Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 27: Gearing up
Crossing town and into a rabbit hole
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With gratitude, Bill
Last week, in chapter 26, Takeda and Holly found out what happened to Kyle
Chapter 27: Gearing up
They got back to the apartment building a short while after sunset. Holly knocked on Mrs. Emerton’s door, but there was no answer.
“No lights on. She must be with Kyle,” she said.
“You wanna get changed into secret mission spy clothes?” Takeda asked.
“Not sure I know what’s appropriate for the occasion. I don’t have any weapons except a little can of Mace. It would be good if someone had our backs, you know? But, fuck, I don’t want anyone else getting mixed up in this. We don’t even know if this nutcase from The Center was involved in what happened to Seamus,” Holly said.
Takeda leaned against the wall in the hallway. “The one thing we know about that guy is that he knew who we were for some reason. And to me, that means we should expect they’re watching us now. Until there’s evidence to the contrary, we should assume that we’re constantly monitored. My gut says that he and whomever he’s with aren’t dangerous despite all the cloak and dagger shit. If he turns out to be an actual crazy person, we get the hell out of there.”
Holly shuffled to her apartment door, looking for an idea on the floor. “We should stake the place out early. Let’s at least get an idea of what we’re walking into. I’m going to search for photos of the area,” she paused, “I swear if I get nothing at all, or a fuckin bird’s foot picture, I’ll scream. You’ll hear me. Put on some dark clothes. She coming with?” Holly reached down to pat Triscuit, who was preoccupied with a bug.
“Yup. She’s our backup.”
“Well, now I feel better about the whole thing.”
Triscuit staggered back from the bug encounter, grumbling.
“Come over in an hour, okay?” Takeda said.
“Sure.”
Holly knocked at his door an hour later. She wore black leggings, thick combat boots, and a black hoodie. She had a black baseball hat with a 6288 Mount Washington emblem, and her ponytail pulled through the back.
“What, no camouflage face paint?”
“Screw you, jerk.”
“Did you scope out the place?”
“It seems to be nothing more than a boring apartment building. Nothing special about it. I’ve got an idea of how to check it out on the down low. Maybe we could see if anyone interesting goes in; I don’t know. Or, change our minds and leave,” she said nervously, kicking her boot on the floor.
“You know, H, I was thinking about it. It doesn’t seem safe to be here anymore–does it? Between the birds, tree men, Seamus, tan pants guy, and the weird internet shit, we should take the hint and leave. Let’s see what’s up tonight, but if nothing good happens, let’s find someplace to escape for a while.”
“Now who’s talking crazy?” she said.
Takeda wrinkled his brow.
“I’m fucking with you! Yeah, of course. Let’s do the opposite of the movie trope of hanging around where all the fucked-up things are happening.”
“Okay then. Let’s do this. Tris, you ready?” Triscuit lay on her side next to a recently emptied dish.
“I swear I’d make you leave her here if we didn’t just decide it was dangerous. It’s like taking wet laundry with you on a secret mission.”
“Hey! She’s our backup. When shit goes down, when shit gets real, that’s who’ll be saving our asses.”
“Maybe in the movies, Tak, maybe in the movies.” Triscuit rolled onto her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth.
The Flyer dropped them off on a wet and dirty street a few blocks from 16 Harborway Square. Holly checked the route on her phone, leading to a vantage point where they could watch the front door. They walked along in silence; twice she slowed to check the map. Usually, walking by yourself at night in the city was asking for trouble. But their appearance, all in black, projected the idea that they might not be worth hassling. They passed a wild-eyed junkie in his underwear folded like a lawn chair inside a shopping cart.
He bellowed, “FUGGEDEY FUG DEY GRIM REAPERS TIMES TWO DEY COMIN!” Triscuit snorted at the junkie as they passed, and the man jumped. “WAAAAHHOOO! HELLHOUND DEY GOT DEM HELLHOUND TOO!”
Takeda whispered, “See, I told you she’d have our backs.”
“Shut it, doofus,” she whispered while checking her watch and pulling down on her hat.
After another five minutes of walking, she stopped abruptly.
“See that alley?” She pointed across the street. “Let’s duck in there. We should be able to see the front door of the building from around the corner.”
They walked quickly across the street. Triscuit slowed them by stopping to smell the steam from a sewer grate. Takeda admonished her, “Come on, Tris!” and she grudgingly obliged.
The group ducked into the alley, and a rat went squeaking for safety into its depths. The smell of garbage and urine entwined to make one of the standard bouquets of the city.
“Nasty,” Holly said.
“Not one of your finer spying alleys. It’s a thumbs down from me.”
“Shhhh,” she said, motioning for them to stay back while looking around the corner. Holly waved him forward. “That’s it right there.”
