The Redeemers Read online

  THE REDEEMERS

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are the product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by TJ Martinell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  FIRST EDITION

  Published in Digital Format in the United States of America.

  The Redeemers

  By TJ Martinell

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  About the Author

  Prologue

  He clutched the door knob tightly, twisting it so that the mechanism clicked and turned.

  Her voice stopped him from pushing the door out. “Go ahead and leave! But if you do, don’t come back! You hear me? Don’t come back!”

  He wanted to turn around and reply. He was too consumed in anger to say anything. His quiet rage provoked by her prior words numbed him to the threat of her ultimatum.

  Pushing the door open, he walked outside. As he was closing the door, he could hear her desperate, embittered voice.

  “Just like your father….”

  Chapter One

  Carl Farrington looked around the Bellevue restaurant with a restless glance. Something agitated him.

  He could put a finger on it. It was a general sense of restriction and rigidity he sensed in the place. The environment felt constraining.

  He threw back his final shot and wiped his mouth. The bartender threw him another unpleasant stare. Carl would have had more respect for the man if he had approached him, tossed the napkin in his face, and barked at him to use it and not behave like a homeless bum. Such a direct approach would have earned his admiration.

  But that was how things were done. Another reason why he was leaving.

  He hoped Tom would agree.

  He had come early to prepare himself. It was going to be a difficult conversation.

  The two drinks Carl had ordered had worked their effect. He was relaxed. However, that unknown anxiety still pestered him like an itch.

  He peered at the old man on his right consumed in another coughing fit loud enough to drown out the disputing couple. Then he studied the bartender micromanaging another customer’s drinking habits. The bartender strode over to Carl and placed both hands on the counter. He gestured at the napkins he had tossed his way.

  “We have them for a reason,” he said.

  Carl was silent.

  “Why not use them?”

  “My sleeve works just fine.”

  “Didn’t your father raise you properly?”

  Carl glared at him with dark eyes, his voice low and harsh.

  “You’re not my father.”

  The bartender turned to yell at another customer trying to trick the waitress into bringing him another glass of wine beyond his legal limit. Carl felt around his coat for a crumpled pack, fumbled about to take something out of it, but then he stopped. He took his hand out and placed it on the counter, drumming the wooden counter.

  The brief scene with the bartender reminded him of how much he had changed in just a month. Before, he would have acquiesced to the bartender’s demand and profusely apologized. In fact, the scene would not have happened in the first place. His manners would have been immaculate.

  He chuckled quietly. He hadn’t been gone for that long, and already he found even the smallest restrictions intolerable. He hated the patronizing culture that assumed everyone was too young to run their own lives.

  It didn’t help him that even at twenty-two his face still conveyed child-like youth.

  There was nothing he could do about the alcohol limit, either, nor the blood test he would have to submit to before being allowed to leave the establishment. Federal law was federal law, and the bartender had the police on speed dial if anyone gave him trouble about it. Few liked the new policy regulating the legal number of drinks, along with blood tests. Fewer were willing to challenge it.

  Carl would have never agreed to meet Tom at the restaurant, had it not been for nostalgia’s sake. In high school, it had been their Friday night destination after football and basketball games.

  He checked his watch. If Tom didn’t show up soon, he would leave a note explaining where he had gone and how to find him. The bartender’s busybody antics concerned him, too.

  Carl felt a hard slap on his shoulder just as he leaned over the counter to call for another shot of whiskey. He immediately turned around and got off his stool, looking directly at Tom.

  His friend seemed tired, but relieved to be off work and see him again. The conservative smile on his face indicated he was enduring his job at the news site, but not enjoying it particularly.

  It was a good sign.

  After they had embraced and sat back down, Tom ordered a whiskey and slapped Carl’s shoulder again.

  “You scoundrel!” he chuckled. “I figured you’d have been long gone by now!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know; gone to the other side of the country, looking for new opportunities. There’s a lot someone like you can do.”

  “There are plenty of opportunities here.”

  the bartender poured a whiskey for Tom. Carl avoided the man’s gaze and hoped he wouldn’t suspect anything of their meeting.

  The two men quietly toasted and threw back their shots. The bartender found a way to chastise them, saying they had set the shot glasses down too hard on the wood counter. Tom went to apologize, but Carl grabbed his arm and shook his head.

  “Ignore him,” he said.

  “Figure it’s his place.”

  “He’s just being an ass.”

  “Then why did you stick around here?” Tom asked. “I was sure you wouldn’t after what had happened…”

  Carl looked away, hiding his scowl as he enjoyed the lingering taste of whiskey on his tongue.

