Consider Us Even_New Eden Series_Rexall Cycle

  CONSIDER US EVEN

  A Short Story

  * * * * *

  By JARRETT RUSH

  Copyright © 2010

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Consider Us Even (New Eden Series:Rexall Cycle, #0)

  CHASING FILTHY LUCRE

  WANT TO READ MORE?

  Marquez smashed the bottle against the edge of the bar. Bits of brown glass clattered to the floor, and he swiped what was left in his hand at Solis’ face. Solis shoved Marquez’s hand away, and he dropped the bottle.

  A pair of security bots spun in circles by their feet, the little red lights on their domed heads flashing. Solis kicked the bot nearest him, and the machine slid across the floor, smashing in to the leg of a chair.

  Marquez was distracted by the commotion and Solis put a fist hard into his opponent’s stomach. Marquez doubled over and Solis brought a knee into the shorter man’s nose. He dropped to the ground, and the other security bot passed by his ear. Marquez pushed it aside.

  He brought himself slowly to a knee then sprung at Solis, burying his shoulder into the older man’s soft middle. The pair crashed into three barstools as they fell to the ground. Marquez straddled the old man, his hair falling in his eyes in a sweaty mess. Solis grabbed a handful of Marquez’s dark mane and pushed him back into an upright position. He swung his left arm and crushed Marquez’s cheek. His head snapped to the side and smacked the old wooden bar next to which the two men were laying. Solis pushed Marquez off of him and the younger man lay on the ground in a wet heap, one of the security bots by his head and the other near his feet. In computerized voices they told him to stay where he was, that he was being detained.

  Solis reached into Marquez’s back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took the three American 20-dollar bills that were inside.

  “Now, we’re even,” Solis said as he pocketed the bills and headed for the door, a security bot tailing close behind telling him to not move any farther.

  Marquez rolled to his stomach and tried to say something, but no words came.

  Fight and all, Solis wasn’t leaving The Dudley in much worse shape than he’d found it. Dive bars lined the streets off the south bay and all the places were the same. Wooden floors. A beaten up bar against one wall. Tables across the other. A questionable crowd inside.

  Solis passed three more establishments just like The Dudley before reaching the corner. Overstuffed ships lined the other side of the street and they bobbed up and down on the rough water. The wind whipped in from the bay and Solis shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets to fight the chill. He wrapped a fist around his new found cash and headed for the hothouse a few blocks down. He’d only have to spend one of his new twenties on a hit that would last him all night. A more than fair trade.

  Security bots larger than the ones in the bar were patrolling the street and Solis told himself to stand up straighter. Slouch and you’re gonna look suspicious to these things, you idiot.

  One bot had a woman against a wall and she was fumbling through her purse for her ID card. The bot was counting down from ten and had already reached four. If she didn’t find the card by the time the bot hit zero she would be detained. Solis thought a good thought for the woman then felt in his back pocket for his own ID card. It was there.

  The address he’d written on his hand a few hours earlier had smudged thanks to The Dudley and the sweat and the beer. He thought he remembered where he was headed, but, honestly, finding the hot house wouldn’t be hard. There would be a crowd, especially on a weekend. Plus, he’d hear it. If it was anything like what was described to him earlier, the place was wired to the gills and the air around it would crackle with data.

  Solis hated using hot houses. It didn’t matter if they were set up in an old apartment building, a broken down warehouse, or an abandoned office tower, he didn’t trust them. Someone looking to make quick cash would come in, run miles of wire through the walls, hook it all up to a server that was pumping out unfiltered data then charge each addict twenty dollars to plug in, to get their fix. Once they drained an area’s addicts dry or the authorities got word of what was going on they’d pull out the wires and be on to another building and another population of junkies. Solis wished he didn’t have to use hot houses, but his feed at home wasn’t cutting it anymore. He needed the volume of data you got at a hot house to feel the flush of digital that had hooked him so many years ago.

  “Howdy, partner,” a man said as he picked up his pace to catch up to Solis. “Long time no see.”

  It was Daryl and he was wearing a cowboy hat with his bangs flaring out from under the brim. His boots were shiny and the hard heels made it impossible for him to sneak up on anyone.

  “Been busy,” Solis said, keeping his eyes forward.

  “I would guess so,” Daryl said. He put a hand on Solis’ shoulder but Solis never looked to the side. “I don’t suppose you were busy making money, were you? Because then you could pay me what you owe me. I don’t like having people owing me money, Solis.”

  It was just a hundred bucks borrowed from Daryl a few weeks ago to get him through, but in the end blown on magazines and hot houses. Solis had promised to have it paid back by this weekend.

  “No, not working unfortunately,” Solis said.

  Daryl squeezed Solis shoulder and the older gentleman dipped his arm. The hot house was close. He could hear the crowd and feel the data pulsing through the neighborhood.

  “I’m getting impatient,” Daryl said, turning Solis to look him in the eye. “I can give you until the morning, but I want my cash.”