The apartment building had a few crumbling brick steps that led up to a beige door with a hand-painted number sixteen. A single dim yellow light bulb lit the entrance with a tired glow. Next to the building, an all-night convenience store drew minimal traffic. Two homeless people sat in sleeping bags, huddled together in muffled conversation. An old Asian woman came out of the store carrying a gallon of milk in one hand and a bag in the other. She moved down the street as if it were made of hot coals.
“Now what?” he said.
“Now we wait and watch.”
“We’ve got like,” he looked at his watch, “an hour… should’ve brought some chairs and snacks.”
She blinked at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I know you’re very tough with the parachuting into fires, the eighty-five pound packs, and digging firelines and whatnot, but some of us are used to a softer lifestyle.”
She sighed and turned back to face the building. Holly took out her phone and shot some pictures of the front door.
“I wish we knew if he was already in there or where Unit Two is. There’s that one light near the top floor, but I doubt that’s Unit Two.” Maybe it’s the one facing the street. She thought for a moment. “I think I want to check out that store.”
“The store, why?”
“I don’t know, to get a vibe of the place.”
“Can’t we get the vibe from here?”
“Put your phone on vibrate and keep it from facing the street. Could you stay in the shadows but watch me? I’ll be right back.” She dashed off before he could protest.
As Holly crossed the street, one of the homeless men eyed her and started in.
“A’scuse me, pretty lady, has you any credits to spare? Me-an-my sociate startup has gone to poop.”
“Oh yes, poop it has. The poop flew the coop. The poop went ker-ploop.” The other man sang in refrain while tapping on an empty bucket with calloused hands.
“Hush now,” the first man said, taking off his black top hat that was wrinkled like an accordion. He belched and held out his phone with a shaky hand in anticipation of the transfer of funds.
“No. You hungry, though?”
He flipped up a cardboard sign that had been lying face down. It said ‘WILL CODE FOR FOOD.’
“Ahhhh, a bit, peckdish, pickleddish, peckish perhaps.”
Holly glanced over her shoulder as she entered the store. She wondered if the man was a time-traveler, as he affected an accent she couldn’t place and gave a theatrical bow from his spot on the pavement.
The bright light of the store hurt a little in contrast, and it took her a moment to see a massive woman in the floral muumuu eyeing her from behind the counter. The smell of faux buttered popcorn and a damp mop permeated the air.
“They give you shit out there?” the woman said as if she and Holly were old friends.
“Uh, no. Not really.”
“Good. Friggin startup floppers junkin’ up the city. Get a job!” She said and thumped a meaty hand on the counter.
“You got sandwiches?”
“Honey, they talk you into buying them dinner?”
“Do you have sandwiches?” Holly said, gritting her teeth.
“Yes, doll, back there in the cooler.” She pointed with a nicotine-stained hand.
Holly grabbed a couple and a bag of chips. Then came back to the counter. While the woman rang up the items, she asked, “You know anything about the building next door?”
“Know anything? Like what?”
“Is it apartments? Are they expensive?”
The woman’s gaze narrowed as if it were time to take in who she was talking to.
“Yeah, they’re apartments next door. Nothing to brag about. It’s shelter, but you wouldn’t want to raise a family there. Catch my drift?”
“Yes. Can I get a pack of HB 100s too?”
“Sure.” She slid the pack across the dirty counter.
“Thanks,” Holly said, packing the cigarettes against her palm before pocketing them.
“Think nuthin of it.” The woman said coolly to Holly’s back as she left.
Holly took the chips out and handed the bag of sandwiches to the man with the hat.
“Great Scott!” The man said, looking into the bag and handing a sandwich to his partner.
“Thank you, m’lady!” He said, attempting to get up but struggling with gravity.
“No need to get up. Have a good night.” She started to walk across the street; a helicopter swooped low with its searchlight tracing the roadway. She watched it recede and stepped into the pavement when three police cars went screaming past her in the same direction, so close to her that the wind blew her hat off… and then she was falling.
She was fifth out of the door of the ten jumpers. Holly saw four chutes deploy below her and pulled on her ripcord. Nothing happened. She pulled again. Nothing. She quickly gained on the jumper ahead of her and repeatedly jerked the cord. Nothing. Looking up, she saw other chutes opening. Holly looked down into the approaching smoke, flames not far off, the ground beginning to yawn open to consume her. She passed the fourth jumper; it was Bill. They made eye contact long enough for her to see his fear for her. He was yelling something and pointing, pointing to his reserve. “Why was he doing that?” she thought, her mind locked. Why wouldn’t her arms let go of the main ripcord and grab the reserve? The wind deafened, smoke filled her nose, and the trees rose and reached for her, defying the ground’s hunger. She flipped over and over, and her arms sprung free of her grip on the cord. Holly passed the third jumper, Alex. She saw the last of the chutes above her expand. Then the thickness of the treetops raced up. “How tall are those?” she thought. They smiled, reached… and grabbed her…
“H!” Takeda was yelling and grabbed hold of both of her arms.