  The entire dispute between him and the site’s Information Security Administration agent hadn’t lasted more than ten minutes. As he recalled it, his tone had only been mildly defiant. But ultimately, that was all it took for his life dream to die.

  Before he knew what was happening, he was being forcibly escorted from his desk to the front door by building security, unable to see the permanent blot forming on his record that would follow him wherever he went from there.

  He still had a bitter taste in his mouth over the whole ordeal.

  “I found other options here,” Carl said. “I didn’t like the idea of me having to leave. It wasn’t I who did the wrong thing.”

  He paused, then pointed at Tom as he started to speak, and said, “And you know it, too.”

  Tom sighed, put his face into his hand, and ordered another whiskey. “You know it didn’t have to end like that. You could have bee
n more diplomatic. If you had placated that officer a little more, he might have agreed not to edit the story.”

  “It wasn’t his story to edit. Not that way.”

  “That’s his job. You knew that when you took up the position.”

  Carl rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point. We were lied to about what they do. We were told their job was just to make sure nothing inaccurate got published. Modern fact checkers; that’s how they sold it to us. Imagine to my surprise, then, when I had them tell me that I needed to remove a part of the story that had nothing to do with facts, just the opinion of the person in the story itself.”

  “They said what he said was inaccurate.”

  “It’s an opinion! And it was my story, not theirs!”

  “You know I supported you as best I could,” Tom said. “If there was something I could have done, I would have. I wasn’t afraid of what might happen to me.

  Carl picked up on the trace of uncertainty. Tom feared that his abrupt departure after getting canned at the news site had been spurred by a sense of betrayal. Few things bothered him more than the idea that Tom believed he had anything other than total trust in him.

  “I never questioned your loyalty to me,” Carl said. “Not once. Had it been you in my position, I would have done just what you did.”

  Tom tried to mask his relief as ordered another whiskey. For some reason, he was always wondering where he stood with Carl. However, there had never been any sort of competitive streak between them. Amiably rivalry was a foreign concept.

  “What are you up to now?” Tom inquired, trying to lighten the mood. “You decide to become a programmer, or something?”

  Carl laughed, but didn’t answer. He was still divided over what to say. The long drive over hadn’t produced a good explanation.

  “Actually, I haven’t left the profession,” he said.

  “What? You’re telling me you’re still reporting?”

  “Not yet. I just got the job.”

  “Really? Which news site?”

  Carl grinned. “What news site?”

  Knitting his brows, Tom studied Carl’s face to see if it would reveal the truth. He couldn’t hide his mischievous grin, but it concealed his thoughts well.

  Slowly, a suspicious frown formed on Tom’s face.

  “Did this news agency know about your record?” he asked.

  “Yes. It was part of the reason they hired me.”

  “What kind of news agency would do that?”

  “The type that is looking for reporters like me.”

  “And which ones are those?”

  Carl took out his phone and brought up the Internet browser. He then entered a national news site’s front page and clicked on one of the top stories. He then offered the phone to Tom.

  “Don’t read it out loud,” he warned.

  Tom scanned the headline briefly: Lawmakers approve de facto ban on newspapers.

  “Yeah? They placed that 95 percent tax on newspapers so they’ll all go out of business, right?”

  Carl kept smiling, turning his body to face Tom. The bartender was at the other end of the counter, immersed in a conversation with the waitress. He had to take the opportunity.

  “They didn’t close,” he whispered. “They just opened shop elsewhere.”

  “Like where?”

  “Places where they won’t get bothered. Like Seattle.”

  The city’s name had a prickling effect on Tom. His eyes widened as he pushed his shot glass aside and leaned in closer.

  “They’re looking for new recruits,” Carl said. “This newspaper I signed up at, they’re taking anyone who’s willing to join who also knows how to write. They have us go through some sort of training, but it hasn’t started yet. There’s still time, if someone like you wants to join.”

  Tom tried to speak, but it amounted to little more than mumbled rambling. He raised his hand to call for another drink, but Carl pushed his arm down.

  “Are you serious?” Tom asked. “If they catch you, they’ll do more than just kick you out of an office. They have these things called prisons, and I haven’t been to one myself, but I hear they aren’t the most luxurious resorts you want to stay at.”

  “I know the risks. They’re worth it. As it is, I’ll never want to come back here.”

  “Why? Are things so bad here to go live in a half-wrecked hellhole overrun with the scum of the earth?”

