Broken E-Book

Julie Steimle

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Everyone told Kinneth Green that taking a job at ConoTech was a bad idea--his friends, his girlfriend, old acquaintences in the Junks, and the priests at the Stone Cathedral--but Kinneth could not resist. The opportunity to earn extra money was nothing to the chance that he could have a closer look at the infamous 'black widow' of New Escon City--Lady Madeline Connolly. It was rumored that she may have murdered her husband (and former CEO of ConoTech Industries). It was also rumored that she had purposely used illicit drugs so that her son would be born with birth defects (The child was born missing both his legs, his right arm, and a lung), and would have to live on a respirator for the rest of his life. Both father and son and disappeared over a decade ago. But even worse, some people claim that ConoTech is creating mind-control devices and putting them in their tech.

Kinneth is there to find the truth.

But Lady Madeline Connolly, who has a taste for young men, rarely lets go of anyone she has gotten her hands on--and Kinneth is now in her sights.

Leseprobe

Julie Steimle

Broken

novel

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Copyright page

Copyright © 2015 by Julie Steimle. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the context of reviews.

Though based somewhat off of a real location—the events, businesses, and characters of this story are fictional. If any similarities to real events, businesses, people exist, it is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One: The Importance of Shoes

 

Though it is a little known fact, one’s life or death can be determined by the pair of shoes one wears. So many of us take shoes for granted, consider them banal—and yet people with fancy toe-pinching footwear call societies that run around bare footed savage. Abroad, people pay hundreds of dollars for a fashionable Italian pair. And in inner city areas, people had been shot for the kind of shoes they have worn. There are people who fill their closets to the walls with shoes with the desperation to have them match everything. Whereas there are others who need only one pair, which they wear down even to the last scrap of rubber on the soles. The shoes Kinneth Green wore were just as crucial.

His pair was nothing extraordinary—just the current fashion the boys wore day in and day out. But as he tapped his against the stainless steel base deck that rimmed the upper level of the open square in New Escon city, he knew exactly the benefits of wearing these particular shoes. The soles were thick, cushy and handier than even the makers of said shoes realized.

*Click*

He felt the small thumbtack sized tracking device shoot in to the rubber. Secretly he grinned, tapping the metal casing just once more as if he had a nervous tick.

*Click*

Another shot in.

All around the open square set inside the decorative railing were thousands of these little pin ticks, counted pieces of machinery—a security measure, the police said. A measure for control, the locals said. Everyone knew running, or skateboarding, or rollerblading, or skipping or…well, the list really was endless… If a pedestrian moved faster in the square than the city laws regulated, a pin tick shot out and tagged the offender either in their shoes or higher against the ankles. Then the cops watching the square came out and confronted the tagged individual, usually fining him or her. Everyone knew the reasons the city gave for these regulations. The number one reason was to curb crime. Purse-snatchers were easily tagged if they ran. It also maintained the peace of the square, keeping the reckless teenagers out of the square and back inside the skate parks.

From Kinneth’s vantage point, standing in the Escon city square’s upper level on the northwest side, he could see the clean, angular walkways in the green space below where a child dipped a bare foot into the shallow quadrangle pool, looking around to see if anyone was watching her. A man strolling with a newspaper tucked under his arm as he read from his smart phone, chatted through his mobile phone earpiece. Three schoolboys in ebony Trinity uniforms walked just below the speed level, laughing over their latest web comic. A flock of young ladies in matching school uniforms, their skirts just barely covering their backsides as they strutted across the decorative tile, listened to their ear radios with giggles. They tossed their hair with drifting eyes that caressed everything before them. And of course a couple policemen stood along the far railing. It overlooked the far green space. They nodded to every mother that marched over the perfectly laid tile dragging her child through the square as quickly as possible without breaking the speed limit.

Kinneth gleaned the view, taking in the visuals and sounds that surrounded him like a buffet of prepackaged sandwiches. Each flawlessly cut stone of granite resting in the square was set to the exact coordinates of the compass. Even looking at his feet, Kinneth could tell exactly which direction he was going. Perfectly flat planes, geometrically precise and rimmed with dulled stainless steel railing, curved and arched for a comfortable lean as he gazed down into the grassy lower level. The serene greenness of grass in the lower level grew entirely around massive granite stepping stones, each set to cross the space to that quadrangle pool. One corner of the pool dumped into a lower step like a brook, falling and burbling down yet another step, and then another, and so on until joining a shallow canal. That flowed under the upper level to an outside fountain on the far green which was fenced off to keep it for aesthetic purposes only. The constant ripple of water filled the air with a continuous feeling of nature without the naturalness. How could it feel natural without even a weed or a twig out of place?

