Avarice Secret Unquiet CH 27

Politics of Payment

Carlos had followed the river for the best part of three days as Kuparr had instructed, and he was becoming increasingly nervous that he may never locate his destination. Yet logic told him it must be somewhere close ahead. The Bridge at least as he remembered it was far too big to miss. Before the war, it had been home to about twenty-two thousand people, and after the war, the numbers had swelled considerably. So he pressed on, scanning the horizon through the tall eucalyptus trees for the faintest trace of civilization.

He had to confess, after living in close proximity to such gentle people as Kuparr, and his beautiful daughter Medika today he had felt lonely. As the evening began to settle crowning the sky in vibrant lemons, and shades of peach, and reddening the already claret faces of the cliffs that plunged into the river below. The young warrior finally caught sight of the distinctive double bridges that spanned the mile-wide stretch of muddy water. Lifeblood to an entire desert state.

He paused for long moments, high up on the clifftops, taking in his unhindered view of the city below. A gentle breeze carried across the desert ruffled his wild hair. He could sight the thin slivers of the two bridges that joined the agricultural areas to the township, and the huge sprawl of the town proper on the bank opposite. Surrounded on its far side by the orange and browns of the desert, and the other side cut through by the mighty river, the rich flats covered in luxuriant green. There were lights in places winking down below, though he noted in many areas the mass of darkened shanty towns still remained just as he had remembered them before his abduction.

He tightened his grip on his gelding's reins and continued on. As he drew closer he could see that the span of the railway bridge was incomplete. Whether by flood waters or strife, the center of the metal structure was all but gone, teetering on crumbling pylons. He tried to remember if it was like that when last he was here, but he could not recall.

Memories of that time came flooding back to him as he drew closer to the pot-holed blacktop that still remained, beginning the descent into the river valley proper. He should never have gone with Wezley Bennett he thought. He was foolish and young and really believed the man would trade him for the.357 Smith & Wesson he had flaunted. Never realizing it was just a ruse to get him alone. He wondered what may have been if that event had never happened? Still his arrival here once more was better late than never.

It was dark as he rode his horse to the checkpoint in the center of the remaining standing bridge. A guard stood under a dim circle of light, he could see a couple of other men in the guard box obscured in shadow, all sporting rifles slung over their shoulders. He reigned in his horse and dismounted, the guard left the circle of light and walked towards him nonchalantly.

"Your papers?" The guard asked with a practiced boredom.

Carlos paused, he had no papers, no form of identification. He didn't know what to do.

"Your papers or be gone." The man snarled, already walking back to his post. The other two men were smoking now and looking in his direction.

"I have never had any papers." Carlos finally replied. "I left here years ago before papers were required."

"Well go back where you belong then." The guard replied in a disinterested tone.

Carlos sighed and wondered what would happen if he just got on his horse and galloped by. He'd probably be shot in the back he figured. There had to be another way. The warrior deciding to try another tact.

"Is there any way I might get papers?"

"Depends." The guard replied lighting a cigarette. "Maybe you have got something worthwhile to gain admittance? That is if you are not a runaway slave?"

Carlos blanched for a second, and a sharp feeling of fear rose up which he fought to quiet. He was a runaway slave. He thought for a moment, maybe they meant marked slaves. It seemed brutal, but there was no way they could realistically tell if he had ever been the property of anyone. In the same thought, wondering that it may be easier to just swim the river, and attempt to infiltrate the city by moonlight.

He almost turned about then beaten, electing for that alternative. The guards had lost interest in the newcomer and were talking among themselves, anything to make the tedious night shift go by faster. This evening there was no one else on the bridge seeking admission.

Carlos had very little in his possession of great worth, nothing really in his saddlebags but a few clothes and one decent knife, but he did have the semi-automatic rifle. The gun was well made, and well preserved. A Browning BLRM3 with a wooden stock, and silver insert which was engraved, the barrel was a polished blue.

"Will this gain me admission?" He gestured toward the rife tethered to his saddle in its leather holster. He did not deem it wise to pull the weapon.

"Depends if it's any good."

With great care Carlos slid the weapon from its protection, brandishing it so the men may see its worth. He would no longer need a weapon like this in the township. He preferred the offered concealment of a handgun or a knife, which he was sure if he moved in the right circles he could procure at a later time.

The guard exhaled a whistle of appreciation as he sighted the well-preserved and very illegal weapon. Semi-automatics like this one had all been outlawed or destroyed long before the conflict.

"Wow! One of the few that didn't get burned. Look guys!" The first guard was animated now, and the other two men came forth from the shadows to crowd about the weapon in admiration.

"Go get Gage, he needs to see this."

"On it." One of the men sprinted away, his footfalls loud on the pavement.

Carlos waited patiently, his horse fidgeting by his side, at least the evening was pleasant, but he noticed the mosquitoes were beginning to bite. They would probably be horrendous by summer.

After a lengthy wait, the man who had sprinted away returned alone.

"Gage is busy, but he said he will see you. Come."