  Solis nodded and rubbed his port. It was in his right arm, just above his elbow. It was a third generation military-issue unit that he’d paid to have cracked a few months after discharge. Once the filter was removed he could experiment with the data overload that so many of his army buddies had told him about. The warm sensation you got. The foggy head and the ability to forget everything you’d seen during your time serving. It had been twenty years now and Solis had never expected to be one of these people who was hooked, who was addicted. He never expected he’d be the kind of guy to beat up a friend to get his hands on enough cash for a fix.

  Dozens of people milled about outside the converted warehouse. Men and women, some begging for money. “Just a few bucks, that’s all I need. Just a little scratch that I can give to the man inside. You can spare a couple of dollars, can’t you?”

  Just through a raised bay door, a man in a light jacket and tan trousers sat in a folding chair, a cigar box on his lap. He took Solis’ twenty dollars and pointed him toward a larger room up a ramp. There, coming from the ceiling was a bundle of wires at least one hundred thick. Once the bundle hit the floor the wires spread out into individual feeds.

  Solis searched the wires for one that would fit his port. Once he found it he cleared a place in the corner between two young men who looked like they’d been there for a while. One had his eyes closed and a puddle of drool on his chest. The other was slumped against the cinder block wall. He was staring into the far off at nothing and Solis gave him a push to make a little room for himself. He gave the end of the wire a quick lick and felt the buzz on his tongue. He pushed the feed into his arm and the rush was immediate. Heat went up his arm and into his neck then down his back almost instantaneously. His body relaxed, and he slid a bit down the wall, his legs pushing out farther into the room. He felt his head dip and his chin touch his chest. He was on the wire.

  * * * * *

  Solis woke with a shake to his arm. It was the man from the door who’d taken his money the night before.

  “Time
to go,” he said. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Solis dragged his tongue across his dry lips and tried to swallow. He pushed himself up with his left arm and stumbled to a knee. His stomach hurt and his right arm felt like a thousand ants were crawling under his skin.

  He was one of the last customers left. A pair of men were pulling wires from the ceiling and winding them on wooden spools. Solis stepped over one customer who looked near dead and bumped into a woman who was struggling to find the door.

  The sun stung his eyes as he stepped outside the warehouse. He headed back toward the south bay and felt in his pocket for the cash remaining from the night before. He thought about breakfast. Eggs over easy. Rye toast with no butter. Orange juice.

  Workers were out next to the ships. Scrubbing the hulls. Rearranging cargo on the decks. Getting these hulking beasts ready for another run out to sea. The action around him helped to wake him up. His arm still tingled. He tried to shake some life into it but knew that it would be hours before he could use it again.

  A bell rang when Solis opened the door to Marly’s. He found a seat at the counter and a waitress placed a napkin and glass of water in front of him. She smiled and rubbed his hand.

  He smiled back and placed his order, shaking his right arm after she had turned away.

  After a couple minutes of sitting with his eyes closed, Solis heard the waitress slide his plate in front of him. Eggs over easy and dry rye toast. He picked up his fork and attacked his breakfast. Yolks broke and ran across the plate. He sopped them up with the toast and was lost in his food when he heard the sound of hard heels hitting the Linoleum floor.

  Daryl took a seat on the stool next to him and tapped the counter to make sure he had Solis’ full attention. “Howdy, bubba. I need my money now.”

  Solis finished chewing then explained that he didn’t have anything extra. “Like I said, can’t find work.”

  Daryl spun toward the front of Marly’s and pointed through the plate glass window at the ships. “All of those boats out there and you can’t find a job? Not one of those captains needs an extra set of hands.”

  Solis put his fork down and shook his head. Daryl smacked him on the back and apologized. Said that he hated to have to do this so early in the morning, but he needed Solis to stand.

  “Hate to do what?” Solis asked as he got up from his stool.

  Daryl quickly pulled his arm back then put a fist hard into Solis’ stomach. He doubled over at the middle and spit eggs onto the floor, some falling onto Daryl’s boots. Solis came back up with an uppercut that landed square on Daryl’s jaw, sending his hat flying. Daryl stumbled backwards and Solis put his foot into Daryl’s gut. He crashed into a table as he fell to the ground. A salt shaker broke into a dozen pieces and its contents scattered as it hit the floor. Solis kicked Daryl hard in the ribs and he let out a moan.

  Solis reached into his pocket and grabbed the two twenty American dollar bills he had left and dropped them on Daryl’s chest.

  “Consider us even.”

  The bell rang again when Solis opened the door to leave Marly’s. The sirens of security bots were getting closer.

  END

  CHASING FILTHY LUCRE

  AN EXCERPT

  By JARRETT RUSH

  Copyright © 2010

  I fought. Not by choice, but necessity.

  The concrete in the basement at Raul’s was damp, that wasn’t unusual. Neither was the smell of mildew. A crowd of no more than fifty stood in a circle around both of us. It was a slow night, and Berger and I had been at it for a few minutes.

  I bounced on the balls of my feet, my hands up near my face. Berger swung and I jumped backward. He missed by inches. I jabbed my left and bloodied his nose. He shook his head and blinked twice. I followed with a right that Berger blocked. He buried a fist into my stomach. I made an odd coughing and grunting sound. Sweat stuck my long-sleeved t-shirt to my chest. The soles of my black boots squeaked as I danced around the floor.