  “You don’t know how bad it is here until you’ve gone there,” Carl replied. “I can barely stand it here, as it is. Can you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you happy here?”

  Tom seemed surprised at himself when he didn’t answer right away. He scratched the thin, static hair on his head and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”

  Carl gestured toward the front window. Outside a heavy downpour had arrived, and the people on the street were running to get under cover.

  “The society is unhappy, because it’s unfree,” he said. “You don’t decide anything. Somehow else decides everything for you. You don’t think anything of it because you’ve never known anything else, but that doesn’t keep you from feeling unhappy about it. Once you break out of that mindset, you realize you can’t stay here.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You’ll never be happy here. And besides, you won’t last long, either way.”

  Tom folded his arms. “How so?”

  “Sooner or later, you’ll do as I did. They’ll try to censor you. You’ll tell the ISA to go to hell. Then they’ll throw you out like they did me. Where will you go then?”

  He let Tom think it over as he gathered his coat and hat from the coat hanger at the end of the bar counter. He threw his coat on and buttoned it up, holding his hat at his side. Tom finally raised his head in concern.

  “What about your mother?” he asked.

  “What about her?”

  Tom didn’t push it. He had heard the stories, knew what kind of a woman she had become ever since Carl’s father had “left.” Tom had been orphaned at two and raised by abusive foster parents mainly interested in writing him off as a dependent, along with his three other foster siblings. He hadn’t had contact with them since he had struck out on his own at eighteen.

  “What say you?” Carl asked.

  “I’d say we’re going to die if we do this,”

  “Probably. But we’re sure as dead if we stay.”

  Tom smiled as he put on his coat as well. They called for the bartender, who reluctantly broke off with the waitress to ring up their bills and have them each submit to a breathalyzer. Once their samples came back under the legal blood alcohol limit, he processed their payments and emailed them the receipts.

  They headed for the door, but before they stepped out Carl grabbed the doorway, took a long look at their childhood table by the front windowpane, and then tore himself away. They made their way to the back of the building where Tom’s old Mustang sat parked by itself and piled in.

  As they were heading south, Carl directed them to the I-90 bridge. Though intact, it hadn’t been used since the 2025 earthquake had compromised its structural integrity. Some makeshift barriers had been erected blocking access but, as Carl had already discovered, they were easily circumvented.

  “What about my things?” Tom said. “I need to go back home for them.”

  “No. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Won’t I need my stuff?”

  “You can get new stuff there.”

  “That’s crazy. We’re going back to my place first to get my stuff.”

  He took a rough U-turn and headed north toward his apartment complex. A mile away from it, they sat at an intersection where the light was taking an unusually long time to turn green. Carl noticed his friend’s restless fingers drumming the steering wheel, his foot tapping against the brakes. His eyes wandered aimlessly, as though searching for something to latch onto.

  Carl’s voice was soft, but firm. �
�Tom.”

  “Yes?”

  “We need to go. We can’t go to your place.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if we do, you won’t come with me.”

  “Will you go without me?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  The light turned green.

  Tom’s foot remained on the brakes. Behind him, the cars honked. He casually eased off the brakes and drove forward, but as he entered the intersection he rotated the wheel hard to the left, performing another U-turn back in the direction of the I-90 bridge.

  They drove past the intersection to turn onto Carl’s home street. He turned his head slightly, then looked away in disgust.

  He could have endured the humiliation of losing his job, but not her response to it. The betrayal had been unforgivable, more than he could stomach.

  Suddenly, Carl realized what it was that troubled him.

  It was the reason he had to leave.

  ***

  They stood in the middle of the bridge, the long stretch between Mercer Island and downtown Seattle. They gazed at the contrasting waves on the two sides, one calm and serene, the other violent and turbulent. Up and down the dual bridges, water spilled through cracks in the concrete as though poured from a sieve.

  Carl walked up to the bridge’s edge and looked over the side. He then gazed west toward Seattle. The hillside offered hints of the darkened skyscrapers that stood like a black forest.

  “What are we doing here?” Tom called out, still sitting on driver’s side of his Mustang. “I’d rather get where we’re going fast before it starts raining again, since you made me leave my raincoat at home.”

  Carl reached into his wallet, producing his driver’s license, passport, Selective Service registration card, and Social Security card. He brought them over to Tom and tossed them out into the water. Bewildered, Tom rushed over to him and peered down into the water where the foamy waves had already consumed the documents.

  “You do the same,” Carl said. “We’re not going back.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “There is no going back.”