With that Carlos entered the Bridge. The city was different and yet somehow it had changed very little. Many people were walking the streets at this early evening hour. They wove their way in between the lumbering carts ferrying goods and others riding on horseback. The roads were not in the best condition for a city center, some of the pavement remained, but there were numerous, treacherous potholes. They had been filled with rubble where they had become large, and the carts bumped and jostled noisily over them. The wrecked cars and truck bodies were gone, last he had been here the streets were all but impassable for their presence.

He gazed around at the familiar buildings lit by mostly mantle lamps and candlelight. Noting most of the shopfront glass was long gone, to be replaced by wooden or metal shutters on the retail establishments. Society had not progressed very far it would seem, when it came to manufacturing.

He knew already where the man was taking him, he could hear the strains of a band playing and people talking loudly. The bright lights of Sixth Street loomed before him, and the distinctive frontage of the Four Roses Hotel. It had been called something far less charismatic once like the Murray Bridge Hotel. However, after the war and influx of refugees, it was taken over by the Hell's Angels and the Banditos. The two biker gangs had since merged to become the Banned Angels. Carlos had remembered that much, but he had been no more than a young teen at that time; a street-wise rat on the periphery of the real power here.

He tied his horse to the hitching post and followed the man beneath the curved veranda and through the surprisingly, narrow doorway. Once inside the immense stone building, he was greeted by a press of humanity. It was uncomfortably hot from all the warm bodies, and cigarette smoke hung thickly in the rank air. There was no longer any operational air conditioning or air exchangers used in commercial spaces.

He was ushered by the long bar where the patrons were lively with drink and gossip, and upstairs to the quieter reaches of the building. Sex workers lingered with their johns in the dimly lit corridors negotiating services.

"In here." His escort said as he gestured to the partially opened door.

The stained wood was battered with years of use. The man turned and left, and Carlos hesitated, unsure if he should just walk in or knock first. He took a deep breath, stood straight gathering his confidence, and pushed the door aside.

Gage Freeman looked up from his winning hand, sporting a straight flush at the tall, young man who had just interrupted his evening. He was sure that Jimmy was incorrect in his assumption of the weapon the stranger carried, and this was just an annoying waste of his time.

His bloodshot, hazel eyes locked on the stranger suspiciously, causing him for just a moment to recall an age before the war, before his terrible injury. A time when he was vastly capable of doing anything he set his mind to. Before the weight had settled onto his large frame, and gout had become his own personal battlefield. A moment when he was young and vital, hungry for success in a way he had not been for years. When fast bikes, drugs, and crime had been his entire existence.

He had risen through the ranks rapidly and lived like a King. Not that he didn't garner that respect still, but he was aging, almost fifty. Just for that fleeting moment, Gage remembered what it was like to be young again.

Carlos' eyes were drawn to the many men seated at the long rectangular table, the hierarchy of Banned Angels he assumed, as denoted by their colors. Again the air here was also thick with smoke and weed, but at least the windows stood open to the street, admitting a modicum of fresh air. All were engrossed in a game of cards, there were many fine baubles set on the table, and it seemed the stakes were high.

The largest of the men looked up as he entered. He appeared most annoyed, even though he had called for this audience. He was an enormous man, even before the excess weight had settled on his bones. Carlos was sure that five cows had died just to create his leather jacket. He was nervous in these men's company, and he was right to be, they spelled palpable danger.

"I'm here to see Gage." Carlos announced, trying to not sound too threatening nor too weak, it was a difficult line to tread. He could remember distinctly, that these men had the power of life and death in this place. It had been some years, but he sensed not much had changed.

"You're lookin at him." The huge man countered gruffly, his face a ruddy shade of red framed in lank, greasy shoulder-length brown hair, tied back with a skull and crossbones bandanna. He took a puff of the joint resting precariously on the edge of the tabletop and stared at the intruder with lifeless eyes.

He's stoned. Carlos observed. This should be good. However he had come this far, he may as well commit. He again carefully presented the rifle to the men at the table.

"I was told this might grant me entry, and papers here."

The men were quiet. All eyes appraising the fine weapon, the earlier animated bluster was quite gone.

"Well fuck me drunk! Jimmy was right it is a Browning BLR M3!" The heavily inked man next to Gage commented excitedly.

Gage nodded, scratched briefly at his wild brown beard, flecked with the first touches of gray, and held his enormous hands out for the gun. The biker thought about perhaps confiscating the rifle and sending the unfortunate on his way. He could have easily, yet something in the young man's primal, dark stare told the weary biker that it would be folly.

Carlos hesitated. He knew these powerful men were a law unto themselves they could easily just take the weapon and throw him outside; that was if he were lucky. However, even with these fears, he surrendered the rifle to the giant of a man. He waited in the ensuing silence, somewhere he could hear a horse trotting up the street, and he hoped his own was still where he had left him. He wanted to come out of this at least somewhat unscathed.

The big man looked directly at him. He was very unreadable in his emotions. Carlos was tense, and he was fast remembering why civilization and all its nuances were at times rather difficult to navigate. He hoped he had not made a huge mistake, swimming the river may have been his best bet after all.

