The Redeemers Page 4

  Frantic, Carl dropped to the floor and kicked at his hand, knocking the knife away and onto the floor. Disarmed, the recruit flew the door open and sprinted into the parking lot.

  “Get him!” Fred screamed, tossing a small revolver from inside his shirt over to Carl.

  He turned. The recruit was fast, but still easily within range.

  But as he lifted the gun to shoot, he hesitated. He hadn’t held a firearm since his father took him shooting in Eastern Washington at age seven. The object felt alien to him. He also didn’t know why he had to shoot.

  The revolver disappeared from his hand as Fred snatched it and pushed him away, then ran outside and fired.

  Carl grabbed his head as the sound slammed into his eardrums. He stood up and hurried out to the parking lot along with the other recruits. They found Fred finishing the deserter off with the switchblade.

  Tom stood next to Carl, sharing the same aghast expression. They had never seen someone die or witnessed a killing.

  Wiping the blade on the dead man’s clothes, Fred tucked it into his belt and marched over to the group. He then grabbed Carl by the shirt collar and threw him down beside the body. Carl saw the corpse for a second, then closed his eyes, afraid of what Fred intended to do.

  “Look at him!” Fred yelled.

  Clenching his fists, Carl allowed his eyes to gaze at the dark red spot in the man’s lower abdomen where the bullet had entered and exited. On his other side, blood flowed from an open wound where Fred had stabbed him.

  Braving to venture further up, Carl looked at the dead recruit’s face.

  “What do you expect me to see?” he asked.

  Fred knelt, putting his revolver back into his coat. “More than I did when I shot him. You’re lucky I didn’t lose my good eye. We ain’t in preschool no more, kid. This is the real life. I haven’t been in this city for twenty years, but I can tell how things work in these kinds of places. All the old rules you used to play by aren’t here. You got to play the new rules.”

  “What rules?” Carl asked.

  “Never let someone who tries to kill you get away with it. If you get a chance to kill them, kill them. This isn’t church or an elementary school playground. You can’t have pity or mercy, because they sure as hell won’t extend you the same courtesy.”

  Standing up, Fred offered Carl a hand. They looked down at the body again.

  “What do we do with him?” Carl asked worriedly.

  “Nothing. Leave it here. A dead body ain’t no fuss.”

  “Why did he do it?”

  “Ain’t it obvious yet? He was an informant or undercover officer or something.”

  “You mean a police officer?”

  “Who knows? All I know is he didn’t come here to write newspaper articles.”

  “How do you know?”

  Fred grinned as he gripped his belt buckle, his one eye bright and large.

  “I thought something was up when he was drawing the map so well,” he said. “He’s also the one who asked us all why were had come here. Sounded way too scripted, the way he said it. I guess I looked too suspicious of him. That’s why he tried to leave.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Fred laughed and playfully hit Carl on the back as they walked together to the motel room, where the rest of them had gone back inside.

  “I thought you reporters knew all about gotcha-questions already.”

  ***

  That night Carl found himself unable to sleep. He kept reliving the day’s earlier incident again and again. Each part of it seemed staged; the man taking out the switchblade, seeing the blade glisten under the dim room light; paralyzed by disbelief, reacting just in time to save himself from being disemboweled, his mind dormant as his fighting instincts saved him, only to yield to his conscience. It had felt profoundly treacherous, but Fred had carried out the deed so efficiently and neatly that he could hardly find fault in him for it.

  “You alright?” Tom asked in the darkness.

  “Of course. Just wasn’t ready for it, that’s all.”

  “Good thing Fred was.”

  “Yeah.”

  Thinking of the veteran also reminded him of his wounded pride. The reproach had jarred his self-confidence. He had never used violence as a solution to a problem. There had always been other more effective ways; nothing that charm, self-confidence, persuasion couldn’t do. He had prepared himself to find the city less safe, but not so soon as that. Not amongst his own companions.

  What scared him most was how things might have turned out had he done anything different. One split-second decision could have ended him.

  In his mind, he heard Fred’s voice repeated those words of warning. He swore to himself he would live by them.

  The mistake would not be made again.

  Chapter Three

  Norton’s men arrived late that morning when the recruits had already finished breakfast and making last minute studies of the map.

  They immediately ordered the men to stop and box up all the supplies.

  “We’re out of here in five minutes,” one of them said.

  “So why are we leaving?” Carl asked. “I thought we were staying here?”

  “Change of plans.”

  A minute later, the hotel room was cleared of their belongings, and the recruits were ordered onto the bus. Two of Norton’s men inspected the motel room, then closed it and jumped on as the bus was pulling out of the parking lot. Carl sat in his seat full of questions but knew it was best to wait.

  Taking an exit, the driver brought them down onto the old Interstate 5, where they were tossed around in their seats from the shaky, unstable surface. At one point the driven crushed the brake pedal to prevent them from ramming into a downed electrical pole; they barely got around it.

  The man then made a sharp right turn and they came off the interstate and onto a city street. As they penetrated the fog, they passed crumbled buildings and rows and rows of tent cities.

