VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS
Part III
by
Marcus Johnston
Copyright 2011
As Desiree strapped into the seat of the departing fire engine, leaving town was precisely what was on her mind. Before they hit the station, she jumped out at a stop light, and disappeared into an alley. After a moment or two of confusion, the engine pulled away, leaving her stripping off the heavy fire equipment in the darkness. Out of the alley walked the strangely dressed party girl, with the face of a firefighter.
The false dawn was just starting to appear in the skies and the thief managed to flag down a taxi in the early morning light. Desiree made a couple stops; first to pick up her stash of encrypted credit chits. She didn’t dare leave her treasure in a bank account and get asked uncomfortable questions by the Commonwealth of Virginia. The government wasn’t worth much to her, since she tweaked the nose of the law often enough. But even thieves respected the tax man.
While she was rifling through her secured storage bin, looking at the pile of junk she had acquired in her life, Desiree felt a tear run down her cheek. All the stuff, most of it worthless, was the history of her life. There were garbage bags full of stuffed animals dating back to her days in the crib to second-hand furniture that she inherited ever since she moved out of her mom’s house. The thief had upgraded her belongings once she turned pro, but they were still a part of her. Looking out at her meager collection, she said, “I don’t wanna leave.” Her lips betrayed what her heart was feeling.
But you know better, her mind reminded her. When a mark is blown, blow away. Getting sentimental gets you dead.
Adjusting her makeup, she pulled out an old lunch box, the last thing anyone would steal, and locked the storage door behind her. “Time to see what Cancun is like,” she told herself, in the empty hallways of the climate-controlled complex.
She left the taxi running as she got her things in order. “It’s your dollar,” the tired driver said as she climbed back in the cab. “Where you want to go this time?”
“The train station.”
“The train?” The driver was incredulous. “You know that’s on the peninsula, right? Downtown Newport News.”
“I got the cred if you got the time.” Desiree gave one of her patented smiles.
“I got the time, honey,” the driver shot back, “but before I go through the tunnel, I wanna make sure you’ve got the change.”
The thief shrugged and took out her most recent chit, plugging into the pay module. “How’s that tickle ya?”
The driver took a look at his farecomp and grinned like a gibbering idiot. “Honey, for that cred, I can take you all the way to California.”
“The train’s station’s fine,” Desiree assured him with annoyed satisfaction. “Let’s go.”
The Tidewater area stands as a geographic nexus on the American east coast. Covering the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay, it was in easy travel distance of Washington, D.C., as well as several major southern cities. Because of its convenience, it had plenty of military bases located there. The combed oceanfront of Virginia Beach also created a great tourist anchor for the region. However, despite its advantages, there was one major problem with the area—it was too damn big.
Despite the fact that most of the land was reclaimed swamp, there was no central population center. It was five suburbs hunting around for a city. So as people built new buildings, they spread out. Even with a spider web of interstate highways, crossing from one side of the region to the other took an hour. Because of Desiree’s extended side trip to her storage bin, she hadn’t made great time. An hour after she fled the mall, the thief was only as far as the tunnel.
The Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel was the link that the Tidewater had with the rest of Virginia. Crossing the James River was such a vast expanse that a bridge alone wasn’t enough. There were two manmade islands along the way, but they were there simply to anchor the tunnel. The tunnel let navy ships go in and out of the river as needed, while traffic flowed unimpeded. Most of the time. Unfortunately, as they reached the tunnel this time, traffic slowed down to a crawl.
Desiree
was already on edge. As they stopped, she leaned forward and pressed her face
against the bulletproof glass of the cab. “What’s going on?”
“Looks like a checkpoint,” the tired driver replied.
“This early? It’s not even rush hour.”
“Hey, I just drive this thing.”
“What does your comp tell ya?”
The driver checked his onboard computer and found the official reason for the slowdown. “Checkpoint, like I told ya. Escaped convict. They’re scanning ID’s.”