"Where'd you get this?" Gage said suspiciously, running his huge calloused fingers over the fine weapon in appreciation. However, he was assessing the stranger deeply. He could sense the young man's unease, yet he stood his ground like a capable fighter. As Gage suspected he indeed was.

"A friend gave it to me." Carlos answered, attempting to keep his unfaltering gaze on the lead biker. He knew that to show weakness here would be folly.

Gage was not sure the man was telling the complete truth. His friend may have lent it to him, or maybe his 'friend' had suffered an untimely accident. This was not a weapon so easily given away. The swarthy man looked feral and dangerous. As though he had seen and survived a great deal. At least that was the vibe Gage was getting. It would perhaps be more efficient to simply conclude the negotiation so that both parties were satisfied.

"We don't see too many from out there trying to enter any more. You come far?"

"A hundred or so miles inland at a guess."

Gage just grunted in reply and took another puff of his joint, it eased his grinding pain somewhat.

"Yeah, go see the Commissioner tomorrow he will have your papers."

With that announcement, the big man took his hand from the table and his men resumed the card game.

*****

After his dismissal Carlos walked his horse about the city, taking in the sights. He had no currency to pay for accommodation, even in the meanest establishments. He asked at the stables where perhaps he could sell his horse. The hostler had informed him that the horse market would commence tomorrow over in the Wharf Hill reserve. Carlos thanked the man and set off for the parkland, leading his mount across the ruined car park so the animal might take a well-earned drink at the river. He spent the rest of the night half-dozing by the base of a large eucalyptus, watching the brush-tailed possums foraging on the city refuse.

In the morning he had sold his horse for a fair price as well as his riding tack. He did not imagine he would need them here, though he did keep the saddlebags. He found his way to the Commissioner's office and collected his paperwork without a hitch. He thought it an irony that for the price of an illegal weapon, a man who had undoubtedly once been law enforcement had granted him passage to this town. Sometimes society functioned in mysterious ways.

Now that he had currency, mostly a collection of silver and gold jewelry he decided his first purchase would be a room. He debated avoiding The Four Roses for a quieter and possibly cheaper establishment but then relented, realizing it would potentially be the best place to gain the lay of the land. All he needed to do was buy a drink and sit and listen. However firstly sleep called him, and he found he slept very well even if the bed felt strange beneath him after so long in the wild.

*****

Carlos did not wake until well after sunset, it had been a pleasant sleep. He had been dreaming of places he had seen, things he had done, and those he held dear. Medika was as always on his mind. He missed her already, and yet he must be here. There was nothing out there to be gained, but dust, death, and endless monotony. He was torn, but the longer he stayed in society the less he wished to resume any part of his existence of before.

He had freshened up in the washbowl that he had been provided with. Running his fingers through his almost shoulder-length hair and changed his travel-stained clothes. He checked his coin pouch, weighing it in his hand, and made his way downstairs to the bar. He ordered a drink and a hot meal, spit-roasted pig, and sat in a far corner, his back to the wall, and observed the busy scene before him.

He was very unused to the noise and was not fond of the closeness of the patrons after so long in the wastes. He could see why sweet Medika would have been unhappy here. He took a bite of the succulent pork and his mouth watered, washing it down with the rough ale. It was good to finally eat real food. There was a band playing some familiar yet half-forgotten melody. Carlos tried to recall what it was, it was something his mother listened to long ago. He was not sure if they were good or just merely passing for good. However, it was pleasant to listen to a tune again, as it had been so long.

His dark eyes scanned the patrons, searching the bikers, rogues, whores, and the simple working folk. However, nothing drew him specifically. No conversations of interest caught his ear either, at least not tonight. So he sat soaking civilization in. In many ways, nothing was different than the normal Saturday night at the pub. That thought slapped him roughly, it occurred to him he had no idea of the day, date, month, year, or even the precise hour, and he had not been ruled by such constructs for many years.

He did notice that there were very few elderly in the crowd. Maybe they are at home, he thought, whiling away their hours by the fireside, away from the noise and gossip. Though he did wonder if perhaps very few elderly had survived, and without good medical care many here even now would never live to see old age. The medieval ages had again resurfaced he mused. There were a few children present in the crowd, even babies at their mother's breast. It appeared that the desire for censorship of establishments to just certain age groups had gone out the window, along with everything else.

He caught sight of two half-grown boys milling about in the densely packed crowd. He smiled as he watched them, recalling his time spent here in his youth. He knew what they were at, he clenched his coin purse tighter in his fist and took another long drink draining the chipped glass.

All that remained on his plate were the rib bones completely chewed bare of their succulent meat. Sated, he got up and walked from the crowded establishment, and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. The suffocating smoke in the hotel bar was stifling.

He wandered for a while hands in his pockets down Sixth Street getting his bearings and recalling a bygone life. Whores called to him from doorways, but he gave them barely a glance. Medika tonight was on his mind.