  Instinctively, Fred reached for his revolver.

  “Not needed,” the driver said. “We don’t have problems here in SoDo. They know not to bother us.”

  After three intersections, they turned left and continued down the road for about a mile. The driver eased on the gas and guided the enormous vehicle through a small entrance into yet another parking lot. However, rather than another motel it was a large five story building. They got closer, and Carl recognized the red hue or brick covering the exterior and gasped.

  “I thought the earthquake destroyed them all,” he said.

  “It did, I guess,” the driver said. “They restored this one.”

  The bus pulled up at the front doors. The driver pulled the level to open the door and ordered them to report to the first room to their right once they got past the lobby.

  They began exiting. Fred slung his bag over his shoulder and jumped onto the ground. Carl followed along with Tom. The mass of men entered the building, where they found the drafty, bare lobby full of hasty individuals crying out like they were on the floor of the stock exchange as they chased each other.

  A woman resembling a receptionist stood calmly behind the front desk. She noticed them and without a word pointed to her left. They obeyed her silent directive. Just beyond the lobby, they found an open door.

  In the room were a series of horizontal tables and a makeshift collection of folding and swiveling chairs. The men piled their belongings in the corner and sat down facing the front of the room. The ceiling above them vibrated as feet stamped across the second story floor and panic voices reverberated down the walls.

  Norton appeared at the door along with the three men and moved to the front of the room. The recruits attempted to stand but he anxiously told them to remain sitting. Unlike their first meeting, he was unkempt; his tie was down at mid-chest level and his clothes were wrinkled.

  A large cup of coffee in hand, Norton sipped on it loudly and set it down, shaking his head. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled deep
ly.

  “I’m sorry we had to drag you out so hurriedly, but it had to be done,” he said. “You’ll also forgive us if our training isn’t exactly what you would call consistent or organized. It’s not. We’re pretty much making it up as we go. The map memorization we had you do yesterday was helpful, but I have to be honest; it was to keep you occupied while we figured out what the hell we’re going to do.”

  He took another long sip of coffee. “You must be wondering, ‘So what the hell are we doing?’ Good question. Here’s how it works. The news sites outside of the city don’t cover what goes on here, except for whatever the City Council passes, so I’ll fill you in on the laydown. Long before the new law got passed, people were opening newspapers here. They knew the 95 percent tax would get implemented, so they figured the best place to go would be to a city that can’t enforce it. Except the ISA is determined to make an example of one of us. And this morning at 5 a.m., they did just that and raided a newspaper up north near Green Lake. The newspaper was caught totally by surprise. From what I’ve heard from my sources, most of the staff was arrested, and the editor decided to go down shooting than be taken. The presses have been either confiscated or smashed.”

  He paused.

  “How did this happen?” he said. “I’ll tell you; they tracked their location down through their server. The main database was connected to the Net and, despite having several security programmers to prevent any tracking, the ISA’s team managed to break through. They also followed one of the reporters through his cell phone when he made a call to the newspaper.”

  Norton sighed again and stared at the floor.

  “This is the plan,” he said. “No modern technology. Nothing. No cell phones. No computer. No laptop. No Internet. All off the grid, so to speak. It seems others in this town are already doing this. I like the idea.”

  “You’re saying no cell phones or laptops?” Ian asked hesitantly.

  “Nothing. And I don’t want you using them outside of here, either. This isn’t a day job, gentlemen. It’s a way of life, I’m afraid. You want to work for me, you follow the rules.”

  “How are we going to get the newspapers published?” Duong inquired.

  “I just bought up an old printing press from a private collector,” Norton said. “He doesn’t know who’s buying it, just that we’re paying him well for it. We’ll get it installed in one of our buildings here and train our staff to operate it. You men, on the other hand, will be doing things the old-fashioned way.”

  Norton then waved to his men and they left the room temporarily, reentering with more boxes in their hands.

  “Wonderful,” Fred said. “More maps to memorize.”

  “Not quite,” Norton said. “We need to make sure you can do your job.”

  “Well how the hell are we supposed to do it without our phones or laptops or computers?” someone asked.

  The men sat the boxes down on the table in the closest row to Norton. The recruits stood up from their chairs and approached it, but didn’t look inside.

  “If you any of you thinks this is too much for you, or not what you signed up for,” Norton stated, gesturing to the doorway. “You are free to go. I don’t any man here who remains because he’s too afraid to quit.”

  No one moved. Carl glanced at Tom. Both had long made up their minds. There was no going back.

  “So how we gonna do this?” Fred asked.

  “Fortunately, at least you are like me in one sense,” Norton remarked, his hands in his pockets he walked over to Fred. “You’ve old enough to remember what it was like.”

  “What?”

  “What life was like before the Internet.”

  Norton stepped over to his table. His hand came out of his pocket and an object flew into the air. Carl instinctively grabbed it mid-air and brought to close to his chest, his fingertips pressing against the thin cover.

  “A notepad?” he asked.

