Original Work The Unwelcome Sign

“So what are we going to do with you?” I was visiting our prisoner
“Why you asking me? I get a choice? You told me that you'd let me go.
“It was a rhetorical question. I was just thinking out loud.”
“Take me back to my people.” I snorted at his request. “Hey, you asked.”
“You don't really have any people anymore.”
“What do you mean by that?” He was a strange mix of angry and unsure. I thought about it and realized it probably wasn't such a odd mixture after all.
“We killed your boss and and all of his people.”
“Threeballz?” He smiled, taking me by surprise. “You killed him? Really?”
“Yup. Put three rounds into him and then took out another two dozen of your homies” I was all smug until I noticed that rather than be upset, he was grinning.
“This was at the mansion?”
Surprised at his reaction, I forgot that I was the one supposed to be asking the questions.
“Yes. That's where it started. We put a real hurting on your gang. That's what you get when you come here and attack innocent folk. We won't put up with it. You guys threatened us so we took preemptive action.”
It was like he wasn't even listening to me. “Was there a big dude there? Not tall, but big around?”
“Yes, he seemed to take charge after I took out Threeballz. Who was he?” I finally got around to doing what I came here for. Asking questions.
“That's my uncle.” another flash of a grin. “Shocka don't play”
“What are you grinning about? He probably got killed along with everyone else.”
The prisoner shook his head. “Doubt it. He wasn't about to die for that bastard Threeballz. He was just biding his time, looking for his opportunity.”
“He's the one that organized the reaction to our attack.”
This brought a laugh. I was starting to get an uneasy feeling. “Sure he did. With all of Threeballz' men. Did you actually see him? During or after?”
I searched my memory and didn't come up with anything after the initial rallying of the troops at the mansion. I didn't tell the prisoner this, but I didn't have to.
“Yeah, see? Shocka ain't stupid, man. Now you've got problems. Let me go, and I'll talk to him about taking it easy on you folks. You've treated me Ok, except for keeping me locked up and not feeding me enough. You haven't hurt me or nothing. I can get him to leave you alone. You'll just need to pay him a little something here and there to keep the relationship friendly.”
I was puzzled and starting to get worried. Our prisoner clearly wasn't upset about what had happened. He actually seemed happy about it. He had hope.
“So help me to understand this. We attack in your back yard and kill your leader and a couple dozen of his men. According to information you gave us earlier, that has to be about half of his total force. We've substantially weakened your gang. Yet you think you are in a position to dictate terms to us?”
The prisoner chuckled again. “Shit. You don't know what you're talking about. You think you know our power, our leadership, and that you could hurt it.”
“So enlighten me.”
Another shrug of the shoulders. “Threeballz has been in trouble with the family since before all this happened. Shocka's been looking, waiting for the right time to move.”
“What kind of move?”
“Power kind of move. What else?” He looked at me like I was an idiot. Maybe I was. I nodded for him to go on.
“Smith Bay Bloods been getting out of hand lately. Taking too much of the market, moving into territory where they don't belong. Shocka went to talk to family over at OHC and PMP.”
“Was he looking for an alliance with Oswald Harris Court and Pearson Gardens?”
“You know that's right. We needed to put our differences aside to deal with this problem.”
“But Threeballz didn't like the idea. And he was pissed that Shocka went to talk with them.” It wasn't a question.
“Maybe you not so dumb after all.”
I said some bad words, mad at myself.
“That's right, white boy. You did Shocka a favor. Took out Threeballz for him. Not only that, but those boys that were with him? Those were his closest men. And you took them out too?” He laughed, knowing I was feeling like a fool.
“So now that Threeballz is out of the way, you think Shocka's plan will go forward?”
“Count on it.”
I swore under my breath.
“Who will be in charge? Your uncle?”
