Running Dry (19 page)

              "No. He's not coming.  It's fine."

              "He?"

              "It wasn't a date.  Just meeting a friend."

              "Oh.  I see."  She smiles and sits.  She is quiet while she sips her drink.

              "You on tonight?" I ask.

              "Yep.  You?"

              "Off tonight."

              "Lucky."

              "How long have you been running?"

              "I don't like to think linearly.  It's a huge drag."

              "Okay.  So, how do you think then?"

              "I just try to look at things in the here and now and then try to find one good thing in each current situation."

              I say, "I might need you to teach me how to do that."

              "Most people think I'm insane," she says, looking down.

              "You do what you have to do to get by.  I get it."

              "Exactly.  Looking back doesn't do anyone any good and looking ahead feels too depressing sometimes.  I just can't function like that.  How about you?"

              "Me? Uh...I've never really thought about it.  I guess I think about both the past and future way too much.  Maybe that's why I'm a sensitive writer type."

              She laughs.  I look up to see Fulton approaching the table.  Harlow's smile disappears. 

              "This must be your date," she says.

              "Yep," I say, nodding to Fulton.

              He says, "Didn't mean to crash a party."

              "No.  We were just..." I feel myself go flush.

              "I have to get to work anyway," Harlow says, getting up. "Excuse me, gentlemen."  She flashes one last look at me as she struts out of the bar with most of the men in the place watching her exit.

              Fulton sits.  "Well, you really took my advice to heart.  That didn't take you long," he says with an evil grin. 

              "What?  No.  She's just a friend."

              "Sure."

              "She's a runner," I say.

              "Oh, Jesus, Brenner.  What are you doing?  What's your deal with runners?"

              "I dunno," I say.

              "We always want what we can't have, I guess."

              "Can I get you a drink, sir?" I say, noticing he is without one.

              "Nah.  I promised the wife I'd be a good boy," he says sheepishly.

              "Ah."  There is an awkward silence.  "I wanted to talk to you," I say, finally.  "You know, to apologize.  I’ve felt awful about how the vote went down."

              Fulton's face hardens.  His brow wrinkles.  "I'm not angry with you.  I think it's probably something that needs to happen, the whole sanding operation.  I was really hoping maybe we could try to do something else.  I'd been cooking up this idea about using Bekka, like a double agent or something.  It was probably stupid, especially since you two aren't in communication anymore."

I take a sip of my drink.  "I'm not sure if Bekka would have gone for it anyway.  She's not a rebel."

He nods.  "I just worry.  About Char."

              "She's an amazing kid," I say. "I mean it.  I envy you."

              He smiles.  "Being a husband and a father is tough, buddy.  I wonder if maybe you aren't on the right track."

              "Huh?"

              "You know, chasing runners."  He laughs, but the stress is still apparent in his eyes.

              "Have you ever thought about coming clean to Sam?"

              "She wouldn't understand.  I know exactly what would happen.  She'd pack up her and Charlotte's stuff and she'd walk out the door and not look back."

              "I don't believe that.  She loves you.  Right now she thinks you are screwing around on her.  She told me.  But, she's still there, isn't she?"

              "Oh, God.  She told you that?"

              I nod.

              "I don’t know, man," he says and runs his hand through his buzzcut.  "I tried to cover up my stress by drinking, but that didn't work out so well.  I've been thinking about quitting the group."

              "Quitting?" I ask, alarmed.

              "Yeah.  I just don't know if I can keep doing it.  There's so much guilt, putting my family at risk, keeping secrets from Samantha.  It's not worth it."

              "Well, I don't want you to quit, but I understand."

              "It's hard, you know?  To know what the right thing is.  Some days I think I'm making a difference, a change for my daughter's future.  Other days, I think about the dangers, and what happened to Zander, and wonder what I'm doing.  What good would I be to Sam if I showed up at the apartment door wrapped in a bodybag?"  He keeps his eyes fixed on the table.

              I don't know how to respond.  It's way too heavy for me to tackle.  I thought my stupid life was hard, but Fulton's carrying way more weight on his shoulders than me.  He has real life problems.  If he disappeared it would actually affect other people. 

              "You're sure this has nothing to do with the vote?" I ask.

              "Nah.  I've been thinking about all of this since I planned to bring you in.  I knew you were the perfect replacement for me.  It's better this way."             

              I nod.  "Okay.  I won't let you down."

              "I know you won't.  But I'd like it if you'd keep me informed."

              "I will."

Chapter 26
 

Bekka

As my work days drone on, I begin to get nervous about my impending meeting with Jameson.  I have no information, no leads, no nothing.  And while I'm certain my day with Frankie at The Watering Hole was nothing useful, I'm totally out of ideas, so at break, I decide to talk to her.

              "I've been thinking about it."  We sit in the same dirt spot in the yard with our lunches spread out between us. "If your offer is still good, I was wondering if you could see about that date with Bones."  I stare hard at my lunch, a concentrated fruit bar and some dried soy bites. 

              "Yeah?  Perfect.  I'll talk to him.  You want to come with me again on Sunday?"

              "No!" I say quickly.  "I mean, I don't want to be there when you ask him."

              "Okay.  Calm down,” she laughs.

              "He's nice though, right?"

              "He's kind of a dork, but very nonthreatening."

              "Oh.  Okay.”  I like nonthreatening.

              "I think you two would work."

              "So, you're saying I'm a dork?" I say, looking at her fiercely.