There were trees set at intervals in the meticulously shaved grass, each groomed, shaped pencil straight with roots buried so deep that Kinneth debated whether the trees were real at all. Of course these trees had stonework set around them to calculable perfection. None of these were to be touched. And as Kinneth looked down, sure enough that child dipping her toe in the pond got heaved up by another policeman who chastened her to keep out or else.

The lulling thrum of feet crossing the square and the continuous burble of water suddenly broke with the sound of tinny chimes. Kinneth glanced at his watch and adjusted the time. Above the quadrangle pond stood a vast clock that was part stone, part pipes dumping out water into the pond like a shower. The glowing hands always showed the correct time.

Blinking blearily at it, Kinneth stood up, lifting his arms off the iron railing. He would be late if he lingered any longer.

As he strolled towards the stairs that would take him down from the upper levels, he noticed the plaza’s policemen watching him. Kinneth repressed a smirk, continuing on with his head slightly ducked. His bangs fell into his face and obscured any view of it. But they weren’t really looking at him. Though his shoes had collected a few pin ticks due to his restless feet, he had not acquired them by breaking any laws. He knew the police pair considered him merely reckless, someone with a nervous twitch. It wasn’t the first time someone walked off with a pin tick without getting a fine. Occasionally a pin tick misfired. Not everything functioned to perfection no matter, how much they loved to pretend it did. As always, they let him pass by. Besides, Kinneth knew that the police secretly liked to keep track of where teenagers went to prevent any bad seeds from going off to the Junks. After all, he was a Green.

Hopping down the stairs, Kinneth quickened his pace into the busier streets. Cars rolled hastily along the roads, forcing pedestrians to cross on the upper bridges and lower tunnels to get to the other side of the busy streets. He preferred the bridges. Something about walking through open air rather than in the trash below made him more comfortable. As Kinneth hopped down the stairs with the crowd, he trotted past the magazine racks and onto the sidewalk. Though his eyes brushed over the headlines, it would be more of the same old thing so he didn’t bother to read beyond the first words plastered on the pictures. On three of them were images of famous political figures looking stupid. Some paparazzi had caught them in an embarrassing pose to match the even more embarrassing scandals. One showed the ever-present city scandal—Lady Madeline Connelly, a.k.a the black widow—in a slinky dress partying it up with another sucker she would likely suck dry before discarding. Another magazine showed more tabloid clues on how to lose weight, and yet another talked about discarded orphans used as guinea pigs for the newest genetic engineering studies. Only one headline reported something new. Kinneth paused and read it off of the newsprint magazine on display.

“President Jordan approves new civil regulation bill….” Kinneth emitted a small groan and shook his head. More laws ‘for peace’ as they liked to say. It just meant more controls.

Shaking his head, Kinneth hurried on.

He strode a great deal faster down the street than he would have been allowed in the city square, but then most people did. The thing was, for a person to reach downtown Escon new city on foot, one had to walk through the city square. He could have taken the rail if he lived within the new city limits, but he didn’t. His home was in an older building on the borders of the old city of Escondido and the new city Escon, and the best way to get to anywhere important was through the square. It was like the divide between productivity and the old world it was leaving behind.

Downtown Escon was full of high rises as if mimicking LA or New York City. The old city was still filled with wood and brick buildings no higher than five floors. Normally Kinneth let corporate Escon alone. But this day, Kinneth drew in a breath and marched straight to the corporate headquarters of ConoTech, a tall glass building that stood flush with the swept sidewalk where taxis let important people out and claimed new fares. A kid like him usually didn’t belong in such a place, and passersby gave him looks telling him so.

But Kinneth was not the hesitant sort. He walked straight up to the building, giving the nameplate just a glance.

The thick glass doors parted with a sigh when he stepped just a foot towards it. His heart did a jump, but sucking in more courage, Kinneth walked straight over the marble tile, wondering with a peek if these too were laid out perfectly with the points on the compass.

