motion before gliding away to another customer.
Gavriel drank deeply, feeling the warm, familiar sensation of whiskey burning his throat. He sighed contentedly as the fuzziness seeped in. It felt good to let go, for a little bit. He drank again, gulping the last of it, and bought another drink.
All of his jumbled thoughts seemed to loosen. His guilt was overwhelming him; he was sure his son was trapped in the city because of him. Yet, he couldn’t overcome the fear that the vision was just a hallucination. Greater still was his intense dread that it was all real. If that behemoth was real, then what else was out there? What else would haunt him like that behemoth? It had seeped into his thoughts, threatening him in the back of his mind.
At the very least, Leon had not laughed at him. He listened to the whole encounter with rapt attention, confirming all the details with reassuring professionalism. He needed to know, to help him completely with his information search. Leon stated thousands of people claimed to see them every month, though he had never seen any.
Gavriel breathed heavily. He was pinning all his hopes on some slacker with a computer. He had no connections, no knowledge about the city, nothing left but a few rentals and a load of cash.
“Hey fella, you look down. Need a hook up?” The voice at his right was low but pointed. A young man with hooded eyes and a gaunt, stretched look had sidled in beside at the bar. His body, with a puffy blue vest, was disproportionate to his thin head and arms. Perched on his stool, he glanced side-eyed at Gavriel and smiled. His pupils dilated in and out chaotically.
“I don’t need drugs,” Gavriel responded. “What I really need is some firepower and know-how.”
The dealer’s face lit up. “Yeah, yeah! I can help you with that. My buddy Jahmet, he knows a guy. It’s all quiet-like, he sells good stuff, just what you need. He helped me out,” He winked, pulling back the hem of his vest to reveal a pistol handle.
A wide grin split Gavriel’s face. “What are we waiting for?” He said excitedly. He finished his second drink and leaped out of his seat.
The younger man remained seated, staring into nothing while his expression blanked. He shook his head violently a moment later, as if to reboot his brain.
Gavriel watched him with some incredulity as he stumbled out of his seat. He remained hopeful and followed his instincts, knowing the value of a good, under the table, arms dealer. They exited from the assault of noise, heat, and sweaty stench of a swarm into the refreshingly quiet and warm night. The street was dark enough that faint starlight could be seen over the Bay. The stars swam through the night, filling Gavriel with an unusual sense of peace as they walked on.
-------
The nondescript door in front of Gavriel was locked. Jahmet, the trusted informer he had met, had described the odd, scratched in symbol of three crossing waves, faint, almost invisible if you were not careful to search for it.
Tossing a look left and right, the alleyway was empty. Assured, he rapped his knuckles seven times quickly, three times slowly, five times quickly, and two times slowly. The door swung open. A heavy set black man, wearing a slick blue business suit and round sunglasses, beckoned him into the dark passage.
“Password?” He demanded.
“Five green geese,” Gavriel provided.
The porter turned silently, heading further down the passage, following a set of stairs to the basement floor. Gavriel hurried after him. The smell of mustiness and dust crept into his nose, heightening his sense of anticipation and carefulness.
The stairs creaked as they exited to the main floor. The basement was spacious and well-lit, clean, and filled to the brim with weapons, incredible and wondrous and vastly unusual items of every sort. He looked around as he went through. Pistols, machine guns, rocket and grenade launchers, shields and riot gear, knives, swords, a wide variety of explosives, medical equipment, other mechanical units he couldn’t fathom; the room was absolutely stuffed. His mind boggled at the sheer intake of merchandise.
The proprietor was obviously pleased at Gavriel’s reaction; the portly man, tall and stately with a shock of short jerry curls and a bright white teeth. The dangerous look in his eyes gave his smile the look of a predator. The image of a puma flashed through Gavriel’s mind.
“Welcome, welcome. It has been long since I have seen a new face.” The man had a thick northwestern African accent. “ I am Yusef. Please, your name?” His words were jovial enough, but his tone underlined the threat. Yusef did not like strangers.
“I’m Gavriel Rencoux. It’s a pleasure to meet you Yusef. I’ve been looking for help and I think you can help me along a little. I’m looking for my son, and I’m almost completely sure the military is involved.”
His tactic to use blunt honesty paid off. Yusef’s smile warmed, and he came up with a strong clap on Gavriel’s shoulder. “My friend, to be caught up with the military, that is so dangerous. You are sure you can afford such risks?”
“I can afford anything I need, Yusef. I promise you that,” he replied, catching the double meaning. He patted his pocket in clear indication. “I think you and I will be able to help each other very much.
“Do you sell information, too?”
Yusef laughed, clapping his hands together. “Whatever I know, I share with my good friends, my friends that know how to be open with their hearts and wallets. Be open with me first, friend, so I may be open with you.”
Gavriel smiled. “Let’s see what we can find.” After rummaging, he picked out several sharp switchblades, a long hunting knife, two --- pistols, five loaded clips, and two pagers.
Taking one final look through the jumbled mess, he stumbled upon a treasure trove of high quality grenades; compact enough to fit in his palm, the RN-10 had enough concussive force to blow out the walls. He picked up three of those; a little firepower could come in handy.
While walking, Gavriel explained his predicament. Yusef seemed sympathetic; he mentioned several of his own children and grandchildren. Had they not been surrounded by a stockpile of heavy weaponry and explosives, he might have felt completely at ease with the personable man.
Their discussion turned to business, but Yusef knew nothing about Gavriel’s son; he had little else to share other than his reassurance that he would be able to help more upon Gavriel’s return. He was ushered out soon after, followed closely by the stone-faced porter.
The sky above was bruised, a bridge of deep red clouds overlaid by purple stretching across the twilit sky. As the sun dipped further, the intense fire soured into a sullen indigo. It matched his ego; bruised, he was failing to find his son, failing to come to any terms of justice or retribution. Anger simmered on the edge and he pushed on, walking quickly through the cooling night to burn off his steam.