Desiree felt ice water go through her veins. “There’s a restaurant on the next island, right?”
“Yeah, sure, but…”
“I’ve changed my mind. Go there.”
“But…” the driver began to ask, but then thought better of it. After all, rich folks lived by their own rules. “Hey, it’s your dollar.”
The taxi pulled into the Bay Restaurant, doing meager business in the early morning dawn. Despite its picturesque vista, the place had been falling apart for decades. After traveling for hours to get to the tourist traps, the last thing anyone with money wanted to do was stop an hour away from their destination. So the sleepy doorman was thrilled to see any customer come in, even one as bedraggled as the one who walked through his door. “Good morning, and welcome to…”
“Yeah, can I get a seat on the dock?”
“Sure, baby, anything you like.” The doorman’s good fortune wilted the second the woman opened her mouth. The low-brow accent of her words told him he wasn’t getting a tip.
With considerably less enthusiasm, he walked her through the mostly vacant restaurant. The only other customers were the occasional losers filling a table, avoiding the dawn’s rays with their bloodshot eyes. The deck was clean only because it was hosed off. Otherwise, it was filled with permaplast chairs that had been bolted to the deck. That was the only thing which kept them from launching into the river by the hurricane winds that pelted the restaurant frequently. Desiree sat down outside alone—leaving the doorman standing there as her hair got buffeted from the wind off the James River.
The man continued to stand there. Finally, the thief looked up and asked, “Yes?”
“If you’re gonna sit here, I need to see that you got the cash.”
Desiree rolled her eyes. “Here,” she said, picking one of her credchits out at random. “Get me a screwdriver and a fried egg.”
The doorman touched the chit into his portable reader and confirmed its validity. Then he saw the credit rating. “I… I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll get your drink right away.”
She took the chit back unconsciously and said nothing. Her eyes unconsciously watched the trawlers sailing up and down the river side as she tried to relax.
“We got a hit!”
Feliz felt like hooting in triumph. Instead, he forced himself not to jump up from his seat, and relax. He sat in the plasticized leather office chair and made it his throne. He made sure to behave like the leader he was. Once the kingpin had got back to the hotel, he had moved into Manuel’s domain, violating the sanctum of the multi-screened, multi-comp’d electronic holy of holies, despite the assurances of his tech monkeys to keep him informed. The gang leader was fighting sleep as his daily routine was disrupted. He knew he should be in bed, but he couldn’t sleep—the woman haunted his dreams. So beautiful, he thought, a brilliant and accomplished thief. She was a tale from legend. I wish I could recruit her—with her skills, she could infiltrate megacorps, competing gangs…
But… she humiliated me, and the entire organization knows it! As desirable as she is, I must deal with her before the stories can spread. Honor must be satisfied… preferably before my father can hear about it…
With more calm than he felt, Feliz finally raised an eyebrow and asked, “Do you have her?”
Manuel paused before he responded. “No, jefe. She hasn’t crossed a checkpoint. One of our fake ID’s was accessed at the Bay Restaurant, Newport News.”
This time, the kingpin didn’t wait to get out of his chair. “You have confirmation?”
The Monkey King pointed to one of his chimps and suddenly the main screen showed the traffic jam caused by the bridge checkpoint. “Run it back, Luis,” Manuel calmly ordered.
The feed rewound, showing a taxi quickly appearing in the restaurant’s parking lot. The chief chimp simply continued the progression. “Stop—enhance.”
Soon a woman stepped out of the taxi and looked towards the camera. Feliz felt a tingle run up and down his spine. “That’s her,” he said, the whispered words were like a shout in that quiet place.
“Are you sure, jefe?” Manuel furrowed his brow. “I mean, the woman doesn’t...”
“I would know her if she was dipped in shit up to her armpits.” Feliz allowed himself a smile. “Which is not far from the truth. Send the all-clear; cancel the checkpoints. Tell our nearest team to move in and contain the target. She can’t escape us this time.”