“Can I help you?” A puzzled receptionist with primly styled and sprayed hair stood a fraction of an inch from her chair, peering over the bulky desk.

Near the desk, a thick man in uniform with a sidearm shifted his feet, meeting Kinneth’s eyes as the lanky teen nodded through another drawn breath. Kinneth’s own eyes took in the perfect sheen of the marble that reflected light from the small lamps inset in the ceiling.

“Yes, uh. I have an appointment with Mr. Larsen?” Kinneth stopped, clasping his hands together as he also tried to keep his feet from twitching.

The woman blinked at him, clearly surprised, but she immediately set her fingers to her keyboard to check the schedule on her computer. Her eyes rested on a name. She blinked again, tilting her head before nodding. “I see. You must be Kinneth Green. Mr. Larsen will see you in the right-hand room. I will notify him of your arrival.”

Scrunching down, Kinneth looked back for a place to sit. He nodded to the woman, then backed off to a far pleather bench near the right wall where he sat down. Both his feet started to tap back and forth as he leaned forward clasping his hands together. He nodded once to the guard when he noticed the man staring at him. But mostly Kinneth waited in silence, listening to his taps echo in the spacious room.

“Kinneth Green?”

Kinneth blinked his eyes open. He looked up blearily at a broad man with dark trim hair who was dressed in a tight button-down shirt of dark blue. It had been several minutes wait, and Kinneth had started to nod off some.

Rising from the bench with a jerk, Kinneth extended his hand. “Yes sir. Kinneth Green. I applied for the open gopher position. Are you Mr. Larsen?”

“Chatty, aren’t you?” Mr. Larsen said. His mouth already leaned towards a frown.

Shaking his head, Kinneth cleared his throat. “Just nervous. I applied online but—”

“All final hires are consummated with a personal interview. ConoTech doesn’t hire just anybody.” Mr. Larsen briskly turned, gesturing for the boy to follow him into the side room.

Kinneth followed him inside then took the chair Mr. Larsen directed him to. Sitting down, though his hands tapped on the long desk in front of him, the boy smiled. Mr. Larsen took his own seat, firmly assessing the boy with a glance. So far, his frown only deepened. Of course, Kinneth looked like all the other boys—starting from his trendy sweeping bangs of rich cinnamon-colored hair that fell into his eyes, the trimmed back that cut near his skin quite high behind his ears. Fortunately, he wore no earrings and had no visible tattoos. Most kids from his neighborhood did—and it was not appropriate for a job like this.

“You were sleeping when I arrived. Will it be a habit?” Mr. Larsen said, lifting his eyes to Kinneth’s ordinary boyish face. It also looked like someone had slapped him once with freckles, the marks patchy on one cheek and across the ridge of his nose to the other side.

Going a bit pale, Kinneth shook his head again. “No, sir.”

“As gopher, you will do a lot of waiting, which means you need to always be on your toes,” Mr. Larsen said.

“Yes, sir.” Kinneth exhaled, regaining his composure.

“You will be at the beck and call of every employee that has second level clearance or above. Understand?”

Kinneth nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Now, are you tipped?” Mr. Larsen asked, leaning forward over the desk.

“You mean do I accept—? Oh! You mean am I data tipped? Yes, sir. A guy can’t go about without being tipped these days.” Kinneth then stuck out his right hand, extending his pointer finger to show the man the small data chip set just under his skin, the port exposed.

Mr. Larsen drew out a flat computer screen from a drawer. He turned the pad so Kinneth could touch it. Setting his finger to the pad, Kinneth watched the screen directly fill up with personal data, all of which was in detail about him from his dental records to his school files. The eyes of his interviewer scanned the screen as Kinneth pulled his hand back. He hoped, as his heart pounded in his chest, that the interview would be over soon with a satisfactory result.

Giving one nod, Mr. Larsen tapped the screen. “It says here you are already employed. Will this conflict with your job with us?”

Exhaling as that hope grew, Kinneth shook his head. “It won’t conflict. I sort files for the priests down at Stone Cathedral. I set my own hours there.”

Returning his eyes to the screen, Mr. Larsen muttered, reading aloud to himself. He paused on another note. “It says here you are attending a Trinity school. You’re a Green. How did you finagle that?”

Kinneth blushed. “I got high scores in the public school, and some of the priests at Stone Cathedral put in a good word for me.”

