[REND] 11.1 - Marshy Rowy Reunion

Ice cream, ice cream, I scream for ice cream, I sang the old commercial slogan in my head. Although I super like ice cream, I’ve never actually screamed for one. On the way to our Marsh Row mission, our group—Johann, Everett, Deen, and I—stopped by a convenience store to buy snacks. Johann said it might take some time waiting for our contact to arrive.

That was how I had this cold cup of Melby’s ice cream. Chocolate fudge with brownie bits. Life was good.

“Why are you still not eating your ice cream?” Deen asked while nibbling on a green chip. Nibbling like a rabbit, not munching on it. I was supposed to be the rabbit, with my cute bunny teeth. I thought this’d be the day I’d witness Deen eating junk food, but the whole grain, low sodium, less fat, healthy bullshit chip she bought probably didn’t count as one.

“I like melted ice cream,” I simply said. Rule 5: Only eat melted ice cream. Even if I didn’t have this Rule, I’d still prefer melted ice cream, that perfect moment where it was a tad bit too thick to easily drink. If it were completely melted, it’d be just a drink at that point.

“Melted ice cream’s nice,” Everett said from the passenger’s seat of the van. This asshole had been trying to join our conversations for the past hour. “What flavor do you like, Erind?”

Wouldn’t you rather ask Deen? I thought, almost rolling my eyes. “Chocolate, I guess. I’m really fine with any, unless they’re too bizarre.” Once, I had seen wasabi ice cream. There was also a tilapia ice cream. No way I was trying those.

“What about you, Amber?” Everett asked, as expected.

“Hmm?” Deen glanced at me, sending a message through the best friend telepathic network. “Oh, I don’t eat ice cream. Maybe once in a while.” Then she smoothly switched topics. “Erind, have you finished the reading assignment for Monday?” She brought her law school notes along for the mission.

“Not yet,” I said. “I don’t read while in a moving vehicle, and you shouldn’t too.” I adjusted my glasses. “Bad for the eyes.”

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have earlier. But we’re not moving now. Want to read along with me?”

“Read along—what?” What did she mean? Like, we’d sit next to each other?

We’d have to if we were reading the same page. Even if I’d somehow subdue my hatred of physical contact, we’d have different reading speeds, and I’d be reading a rainbow page. Rule #18, not using highlighters, wasn’t some random Rule. My head hurt looking at all the lines with different colors.   

“The Core would probably fix your eyesight,” said Everett.

“Really? It will?” I didn’t expect that. There was nothing to fix because my eyes were fine. What I didn’t expect was the artificial Core healing present conditions. It’d be great if true. No more pretending I was half-blind while living with Deen.

“I used to have this scar on my chest,” Everett said. “A stabbing incident. Lived in a bad neighborhood, you know? Anyway, when I got the Core, the scar disappeared. If we’re talking just regeneration, the scar was already it. That was the… base appearance of my skin or something. I’ve had it for years. That’s why I think your eyesight’s going to heal.”

“Isn’t that wonderful news, Erind?” Deen reached for my eyes. I restrained myself from catching her hand and snapping her wrist. She touched my eyebrows like a weirdo. “It’s a silver lining to this situation.”

“Sorry,” Johann blurted from the driver’s seat. He had been mostly quiet since picking us up from outside Verde Hills.

“For what?” Deen asked. “The waiting time? You’ve already told us that your contact might be—”

“Sorry that you’re in this mess,” Johann said with some hesitation. “I’m sure you didn’t imagine yourselves to be wrapped up in something like this. You two have bright futures, Cresthorne law students, good families. Amber, you’re an heir to your family’s fortune. But you’re now tied to the organization that made the artificial Core.”

“Johann, I don’t think you—” Everett started to say.

“I’m pointing out the elephant in the room,” Johann interjected. “They should know that—”

“We know,” Deen said in a flat tone.

“No, no,” Everett said. “After we defeat the 2Ms, our mission’s done. I’ll continue to fight Adumbrae. But you two can return to your normal lives. I’m sure the Professor can remove the Core.”

Bullshit, I thought. Why would they let go of successful test subjects? On that note, if this Core would work to prevent Spooky Erind from taking over my body, I’d still have the problem of dealing with this Professor guy and his organization. We didn’t even know if they were really part of the government. They could also be something like a rival group of the 2Ms, experimenting with their own thing.

“Why would he, if it succeeds melding with us?” Deen asked what I was thinking. She then shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s just focus on what we’re supposed to do today. Are we in the right spot?” She looked at the empty street and a wall with cracks and layers of graffiti of all colors. “How long until the augs seller comes?”