Another shoulder shrug. “Don't know. Don't know if anyone will be in charge. They was talking about working together, not coming together.”
“So an alliance, not a joining of forces into one gang?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“But that was before this all happened. What about now? Hasn't that changed?”
He didn't answer me, and I thought I knew why.
“If they're busy with the Bloods, then they don't have time or energy to think about us. We can sit back and watch them kill each other.”
“Just when I was thinking you weren't so stupid after all, you say some nonsense like that. Shocka knows you're here. He knows about the food stash. He may be getting ready to fight the Bloods, but an army's gotta eat, you know? But like I said, let me go, I'll tell Shocka to take it easy and leave you alone.”
“And he'd do that?” My skepticism obvious.
“Sure. In exchange for the food. Hand it over peaceful like and no one needs to get hurt.”
“Dane Gelt.”
“Dane what?”
“Guess you haven't read much Kipling. No thanks. We'll pass on your generous offer.”
I decided to change track. “Tell me about Mr. Grey.”
“What about him?”
“He was working with you guys, right?”
“Threeballz didn't give him much choice. He was just going to cap him at the get go, but Grey talked his way out of it. Did you take him out?”
“No, never saw him. Was he staying at the mansion?”
The prisoner nodded. “As far as I know. He was, at least before.”
“Would Shocka keep him on?”
“As long as he had something to offer. You got to understand, everything's business with these dudes.”
“And Grey traded information on the food caches for his life? I'd think that would only take him so far.”
“True, but he had more to offer.”
I just looked at him, so he kept talking. “He knew lots about the government. And everyone knew him. So if Threeballz needed something to look legitimate, he'd use Grey as a face man.”
I nodded my understanding. “So Grey told Threeballz about the food and you guys went and raided those locations. How many were there?”
“Two besides your's.”
“Not mine.” I denied. Then realized that I was actually lying. I shrugged to myself. “Where is it now?”
“You know that industrial park down by us?”
“The one with the battery and solar power place?”
He nodded. “We took that over. There were a few bays set up as warehouse space. We stashed everything in there.”
“There's a lot of it?”
“Oh yeah there is.”
“Guarded, obviously.”
He gigled, which was out of place in his over sized body. I figured it was because I'd stated the painfully obvious.
“That's where Threeballz messed up. Shocka volunteered to handle that and he put his soldiers in as guards. Shocka controlled the food. If you hadn't killed Three, Shocka would have used that to make his play.”
“What do you know about Carol?”
Another shrug. “Nothing much, really. She was friendly with Grey somehow, that's how she got to have one of the food stashes.”
“Were the other caches run by friends of Grey? Or the Governor?”
“There's a difference? Grey was running the Governor, from what I could tell.”
Wouldn't be the first time we had a puppet Governor with someone else pulling the strings.
“You ever hear a name of 'Quinn'? Mrs. Quinn?”
“Oh yeah. That bitch should have minded her own business. Stuck her nose where it didn't belong.”
“Oh?”
“She came down to Government House raising a stink. First it was about what the government was doing about fixing things. Then she started to see what was going on.”
“What was going on?”
“A bunch of bangers hanging around Government House, she knew something had changed. But she couldn't leave well enough alone. She started fusing about that. Grey took her into an office and things got loud. I heard her bring up Carol's name.”
“And.” I prompted.
“And, it got to be too much. Grey asked Three to take care of it. He told a couple of the boys to see her off. And to make sure she wouldn't come back. They dragged her out and put her in her car. She drove off, and a couple of the boys followed her.”
I stared at him hard, thinking about poor Jacob and what he'd seen and done.
“What? Bitch needed to go. So?”
The white hot lance of pain that resulted form me backhanding the prisoner with my right arm brought me up short, and saved him from any further physical abuse. For now.

