Susan missed Adrien

Susan missed Adrien now that he was away at school. She couldn't imagine he was having any fun at the boarding school.

It had happened on Thren's Street near the bakery. Susan had rounded up the gang and they had decided they didn't mind Adrien hanging about with them. There had been a few problems at first. Roger and Damien had been most vocal about their skepticism, but Adrien's quick thinking had saved them a scrape with Zephyr's gang. Now he was welcomed as a member of the family. On Thren's Street the gang had met up for after a scouting operation. Everyone was emptying their pockets in the alley when a gang of older boys had come up. The gang had fled but Adrien hadn't lived with them long enough to gain the fast feet of fleeing. He'd try to talk to them. All he got for it was being turned in for cutting school.

Now he was miles away in a Patriots school. She spat to think of him in that black uniform. If only Aunt Lauren hadn't been so far away. If only Susan had fought them harder. She climbed up the fire escape to her favorite viewing post.

She looked out over the Broken Bottoms. They lacked the glamor of many parts of the old city. Yet Susan felt as the sun set over the tenet buildings and warehouses that the glory of the old city might still be here. As she walked back to Granny's for dinner she contemplated what she would write to Adrien. It had been months and she had no way to know if he got a single one, or worse if he got them before others read them. She had tried writing in riddles. Adrien was younger than she was but he had read a lot. So she would take pieces of the stories he used to tell her and change them just a bit in her letters, hoping he would connect the fragments to leanr important things like the gang missed him(Christopher Robin went away to school), they had lost rights to the baker's alley to Zephyr's boys(the British hired German Mercenaries and took baker's hill), and most important Alice (she) was lost in the checkerboard (the world) till he finished the story.

Over dinner Susan listened inattentively as possible as Don expressed his joy over Granny's meatloaf. If she had been listening more closely she was sure her stomach would have curdled from the excess of complements. After dinner Susan left the crooning love birds on the couch and returned to the streets. It was a late twilight now as the green and yellow streetlights slowly came to life. She made her way down Lakken to the abandoned lot with the shed the gang used as a fort.

Mikey and Chris greeted her with cheesy smiles. They tried to get her to laugh but it wasn't working. She noticed they were sleeping more and more often here at the fort. That and the bruise on Chris' thigh were testaments to the return of their father. A man who only claimed to be truly happy when he was off fighting as a proper patriot. Every evening he'd pull his kids close and point to a letter of promotion framed on the wall commemorating a day he remembered so well. A day he claimed that was his happiest. Even though his wife still looked at him with hungry eyes and his sons would have thrived at the sound of a kind word. They were not part of his perfect soldier's life.

Out of genuine concern, Susan had brought 'borrowed' blankets and pillows for the boys to use. It was warmer now but the nights could still be chilly. When she had told Granny about them, Granny had offered to give them shelter. The boys were too tough for that. Roger and Damien at least could be counted on to make sure the stove worked in the winter and made sure the two never wanted for food.

As Susan fluffed a pillow, she wondered if Adrien would end up like their father. Could he be driven to put country and glory before family? No. He couldn't. He was too strong. He had to be. It would break her heart if he wasn't. On an old bit of propaganda poster she wrote him. She tore the paper to make it more square and scrounged for a bit of brown paper which she folded into an envelope. She addressed it and tucked it under her shirt for the long walk home in the wind.

A whish and several pings.

Whish, the release of steam from the valve overhead filled the tight space with warm moist air. It was Hammond's third week on the docks. In that time he had learned his way through the maze of alleys in this part of town normally a daunting task but what time he didn't spend with Don working on the docking mechanisms he spent standing on the highest rungs of those docks. His view of the city only skewed and darkened by the large black steamers that floated above carrying heavy ammunition.

With them above no matter how gloriously the sun shone the city took on a dark demeanor. He stood today on the eastern edge of the commercial docks his eyes trying so hard to see to the edge of the world. Kevin clambered up the nearest ladder.

"Been up here long?"

"Nah."

"I've got a message for you."

"Who from?"