“But how are you paying for it?” Mr. Larsen asked.

Nodding to the computer, Kinneth said, “My first job pays for it.”

“So why are you taking this job?”

It was the question of the day, and Mr. Larsen was not the first one to ask him that. Kinneth sighed, lowered his head, and replied, “One of the priests is ill. Because he helped me, I offered to help him out.”

“Can’t they just fork over their coffers and pay for it?” Mr. Larsen lifted one eyebrow with a shrewd look at Kinneth’s mildly contorted face. Remorse made the boy look like he was begging for work rather than suited for it.

Kinneth shook his head again and said, “They took a vow of poverty, Mr. Larsen. They barely have enough to live on beyond what they already pay me for filing.”

The man just rolled his eyes, sitting back with an exhale that said he was neither displeased nor pleased. Kinneth waited for his words. What Mr. Larsen would say meant everything.

Looking over the computer screen once more, Mr. Larsen at last set it down on the table. He leaned forward.

“All right. The first six weeks will be a trial period. If you do not deliver satisfactory work, you will be terminated. Pay starts at minimum wage. Raises depend on performance. You will start tomorrow precisely at three PM. However, we will require you to set up independent study with your school to make up for the day shifts you must perform. Any questions?” Mr. Larsen clasped his hands together, interlacing his fingers.

Kinneth drew in a breath, thought, then said, “The application did not indicate a uniform for the job. Is there a dress code?”

Nodding with approval, Mr. Larsen rose from his seat. Kinneth stood up with him. The interview was over.

“Yes. Gophers should wear plain suits of either dark blue or black. That school uniform is sufficient.” Mr. Larsen gestured to Kinneth’s Trinity school uniform, glancing once at the shoes with an amused smirk at the thick trendy soles. “But make sure your shoes are comfortable. You will be on your feet all day.

“Oh, and…” He reached out towards Kinneth’s earpiece, a small black device no larger than a mobile phone ear attachment that hooked him up to his phone, radio, and gave him online access for any computer he logged onto. “This will have to be replaced with a company issue. You are not to listen to the radio during hours. However, the head of ConoTech wishes that all employees be set up with the latest issue earjack. We’ll be calling you on it.”

Kinneth blinked as a desperate stare formed in his eyes. His hands groped his hip pockets. “But I haven’t any—”

“Free of charge,” Mr. Larsen added with a smirk. He turned and walked to the door, leading the way out. “Ms. Connolly believes that it is a poor omen when her own employees are not equipped with our latest product.”

“But sir, my earjack is perfectly—”

Mr. Larsen turned to face Kinneth. The young man staggered back, already seeing this was not something he could argue about. “You will wear the new ConoTech earjack or you will look for another job.”

Kinneth swallowed, ducked his head and lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir. I look forward to it.”

They reached the lobby. Mr. Larsen turned one way and gestured with a flick of his hand for Kinneth to go the other.

“I will see you in my office tomorrow. Use the employee entrance.” He walked off past the security guard.

Alone again with the receptionist and the hefty guard, Kinneth gave his head one small shake, turned on his heel then marched straight back though the sliding glass doors and onto the bare street. That was it. The task was complete. Now on to other things.

Kinneth walked in a march back the way he had come. Heads turned, watching the Escondido old city teenager trot with a purpose, grinning a more intelligent look than Mr. Larsen had seen during the interview. He wasn’t meant to see it. Kinneth knew certain people preferred to think of themselves as the source of intelligence in a conversation. It was best to fulfill their expectations.

Like with the square. The policemen there had their expectations of the people that crossed through it. As Kinneth skipped every other step as he climbed into the square once more to cross it, he knew they would be waiting for him to behave recklessly, collect another pin tick, and continue on to places they figured a foolish teenager of seventeen would go. He was glad to oblige, actually. Obliging preconceived notions only made it that much easier to get away with things right under their noses.

So, Kinneth slowed down then walked across the square in a pace between a mosey and a stride. He kept his eyes on the scenery rather than the people. His head remained at that mildly abashed tilt, allowing his hair to perform its marvelous function of providing obscurity. Seven other young men had the same cut as him, and they walked through the square in similar postures—though some laughed and tossed their long mops to the side as they joked with classmates. Kinneth strolled to the railing near a corner letting his foot trip against one of the raised lamps that set the square in light when the sunset.