“Si, jefe.”
His weariness started to take hold; with his reputation now secured, Feliz could no longer restrain his fatigue. “I’ll be in my suite. Inform me when she arrives.”
Desiree felt herself dozing off as well, with the liquor touching on her lips, and the cool wind off the river relaxing her. Then she woke herself out of her reverie as the sound of the traffic behind suddenly changed, whirring back up to full speed. She took out her charred compact and gazed into its mirror. Through the reflection, she looked back into the restaurant, and could see the doorman. Just then, several men in good suits walked in the door.
“Shit!” she cursed under her breath, and quickly looked for an escape. Apart from the door that went back into the restaurant, the deck was completely isolated from the island. The deck itself hung out over the river, with nothing but rock and water below. But there was a service ladder that went over the side. Without hesitation, she took her small pile of worldly possessions, stuck them into her coat, and vaulted onto the ladder.
It was a quick slide down, but it was far from safety. Of course, if she had any idea where she was going, it would have been a surprise to her. As Desiree looked down, there was nothing below her but contaminated water and a few rocks. She normally wouldn’t have stepped in all that polluted filth, but the need for escape outweighed all other considerations. As she reached the bottom, the thief slipped around the ladder and stepped on the rocks. Keeping her silhouette under the deck, she made sure that she was hidden from anyone looking down from above.
As disguised as she could be, Desiree looked around and found that there were plenty of rocks underneath the deck, buffering the artificial island from the waves around them. Carefully, she slipped her feet onto the rocks, taking her time not to slip. With each step, she hid further and further under the shade of the deck.
How long is this gonna last? she wondered. Those gang bangers are no fools. Sooner or later, they’re gonna think to check down here, and then what? What cute bit of tech are you gonna use to hide yourself then?
Desiree forced her panic to subside and looked out to sea. As she considered her options, they weren’t good; all of them had them left her stuck on an island in the middle of the James River. She could call another taxi, but they would still have the checkpoints in place to catch her. She held her breath as she heard the door above her swing open and footsteps trod upon the deck. There was some confusion, some moving around, but none of it was beyond a whisper. She felt her throbbing heart made more noise than they did.
Finally, the search party left, the door closed, and Desiree let go of the breath she was holding. Desiree realized that she had to wait… until something came closer to her position.
One of the trawlers that skimmed the surface of the river made its circuit closer to the restaurant. She took out her makeup compact and tried to signal the boat to come closer. Flashing the sun’s reflection back at the boat, she hoped to get the skipper’s attention. It’s a risk, she thought, as long as those Kings are up there. But if I don’t get off this island, the risk is much greater.
Sure enough, the little boat came closer to the restaurant. Desiree made sure to show a good amount of skin and stepped closer to the edge of the embankment. The trawler was the used car of the sea—with tires on the sides, patchwork paint, and a bunch of miscellaneous equipment lashed to the sides. The captain of the boat looked like the dictionary picture of a pirate, the pipe updated for a slow-release injector, made for those junkies for whom a morning fix just wasn’t good enough. The thief gave him her biggest smile and said, “Hello, sweet thing!”
“What’chu wat?”
It took her a moment to realize he was speaking English. “Look, I need a ride. Can you give a girl a lift?”
The captain didn’t seem all that impressed with the deal, but looking her up and down made him change his mind. “Pay?”
“Thousand to get me outta here.”
“Hngh,” the ship driver said in reply, and moved the flat-bottomed boat close enough for her to step on. The ship jolted against the rocks violently, the cushion of the tires kept the small craft from smashing into them. With some effort, Desiree managed to get on board only to fall onto the deck.
The second she was on board, the trawler scooted away, and Desiree shuffled herself over to the side of the boat. Keeping the tiny pilot’s cabin between her and the restaurant, no one could see her sail away.