"Her." He said it flatly as he lit his cigarette.

Hammond didn't want to believe it but the woman he had traveled half way 'round the world to work for was beginning to wear on him. It wasn't that what she asked was beyond him merely that for the past five months he had worked for the cause but felt no closer to his goal. If anything he felt lost and more alone than ever.

Kevin handed him a small envelope which Hammond haphazardly opened. Inside a plastic hotel key card looked up at him and a piece of yellow legal paper torn from a corner with a date and time written in Don's chicken scratch. He stuffed the contents into his coat pocket. He pulled his coat tighter around him. It was nearly April but the winter wind still hung close to the city.

"Let's get some food."

At Rita's, a tiny diner wedged under a dilapidated docking post and the hull of deceased steamer, the two men sat down a meal so greasy Kevin joked it could run the hydraulics for the entire fleet. Already on his second cup of coffee, Hammond pulled the card out of his pocket. It was blue and white with a silver data strip down one side. He knew the symbol on the card it belonged to a resort on the north side of the shopping district. He didn't see a room number and so pulled out the yellow piece of paper. What he had previously assumed was a date and time turned out to be a string of numbers.

"Kevin, what do you make of this?"

"Dunno. I took a peek before I brought it to you but I figured you'd know."

"You know you're not supposed to look at these things."

"You were going to show me anyway."

"Still."

"I know, I know. A cog in the bigger machine and the left hand can't know what the right hand is up to. I know."

Hammond tucked it back into his coat as the waitress brought another round of coffee and the check. As they left, Hammond slid his hand in Kevin's just for a moment, despite increasing security and propaganda against it. He knew every time they showed even the smallest affection for one another it put the whole job at risk. Even in this part of town you never knew if the girl across the way was a patriot or even the little boy kicking the can in the alley. Kevin seemed unaware of Hammond's pessimistic thoughts and smiling followed him back to Smokey's.

Big Charlie was upstairs when they got there. She eyed them up and down then put a finger to her lips. They went back downstairs to see Smokey. Smokey was 5'10" and pushing 360. He was a big man by all accounts but there was a softness in his eyes when he asked if they wanted a drink.

"I see you called the exterminator about the bugs."

"Yeah, so far not turned up much but the 'terminator' did find this hidden just above the dancing pole." He put a lump of melted metal and plastic on the bar.

Just under a wrinkle in the melted plastic Kevin could make out what was once a lens.

"Funny thing that. Jesse's the one that noticed it. Couldn't be caught taking it down so we staged a power flux on the whole block. Nearly blew out my sign, in front.

Big Charlie was coming down the stairs as the boys turned down another offer of brew. "Cleared 'em best I could. Doesn't look like they suspect anyone in particular just trying to find out who our regulars are. Probably got a big surprise over the Statesmen who come to see Jesse."

Smokey chuckled a good barrel of a laugh. Jesse was almost as heavy as old Smokey, had lips like they were once stuck in a vacuum, and to top it off his performance finished with him in a bad beehive wig with pastel tassels stuck to his nipples. Only Big Charlie had thought he had a right to show business. The funnier thing was Jesse had at least two Statesmen who came to his show every week. They paid to have the upstairs all to themselves those nights. They didn't acknowledge one another and tipped really well. They were part of the reason Hammond was rooming here at Smokey's. A secret like that could cost a guy his career which was a piece of information the widow had no problem turning to the Old City Movement's advantage.

The widow accepted their payments to prevent revealing their identity. Hammond met with the men prior to every performance acting as though he was simply clearing the room for the VIPs when in fact he was learning about the chain of command in this pass the buck world. During these stately visits Kevin was sweeping the gentleman off their feet with compliments, pouring beverages, and taking their envelopes full of cash and secrets. Hammond had always wondered what sort of things arrived in those envelopes and how much money actually exchanged hands.