*Click* *Click*.

Two pin ticks jettisoned into his shoe. One hit higher towards his ankle.

Not even looking towards the cops as if he was unaware that he had been tagged again, Kinneth continued his journey across the square. He hopped down the first step towards the old city then continued down each step until he was out of the square. His pace neither sped up nor slowed. No one followed him.

Kinneth strolled for a block before turning onto El Norte Parkway. From there, he only walked a slight pace faster. His hands were in his pockets. His eyes passed and rested on the people and houses that he walked by, all the way until he turned left on yet another road, one leading into a more rundown area. Many of the apartments were losing paint. Some shingles. But the kindly-built mission style church stood as clean as ever, its upkeep as continuous as its monk-like residency.

It was not an exceptionally old building. It was new by twenty years, and most did not consider it part of the old city. This neighborhood was in the Borders as most locals called it. The Stone Cathedral was a sign of the struggle of its residents to keep life going despite the abandonment of the old city to the Junks.

The Junks were just five streets to the north. Unlike the borders and the new city, the Junks were filled with rundown houses and debris from old fires that the city government had given up on cleaning out. The new city, they liked to brag, was maintained and fire resistant. The underlying message was, for heaven sake just let the old city burn down. Of course those that lived in the junks were seen in the same light. For heaven sake, don’t remind us that you trash are still there. Kinneth didn’t live in the Junks. No self-respecting person did. Even people born there fled the Junks as soon as they could. Most of them fled to the Borders.

Hopping up the concrete steps of the Stone Cathedral with a lighter step, Kinneth came to the old wooden doors and pushed one side open. The Stone Cathedral got its name from its stony facade and stained glass. In reality it was concrete and steel, standing high as three floors. It housed the local church and about thirty-something ‘monks’. They were no more monks than Kinneth was an average teen, but these men had left their former lives with vigor, and pretty much gave up everything that dealt with their past vices. The difference with these men and real monks was their openness to people of wretched pasts, welcoming in everyone bereft of light and security of mind. Each one of the monks took on the name of ‘Christian’ and invented a name of a saint to go with it. But every one in the Stone Cathedral addressed the other as ‘brother.’

“Brother Bernard?” Kinneth stepped into the vestibule, calling out as he looked around. He crossed the foyer to the opposite doors and parted them, sticking his head inside. “Brother Bernard? Are you there?”

His echoing voice answered, bouncing off the walls inside the cavernous chapel.

Exhaling once, Kinneth stepped into the open church hall, treading the worn carpet tacked down between the pews, glancing up at the stained glass that glowed with light over the balconies.

“Saint Bernard? Hello?”

He gazed over to the dais where he saw a man in plain clothes bending over. The man lifted his head, adjusting his work hat. He wasn’t even one of the brothers.

“Woof! Woof! Bernard! Where are you?” Kinneth cupped his hands around his mouth, listening to the increased echo. He peered up at the balcony railings. The seats up there were just as empty as the pews below.

“Hey! You lose your dog?” The workman lifted his head, his face smeared with dirt. Wires were in his other hand.

Kinneth shook his head, waving. “No. I’m just looking for Father Bernard, Brother Bernard…or whatever. I’m looking for this man. Kinda tall. Tubby in the middle from eating too many hot dogs. Thinning on top….”

“Buddy, that about describes every monk I’ve seen in this place,” the workman said with a chuckle. He then gestured towards a door at the right. “Some of them come in and out from there. They might be having dinner. I smelled sausage.”

Nodding, Kinneth strolled down the aisle then passed the dais to the doorway he had indicated. But he paused and turned to look at the man. “What are you doing here? Can I ask?”

The workman emitted a snort. “Fixing the microphone. The head father said it keeps cutting off. They got mice. Chewed through the wires. Stopped an electrical fire from happening. They owe me big for that.”

Kinneth made a face. More money for the electrician meant less money for the monks. He didn’t respond and pushed the side door open.

Generally Kinneth didn’t enter the living quarters. It felt decidedly awkward. He crept in past the door then tiptoed down the passageway, whispering out, “Saint Bernard? Where are you?”

“Kin?”