“Er, he just messaged me that he’s coming,” Johann said. “Should be soon.”

“Ugh, I hate this guy,” Everett grumbled. I noticed his shoulders fall from released stress. He also wanted to stay away from the difficult topic. “He’s like Reo, cranked up to ten. Actually, that’s an insult to Reo. I don’t know how Johann’s friend had survived so long in this shady business.”

“Everett has met him before,” Johann said. “He might be… problematic, but he can be trusted a hundred percent. I’ve known this guy from way back, before my technician job with LEPD. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve bought… and sold… illegal augs before too.”

“This man we’re meeting is a member of the Tea Party?” I asked.        

“Not at all,” said Johann. “He’s merely one of the many bottom-feeder dealers. Keeps safe by playing the small game. I doubt he has met any of the Tea Party members. They’re all heavily augmented, some are more machine than man.”

“Cannons out of butts,” Everett said. “Reactors for hearts, multiple arms, you name it. I bet they have Adumbrae members too since they’re connected to the Red Island business.”

“Johann, will your contact be okay with us here?” Deen asked.

“He’ll be fine with Everett, even if Everett isn’t fine with him. He’ll drop his guard once he sees you two. This wasn’t my intention, and I didn’t ask Dario for this, but you and Erind will look like our, um, girls. Sorry if it came out wrong. I know this guy—he’ll be relaxed with girls around.”

“Okay then,” I said. “Deen will wear a facemask because she’s recognizable.”

“My sister’s recognizable,” Deen said. “I just look a lot like her.”

“And I won’t wear one,” I continued, “so Johann’s friend wouldn’t think we’re too weird. He wouldn’t bother looking at me, anyway. His eyes will be on Deen even if she’s wearing a mask.”

“Oh, shush, you,” Deen hissed, trying to pinch my sides as I parried her arms away.

Around ten minutes later, my ice cream had sufficiently to be consumed according to Rule #5. It was also that time that Johann’s contact arrived, parking his pick-up truck in front of our van and walking over. Johann alighted from the van and waited for the guy. This way, Contact Man would see Deen and me inside.  

What was Deen feeling about this? She was being used for her looks. Several times, she had ranted to me about people only caring about her beauty. But that beauty also came with a ton of uses and privileges.

“Hey there, Johann!” said Contact Collar, a pudgy guy with a tattoo around his neck partly covered by his popped collar. They did a sort of secret handshake routine. Could be gang signs. “Been a long while since we’ve seen each other. How’s the straight path been treating you?”

“Good, good,” said Johann. “The stability’s there. Consistency. The big change is that there’s no need to always look over my shoulder.”

“I hear you, buddy. My neck’s hurting from watching for any backstabbing dingdongs.” Contact Collar peered inside the van. His eyes locked in on Deen. He nodded and stroked his double chin as Deen focused her attention on the smudge across the passenger seat’s back. Contact Man said, “Seems like the straight path brings the girls, eh?”

Deen’s pissed, I though, quietly chuckling. I could feel the miasma of hatred coming out of her, thickening the atmosphere. She didn’t appreciate her role to be eye candy. Contact Collar’s eyes didn’t leave her body while he and Johann discussed business. Creepy fuck.

“I got all the stuff you want, Johann,” said Contact Collar. “What’s this new deal you mentioned? Stepping off the straight path, are we?”

Johann scratched his head. “Ah, yeah… An old client contacted me needing certain parts. I had thought of turning him down, but the money’s good, and I really need it.” He nudged his head toward Deen.

Contact Collar nodded. “I get it, man. High maintenance bitches. Money makes us attractive to them.”

Zero filters, this guy, I thought. Somehow, meeting different types of people fascinated me. It was like I was watching the Animal Channel again.  

Deen shifted in her seat but reacted no more than that. Everett, on the other hand, clenched his fist. I let out a tiny snort, disguising it as a cough. This was the most challenging thing holding back the laughter.

“I have everything you ordered,” said Contact Collar.

As Contact Collar brought over the augs from his truck, I ate my precious ice cream that was just at the right consistency. Johann chatted up Contact Collar about the goings on in Marsh Row, distracting him from asking questions about the augs. No need for it, really. Contact Collar was pretty distracted by Deen already. Deen was seething, and so was Everett. I just hoped that Everett wouldn’t ignite Contact Collar.

I heard something that made me stop slurping my ice cream.

“…police crawling all over the place because of two dead guys,” Contact Collar said.

Two dead guys? There should be many guys who end up dead around this crime-ridden area.

“Guys that we know?” Johann asked.

