Dusk had set in by the time I got to her. Most of the trip was driving around an industrial complex until I found her leaning against one of the warehouse walls. Her office was inside, but in the five years we’d been together, I’d never made it down here. She was in a black, cable-knit sweater and the same black jeans and boots from the previous night. Her striped coat blew open in the wind that cut between the buildings. She wore the same thing the night we met. I’d sold off nearly everything I owned and planned to inhale the proceeds at the cheapest den in the Drifts until the proprietor offered me a job and a cot in the back. Places like that were required to employ security twenty-four hours a day and often found it necessary considering the clientèle. Even though it didn’t help my reputation, the den got a security guard who could cover every shift for the price of however much opium I could consume on a given day.
Esme delivered to dens in that neighborhood, including mine. One night, some alleyway junkie tried to rip off a delivery. I woke to the screams and found him bleeding in the loading dock area, her straight-razor dripped red, her coat spattered. He dragged himself away and I finished carrying in the supply. We started to banter each time she made a delivery, until eventually she asked me to walk away from the den and come with her. She brought me to the apartment above the Quarterdeck, told me stories about hope and potential, then promised to help me get clean. She started me on a regimen of medicine or opium-laced cigarettes that she blended at home to help wean me from the dens. She motivated me to contact an old friend for a reputable security job and instead, I landed the Courser gig. No matter how much I hated the job and subsequently myself, I was grateful to her. Loyal. Like a dog to its owner and that loyalty gave me purpose. Without it, I’d have died on a den cot years ago and been dumped in the alley with the rest of the junkies.
She fell into the passenger seat, leaned over until I pecked her on the lips, then smiled.
“I need your help.”
“So you said.”
I pulled up the case file on the Tesla’s screen and explained the assignment.
“I need this USPS worker named Tarasov. You ever met him?”
I knew it was a stretch, but Esme was in a similar business of off-books delivery services. She had gone from making runs to owning a fleet of autonomous vans, a leap that felt impossible from someone of her station, but I had a suspicion of how she bankrolled the venture. Maybe she had employed someone as a “driver” or come across a USPS courier connected to Tarasov, as off-books couriers tend to run in similar social circles.
“I’ve never seen him before. I have a couple former USPS courier in my employ, though. I could check with them. May take a bit as they’re out on runs,” she said.
“I don’t have time for that. This is an official case and I’m locked out of making money until its closed.” I elected not to tell her that the alleged victim was a technocrat who’d been keeping god-like surveillance over us. Depending on her mood, she’d be more inclined to burn down his condo than help me, a fate she believed most oppressors deserved.
She swiped the information from the screen and began to input an address into the GPS.
“I work with a USPS union steward, hiring his people on a trial basis before they join officially. His name’s Watt. Harlan Watt. If Tarasov is still USPS, Harlan will know where to find him.”
Something in the way she said his name sat wrong, but I didn’t care to unpack it.
“Be careful. You’re not going to like where I’m sending you.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
I’d dealt with enough off-books couriers to know what I was getting into. Compared to what awaited me if I couldn’t talk her out of a dose, walking into a USPS bar didn’t register as the greatest threat to my health.
“One more thing…I need my medicine.”
She returned my gaze.
“You know the deal. If you want Madak, you pay for it.”
“Christ Esme, now isn’t the time. I’ll be lucky to wrap up this case by next month, let alone tonight. I can’t earn until it’s closed.”
“Then you can’t afford your habit,” she stated.
“How long have we been together? You know I’m good for it, but I can’t do my job if my head isn’t clear.”
The corners of her lips fell in disappointment. I could hear the desperation in my voice.
“I’m not here to enable you and maybe a little motivation is what you need.”
I couldn’t tell if she meant for the case or for life, but if she loved me, she wouldn’t watch as I suffered. Who would do that to someone they loved? To someone as loyal as I had been since the moment we met? The questions flashed bright in my mind.
“Get out,” I said.
She stared at me, as I stared a thousand yards through the windshield.
“I don’t need tough love right now. So please, get the fuck out of my car.”
My anger drowned her disappointment, sadness, and frustration, holding them underwater until they didn’t resonate any longer. She slammed the door, then stood in the wet snow that’d begun to fall while we talked. In the rear view, I couldn’t tell what she wiped from her face and I didn’t care.