literature

Help Wanted, Part 2

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"I'm interested." He folded his hands together as he spoke.  "But I still need to know more."
Sherooq leaned forward. "Your previous clients indicated that you could track him on scent alone."
"Yeah, well, my reputation is one thing and my situation is another," he said. The truth was that he probably could find Jack by his scent. Prying information from his clients would be easier, however. "Like, what kind of guy is he? What sorts of clubs does he spend his singles at? Give me the framework."
"This is the first we have seen of him in many years!" Sherooq snapped. Koil was taken aback at the sudden flash of anger in her voice. She shot out of her chair and pointed a gloved finger straight at him. "You are asking questions we don't have the answers to! And you're trying my patience!"
Koil grit his teeth, dug his fingernails into the wood of the table. Sherooq might attack him. There was something in her stance, a frantic energy barely muffled by the burqa. She could strike like a serpent, and her first strike would be deadly.
He stood, ready to begin the dance of tooth and nail. The tall woman took a step forward; the sitting one stood up next to Sherooq. Koil's eyes dashed between the three of them, sizing them up. All were ready to fight, to kill.
Koil took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. He could fight. It'd be a gamble, and a stupid one at that. These women were something else—military? Undercover cops?—and he didn't know if he could take them all. One, certainly. Maybe two, if the giantess wasn't there.
He could fight. He would lose. So he let himself relax. He eased his way back into his seat, watching as the women did the same. He forced himself to place his palms flat on the table, to lean back against the cool wall.
"Alright," Koil said. "Alright. I'll need to do the footwork. That won't be hard."
"Good," Sherooq muttered. Her shell had been cracked; Koil took note. He had a feeling that dealing with the clients would be more difficult than finding Springheel Jack. A steady rhythm and a level head; that was all he needed to succeed.
"One more thing, before you leave." The woman next to Sherooq tilted her head slightly as Koil spoke. "You said I'd lead you to him. What, exactly, does that entail?" Other than a trap, he thought.
"You will lead us to him. Is there something…difficult, to understand about that?" Most of the edge was gone from Sherooq's voice. Most, but not all. He knew that asking for an exact answer was too much.
"What I mean is…clarify that for me. Do I find him and call you? What?" It became clear to him that he'd have to claw his way to his three million.
"We will meet you just before you set out to track him," Sherooq said. "You will lead us to him."
Koil stared at her.
"That's not gonna happen," he said flatly.
Silence was the only response he got.
"Listen, I'm making a lot of concessions for you, and—"
"So make one more," Sherooq said, cutting him off.
"I'm doing the job, aren't I? For all I know, this guy is a terrorist, or a drug dealer or something, or maybe he's a senator and you're trying to rub him out. I've tolerated the secretiveness, I'm sticking my head on the chopping block. I'm putting my foot down here: no one follows me," he brought his face back into the light, scowled to show them he was serious. "That's that."
Sherooq was silent for a moment. Koil wondered if she would concede. Surely she could see things from where he was standing. He had to work alone if she wanted results. It was as simple as that.
"Very well," she said, and Koil's spirits lifted. "We can tell you are not interested. We'll be on our way." She signaled to the other two and they began to make for the door.
Koil watched his three million walk away. He had ten seconds, probably less, to make a decision: play it safe and lose it all, or reveal the one thing that made him truly different to these strangers?
"Wait," he said, standing up. They stopped. Sherooq looked at him over her shoulder. "Fine. Fine, I'll do it. But it can't be any earlier than Tuesday."
"Time is of th—" Sherooq began.
"Yeah, I get that. It can't be before Tuesday, though. I'll know everything I need to know by then." This was crucial. He checked his mental calendar to make sure he had the date right. If she said no to this…
"Fine." Sherooq produced a piece of paper, folded into a square. She tossed it towards Koil. He watched as it landed on the table and she spoke again. "That's the meeting place. Do not be late."
He heard the door open as he slid the paper towards him. When he looked up, they were gone.
-------------