“Unh?” she mumbled.
“Are you okay? What happened!” He felt all over her body. “Did you get hit?”
She shook her head, “I’m, I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not! You were frozen there for like fifteen seconds, not moving!”
“I’m okay now. I… was remembering something. I’m okay. Let’s get back to the alley.”
“AYE THERE, THAT BIRD A’IGHT?” The homeless man yelled. Takeda nodded and waved as they walked back across the street. They paused momentarily to pick up the dropped chips and Holly’s hat. Triscuit followed with her leash dancing behind.
When they returned to the alley, Holly opened the pack of cigarettes and lit up. Takeda pulled a wooden crate over and offered it to her. She sat without reluctance and leaned back against the wall taking a long and satisfying drag while looking up with wonder at the night sky.
“You want to talk about it, H?”
She took another slow pull, the embers blazing reflections in her eyes. She crushed it out on the ground in a rush and said, “Nope.”
Unfazed by her brevity, he said, “Hey, you didn’t check your phone. A light came on on the first floor!”
“Did you see anyone go in?”
“No.” Takeda opened the chips and offered her some. “Thanks for these.”
“My pleasure.”
Triscuit grumbled a question when he opened the bag. He gave her a chip which she dropped on the ground and examined, seemingly fascinated that it wasn’t meat.
“Did you learn anything from the store?”
“No. It’s a shitty apartment building.”
A stray cat came around the corner and hissed loudly at Triscuit. She gave a low growl in response, retreated a few steps, and fell over, tangled in her leash. Takeda shooed the cat away and freed his dog.
“Remind me to get her a cape for our next mission.” Holly smiled.
The apartment door slammed. They looked up and saw a car parked in front of the building.
“Oh, come the fuck on. That was one second, and we missed it! Worst surveillance team ever. Fuck it; it’s almost time anyway. I’m knocking and going in first. You’re backup. Don’t let me get murdered. It’s not even a plan, but I don’t care.” Holly darted across the street.
“H! Ah shit.” He dropped the bag of chips, scooped up Triscuit, and chased after her.
There was no buzzer, and they let themselves into the hallway of the building. It was dark and smelled of mold and fresh paint. The first door on the right had a number two on it.
She knocked.
The floor creaked with age under approaching footsteps. A peephole revealed a sliver of light as someone looked them over. They heard a muffled, “Are you alone?”
“Alone? It’s Holly and Takeda from before. And a dog.” She explained with irritation.
They heard several locks click and chains slide before the door swung open. “Quickly!” the voice said.
They entered, and the door snapped shut behind them, where Scott was relocking it.
“Glad you made it. I saw you were early but didn’t want to break up your little stakeout.”
Holly and Takeda exchanged looks.
“It’s okay. I’m glad–we’re glad–that you’re trying to be careful,” Scott said.
The apartment was as bare-bones as it could be. They were in what could be called the living room. It consisted of two salvaged wooden chairs. The walls were off-white because they were dirty, and takeout wrappers and empty cups littered the floor. A round device about twelve inches high sat on a small table. It plugged into a naked wall outlet.
“We? Who’s we?” Takeda said.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Scott said, pulling a sweatshirt over his head to cover his dirty tank top. “First thing I need you to do before we start answering questions and shit is to put your cellphones in the centrifuge.”
“What?” Holly and Takeda said in unison.
Scott sighed. “If it’s unclear, we take great pains to remain anonymous. Currently, the government and your cell phone provider know where you are. This,” he pointed to the device, “is going to tell anyone who happens to be looking for you that you’re safe at home in your crappy apartment.”
“You’re calling our apartments crappy?” Takeda said, motioning around the room.
“Dude, I don’t fuckin live here,” Scott snorted, “hand em’ over.”
They both did and watched as Scott loaded them into the cylinder and latched it. He pressed a button, and the device emitted a red glow and a gentle whir.
“One of you punch in an address.” He pointed to a display on the device. “When you hit enter, that will be your location of record. I suggest that it’s your home.”
Takeda typed his home address. The machine bleeped acknowledgment, and the red glow turned green.
“Can we talk now?” Holly said with all the restraint she could muster.
Footsteps approached from the adjoining room. A massive man filled the frame of the doorway. He yawned, scratched his chest, and said, “Yeah, Scott, can we talk now?”
“Aren’t you... from the Center? Sheila?” Takeda said.
“Yup,” he said. His deep voice filled the room.