Kinneth jumped, spinning around and grabbing his chest. He focused on the monk’s face before him, but it wasn’t his man. The letdown was just above crushing. Slumping his shoulders, Kinneth whispered with a glance over his shoulder. “Brother Ferrer, I didn’t need a heart attack. Where is Brother Bernard?”

Brother Christian Ferrer let out a chuckle, rubbing his own tubby gut as he gestured down the hall with his thumb. “Over there. But really, young Green, you should feel free to enter. None of this skulking you seem to feel is necessary.”

Making a tired face and meeting Brother Ferrer’s eyes, Kinneth merely replied, “You know I never go beyond the library and the chapel. Anywhere else is just….”

“What?” Brother Ferrer looked equally amused as puzzled.

“Creepy.” Kinneth said.

Brother Ferrer shook his head then waved Kinneth towards Brother Bernard’s living quarters. “Go. Go. Though I don’t see what is so terrifying about a monk’s living quarters.”

Hopping in that direction, Kinneth passed with another eye roll and hurried with a quicker step. He tried not to look into the monks’ rooms or at how their socks danged on clotheslines indoors with the odor of a rundown bachelor pad. Truth was, Kinneth knew the door as well as the hours his particular monk kept. He had just been hoping to catch the man’s ear so that he would not have to enter the fraternal domicile.

“Hey.” Kinneth rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it. “Saint Bernard. Woof. Are you here?”

He heard a snort from across the room.

“Woof. I like that.” A tall brown-haired man stood up from a poorly covered bed, the creaky springs amplifying the pitiful state of the room better than a string of smelly socks. Brother Bernard’s room was immaculate anyway. He turned and smiled at Kinneth. “I thought you hated the monks’ barracks.”

Replying with a similar snort, Kinneth tossed back his head so that his height almost matched the monk’s. “Only you would call them barracks.”

“What do you need?” Brother Bernard lowered his eyes with a genuine smile on Kinneth’s face.

“Nothing.” Kinneth smiled also, his eyes twinkling. “I just came to inform you that I got the job. I start tomorrow.”

The monk’s smile fell straight off. “You had better not be serious. I told you not to get involved with ConoTech. Any other corporation, any other job would be better.”

Kinneth gave a playful shrug, his smile warming with a twitch in the right corner. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“No one gets away from ConoTech unscathed,” Brother Bernard said, scratching his hands through his scalp.

The boy sighed, backing towards the door. “Well, Saint Bernard, I said I’d do whatever I could to help you out. Your operation is as good as paid for.”

The monk did not smile. The look in his eyes grew dead as he practically glared at the teenager. “I don’t want you to do this.”

Giving another shrug, Kinneth popped out another teasing smile. “Too late. Besides, you know I’m interested to get a peek inside. They’re issuing me a new earjack for free. I suppose Madame Madeline will also be equipping us gophers with her latest electronic gismos, which I’d like to see firsthand.”

“This is not a game.”

Kinneth blinked. “Game? Of course not. But I do believe that I have read enough about ConoTech to—”

“Enough?” Brother Bernard set a hand on Kinneth’s shoulder. “You can never know enough about ConoTech to prepare against that woman. Once you are in her clutches she never lets go.”

The smile on Kinneth’s face evaporated. Even his eyes looked more seriously at the monk. “Don’t worry. I’m just a gopher. Why would the black widow set her sights on a measly gopher? She wouldn’t. So calm down.”

Brother Bernard’s stern look did not change. Eye to eye with the boy, he said, “Promise me you will keep it like that. If they offer you a promotion, don’t take it. Say you have plans to go to school on the east coast or something.”

“I do have plans to go to school on the east coast, after graduation.” Kinneth’s smile returned. He walked out the door. “NYU. Remember?”

Nodding, Brother Bernard gave a faint smile. “I remember. I saw the acceptance letter. Just keep it that way.”

Kinneth gave a sharp nod. Already he walked down the hall. Brother Bernard lingered in the doorway, shaking his head only slightly before returning inside.

Two down, Kinneth marched as quickly as he could out of the monks’ living quarters, waved once to the electrician as he jogged out of the chapel. Then he hopped down the Stone Cathedral’s steps with a skip to his step. He had one more place to go then it would be homeward.