Feliz slept better then he had in weeks. Stepping out of bed, he quickly made his way to the bathroom, and then showered himself clean. “Ahhh,” escaped his lips, and he soon left to walk into the room to meet his wardrobe. Everything was once again right with the world, until he looked at the clock. “Noon?!” The kingpin lunged for his wireless. “Manuel! I said to wake me once the woman was here.”
“Uh, jefe…” spoke an embarrassed voice on the other end.
“What?”
“The woman wasn’t in the restaurant, Inca.”
Feliz mentally counted to three and released the tension in his body in one breath. “It’s an island. How did she escape?”
“Unknown. She was on our screens, the team was there within minutes. They moved to intercept but… she wasn’t there.”
“Who did the search?”
“Lorenzo the Fish. He was manning the checkpoint nearest.”
“And he can’t perform a simple sweep?” The gang leader radiated disappointment.
Manuel sighed. “Of course he did, jefe, and he swears he checked every place in the restaurant and scanned everyone. Twice. Nothing left the island without a scan and nothing matched. She just…”
“…disappeared.” Feliz finished his sentence for him. “She has a talent for that.” Good enough to fool me and my customers for years. Dios Mio, what a woman! “Did you reinstitute the checkpoints?”
“Enrique did, jefe.”
“Is he conscious now?”
“Si, he’s right outside your door.”
Instinctually, Feliz stared at the door. Holding the wireless in his hand, he walked over to the door and opened it. Sure enough, Enrique was standing right there, looking far less refreshed than him, but upright. The Inca waved his cacique inside and the boss walked back. “So he is. Gracias, Manuel.”
“We will not fail you, Inca.”
Feliz shut off the wireless and sighed. “You already failed me twice,” he said to the air, and then turned to Enrique. “You look like shit warmed over.”
“It’s… been a rough night.”
His boss smiled warmly. “So it has. You have not failed me, Enrique. You’ve proven to be a man who’ll take a bullet for me. I thank you.”
“De nada, jefe.”
“I would give you the day off… but I fear, I need you more than ever.” Feliz walked over to his closet and found his suits, freshly pressed, and ready to be worn. “We can’t afford to search for this woman forever. I need this ended and ended soon.” Before the coronas hear about it, he mentally added.
Enrique nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to take the lead on the search. There is regular business that must be attended to, but I cannot afford this woman to escape my grasp. When you have her, tell me, and then I will attend to it myself.”
“Si, jefe.”
“Good,” Feliz replied, and pulled out a suit from the closet. “You may go.”
The boat was in no rush to get to shore, taking its time to extract its bounty through a strainer. There was a more technical term for it, something with lots of syllables and codes, so the river rats called it a strainer. It skimmed the top layer of the James River, extracting the hazardous chemicals from the water. Once in the jerry-rigged system, the captain could then dump the waste into a portable centrifuge and separate the various fuels. They could then be turned around and sold for a decent profit. It wasn’t glamorous work or the path to riches either, but you could be your own boss. Along the coast, freelance work was few and far between.
Desiree had been sitting on a rusty bucket, trying to stay out of the captain’s way, breathing through her mouth to avoid the toxic smell of the craft. As she watched the coastline creep by, her eyes clapped onto a landmark she recognized. “You’re heading to Norfolk?” she asked.
“Ya, pick’d up m’junk. Drop u’off at it.”
“Wait—I need to get to Newport News.”
“No fur a thou, dat fur sure.”
“What do you want? Two grand?”
The skipper just smirked at her. “Maybe ya git a lil’ closer.”
Desiree rolled her eyes and stepped closer. “Maybe I do.”
She walked over and put her hands around his scruffy neck. Before he got his lips close to hers, she attached the drug patch to his neck. One solid kick to the groin and the captain was down on the deck, weeping in pain for a few moments, but not for long. He was soon unconscious and sleeping uncomfortably.