Takeda’s face pinched in annoyance. “Do I have to ask questions, or can you just start talking?”
“Fair enough. Let’s get you up to speed on the basics before we see The Guy,” Scott said.
“Seriously?” Holly said, shaking her head.
Sheila and Scott stared at her.
“Who’s, The Guy?”
“‘The Guy’ has all the answers. He runs the Red Foot Network you came across on the dark web. He’s interested in meeting with both of you, but let’s cut the bullshit. The secrecy is because the things we know put our lives at risk. I’ve got a sense that you might understand what I’m talking about.” Scott sat down as if he’d tired of giving this speech.
“So, what I’m about to say is so cliché it’s ridiculous but true. We’re the only hope you’ve got right now. Stick with us; over the next twenty-four hours, you’ll understand what’s going on, and maybe we can even protect you. Maybe. You’re also free to go and chance it on your own.” He pointed to the door, “No harm, no foul.”
Holly walked across the room to Sheila. On tiptoes, she looked up at his face. Then she crossed the room, leaned close to Scott, and said, “I’m in. But hear this. Fucking with me, with us, is a bad idea. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Scott said.
Takeda, taken aback by a side of Holly that he hadn’t seen before, said, “Yeah… me too.”
“Good,” Scott said. “Then let’s start again. My name is Scott. I’m an employee of The Center, where part of my job is to work as a protester.” He put up a hand, “Before you ask, Centers hire protesters and have for a very long time. They’ve found that it creates some mystique and drives interest, and interest drives dollars. I report to their marketing department. Sheila and I are coworkers and roommates.”
Sheila grunted acknowledgment and started tearing into a candy bar. This captured Triscuits interest.
“You might know that all Center employees have some level of federal security clearance. You may not know that they receive government dollars. I’m telling you this to give you an idea of the scope of what we’ll be discussing. The answers you’re looking for are a threat to the security of the world.”
“Oh, come the fuck on! I followed you until that last part. You’re joking, right? Where are the cameras?” Takeda laughed and looked around the room.
Scott and Sheila stared stone-faced.
“Seriously? Look, guys, I’m a writer, fiction mostly. Maybe you already know that since you seem to know everything. But I have to tell you, your story is pretty thin. That ‘threat to the security of the world’ is some cheesy cheese. If I read that on the dust jacket in a bookstore, I’d pop that tome back on the shelf with a little condescending pat.” Takeda examined both of their faces for signs of a reaction.
Holly made an agreeable sigh.
“Couple things, funny guy,” Scott said. “One, neither of us give two shits whether you believe us. The door remains right there.” He pointed. “Two, Holly,” he addressed her directly, “we know you’ve seen a tree, and we’d like to explain more about that.”
Her eyes widened.
“And three, mister writer,” Scott said, dripping with sarcasm. “My English professor used to hate the saying ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’ He’d always say, ‘Truth is lamer than fiction.’
Scott let that settle in and pursed his lips.
Sheila bellowed, “So, we goin’ now or what? I’m hungry.”
“We just watched you eat a candy bar. When are you not hungry?” Scott said.
“Don’t be a jerk, Scott, or I’ll squish you. I’m a big boy,” Sheila said, patting his belly.
Takeda turned to Holly. “So, H, what do you think? You still want to see where this goes?”
Holly looked a little shaken and said, “There are tons of reasons why this is fucking stupid and dangerous. But, there’s no way they,” she pointed, “could have known about the tree. I have to find out what they know. Let’s do it.”
“Good. We’re going to take Sheila’s car downtown to see The Guy. First, he will pat you down to ensure you’re not carrying any weapons.”
“Shouldn’t you have done that when we came in?” Takeda asked.
“Probably. I’ll take a note for next time.” He waved Sheila over to Takeda. He patted him down, then moved to Holly, who narrowed her eyes in warning.
“Look, honey; I used to be a woman. I know this sucks. It will just take a second.”
Holly relaxed, and Sheila patted her down, pausing a moment when touching her ass.
“It’s cigarettes,” Holly said flatly.
“Okay, we good. Let’s go.” Sheila said.
They walked out into the hallway and down the front steps. Scott turned off the lights and locked the door, leaving the apartment to the hum and glow of the centrifuge.
“This is your car?” Takeda said, admiring the beast in front of him.
“Yup,” Sheila beamed. “Ain’t she the shit! I built her myself.”
It was as if someone had stretched a Pontiac GTO like taffy. The car was long, a deep blood red, with four wheels in the back and two in the front. The tires were knobby, massive, and looked ready to ride off-road. When Sheila turned the key, it sounded like the earth had torn open and started screaming.
“Well, get in muthafuckas!” Sheila laughed.
Next week in Chapter 28, “Luke, I’m not your father,” Luke reports back to the tech team