Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

Wren tried again to turn and see what was happening but North and Aron were right behind him, shepherding him back towards the building. There was another thump. He thought of the line of guardsmen that had been holding the people away from the gate, wondered if any of them were hurt. Or, from the sound of it, if any of them weren’t.

“Back inside,” Aron said, his hand coming down on Wren’s shoulder, steering him along. “Up the stairs, quickly.” Cass slowed her pace for a moment.

“Not through the front,” she said, and she walked across in front of Wren, redirecting him. The pressure from Aron’s hand made Wren twist funny, and he nearly tripped. They all stopped awkwardly.

“We need to get him somewhere safe,” Aron said.

“Through the side,” Cass answered.

“There’s no time or reason–” said Aron, but Cass interrupted.

“Take your hand off my son.” She said it low, but there was almost a growl in her voice.

“Cass…” Aron responded, like she was being unreasonable. But he didn’t let go.

“Take your hand off or I will.”

Wren didn’t understand what was happening. There was so much noise, so much confusion, and the air was growing harsh with an acrid smoke. He stood off balance, stretched between his mama’s grasp and Aron’s. There was tension between them, and for a moment Wren thought Mama was going to do something to Aron. Something terrible. And just before it came, Aron let go and raised his hands. Cass didn’t wait. She pulled Wren along around towards the side of the compound.

“Where are you taking him?” Aron called, but Cass didn’t answer. Wren looked back to see that Aron was watching them go, with North’s hand on his chest. He couldn’t tell if North was comforting him or restraining him. They disappeared from view as Cass drew Wren around the corner of the main building.

He followed her silently through a side entrance, down a flight of stairs, and then another, and into a small maintenance room that accessed some underlying infrastructure to the compound. She shut the door behind them and locked it. Removed her veil.

“Mama?”

She didn’t answer. Cass just took Wren by the hand and led him to the back of the room, away from the door. There, in the corner, she sat down, and brought him gently into her lap. The way she used to. When it had been just the two of them. When they had been on the run.

Wren sat quietly there, with his head on her shoulder and her arms around him, just letting himself be held. Something had broken in the city, and he wondered if it could ever be repaired.

The light rain pattered on the roof with all the comforting sounds of a leaky faucet. Boss was sore from a bad night’s sleep, which meant he was cranky and tired. The numbers weren’t making him any happier. They’d pushed out a shipment two days before, ahead of schedule, but the buyers still hadn’t received the goods and naturally hadn’t paid up yet. Which meant Boss was short on men, and worse, short on money to pay off the greasy dealer that was standing in front of him right now.

“Look,” the dealer said, “I got places, so if you don’t deal, I’m cut loss and head on, you know?”

“Relax,” Boss answered. “I’ve got the points.”

“So what’s blockin’ the stops, pops?”

The words made so little sense it made Boss’s teeth hurt. “Waiting to hear back from Moneymath. Market prices, you know. ”

“Deal’s the deal, no time for chit-chat, take her at two hundred or we’re gone.”

Boss gave the dealer a good looking over. A gangly creature, with long stringy hair and blotchy skin like poorly tanned leather. His clothes were ill-fitting. His coat was surprisingly luxuriant and too big in the shoulders; the high collar of his shirt was so wide, it looked like he could pull it off over his head without unfastening it. But despite the disheveled appearance and his terrible grasp of human language, Boss recognized the keen look in the dealer’s eyes. Here was a man accustomed to walking into dangerous situations. And since he was standing here, he was also accustomed to walking back out of them. Boss was either going to have to come clean with him, or kill him real quick.

“What’s it, lawdog? Am I pricey or am I scoots?” he asked.

The lawdog caught Boss’s attention, made his hackles rise. He’d been a man of the law once, years ago, but he’d left that far, far behind. The dealer had a sly grin on his face, like he knew that’d get to him. Boss thought about the two-gun he had hooked on a swivel under his desk. That’d fold the dealer in half real quick and take his little grin right with it.

But Boss couldn’t help following the leash the dealer had in his hands, right over to where it hooked on the girl’s collar. She couldn’t be more than thirteen. Hands bound in front of her. Pretty too, under the grime and bruises. The two-gun wasn’t the most precise of killing instruments. Boss didn’t want to risk damaging the goods.

“Stray, kin, or kidnap?” Boss asked the dealer.

“She’s mine, don’t mind you the why.”

“My clients are the worrying sort. They expect details. Where’s she from?”

“The Six-Thirteen. She’s mine, fair deal.”

“I’m no one’s but my own…” the girl said, looking up at Boss. She didn’t look as defeated as they usually did. The dealer jerked the leash hard, and she immediately looked at the floor again, but Boss could tell from the angle of her head that she was watching the dealer out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t see any need for treating her so, and he started feeling a little better about killing this guy.

“No one’s going to come looking for her?” Boss asked.

“Not without comin’ up gravelike.” The dealer smiled at that, like he was real pleased with himself. Probably stalked some poor family and murdered them in their sleep. For a brief moment, Boss felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl, which in turn made him feel more sorry for himself — for what he’d been reduced to. He was a good man caught in an evil time. But this was the hand he’d been dealt, the life of a once-lawman in a lawless world. Nothing to do but play it out as best he could. Boss sighed.

“Alright, finally,” he said, smiling through the lie. “Moneymath says one seventy-three and some decimals is the going rate for pristine. She doesn’t look quite pristine, though.”

“Don’t jerk, lawdog. She’s all she is, unspoilt. Two hundred says the deal.” The dealer’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and his left hand edged a fraction of an inch closer towards the inside of his coat.

“She is real pretty,” Boss answered. He pretended to think it over. Didn’t really matter, since he couldn’t afford it anyway. But supply was scarce lately, and he couldn’t afford to lose this one either. “Call it one-ninety, no more questions asked.”

The dealer rubbed the fingertips of his left hand together, either like he was already counting the money or he was getting ready to draw down. Boss leaned forward, like he was just shifting in his chair, and stretched his fingertips out to brush the grip of the weapon under the desk.

The dealer snorted something thick and nasty and made a little grunting noise in his throat, and then swallowed. Boss almost gagged at the sound.

“Fine enough, we’ll call it.”

“Excellent. I’ll have one of my boys handle the transfer. You can leave her with me.”

The dealer barked a laugh. “Not so, lawdog, spendies — then she stays.”

Of course Boss had known that’s how it’d go, but it was always worth a shot. The trick now was just figuring out which of his crew he needed in the room to keep things from turning into a bloodbath, and how to get them in without making him suspicious. Wing was a little faster on the draw, but Cauld was a deadeye who could shoot the flame off a candle and not even spill the wax. Probably couldn’t get both of them in the room without tipping the dealer off, though.