Hammond and Kevin retired to the apartment. Hammond lit his cigarrette as they watched the sky out the tiny kitchen window. Kevin turned on the radio. The station played old dance music. Something that not only fit Kevin's sense of romance but was also unlikely to be thought controversial if anyone in the alley should here it. They danced a little. They talked a little. They avoided anything that sounded long term or concerned the work they might be asked to partake in the coming months. Hammond hated how ephemeral this all seemed. He knew that a raid at any moment could take Kevin away. He tried not to think about the widow or his work when he was with Kevin. But it was hard, Kevin had become his motivation now for fighting.

The sun was just crossing over the horizon in the east, when an exasperated Don appeared downstairs. "Timetable's changed," was all he would say.

Big Charlie went down to the cellar and returned with a locked box with a jointed handle. Don compared the silver box to the one in his memory. The notches he had scratched in the side were unchanged a good sign it hadn't been tampered with or replaced. He nodded and Big Charlie spun the numbers to a twelve digit code that released the top panel. She took the pieces of paper and handed them to Old Smokey, who in turn reached for the bar phone and made some cryptic calls, as Charlie headed towards the apartment. The box swung a bit as she took the stairs two at a time. She didn't knock but just put her key in the lock and opened the door. It startled Kevin slightly from his slumped position on the bed but Hammond had heard her on the stairs was almost to his feet by the time the door swung inward. He had known. Somehow he hand known. He had been unable to set his mind at rest. For the last several hours he had been awake watching Kevin sleep and pacing about the floor.

"Kevin, get lost."

Kevin looked first from the tense face of Big Charlie who had spoken so out of character and now turned to the pale face of Hammond.

"Go. The less you know the better."

Kevin had heard and part of him had understood. Something in him refused to move. His more animalistic hind brain perhaps, had taken in the scene and decided now was not a moment for leaving.

Hammond turned to face him. "Please, you're already up to your eyeballs in trouble, alright. Go. Please, Kevin."

It was the second please, the desperation in it, that got his higher self to pay attention and take control. Even though it was the right decision by all his inner accounting, part of him still wanted to be in that room with Hammond. He made his way slowly down the stairs and to Smokey. His brain filled with horrible scenarios as he watched the door to the back. Minutes later when Hammond came through thatdoor, Kevin was forced to turn away as he passed by towards the alley door. The look on Hammond's face was cold, hard, icy even. Kevin didn't have the strength to look and so despite the early hour he ordered a drink.

The wind had picked up outside as Hammond made a bee line through the maze of alleys. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he moved closer to the car that awaited him. A man with a blue hat and a blue suit opened the back passenger door for him on a long black car. It had dark windows and tiny flags of a nearby province on it. This was a Statesman's car. Nobody was going to pull them over not even as the car rushed towards its destination at nearly twice the in city speed limit. In the backseat, Hammond opened the lock box with the code on the yellow scrap of paper. Inside, he found a change of clothes. As he buckled his shoe and moved to readjust the dark wool coat he donned a new expression.

The clothes were richly made and the shirt was brightly dyed. He was a Statesman's playboy son now, and he needed to look the part. He ran his fingers through his hair and found tiny travel bottle of gel to make it stick. He looked rich, he looked loose. There was just one more thing he needed to complete the facade. In the case, there were several bundles of counted cash in all denominations. He stuffed his pockets and knocked on the glass that divided his space from the driver's.

"I need to make a stop." He pushed some money into the driver's lap.

They pulled off a main thorough fair towards a seedy looking part of town. The driver flashed his lights at a group of scantily dressed girls on a corner. Two approached the car. Hammond rolled down his window flashed some cash.

"Grab your friends. I'm having a big party with big spenders." The eldest and probably the wisest girl looked him and his car over before hailing the rest of the girls over.

Hammond's arrival at the hotel caused quite a stir. It was still early and most of the day staff had not arrived yet. On the ride to the resort he had encouraged the girls to drink as much of the car's stash of liqueur as they could. When they reached the resort he fained drunkenness with them. One glance at the flags on the car hand been enough for the doorman to be extra polite. Hammond shoved a wad of cash at him.