 

"Intelligence" from any source, always welcome but seldom to be completely trusted…! Now, can we just do something with this toad…maybe skin him alive and use the hide for chair bottoms?

 

Not yet Mr Gilbert!!! I would bet that he's got more info in that fat head of his... Just up to Zed to weasel it out of 'im! Starve 'im some more and he be willing to say more...

 

Yep, let him think he's important and get a big head, brag a little, or a lot, let him show off and believe he is worth something as trading goods to 'shocka', et al…hell, maybe he is…fill his head with shit and trade him off for one of their hostages…maybe more than one ;-)

 

Interesting turn of events, I enjoy being a spectator rooting for Zed, maybe the Doctor can convince the prisoner that he's dieing of something and he needs to know where there drinking water supply is, along with exactly what types of food, locations and quantities their eating. His life will be determined by his correct answers.

 

Cut off one of his fingers, his trigger finger…he'll talk!

 

Nah, just practical…and following the 'new' rules of engagement! I still want his hide for chair bottom, we can cook his brains and use them to tan it Indian style…brain/tan!

 

It was a lazy Sunday. After talking with our prisoner I took a walk around the neighborhood to stretch my legs and my mind. I strolled slowly, stopping to talk to people as I saw them.
One man, who was a deacon or elder from a church had opened his house as a place of worship. Services must have just let out. As I approached there were small clots of people standing in the yard talking quietly, while others were coming out of the door. The deacon, whose name I didn't know, stood at the door, shaking the hands of the people leaving.
He noticed me and raised his hand to wave at me, a genuine smile on his face. I didn't feel like it, but I forced myself to cross the yard and shake his hand, and exchange some pleasantries.
As expected he invited me to his services, which is what made me reluctant to come over to him. I deflected his offer. “Looks like a good turn out.” I scanned the people standing around talking. Several women were setting up a table and bringing refreshments out of the house and setting them up. “Are the snacks and drinks just for the congregants?”
“It was a good turn out.” He answered and moved to my question. “Mr. Zed, the food is for whoever wants it. It provides nourishment to the body.”
“And gives you a chance to provide nourishment to their souls” I finished with what I hoped was a kind smile.
He nodded. “These are the worst times these people have ever seen. They can find comfort in the Word. And if they are only here for the food, well, that's fine too.”
He returned my smile. I instictivly liked this man, even though I was not religious, and had a distrust of those who used people's desire for something bigger, and their fear of the unknown to their own ends.
I didn't get that vibe from this person. Person. Ugh. I'm so bad with names. I didn't even know his rank, so I took the safe route and over compensated. “I'm sorry Reverend, but I haven't had the chance to learn your name.”
“It's 'Deacon'. Well, it was anyway. Name's Smith. Liston Smith. I was a Deacon with Calvary Baptist. We don't have an actual minister in the neighborhood, least ways, not that I'm aware of. We, my family and a couple of neighbors held pray meetings and bible study before the troubles, I guess it was just natural for it to turn into something more.”
“People came to you, did they?”
“Yes sir. Once the word got out, they started coming by, asking if they could join us. This has just grown out of that.”
“Well, I thank you for it. The people need hope, and maybe even more, they need something stable they can hold on to. Something safe and familiar and comforting. Looking around, I'm seeing that in the faces here. Makes my heart glad.”
He graced me with another smile. “Imagine what you'd get out of actually coming to our services.”
I held out my hand to forestall him. “Not my thing Deacon, not my thing. I admire what you are doing, but that's just not for me. No offense intended.”
“None taken. Everyone comes to Him in their own time and their own way.” He couldn't help but get in the last word. We both recognized it for what it was and laughed.
I was about ready to move on, but the table of food gave me an idea. “You OK for food, Deacon?”
A look of worry crossed his face. “We're doing the best we can, but we are stretching things. People are bring what they can. I guess in lieu of an offering. And we had somethings put aside, but I don't know how much longer we can keep it going.”
“Let me talk to some folks and see if we can do anything to help.”
“I thought this wasn't “your thing?”” he teased.
“You know what I meant.” I grinned
“I do. I know what you've done here.” He pointed with his chin and turned his head to take in the neighborhood. “Everyone does. And we're all grateful. When prayer requests come in, your name is always among them.”
My face flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, well,” I stammered. “I appreciate the sentiment, and I'm sure I can use those prayers. We all can.” I needed to change the direction of the conversation. “Is there anything else I can do to help with what you're doing here?”
Deacon Smith looked a little sheepish. He reached into his right front pants pocket and pulled out revolver halfway so I could see it. I think he was worried what I would think about an armed man of God.
Instead I was noticing the ugly hump and the all but hidden hammer which told me he had a S&W Bodyguard. I figured to do some teasing of my own.
“Did you have to sell your cloak for that?”
That startled him out of his embarrassment. He let the revolver slip back in his pants. Then a smile crept across his face. “So you have done some reading in the Good Book.”
“A bit. Seems even Jesus knew it was a dangerous world and the disciples would have to protect themselves if he wanted them to get the Word out”
Deacon Smith nodded. “Many people see it as a contradiction. Don't see how a man of peace can carry something to kill with.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “You have to do what you think is right. I think you know where I stand on the issue.” I tapped the Glock on my left hip. “You'd be surprised at how many ministers carry a pistol under their vestments. Or maybe you wouldn't.” I grinned and then helped him out, knowing what he was having trouble asking for. “You need some ammo for that wheelgun?”
Relieved, he replied, “Yes sir. If you had any to spare. I'm sure I could find something to trade for it.”
Once again, I waved him off. “Don't worry about it. How you fixed now?”
The embarrassment was back. “four”
“Four boxes?” Thinking he was pretty well off.
“Four bullets.”
He didn't even have enough to fill the cylinder. The instructor in me reared it's head and I wondered if he knew which way the cylinder turned.
I managed to not correct his misuse of the word 'bullets'. “I think I can find you a box or two. I'll get them to you later today.”
His gaze darted to his parishioners.
“Don't worry, I'll be discrete.” I smiled to allay his discomfort.
He thanked me again, and I took my leave, continuing my tour of the neighborhood.