The thief knew she couldn’t drive a boat, but she did know how to turn it off. The boat’s rattling engine died, thankfully wheezing for the rest. Then she simply waited and let momentum take its course. The course led the boat to slide towards the coast. Once it whacked gently against a concrete bank, she jumped off, and started walking away. “Should have taken the money, Stinky,” Desiree laughed, walking past the crumbling port structures, making her way to the nearest road.
She had already activated her wireless and called a cab to meet her at the nearest intersection. While she was waiting, it was time to make another call. Desiree changed her appearance to the whitest girl she could imagine, complete with dimples, freckles, and dyed red hair. Just a poor mountain girl dumped on the cold, cruel streets, she smiled to herself. Desiree wasn’t sure if it would work on Tom-tom the Troll, but it might buy her some sympathy points.
The wireless connected immediately. On the other end of the line was a pale man, paler than anyone had a right to be under an ozoneless Virginia sky. His broken-chiseled looks belonged in a biker gang; his clothes from a lost-and-found pile. “Yes? Oh… it’s you?” came a gravely voice, born of hard drinking and too much phenyl.
“Yeah,” the thief said absently, giving a silly smile. She played the lost innocent to an audience of one.
“You
encrypted?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind, just keep it short and sweet, Holly.”
“Uh, yeah… right,” the silly smile came back to her plastered expression. “Look, I’m calling in my marker.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Come on, Tom-tom,” Desiree pleaded, “I’m in real trouble this time. Could you help out a working girl?”
The pale biker didn’t seem that impressed. “’Round here, working girl has a whole other meaning.”
“You know I don’t play that game,” she answered, a slight pleading in her voice implying she might, for the right price.
“Spit it out, Holly.”
“I pissed off the wrong guy, Tom-tom. I need to… um, leave town.”
“Take a cab.”
“Tried that—he found me. Please, Tom-tom?”
He thought about it for a moment. “This better not be a free ride, Holly.”
“I can pay. Not much, but…”
“Whatever,” Tom-tom cut her off, “but I ain’t paying the cab fare. Get to the restaurant and we’ll talk terms.”
Desiree sighed in exaggerated relief. “Thank you, Tom-tom, I promise…”
“I ain’t promising you anything,” he clarified, “but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank…” Before she could thank him again, Tom-tom cut the connection abruptly.
Just then, the cab she had called showed up. It was heavily armored and had several weapons implanted in its scratched yellow paintjob. Desiree knew she had washed up on the wrong shore, but she had no idea how wrong the shore was when she stepped off the boat. The thief could only hope that the serious bad guys still had hangovers. A speaker called out, “You Mrs. Kenniworth?”
“Yep,” Desiree smiled.
“Stand still, I’m gonna scan ya.” Something rumbled deep within the cab, and when the ill-tuned weapons scanner passed over her, she felt queasy. The door opened with a hiss soon after.
The faux dyed redhead stepped into the overly chilled cab, noticing the spiderlaced armor coating it. “You know,” the unseen taxi driver said, “driving through the combat zones means double the fee.”
“I’ll pay it,” she nodded.
“Chit.”
Desiree was tired of walking around in these cash-first slums. As she inserted the creditchit into the payslot, she swore to herself, the second I get outta here, I’m gonna hit Barbados. Get waited on hand and foot. Maybe I’ll pick up a rich kid to pay the bills until I’m ready to work again. But I sure ain’t gonna put up with this again.
As soon as the chit was in, the comp read it as good, and the taxi didn’t wait to take off. After a few blocks, the driver asked, “So where to?”
“Great Bridge.”
The sprawling suburb of Chesapeake, the city south of Norfolk, was divided by a west-east canal that comprises part of the Intercoastal Waterway. On the north side is where all the respectable people live—those who can’t afford the high price of Virginia Beach real estate. The south side is where all those who can’t afford Chesapeake live; the neighborhood of Great Bridge. Named by someone with an overabundance of imagination, its inhabitants are much the same. To Desiree’s mind, it’s what respectable people would call “working class.” I’d call it a white ghetto.
