C. Schmidt - Hock City

Survival wasn’t one of Kinth’s main concerns. He wasn’t worried about coming out of Hock City alive. Facing his past was not an exciting idea; it wasn’t at the top of his bucket list. He vowed to never return once he left the city. He had plans to move further away beyond the walls of that old gas station. Perhaps he could move to another corridor, but he was sidetracked by random visitors like Langston. Who these people were, and why they continued to walk by his station, woke his mind and his spirit. He had questions again, and the questions made him stay. He must seek the answers.

Hock City had the answers, supposedly, but it wasn’t going to be easy finding them. He would have to traverse dark waters, while navigating the unfriendly type. Including his own demons. This could be a daunting task, but it had to be done.

“Don’t worry about your pin, old man,” responded Kinth, “I will –“

Before he could finish his statement, the elderly man slammed the door behind him and walked away. Kinth could hear the conversation that he conducted with himself as his footsteps grew quieter. He shook his head at the old man’s demeanor. His demeanor hadn’t changed much since he was kid.

“Good to see you too, uncle.”

He made his way down the cobbled path, back toward the south sky. It wasn’t tough to find the way back to Hock: bright lights underneath dark, textured skies. His fingers grazed the tall grass as he walked by the same homes that welcomed him on the way in.

North of Hock was peaceful in comparison to the Pines and the city. A place where kids once roamed freely on bikes and scooters, without worry of what lurked. Without worry of the grime that came with city-living. A place where on Saturdays, men mowed the lawn and on Sunday mornings, women hung laundry out to dry. Families ate dinner together, and waved to neighbors as they went by. The community raised the children together. Everyone trusted everyone or at least they tried.

A practice, and a peace that was no more.

He sat for a moment near the front gates of the estates to gather his composure for what was to come. Old friends, maybe. The unfriendly type, definitely. He took a swig of water and stared at the ground. The dirt was his canvas; it was where he drew out various scenarios. Sneak in, sneak out – unscathed. A battle was almost certain. What has changed in that place, and was he being overconfident, or not confident enough, in his abilities?

“Hey, friend, spare some of that water?”

Kinth’s concentration was broken. He turned his head to the voice where nearby a man walked, pushing a rusty shopping cart full of various items. One of the wheels on the cart wobbled. He wore a long winter coat that hung to the ground, while speaking as he chewed on a twig.

“None to spare, but we can trade,” replied Kinth.

“What you need? I ain’t got much, and I like to keep what I got. Most of it at least. I’m headed to the Pines, plenty of things to find down there. Reckon I can find some water.”

“Give me that hooded shirt you’re wearing and your coat.”

The man laughed, “You can’t fit this! Maybe the coat, but what will I wear if I trade you this? Your coat doesn’t have any sleeves! I would freeze at night’s turn!”

“You got a hat in there?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay, a hat and the coat. Here, you can keep the gun. I’m sure you will be able to trade the gun for a better coat before day’s end,” Kinth replied, as he flip the shotgun in his hand. He extends it to the man, handle first.

“Oh – no, mister. A gun for a hat and coat don’t seem fair.”

Kinth moved his arm again in a way to insist the man take the gun. Hesitant by the deal, the man grabbed the fine weapon. He admired the double-barreled shotgun which had intricate markings near the base of the barrels. He set the gun down gently in his cart, covered it with clothing, and then removed his coat.

“Okay, okay. Uh, I have this hat – and I have this hat.” The man pulled out a women’s cloche hat, and a kid’s baseball cap. He shuffled around his other miscellaneous knick-knacks.

Kinth looked at the man with impatience.

“That’s really all I got right now, mister, that I’m willing to trade.”

“What about that cloth right there?”

“This one?”

The cloth wasn’t any old cloth. The Guardian’s Grove design was embroidered in the middle. The same design that was on the pin the elderly man gave Kinth.

“I use that to clean stuff; you don’t want that.”

“Give it to me.”

“Okay, suit yourself!”

The man gave Kinth the cloth without reluctance. Kinth took the gallon of water, drenched the cloth, and then rang it out. He took another gulp of the water since he had the top off, closed it, and then tossed the jug to the man.

“I thought you didn’t have any to spare?”

“I don’t. The rest is yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Kinth didn’t respond.

“Well, thanks for the trade mister! Nice doing business!”

As Kinth walked away, he put the trench coat on, flipping the collar up. He tied the cloth around his face so that only his eyes showed. The Guardian’s Grove design displayed in the center, underneath the hooded shirt.

Back at the elderly man’s home, he had reconvened lounging in his library. He spent a few moments puffing on his pipe, gazing at the horizon. He stroked his beard as he spoke to himself at times, reflecting on what was said between him and Kinth, as well as what he already knew before Kinth arrived.

He paced around his library, before going into one his bedrooms. He visited his closet to look for a box, which was hidden in the back of his wardrobe. He had a collection of suits, ties and shirts that he no longer wore. Vintage dress shoes, now components of a dust hotel. He saved his elaborate collection of clothes, even though he wore the same outfit every day.

He opened the tin box and gazed at the contents. Inside there were photos, trinkets and paper money. They were no longer of any value. A group of people stood in one of the photos, posing for the camera within a room at the Guardian’s mansion for a party. There he stood, much younger, beside the Guardian and a woman.

The elderly man smiled at the photo, but then cursed at it thereafter.

“Brother, if only you could see the mess he made of what you built. All of your hard work, for not. Oh, how we miss you.”

A period of reflection.

“Hey, where’s the party at?” Miles asked in his usual cool, but upbeat tone. He stood by as he watched Jesse, Langston and Madam Pearl’s men walk pass. He could sense the urgency by their focused expressions; wrinkled brows and tight lips.

“Shh! Madam Pearl wants me to go to the Pines,” Jesse whispered.

Miles joined the group down the hallway. “With her security? For what? She never sends them outside of the city.” The octave of his voice rose again, causing a guard to look in his direction.

“Shh. To bring someone back.”

Miles scoffed, “Who the fuck is that important?”

“The man at that old gas station. The one I told you about. Remember?”

“Oh, right, right, right, right. That cat. But wait, I still don’t get it. Why does she need him for?”

Jesse shrugged as he continued to walk, “I don’t know. Maybe he owes her lines. Just about everybody borrows to play.”

Miles chuckled to himself, “Pearl doesn’t need lines from some random prick in the Pines. She has more than she can spend already. And with her connections to the Guardian – I mean c’mon.”

“Just don’t say nothin’. She wants to keep this quiet. You know how loud you can be sometimes.”