 

I know that G-d do loves a 'preacher' with a pistol ;-)

 

Thanks Zen.

 

Thanks, I needed a "fix"! Great work!

 

Thank you Sir...

 

The Bible (Koran...Baghavad Gita...Tanakh) may be a cleric's spiritual shield...but to villains, a cleric's personal relationship with Samuel Colt will probably count for more than the cleric's relationship with his/her deity.

 

Coming up to a side street I noticed quite a bit of foot traffic. I hadn't been down this way in a while, so I decided to follow them. The people were far enough in front of me to be beyond the 'social' zone that required that we greet each other.
I wasn't even sure they knew I was behind them. They were talking animatedly between themselves, happy and excited.
That made me happy and curious.
Happy, that they were in good moods and had something to make them feel that way. Curious as to what it was. Things were hard and there wasn't much to be happy about right now.
As we approached the last house on the dead end road, I heard something strange. Something I hadn't heard in weeks. Music. And Laughter. Not the laughter of a couple of people sharing a joke, but the raucous laughter of a bunch of partying people having a good time.
The people ahead of me entered through the open front door without hesitation. I entered just behind them, close enough to see what happened next.
We entered a small room, a foyer of sorts. There was a door that prevented me from seeing further into the house.
They stopped at a table by the front door and set down the bags they'd been carrying. One of the two people sitting there opened the bag, pulled some items out, made some notes on a pad, and said something to the person sitting next to him, who opened a metal box, reached in, grabbed something and handed it to the person whose bag they'd just gone through.
The process was repeated with the other people. When they were all taken care of, they went to the door and knocked. A small window, about face height opened for a moment, closed again, and the door opened to admit them.
Finally, I stood at the table myself.
The woman looked at me expectantly. “Didn't you bring anything? She seemed perplexed. I certainly was. Before I could reply the man with the box leaned over and whispered to her.
“Oh! Mr. Zed! I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you! My apologies!” While she was falling over because she didn't know who I was, the man went into his box and and reached out to hand me something.
I held out my hand he he dropped a couple of items in my palm. “On the house. After all you've done for us, you'll never buy a drink in here.”
“This is a bar?” The speak easy type door was my final clue. The man looked slightly guilty.
“You hadn't heard? It's OK, isn't it?”
I shook my head, “Nope, hadn't heard. Is it OK? Sure, why wouldn't it? You're not doing anything wrong, are you?”
The man and woman looked at each other, worried. Coming from a world where opening an establishment such as this would have required jumping through a progression of government hoops, I could understand why they might be concerned.
“I, we, ah, should we, ah,”
“Spit it out man.”
“I guess we should have asked you first, before we opened this place?”
“Now why would you do that?”
“Because you run things around here.”
“Aw shit.”
“You're in charge here. Are you mad that we started a business without clearing it with you? We were planning on cutting you in. Say, ten percent”
An outburst of laughter from the other side of the door delayed my answer. Seemed somebody was having a good time.
“Listen, I was just walking around the neighborhood, stretching my legs, taking a Sunday stroll. I saw some people heading this way and I was curious so I thought I'd come check it out. It doesn't matter to me if you have a bar or not. None of my business.”
They exchanged looks that where part relieved and part confused. I stuck out my hand at the man. “I'm afraid you have me at an advantage.”
He hurried met my hand and we shook. “Jarvis. This here is Marvelyn.” I dutifully shook the woman's hand, remembering to dial back the pressure. “Ma'am” I inclined my head to her.