  Norton tossed him another object, this time a ball-point pen. “Most of you have less than admirable penmanship. You also don’t know how to write shorthand. You’ll need to if you’re going to do this job. We’re still getting things set up, so you can take the time to hone these skills to a workable level.”

  Without any kind of formality, he left with his anonymous companions. The recruits didn’t waste time, digging into the boxes and taking a notepad and pen from the boxes. Clicks echoed through the room as they pushed the pens into position and sat down and attempted to write.

  “Anybody know shorthand?” Duong asked.

  “Yeah,” Fred said.

  “Well, good, then,” Tom said. “Then you go show us just how much you know about it by teaching us.”

  Fred took off his cowboy hat and began writing down the various shorthand symbols. The recruits dragged their chairs over to him and formed a disorganized mass, so everyone could see. Completing the first list, Fred handed it off to one of them and told them to make their own copy. They then formed another circle and rewrote what Fred had listed. Finishing his copy rapidly, Carl took the notes over to his original chair, staring at the numerous signs that to him were as indecipherable as hieroglyphics.

  But he was determined to learn them, to invest the time needed to master them. Norton had thrown them a curveball, and he intended to adapt with whatever else was tossed their way.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to hate this,” Tom said as he sat down next to Carl. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

  “Ask me again when this is over,” he joked. “Just think of having some ISA officer tear apart a beautiful story you wrote. Then imagine…”

  “Yeah, yeah, you made your point.”

  ***

  For the next three days, they did nothing but work on their handwriting. By the third night, all could competently write shorthand. To celebrate, one of Norton’s men arrived with bottles of brandy, passing them out with their meals. Fred balked at drinking what he regarded as a more sophisticated liquor, preferring a sour whiskey or vodka.

  “This is for a hoity–toity dinner,” he said.

  “It’s Norton’s,” one of the men said. “His personal choice.”

  Carl took a bottle, pulled off the cork, and poured one of the small glasses full. He then lifted it to his nose and smelled it, detecting a sweet, oaky aroma. Taking a short sip, he licked his lips and paused, deciding what to make of it.

  It wasn’t like the cheap whiskey he and Tom had enjoyed on their frugal budgets, but the smell made him think of Norton in his suit, smoking one of those cigarettes with a glass of brandy in hand.

  A smile fell across Carl’s face as he took another sip.

  “You like it?” Tom said as he filled his own glass.

  “If I don’t, I’ll make myself like it.”

  Fred raised his glass, having already drunk two before refilling.

  “Here’s to…whatever the hell we’re doing here,” he said. “To doing whatever the hell we want, I guess. And life without alimony payments!”

  The recruits burst into laughter as they toasted, refilled, and toasted again.

  “What happens when we run into other newspaper reporters?” Ian asked. “It will be weird to see them. Especially when they will be using technology beyond the Stone Age.”

  “They may not,” Fred said. “Depending on whether this whole thing Norton came up with will actually stick around. As for Norton, he’s crazy for doing this. Take it from someone who was in the infantry. We know crazy like we know ourselves.”

  “Whatever Norton’s reasons, I’m glad he decided to do it,” Carl said. “I don’t know where I would be without this place.”

  “We could have just joined another one,” Tom pointed out.

  “Yes, but I’m glad we joined this one.”

  ***

  In the morning, Carl found Norton in their training area with a cup of coffee in hand. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed as he approached the table.

  “The curse of leadership,” Norton sai
d. “You’re always the first to be there, the last to leave.”

  Norton leaned on the table, admiring Carl’s many pages of notes as he flipped through them.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Carl Farrington.”

  “Ah, that’s right. I remember speaking to you. Where you from?”

  “Bellevue.”

  “I see. What brought you here?”

  “I guess don’t like being told what to do.”

  “You’re in good company, then.”

  “Is that what instigated your exodus, Mr. Norton?”

  Norton looked at Carl, tapping his notepad against his palm. “You’re a curious one, that’s for sure. That’ll serve you well. But for someone your age, you have a boldness that could get you in trouble. I hope it is not going to be a liability for me or my newspaper.”

  “It won’t. I’ve gotten far by being bold.”

  “I’m willing to bet half my savings that it also has gotten you into trouble.”

  Carl nodded.

  “Why are you so interested in all this?” Norton asked. “You think I’m going to pay you a fortune? I won’t. The pay is appropriate, but not anything spectacular. You won’t get rich here. And if it’s your ego driving you, know that I’m contemplating removing all bylines, other than my own and perhaps a few of my closest associates.”

  “It’s not any of those things.”

  “Then what?”

  “the same thing that made you give up your retirement for this, when it could quickly fall apart tomorrow? Something must have happened, right?”

  Norton held a mysterious grin as he unbuttoned the mid button on his coat, placing his right side on the table.

  “We all have our reasons,” he said. “We also all have our secrets. I have mine, as do you yours. It’s best to not share them out like candy on Halloween, would you not agree?”

  “I’ll jot that down for future reference” Carl remarked.

  Norton seemed pleased with his answer, patting him on the shoulder. “I like you, kid. You got spirit, but you’re not stupid. Don’t do anything stupid. I have a feeling I’ll need you before this is over.”