I’ve taken a bit of a hiatus from writing (and reading) for the last month, as life has gotten busy and words haven’t been flowing as easily as before. I should be back on a consistent schedule now as I continue this story of a near-future bounty hunter whose life is about to spiral into the most dangerous assignment of his career. *Full Disclosure: This was originally imagined as a short story and now it’s got more of a novella feel to it, so if you’d like to catch up, you may do so here.
The sun broke through the glass, an intruder on a dreamless sleep. I laid there staring at her empty side of the bed, my mind slowly taking in the surroundings through a lingering fog. The hangover from opium wasn’t physically painful like what follows a night of crawling inside a bottle, it’s deeper than that. Like you’ve leveraged part of your soul as collateral against a debt. A debt I don’t intend to pay anytime soon. I pulled myself upright on the edge of the bed, squinting against the light to see my phone. The notification had been sitting for hours.
“Shit.”
My wallet was ῤ30 lighter, over half what I was paid for the repo job. Not unexpected as my relationship with Esme had always been transactional, no reason it shouldn’t continue that way. The unwanted notification was from the Courser app which normally featured a list or map view of available jobs, organized by location and value. The easiest were Rent-to-Own and retailers revoking rights to more valuable products like furniture and electronics. “Easy” was less valuable to Coursers, like Door Dashing McDonald’s to the poor side of town. High value jobs were corporate. Lenders who needed a vehicle retrieved for non-payment or a family evicted from a foreclosed property, these were valuable jobs, but shaved years off the careers of most Coursers in the worst way. In and around jobs like those was everything else, a trade-off made with the future, a society where ownership is granted in an instant, but rescinded in the next.
None of those opportunities appeared on the screen, just a blue notification banner with the message “Assignment Pending”. My trade-off for being a federal employee.
These assignments were meant for Sisyphus and I didn’t have time to roll that particular boulder up hill for days. It was official with a decent bonus, but would lock out the app until complete or until the magistrate removed me. The latter of which brought me to the federal building for the first time in months. I pushed past the crowd who had business, criminal and otherwise, in the large limestone building that resembled a new-age Parthenon. For every Doric column, a mounted Recog cam tracked movements and scanned everyone around the building. The boots of federal police officers echoed off the granite floors as they approached the entrance funneling us into the atrium. I paused just inside the automatic doors and considered turning back, unsure if my credentials still allowed access. I kept moving like I belonged until a uniformed trooper shoulder checked me as he passed, an acknowledgment that we knew one another, probably from an old precinct though I couldn’t place him. A subtle reminder that access and belonging could be mutually exclusive concepts.
“Hey! Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”
I turned to find a bearded man who looked to be playing dress-up in paramilitary gear. The lead trooper had a grip on the man’s arm in an attempt to turn him back toward the entrance.
“I’m a taxpayer! I pay for all this and I can walk around wherever I want,” he screamed, breaking the grip with his opposite forearm. The tactical baton extended from the hand of the trooper to his left, the tip of which was jabbed into his side before he could react. Hidden, thirty-gauge needles slid through the intruder’s clothing, piercing his skin. The reaction came on immediately from a concentrated dose of organophosphates. His scream rang through the atrium as his body seized and convulsed. The troopers dragged a curled ball of a man by his arms and deposited him outside to a waiting ambulance. The incident lasted only a few minutes, but the outcome was decided the moment Recog cams identified a digital wallet without access credentials. Hi-res images would have been uploaded to the phones of federal troopers tasked with securing building. The moment he refused the order to turn around was the moment his day ended in the back of an ambulance. The only question was blunt force or chemical deterrent?
I continued past the crowd of onlookers and ambled up the wide, granite stairwell leading to the third floor. Fluorescent light shone through the frosted glass of locked wooden doors on both sides of the hall, each secured with a touchscreen locking mechanism. I stepped in front of a door with a placard reading “Magistrate Cain” and was pleasantly surprised when the small screen chimed with the Naxos logo.
I crossed the threshold into a reception area where two law clerks sat at desks across from one another, creating a walkway leading back to the magistrates office.
“She in?” I asked, not bothering to stop for an answer.
The clerks stumbled through protests as I knocked on the closed office door. No sooner than my knuckles hit the wood, a voice from inside called out.
“Come in, Logan.”
I opened the door to the sunlit office, a row of windows overlooking the city provided the backdrop for the magistrate who remained seated at her desk.
“Hodge, you’re dismissed.”
The other guest in the office rose from the seat across from Magistrate Cain. He straightened his vest and wiped at the front of his matching slacks, both charcoal with crimson pinstripes. The sleeves were rolled on his white dress shirt, though it was only for looks as Alastor Hodge never dirtied his hands. He was clean shaven and recently from the barber judging by his continued wiping at something on his clothes. His hair was cut short and combed over with an artificial, steel-gray coloring. I still hadn’t figured out why he adopted a 100-year-old style, but it arrived with his promotion. He stared at me while adjusting the black, leather holster on his hip, delivering a silent message my way. Only Coursers of the highest rank carried lethal firearms, as they were often tasked with assisting the Federal Police with manhunts.
Hodge puckered his lips in a simulated kiss as he walked past. I waited until I heard the door open and close behind me.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, showing my phone to Magistrate Cain.
“An assignment,” she replied.
I stared back in disbelief.
“A surprise to me as well, I assure you.”
Cain wasn’t my biggest fan and if not for the police union, I’d have been fired five years ago. Becoming a Courser provided a soft landing after I crashed out of legitimate policing. She reluctantly took me in as a favor to an old friend, but had since refused me any official assignments with the hope I’d resign or worse. Any jobs since then had been low-stakes gig work from private parties.
She reclined and swiped at her phone. The 85” screen across from her desk lit up with the Naxos logo. An aerial view of the city with Coursers tagged in varying locations populated, each identified with picture, badge number, and current assignment.
“As you can see, you aren’t my only choice. There are numerous under my purview who are better suited. They’re available. Higher clearance rates. Less…problematic lifestyles.”
If I cared about her opinion, I’d feel ashamed by the comment. She wasn’t wrong either. Assignments like this should go to someone who had the time to dedicate, who wasn’t concerned about affording his next fix.
“Then why me? This is official and belongs with one of them.” I said, turning to look at the image of Hodge on the screen.
“Agreed. But you were asked for specifically, so here we are.”
“By who?”
“Skylar Dietrich. Chief Technology Officer of the Naxos Foundation.”
I stalled in my indignation. The name wasn’t familiar, nor had I ever dealt with Naxos in any capacity. I was so caught up with being pulled off the board by an official assignment, I didn’t bother to review the details. Magistrate Cain must have picked up on my blank expression and rolled her eyes in response.
“According to Dietrich, a piece of intellectual property went missing in transit to a contractor. He needs it retrieved.”
“He needs it or the company needs it?” I asked.
“Does it matter?”
I guess it didn’t.
“Regardless, you are off the board until this is cleared. They are not just another corporate job and we need to treat them as such.”
“This is bullsh….” Her hand raised to silence the outburst.
“Pretend for this one job that you are not an abject failure. That you are not a functioning junkie. That you used to be a decent cop and human being.”
Remembering my past life stung, but she made her point. I turned and exited the way I came, tail tucked firmly between my legs.
I am loving this story. Masterful opening line on this episode. Also "These assignments were meant for Sisyphus and I didn’t have time to roll that particular boulder uphill for days." Brilliant. And there was a whole paragraph's worth of info in Hodge's "kiss". Question: What is the name of the currency "ῤ" -- is that the Greek rho symbol? I look forward to the next chapter. I am getting to like this guy. Sharron from 🍁Leaves