“I know them. Don’t think you do. They came here after you had gone. One’s named Dillon. Remember Sandro, controlling the Upper East Side? He’s gone now. Replaced by this bigshot wannabe, Overdrive—yeah, that’s what he goes by. Sells the hippest pills on the street right now. One of the guys directly under Overdrive is Dillon.”

Dillon is Corpo Slave, right? Dammit! The other dead guy was Beanie Twig.

Sure enough, Contact Collar mentioned Beanie Twig, who was actually called Fender. Contact Collar also described where they were found. It didn’t sound like the bridge where I threw them off.

River! Idiot me. River has flowing water. The current tore the bodies away from the manhole cover weighing them down, and carried them elsewhere. That’s why people dropped their victims in lakes. Or just have better weights, like encasing the corpse’s feet in concrete. Lesson learned.

“There’s a big drama going on now,” Contact Collar continued.

I listened intently while scooping goops of chocolate into my mouth. It turned out that Beanie Twig’s group owed Overdrive and Corpo Slave a lot of money. The story circulating was that Corpo Slave killed Beanie Twig. Then, Beanie Twig’s gang arrived and killed Corpo Slave. 

“Teflon, remember him?” Contact Collar said, probably talking about Tattoo Sleeves. “Teflon was a nobody back then. Got a nice, small-time operation going before this shit happened. Anyway, Teflon’s denying what happened. Says he wouldn’t throw his friend’s boy along with Dillon. Makes sense, right? I heard that they’re trying to get an autopsy report to prove they’re innocent, but the police keep stonewalling them.”

“They’re not family of the victims,” Johann said. “Normal protocol.”

“Teflon’s telling anyone who’d listen to help them look for a woman,” Contact Collar said. “She’s not from around here, but she was present the night they last saw Fender. Should be a witness. They say she has a red hood.”

I snorted on my ice cream.

“Are you okay, Erind?” Deen asked.

“I-I’m fine,” I said. “A big bit of brownie got stuck in my throat.”

Contact Collar left to get another piece from his pickup truck.

Johann poked his head through the van’s window. “Sorry about this, Amber. We need to—”

“I know my role,” Deen tersely replied.   

“We can trust my guy, a hundred percent. He can be just a creep at times. Again, I’m incredibly sorry.”

“Ask him to talk more about the woman with the red hoodie,” I said.

Johann raised a brow. “Why?”

“Don’t,” said grumpy Everett. “Wrap this up already so we can go. I don’t want to listen to that guy a second longer.”

“This Red Hood might be connected to the person who saved Deen and me,” I said. “I can’t exactly recall, but she may have been wearing something red. Maybe Teflon also knows something about her.”

When Contact Collar returned, he continued his story of Red Hood. Since Tattoo Sleeves couldn’t present his witness, Overdrive nabbed him and his gang off the streets. I listened intently as Contact Collar described the location of Overdrive’s base. Contact Collar gushed about it because Overdrive made some renovations to an abandoned building, and would often hold parties there.

“Man, I wish I’d be invited someday,” Contact Collar said. “But I personally don’t want to touch drugs.” He tapped his temple. “It affects my business acumen and strategic mind. I don’t do dumb shit like crossing Overdrive. At the very fucking least, Teflon should’ve hidden the bodies better.”

“And also came up with a more sensible alibi than this Red Hood,” Johann said. “Do you know nothing else about her?”

“Nah. She’s just Teflon’s bullshit excuse. Now, he’s going to pay for what he’s done. Overdrive’s holding a party tonight, but I don’t think Teflon and his boys are going to enjoy it.” Contact Collar took out a huge calculator. “Everything in order? For the payment…”

Tattoo Sleeves’ group would die later. What should I do here?

I’ll save them. Not out of altruism or whatnot—I didn’t have a single shred of that. I’d do it in honor of the memory of Beanie Twig, who tried to protect me from Corpo Slave. Beanie Twig did shoot me afterward, but anyone would in that situation. I wasn’t holding it against him; he had already paid for it with his life.

But Beanie Twig’s honorable act was yet unpaid. This was like when the kid of a rich family dies of a rare disease, so the family puts up a foundation to research the disease. I’d put out a Beanie Twig Charity Foundation. Our first charitable act was to save his friends. I had no idea where I was going with that analogy.

Later that evening, I told Deen I was sleeping early because I had a lot of stuff on my mind. She wanted to talk about it, but I was firm that I wanted to be alone. As soon as the house became silent, I hopped out the window.

I was wearing a red hoodie. This was different from the one I wore before.

Maybe I should have something more iconic, like a superhero costume?

A main character should be heroic at times.