Chapter 13: Chapter 10

Colin slouched in his chair, the thick cushions squeaking beneath his weight, still wet from his shower. With beer in hand, he sipped quietly, glancing over at his rumpled coat, still hanging from a kitchen chair. He would need to wash it soon enough, he decided, before taking another sip. Later though. 

The dulcet tones of Walter Nightly screeched out from the radio’s speakers, “-and of course who could forget the delicious taste of tonight’s sponsor, David’s Pig-Stiqs, for all of your meat-eating desires, with thirty grams of protein and-” 

Colin tuned out the advertisement, eyes wandering over to where Caitlin slept, her breathing soft and steady. Reaching over, he turned the radio down, letting it settle into a whisper. She hadn’t seemed to mind the noise, but there was a certain level of decency she was owed, after all. 

Sleeping so peacefully, her face relaxed and no longer in its constant snarl, he could almost forget where she came from. Could remember where he had come from, and what he had lost. Shaking his head, Colin downed the beer, setting the bottle down next to the chair. The trash was too far to reach, and he didn’t want to get back up. Picking up his lighter, he rubbed the etching. A rose, a memento, a piece of his guilt. 

“I miss you still, damn it,” he whispered, slouching deeper into his chair, letting his head rest against the cushions. Closing his eyes, Colin fell asleep to the terrible jingle of Coleby’s Boxed Dinners. 

Get boxed. Get dinnered. 

* * *

They left early, Colin’s hair a disaster contained by his rumpled hat, his coat in desperate need of that washing. Neither noticed the smell though, the buggy’s insides overpowered by cigarette smoke and alcohol. 

Caitlin’s eye twitched in a constant rhythm, arms crossed, her usual scowl disrupting her features. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, a fashion recommendation from Sarah, and she fussed with it every minute like clockwork. 

“You don’t have to keep it that way, you know.” Colin smirked as she rolled her eyes. 

“I know that, but... she was so nice to me, and said that it would... that it would look good on me.” She pinched the end of her hair, rubbing it between her fingers. 

Chuckling, Colin readjusted his hat, “Well, Sarah is certainly the person to ask about that kind of stuff.” 

Nodding slowly, Caitlin looked down at her hands, the half-webbing stretching as she flexed her digits. “She’s pretty... and nice, and smart.” 

“Well, everyone has their own virtues. She just happens to be a bit more virtuous than the rest of us.” Colin shrugged, “I’m sure she has her own problems though, so try not to idolize her too much.” 

“I... I’m not... whatever, you wouldn’t understand.” Caitlin folded her arms back across her chest, putting her head against the rumbling window. 

Colin frowned, but held his tongue, letting the buggy’s rumbling relax him. Might as well enjoy the silence while it lasted, he thought. 

It was going to be a long day. 

* * *

Zone 18. One of the dozen mixed-residential/market districts, and a centralized point for the Slums’ petty crimes. Robberies, assaults and the occasional murder. Enforcers more openly patrolled the streets, showing off the variety of mutations they accepted beyond the ones exploding with muscles that stood sentry at scriptoriums and other government facilities. 

From the pedestrian and wholly unhelpful like cancerous boils, to minor defects like an extra finger, to those baring claws and fangs. Colin swore he saw a tail dangling from one of them, though the smog and blurring speeds made it difficult to be sure. 

The documents George had pulled pointed Mr. Letterman’s shop as residing in this area, but lacking its exact location. Thus, another scriptorium needed visiting. This one markedly smaller than the others. 

Lacking the grand columns and intricate finishings of older buildings, Zone 18’s scriptorium was a testament to the pragmatism of modern industrial design. Smooth walls rose into a cement box, no gargoyles or statues to give it an identity beyond the plaque still hanging above its door. The railing bordering the three-step stairs were black iron bars, without decoration or any indication that someone designed them. 

Only a single Enforcer stood before the door, the usual brute in steel plate holding a blunderbuss, though this one had a remarkably normal face. The kind of face you forgot the moment you look away from it, made memorable only by the contrast between it and their body. He grunted as Colin and Caitlin approached. “What do you want, suit?” 

“Too tired for this song and dance,” Colin flashed his badge, waving him off. “So just let me through, and save us the trouble.” 

Snorting, the Enforcer stepped aside, adjusting his blunderbuss. 

“Thank you,” Colin stepped past, Caitlin and the Enforcer growling at each other as they went by. 

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The usual chaos greeted them, neither giving the scene much attention, making their way to the stairs in the back. The layout was similar to the others, but instead of candles, oil lanterns hung equidistant around the building. This, along with the white tiles and beige walls, left the space far more illuminated than prior scriptoriums. 

Shoes clacked up the tiled staircase, still echoing around them by the time they reached the head scribe’s office. Tired of the routine, Colin walked right in, “Detective Colin Black, with the EPD. I require access to your records.” 