The Border’s border was the most interesting place in all of Escondido—new and old city. Along the border stood the most colorful nightclubs, diners, and hotels that people came from all over just to join the nightlife. Girls in skimpy dresses stood outside to pick up boys, some dancing to the music their personal earjacks played. Kinneth smirked when he passed those, joining a leggy brunette at the doors of the nightclub called the Spangler. Her lips parted with a gentle hello, wrapping her slender arm around his waist. Both strolled together, paying for entry at the door and giving their regards to the man who stamped the hands of the under-aged. They practically danced past the partition then onto the floor, Kinneth grinning as he cradled the small of his girl’s back. They danced until they found a table then stood waiting for drinks.

“Ah! Kinneth Green. How is the big city?”

“Evan! At last!” Kinneth reached out, clasping the arm of his past acquaintance, a man who was old enough to be his own father. “I was wondering how long I’d have to wait before you’d get here!”

Evan was broader built than Brother Bernard, with a more chiseled jaw. His eyes glittered blue with hidden pleasure. He patted Kinneth on the back before setting a small canvass bag on their table. “You didn’t have to wait that long. You got Marie as company anyway, right?”

The girl blushed, wetting her lips with a glance at Kinneth. Her wavy dark hair fell into her eyes.

Kinneth smiled genially, noticing the bag. “Are those mine? They had better be the right size, or I can’t walk out of here without drawing suspicion.”

With a snort, Evan reached over to the bag and handed it to Kinneth. “They’re yours. You know we save them for the exchange. How many you got?”

Shrugging with false humility, Kinneth scrunched down his shoulders as he shifted in his shoes. With a very small lean towards the back of his shoe, something silently exhaled in them with an indiscernible click. He did the same with the other one then stood tiptoe, shedding the thick soles of his fashionable shoes. Bending down, Kinneth picked them off the floor, also plucking off the pintick that stuck higher towards his ankle then stashed them into the canvass bag. He handed it under the table to Evan. As Kinneth dropped the new soles on the ground, fitting his feet into them with the correct taps and adjustments, Evan peered into the bag. The man’s smile spread as he silently counted the pin ticks.

“You got away with five this time. And you are sure they didn’t follow you?” Evan peeked towards the door without moving his head.

Kinneth snorted. “If they had followed me, they gave up at Stone Cathedral.”

“Clever.” Evan nodded, his grin broader.

“Not really,” Kinneth said, making sure the soles felt right. They didn’t slip off. That was all that he cared about. Eventually the exchangeable soles wore out and no longer reattached. That was when he had to buy a new pair. It was the latest thing in shoes. Instead of buying a billion pairs of shoes after wearing out just the sole, the inventors brought out this ingenious way of pleasing their customers. “They don’t start following you until you have picked up about eight.”

“And what do you do when they do follow you?” Evan asked, waiting for his answer.

Kinneth merely smiled. “I pay the fine.”

Marie grinned. “Kinneth is an expert, Evan. You should know that by now.”

Evan nodded, his own praise beaming from his approving gaze. “Yes. But with how often he frequents the Stone Cathedral, I keep getting the impression that he’s going soft. How is the old man anyway?”

Groaning as he hung his shoulders, he shot a sharp look to Evan. Kinneth nodded to Marie. “Let’s keep him out of this.”

Marie nodded, though her disappointment looked more than just slight. She glanced to the door also as if waiting for someone.

“My deals are mine alone,” Kinneth said.

“Yeah, but he warned you from us, right?” Evan said with a crooked grin. He leaned an elbow on the table, looking more amused with each second.

Kinneth did not seem of the same mood. His smile fell some. “Of course. He says you are bad news. But then, he is a monk.”

“Monk my butt.” But Evan reached for one of the drinks Kinneth had ordered for him ahead of time. He popped off the top then took a swig. Pointing with one bent finger, he added, “That old man should remember he owes us.”

“People to go to the Stone Cathedral to forget their past, Evan,” Kinneth said. He snatched up his own bottle, but did not take a drink.

“Ah, doesn’t matter anyway. We don’t really need dead weight slowing us down. The point is, you’re still contributing.” Evan took another swig.

Kinneth exhaled, lifted his bottle, paused with a small shake of his head then took a drink. When he wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, he said, “Actually, I’m about done.”

Evan halted. He lowered his bottle. “What’d you say?”

Nodding, Kinneth set his bottle on the table. “I said I’m near done.”

Already Evan shook his head, stepping back as if he had heard the most implausible news.