Koil sat on the bench, his laptop balanced on his knees. He glanced up as a subway screamed by, reminding him that his train wasn't due for another twenty minutes. A soft ping brought his attention back to the computer screen. Basura was online. He double-clicked a notification, bringing up a new window.
"Hey," he typed. He hit enter and began typing again, before his friend could respond. "I need some help with a job."
The instant messenger was silent for a moment. A small, animated icon of a keyboard was the only indication that Basura had reacted.
Ping. "Hello" Ping. "A job?"
"Yeah," Koil typed. "I need a background check."
Ping. "You need a bath too"
"Funny."
Ping. "What for?"
"Some clients want me to find a guy," he began, uncertain how much he should reveal. "They called him Springheel Jack. I want to know more about him before I dive in." Basura already knew his choice of profession, even if he didn't approve of it.
There was another pause before Basura responded. Koil imagined him sitting, surrounded by glowing screens, writing code or whatever it was one did with computers that wasn't the Internet. Koil had tried to get interested in coding before, but he had never had the patience.
Ping. "Spring-heeled Jack is a character in English folklore of the Victorian Era…"
Koil scowled at the paragraphs of text that appeared in the chatbox.
"I'd have thought you were too good for Wikipedia."
Ping. "Not all of us are blessed with a keen sense of detection" Ping. "Is that all they gave you?"
"They gave me a picture and part of a shirt."
Ping. "Send the picture"
Koil dragged the IM window off to the side and found the picture's file. He had scanned it earlier. He double-clicked the file to make sure it was the right one, then dragged it into the chatbox.
A voice spoke garbled phrases through the subway station's intercom. Koil looked away from his laptop as another train ran by, the passengers inside little more than indistinctly colored blurs. The motion of the train caused his eyes to move to the right. He saw people, boys no older than seventeen. There were three of them, hoods pulled up over their heads. They hovered near the platform, glancing over their shoulders to look at him. He caught a few remarks he would've preferred not to hear, mostly referring to his ponytail.
Ping. He looked back at the screen. "Nice hat," Basura had said at last. Koil rolled his eyes. Ping. "Did they give you his real name?"
"No, they said they didn't know it. Something makes me doubt that."
"Gay." Koil looked up and stared at the teenagers, now snickering to themselves on the platform. They were looking at him.
Ping. "I'll look into it"
"Thanks," Koil typed. "I'm going to need it before Tuesday. You know."
Ping. "Yeah"
A train rolled into the station. Brakes screeched in protest as it slid to a halt.
"Time to go." Koil hit enter and opened his messenger bag.
Ping. "Bye"
He shut the laptop off and dropped it into the bag. As he stood he saw one of the teens break off from the other two, striding confidently across the platform.
The doors to the train opened as the teenager stopped at a pillar. He watched Koil as he walked towards the open doors. Koil didn't bother to meet his gaze.
He put one foot through the doors and felt a tug on his messenger bag. The strap slid partway off his shoulder as the sound of the other teenagers cheering their friend on reached him.
Koil twisted, spinning closer to the boy. He caught his wrist and dug into it with his fingernails; the would-be thief yelped, more out of surprise than pain. Koil yanked him closer and wrapped his right hand around his throat, placing his thumb under his chin. He leaned down, wordlessly bringing his face closer to his opponent's. He stared into the boy's eyes, seeing the panic there.
Koil smiled. He smiled wide, making sure the teenager got a good view. The boy let go of the bag, mouth agape in horror. Koil threw him down, tucked his bag under his arm, threw a smile at the teen's friends, and stepped onto the subway.
He heard belated screams of horror as the doors slid shut, followed by cries of "His teeth! His fuckin' teeth!" and decided that it would be best if he sat in a different car.
Koil haggles, Koil chats, Koil thinks he's on top of the game. Koil asks, "Why should I worry?" [link]

I originally intended this story to be in 2 parts, but since I haven't submitted anything in a little while, and this is a good-sized chunk, I figured I'd throw it out there. Hope you like it.

And yes, I listened to animated dog Billy Joel singing about twenty times while writing this.
© 2011 - 2024 CharismaticMegafauna
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thundercaya's avatar
Scary ladies!

I like that Koil got the chance to show his scariness to those punk kids. I hate punk kids.