The head scribe, an elderly man with a patchy beard, shot up from his desk, drool sliding down his chin. “What? Huh? Ah, yes, the schedule, that’s... um, what’s...” One eye bulging from its socket, the other still struggling to open, the drowsy scribe took in Colin standing before him. “Ah, a suit. Yes, of course. Whatever you need. Go, just go.” His head dropped down to his desk, snoring loudly. 

Colin held his hand up, hovering over the man’s shoulder. “I... okay, thanks. I guess.” Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned to Caitlin, and shrugged. 

* * *

Butch Letterman’s shop, months abandoned, stood derelict. The deed had remained active, the building’s rent made, yet no one knew who was paying the bill. Not something anyone asked, as it turned out. The building lacked windows, its door solid oak, a hammer and wrench carved into the wood’s stained surface. 

Parking the buggy on the other side of the street, Colin and Caitlin walked with constant eyes on them. Through windows, from alleyways, and the open hostility that radiated from every set of eyes. Colin ignored the stares, while Caitlin growled and puffed up her chest at every provocation. 

“Don’t go starting anything. Last thing we need right now is a fight.” Colin grabbed the shop’s doorknob, it catching immediately as he tried to turn it. “Locked. Of course it is.” Pulling out his revolver, he aimed it at the doorknob. 

“What happened to not starting anything? Because that surely will, with not only this street but the next six down.” Caitlin shook her head, hands on her hips. 

Pulling the gun away, Colin glared at the teenager. “Got a better idea?” 

“I do, yes. Step aside.” Pushing him aside, Caitlin took position before the entrance. Tensing up, she bounced several times, her breathing becoming heavy. Launching up onto one foot, she kicked a spot only centimeters next to the door knob, the latch snapping apart as the door crashed inward. Hissing through gritted teeth, she tapped her foot against the ground. “See? Just... agh, just needed a... a woman’s touch.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” Stepping past her, Colin kept his gun at the ready, holding the door open as he searched for a light switch. A dial next to the door activated several fluorescent bulbs. Old and flickering, the bulbs droned with a constant buzzing, like a swarm of mosquitoes hanging over them. “Finally, somewhere down here that uses actual electricity. Though, it bothers me that someone is still paying for it.” 

Grumbling, Caitlin followed him in, wincing at the buzzing lights. “I prefer the candles. These are just annoying.” 

“You get used to it, I suppose.” Closing the door behind her, the two began searching. 

Shelves lined the walls, trinkets and clothing on display, each covered in thick layers of dust. In the middle of the sales floor sat a long table, carrying larger items: an old phonograph, a trio of burlap-wrapped torches, a collapsible skinning rack, and a chess collection with all the pieces, though clearly from different sets were some of the more notable items. 

“Looks like there was more going on here than just a bit of tinkering,” Colin dragged his finger across the phonograph, drawing a line through the dust. “Definitely hasn’t been cleaned recently, which begs the question of why anyone would still be paying rent.” Why hadn’t anyone broken in and stolen everything yet? he wondered. “Hey, you find anything?” He turned to see Caitlin pocketing a cracked watch. “Really? Right now?” 

She waved him off, “Nobody is gonna miss it, relax.” 

Shaking his head, Colin turned his attention back to the shop. A counter sat in the back, housing a plastic mat and old cash register. Holstering his gun, Colin vaulted over it, finding several cubbies housing boxes of tools and stacks of binders stuffed with papers. Grabbing a stack of binders, he tossed them onto the counter, opening one and quickly scanning its contents. 

Receipts, records, all bearing small notes next to names of customers and the items they either bought or needed fixed. Page upon page of endless record keeping. Efficient, boring work. Making quick work of the other binders, Colin found nothing, and scavenged the rest of the cubbies and drawers, finding squat and jack alongside the nothing. 

“Great,” pinching the bridge of his nose, Colin leaned against the wall. It pushed in, slowly, creaking. Colin jumped away, fearing that it would collapse, and him along with it. Turning to face the wall, he stared for a long moment, waiting. It didn’t fall over, so he put his hand against it, and pushed, nudging it inward. It didn’t move deep and was almost unnoticeable, but it moved. It’s hollow, he realized. “Okay, now that’s certainly something.” Taking a step back, he scanned the lines and pock marks scored into its surface. 

“You know the paint dried a long time ago, yeah?” Caitlin came up behind him, elbows on the counter. 

“Hold the jokes for a minute, something is strange here.” There, around waist height, a crevice carved into the wall, just big enough to fit a finger in. Gripping the hole, Colin braced himself, jerking the wall first to the left, then the right. Going right, the wall shifted, and pulled harder, jimmying it around. Eventually it unhooked from something on the other side and slid open, revealing a chamber beyond. I’m either very good at my job, or very lucky, Colin thought. 

“Secret passage!” Caitlin exclaimed, hopping over the counter, kicking over the binders and scattering their contents across the floor. “I’ve always wanted to see one.” Ducking under Colin’s arm, she poked her head in, squinting into the darkness. “Can’t see anything though.” 

“Could you be any more careless?” Grabbing her shoulder and jerking her back, he thrust his thumb over his own shoulder. “Go get the torches. I have a feeling we’ve just found our next lead.” 

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