The hotel conceirge took the room key and led him up to the penthouse floor. All three of the largest rooms had been rented out. As Hammond called for more alcohol, more food, more women, the penthouse's other guests began to arrive. Including a thirteen year old girl with a 50+ entourage. She wore a purple fur coat that spilled out in a long train behind her. Her hair was a mass of perfectly groomed curls. Under her coat she flashed the concierge a glance ay an expense sequined dress low cut across the top and short in the hem. She moved with the air of self impoertance. Her body guards kept the hotel staff at arm's reach as the entire group moved towards the elevator. The entourage was a strange assortment of body guards, richly dressed peers, personal assistants, male and female strippers, and several men in business suits. As she stepped off the elevator and allowed member of her staff to light her cigarette, a man claiming to be her publicist and manager pulled the concierge aside.

"Her father, as I'm sure you're well aware, the Statesman wants to make sure she has everything for this little bash. We need you to make sure everyone has food and drink and most importantly a good time." The conceriege was busy all day as guests of the playboy and birthday girl came and went all day. He was denied access to the hotel's upper floor while the all day party was ensueing.

Big Charlie encouraged the drunken circus by well, inviting a circus. A dozen acrobats made quite a scene in his lobby before being shooed upstairs. The concerciege was most apologetic in telling the young miss, he could not think of a way to get an elephant into the elevator. She staged a tantrum to end all tantrums, until it was discovered that some one had snuck in a pair of leopard cubs for her birthday. Between the coming and going of animals, fire eaters, lion tamers, and hookers the hotel staff had no time to notice that Hammond had snuck off to the third Penthouse. From his wool coat he took out the long barrel and all the smaller pieces that made up the rifle. Methodically, he put the pieces together cleaning each piece as he did so.

Out on the balcony of the thirty storey building him leaned aginst the rail counting glass windows of the office building across the street. He looked at his watch, then down at the street far below. through the removed scope of his rifle he watched high end patriots get out of their cars and file into the building. It had taken months to get the information about this meeting.

The zoom on the scope allowed him to make out the definite faces of men in a boardroom across the way. None of them were his intended target. A heliocopter landed on the roof of the office building. No doubt carrying precious personages. He couldn't get a clear shot he'd have to wait till they were all in the office building.

A woman in a red skirt and suit was coralling the rest of the patriots into the office. Her hair was almost knee length and very dark. The business men wore black suits and red power ties. They all had matching lapel pins with red horizontal bars on them. She was directing their attention to a drop down screen when the first ping was heard.

The bullets Hammond was using were tipped to penetrate the glass without breaking it. The first target must have been asleep already because no one noticed as he slouched a bit more after impact. Five others, ping ping, ping, and then the presenter in the red skirt and heels before she could retreat into the hall. Hammond then took the gun back inside and disassembled it. Storing each piece where it had come from in the clothes he wore he went back to the party. In his absence a DJ had been hired and the lights lowered for dancing. It made his exit easier. He took the emergency stairs and then emerged in the alley. As he walked he tossed each piece of the gun away. He doubled back on himself several times to make sure he wasn't followed. Then as he moved further from the resort he began to discard each piece of borrowed clothing. It was easy to just take something from a clothesline and hang something in its place. He didn't go back to Smokey's.

As he stood in the shower of a cheap motel room, his mind drifted back to Kevin. It pissed him off more and more. He had lost so many already to this city and the damn patriots. He was mad at himself. What am I doing? He kept asking himself. If he had any sense he told himself he would take the rest of the money and Kevin and leave. But he couldn't he knew he couldn't. The damn black coats deserved more bullets for what they had done and were continueing to do. Regardless of what Hammond might want, Kevin had already joined the Old City. He had become a lily a man of the widow. Kevin in that way was stronger than he was. He wanted to go on living, to go on fighting, and he wasn't going to back down. Kevin hadn't lost his family to the patriots like Hammond had but who was he to tell Kevin he couldn't fight. Even as it broke part of Hammond's heart he knew that Kevin wasn't a man to back down. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. Hammond didn't think he was enough to love a man like that.