“You two the owners?”
“Part owners” Marvelyn answered. “Jarvis is my brother. My husband is inside tending the bar.”
It occurred to me that I still had a couple of objects in my hand. I looked at them more closely. They were dull silver disks about the size of quarters. They were dense and had a crude design stamped into them.
“You making your own money?”
“Tokens really. And we're not making them. Well partially, I guess.”
Marvelyn couldn't stand Jarvis' stumbling. Colvin, my husband, pays a man to make these for him. He melts down some metals and pours them into a mold. Colvin had someone else make a stamp for us. We stamp the disks our ownselves to cut down on counterfeiting.”
I nodded. “Smart. So people bring you stuff to trade and you give them tokens that they can use in the bar. I guess paying for a round of drinks with a chicken would be kinda ungainly.”
They politely laughed. “Yes sir, Mr. Zed. But they use them outside of here too. Some people are trading them to other people for things they want.”
I nodded again thoughtfully. The transition from pure barter to a universal medium of exchange was happening on its own.
The slugs appeared to be made out of a solder or tin, with maybe some wheel weight lead, or some combination of the same. They didn't have much in the way of intrinsic value, certainly not like silver or gold. Instead they were valued on faith, just as the dollar was. People were trusting that they would be able to turn in those disks in exchange for a drink at the bar.
I guessed that would work, for a while at least, and at lower levels. A person wouldn't want to trust his retirement to such a currency. I'd have to keep an eye on it and see how it played out.
“I see that a couple of people brought you bottles of liquor. Why not just drink it, rather than trade it to you and end up paying more for a drink?”
Marvelyn smiled at me. “People don't go to bars just to drink, do they Mr. Zed?” she finished her sentence with a wink.
“I suppose you're right about that, ma'am. Mind if I go in and look around?”
“No sir.” Jarvis responded. “I didn't give you them zeds to put in your pocket.” He realized his mistake at the same time that his sister shot him a withering look.
“zeds?”
“Um well, yes,”
I took a closer look and saw that the stamp was a cartoonish face with a wide brimmed hat and mustache that was similar enough to mine to be recognizable. I had conflicting emotions. Sure it was gratifying, but it was ridiculous at the same time. I'd have to talk to the husband about it.
I knocked on the door resulting in the window sliding open immediately. It snapped closed and the door opened, admiring me.
Stepping through the doorway, I acknowledged the large fellow behind the door with a nod. Another gainfully employed person I smiled to myself.
There were a mix and match variety of tables and chairs set up thoughout the large room. About three quarters of them were occupied. The talking and laughing stopped when everyone noticed me. Embarassed at the attention I raised my hand in a wave and gave the room a wide smile.
That seemed to be the permission they were looking for and they returned to their previous conversations, maybe at a slightly more subdued level.
I could see two other adjoining rooms and a couple of closed doors. I walked across the floor to the room on the right. Various games were set up. The chess and checker table was empty, but dominoes were being slammed down on two other table with great gusto. I nodded at the men playing and moved on.
The room to the left held the bar. As I approached, a young attractive woman scooted past me, carrying a tray of drinks, avoiding me with a graceful mix of ballet and football.
I shouldered up to an empty spot on the bar and sat on the provided stool. There were half a dozen people at the bar besides myself. A couple of women dressed to the nines with a bit too much make up and perfume were turning conversation into a contact sport the way they were insinuating themselves with a couple of the male customers. One seemed happy for the attention, the other, not so much.