Once the armored taxi crossed the canal bridge that gave the place its name, it immediately turned into a parking lot, half-filled with rusty cars and shiny motorcycles. Desiree extracted her chit from the taxi and walked towards the restaurant that had delusions of being a Victorian house. Or it would, if it wasn’t covered in solar sheeting and cheap neon. The sign wasn’t on, but even during the day, you could read the sign that proclaimed it to be the Tollbooth.
“Abandon all hope ye who enter here,” the thief laughed to herself, remembering a long lost remnant of her school days. “That’s what it should say.” Putting her game face on, she quickly put a little quiver in her step, and a nervous tick in her smile. With apprehension that wasn’t completely faked, Desiree stepped into the restaurant.
Contrary to what the outside looked like, the inside was quite nice, with proper clean tables and chairs and condiments. On all sides, there were great views of the canal and surrounding swamp... if you were into looking at it. In the middle was a giant bar that dominated all other things in the restaurant. It was clean as well, but had enough nicks and cuts drilled into its wood to be a lost Indian carving. At a glance, one could tell that this spot was where the train wreck happens every night.
This time of day, though, the bar was empty. The only people hanging around were a few leftovers from the lunch crowd sitting at the surrounding tables. Tom-tom held court at the bar, standing in front of the plastic liquor bottles, and staring at Desiree with eyes like a laser sight. “Took you long enough,” the Troll proclaimed as she stepped in the door.
“I’m sorry, Tom-tom,” the thief added a whimper to her voice.
“Now what’s so damn important?” The troll pointed to a chair at the bar and Desiree took it. The bartender took out a little flashy box, activated it, and skidded it across to her. “Scrambler. Talk.”
“I’m in over my head, Tom-tom.”
“I kinda guessed that, Holly.” His face hadn’t changed expression since she walked in the door.
“I need to leave town. Any way I can. But he’s got the bridges watched, probably the south roads, too. I don’t know… he keeps finding me!”
“Chit ID,” Tom-tom explained, one massive finger tapping the bar between them. “Any time you use it, your man’s got you nailed.”
“That would take real money, wouldn’t it?” Desiree gave him the doe eyes, knowing full well who had the money for that skill.
The bar owner shrugged. “Not really. Any good hacker could do it. You’ve been rubbing uglies with the techies?”
Desiree looked up at him and then down at the bar, saying nothing, leaving it up to Tom-tom to interpret on his own what he would.
“Hmph,” proclaimed the Troll, “didn’t take you for a Hack’s Hag.”
“Never said what he did.”
He sighed. “Whatever. I’m guessing whatever you’re using for cred is gonna send up red flags to your boy. Tell ya what. Hand it to me, I’ll get you out.”
“But… that’s my only…” Desiree cried a little; it was an optional extra on the implant. She rarely used it, but it had some effectiveness when applied at the right time.
“Holly, I see you’re in a bad place. But you’re asking me for more than a favor. You gotta pay, just like everyone else.”
“Tom-tom…”
“To be fair,” he cut her off, “I won’t ask how much is on the chit. Okay?”
Desiree reluctantly nodded, hiding the smile that felt like coming out. Her real identity was worthless to her now, especially since she had been fingered. So for the price of a secretary’s paycheck, she could get an expensive ride out of town. Slowly, she fingered the legal chit from her coat and slid it across the table. Tom-tom didn’t pick it up, just turned back to the liquor and activated the bar comp. When he turned around, the owner mixed a quick drink, and then handed it to her. “Amaretto Stone Sour. On the house.”
The thief felt a cold chill go down her spine. She only drank when she was expected to—part of the night job. “I… don’t drink, um…”
“Really? Your friend said you did.”
“Friend?”
On the stool beside her slid a rather familiar man, dressed three shades better than anyone should in Great Bridge. “Hello, Desiree,” Feliz smiled.
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