  The crowd was rowdy and the circle began to close. Berger and I moved apart to force the men to spread back out. We came back together after a moment and I moved in close and got him into a hold, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck and pulled him to me.

  “Nice shot,” I whispered into his ear. “Knocked the wind out of me.”

  “Couldn’t wait a couple of minutes before drawing blood?” he whispered back.

  “Small crowd tonight. Wanted to get them riled up.”

  Berger pushed me away.

  “Then try to bloody me again,” he shouted and the crowd whooped and hollered. Berger came toward me, his hands up near his face. He shook his left hand, just enough for me to notice, then swung. I ducked. An uppercut caught Berger on the chin. A right cross sent him stumbling back. The crowd pushed him into the middle of the circle. He wobbled toward me then fell against my chest.

  “Nice job, champ.” The crowd was shouting and I could barely hear him. “I don’t think I can make it much longer. Think they’d be happy to see me fall yet?”

  I raised my right arm and waved my hand in a circle. The crowd got louder and I said to Berger, “Yeah. We’re good.”

  I pushed him off of me and he stumbled to the middle. He struggled to stand and I hit him with a flurry of punches. A right. A left. Another right. A hard left and Berger’s head snapped back. He fell to the ground and the crowd shouted. A pair of men fought through the mob and grabbed Berger under the arms and dragged him into a back room. I followed, accepting congratulations.

  Once the door shut behind us one of the men waved smelling salts under Berger’s nose. He shook his head and his eyes blinked open.

  Raul stood up from the desk in the corner. He approached with two stacks of cash. Berger’s was bigger than mine since he took the fall.

  “Sorry it can’t be more, boys,” he said.

  “It’s alright.” I spoke for the both of us. “It pays the bills.”

  That’s why I did this, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.

  I sat with Berger for a few minutes after Raul left. He’d given me the keys and asked me to lock up. We were in the basement below his store, a shop that sold a little of everything but specialized in nothing.

  “Sorry that one was so rough,” I said to Berger as he pushed himself off of his back and onto his elbows. “I think I got carried away.”

  Berger smiled and told me not to worry about it. “I’ve taken worse beatings,” he said. “At least I’m getting paid for it now.”

  I agreed. At least we we’re getting paid for it.

  Berger offered to buy me a late dinner and we left. At the restaurant, he barely fit into the booth, his gut fighting to get between him and the table. He was embarrassed so I tried to say something to break the tension.

  “Before you were a fighter, what’d you do?” I didn’t know Berger. We’d fought in Raul’s league a few times, but he was new. Still working his way up. All I really knew is that he could take a beating. That night was the third time I’d laid him out like that.

  “Soldier,” he said. “A lousy one, but I was a soldier.” He studied the menu then laid it to his side. “When the government fell and they let us all go I started working the docks over at south bay. Did that for a while and hated it. Started delivering goods for a guy I met working there and that’s how I met Raul.”

  “You should talk to him about winning. You’re good. Your body blow really rocked me earlier. You don’t need to be his butterball forever.”

  Berger nodded and thanked me for the kind words. “So, what do you do when you aren’t in the basement?”

  “Whatever I can to make ends meet,” I said.

  Our food arrived – a club sandwich for Berger and a ham sandwich for me. They were served on thin sliced white bread and mismatched plates that were chipped along the edges and looked like they could use a good scrub. But they were what you’d expect from a place like that. The chairs and tables didn’t match either and the paint on
the sign in the window had dripped to the wooden frame.

  Berger took a bite of his sandwich then mumbled with a full mouth, “And what did you do before you got started fighting?”

  “I was a cop. And before that, a soldier.” I looked for the woman who took our order and asked her to bring us two beers. “These are on me,” I told Berger. He nodded his thanks then asked more questions.

  “That where you learned to fight? The military?”

  “That’s where they taught me how to throw a proper punch. Nobody teaches you how to fight.”

  The redhead sat two plain brown bottles on the table. They were a home brew and I took a long drink. It was bitter and I shut my eyes tight as I swallowed, fighting to get it down.

  “So, a soldier, huh?” I said to Berger and reached down to my boot. I pulled a pistol that I’d holstered to my ankle before we left Raul’s and put it on the table. “I guess you know how to use one of these.”

  Berger smiled and said, “Yes, I’ve used a gun before.”

  “How long ago did you shoot?”

  “Basic training.” He put what was left of his sandwich in his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of the home brew. “I worked the kitchen, and let me tell you, I make better sandwiches than these things. Better beer, too.” He slid his empty plate to the middle of the table and pulled his napkin from his lap.

  I chuckled and pushed the pistol across the table. “Shoot it a couple of times to get the feel for it again. I think I have a chance for you to make a little cash if you aren’t afraid to pull that trigger.”

  “Depends on how much cash we’re talking about.”

  “Help me and it could be plenty,” I said. You won’t get to quit fighting at Raul’s, but you’ll do OK.”

  “Help you do what?” Berger picked the gun up off the table and pointed it at the ground. He eyed the sight and pretended to shoot something only he could see.

  “I do a little freelance security work for a guy running data. He keeps it quiet, but I could use an extra hand.”