              She nearly spits the water she's just put in her mouth.  "Sorry!  No, I didn't mean..."

              But I smile at her, "I'm kidding.  I like dorks."

              The whistles blow indicating break time is over.  Everyone in the yard gets up and slowly trudges back toward the doors of the factory.

After work, I pass LeRoy, but he's talking to a fellow street urchin, who is standing near his bathroom, facing him, clutching onto a small metal cart with wheels.  When I get closer, they turn toward me for a second and I see it's a woman.  Her hair is long and matted and her face is dirty and mean looking.  She's pretty old, maybe even older than LeRoy.  I look down and see she's wearing only one shoe but her cart is piled high with nothing but shoes and boots, none matching.

              LeRoy sees me and flashes me his signature toothless grin, but doesn't say anything.  When I return the gesture his lady friend gives me a short, but obvious, glare.  I decide it's best not to interrupt them and keep walking. 

              Once I've gotten far enough away, I start to think about the situation I've gotten myself into--a date.  I'm sick to my stomach, especially after my bad experience with Alex.  I just try to focus on the fact that Zane and I hung out almost everyday and it was nothing but comfortable and fun.  I would like to have something like that again, and Frankie said he was a nice guy.

              I'm being stupid.  This isn't supposed to be a real date anyway.  I'm a spy.  I'm trying to work an angle here.  Which angle, I have no idea, but whether or not I like Bones for real is besides the point.  I have to form some relationships; get attached enough to get to know people without really getting attached.  

              When I get back to my apartment I decide that even though I'm tired from work, the best way to release my tension is to go for a run.  I haven't done it for so long, but it's exactly what I need.  I change my clothes and shove a half empty water bottle into my backpack and head out. 

              As I make my way through the unfamiliar streets, my mind doesn't really stop, like it used to do back in the North when I would run.  I keep thinking about my meeting with my agent.  I don't know how to do this.  I've read and re-read the training manuals over and over again, but I'm good at working in abstracts.  One of the lessons says I should put out feelers in as many places as I can.  Put out feelers?  I have no idea what that even means.  I just need to come up with something to tell Jameson to keep him at bay for another month.  Maybe if I say I've made connections with a guy named Bones because I think he's a subversive, he'll leave me alone?

              It's starting to get dark, but I don't care.  I keep running.  As I round a corner and run past several businesses, I'm able to see inside as they are lit up against the fading light of the day.  I see a shop with several pluggers sitting and staring at their screens.  There are a few bars on the stretch that I've never seen before now.  A few people wander the streets between the bars and shops. 

              The stress of everything, coupled with the fact that that I have nothing good in my foreseeable future, makes me feel heavy.  What has happened to my optimism?  My legs start to slow down and my run turns to a slow jog.  If I had just one person to confide in, I would feel better, but I don't.  I contemplate spilling things to Frankie, but I know I can't.  Maybe I just need to come clean to Jameson.  Maybe he isn't as bad a guy as I think.  What if I tell him I don't know what I'm doing, maybe he'll go easy on me? 

              Soon I begin walking.  My body isn't used to the pace anymore. I'm having a hard time catching my breath.  I plop down heavily on a curb and rehydrate.  After I sip from my water bottle, I put my head down and close my eyes in an attempt to pull it together.

              I hear voices and look up to see shadows emerging from a dark alley across the street from me.  It suddenly looks like a homeless invasion as several tattered men spill out into the street.  I get up to start moving again, but when I look at the street signs, I realize I'm not exactly sure which way I need to go.  Like bugs attracted to the street light, these men begin to swarm around me.

              I try not to freak but their eyes contain a focus that alarms me.  The only thing to do is take control of the situation straight off.  "Hi," I say confidently.

              They've formed a loose huddle around me.

              "Howdy, little lady," the one directly in front of me says.  He has a large gut and a big pack on his back nearly matching the bulge on his front.

              "I was wondering if you could tell me the quickest way back toward Evergreen Street," I ask, trying to sound casual.

              "What?  You lost, girl?" one of the men next to Beer Belly says.

              "Not lost, I just got turned around."

              "Uh huh.  Well, why should we help you?" another one says roughly.  Their semicircle is tightening around me.  I don't like the position I've put myself in suddenly.  My back is literally forced up against a wall. 

              I try to take a step forward.  "Oh, nevermind.  I just thought maybe you would be friendly enough to...forget it." 

              "Oh, weez friendly alright, ain’t we guys?" the leader says, taking another step toward me. I can smell his bodily stench and the alcohol on his breath.  My heart is racing. 

              "Yeah.  We might be willin' to help you out," Beer Belly says, looking not at me but at the water bottle still clenched in my hand.  There are less than a few tablespoons left in the bottom of the plastic bottle.  Not much of a bargaining chip, but I need to try. 

I thrust it toward him. "You can have it," I say timidly.

He snorts like he's going to laugh at my paltry offer, but his eyes turn primal and he grabs at the bottle, gulping the drink down without sharing it with his friends.

              "Now let me go," I demand.

              "What about whatever you got in that pack," he says, eyeing the bag on my back.

              "I don't have any more water." Which is true, but something tells me they are going to need to see for themselves.  I push the backpack tighter against the wall, but I'm in full panic now.  Sweat runs down my face and burns my eyes, making them go blurry.  I think about kicking the guy to my left and running.  One of them reaches out and touches my shoulder and I scream.