The woman pouted dramatically and turned her back on what I supposed she hoped was a prospective client and started talking to the person she was now facing.
I didn't miss the little wiggle of her hips, a parting shot to the man that turned her down. Neither did he. He shook his head ruefully and knocked back a big slug of his drink.
“Help ya?”
I turned as the bartender addressed me.
“Oh! Mr. Zed! We're honored to have you here. What'll you have? It's on the house!”
“I can pay.” I reached into my pocket and slapped the two coins on the bar.
“Um. I can explain. It's just that, well, you're so well known and respected and all.”
I smiled to let him off the hook. I often forget that my 'neutral' look is a scowl that some people find somewhere between serious and scary. I think Colvin was leaning toward the latter.
“Got a Coke back there?”
“Yes sir. Rum and coke coming up.”
“Just the Coke”
That earned me a surprised look.
“I'm not much of a drinker.”
“No problem, no problem at all. Just a bit of an unusual request is all” He produced a familiar red can and popped the top and slid it over to me. Condensation beaded up on the smooth aluminum.
“Ahhhh. That hits the spot.” I set the can down. While not ice cold, it was cold enough to be enjoyable. “What are you doing for refrigeration?”
“Ever hear of 'evaporative cooling'?
I nodded that I had.
“Damnedest thing. Who'd a thought some water and wind would cool things down so much?”
“Somebody helped you with that?”
“Bunch of somebodies.” he pointed his chin at the game room. “Few of the fellows in there were helpful in getting this place running. Coming up with all sorts of clever things. One of them rigged up some of those solar powered lawn lights to an old boom box so we can have music in here. Another couple helped with construction, and you've already seen the tokens.”
I reached my hand across the bar. Colvin took a second to realize that I wanted to shake.
“You've done a lot here.” I praised. “I'm particularly happy that you've give work to other people.”
“Had to. Couldn't do it myself. But none of this was possible without you.”
I tried to shrug it off.
“Don't be all modest on me Mr. Zed. We all know what you've done. You've made us safe, first and foremost. Stories from outside make it in here and things are pretty bleak in other areas. But we have food and security. More than most.”
“That's just basic stuff. Anybody could have done that.”
“That's not all. You gave us direction. I was one of those people at that meeting when you talked to us about making our own work, our own jobs. I'd given up, near enough at that point. Could support my family. Couldn't look at my wife, she that depends on me to provide like I'm supposed to. No sir. I was up against it. Even your talk wasn't enough. Not right away. But then I saw what a few other people were doing. Figuring things out. Seeing what people needed. What they wanted, and what they would pay or trade for.”
“You saw a need and you met it.”
“Yes sir. I remembered somebody once telling me. Good times, people drink. Bad times people drink. I used to do a bit of it myself. I was going through my bar, looking to trade in my bottles for some food. A friend came over and I poured him a drink before I got rid of my bottles.
“We started to talking and soon another friend came over and I poured him a drink too. We were having a good time, and actually forgot for a little while. When it came back to me, I put it together. Took some doing, but I've got a good thing going here. Most important, I'm doing what a man should, providing for his family. A family that has some hope again.”
I spun my stool away from him, trying to hide me wiping the tears that were forming. I don't cry much when I'm sad, but sappy stories like that always turn on the waterworks.
Want to see me tear up? Play the national anthem and show me the flag. Bag pipes and Amazing Grace are the coup de grace.
I guess I wasn't surreptitious enough. I turned back around and took another draft of my Coke. Colvin looked at me and smiled and nodded in understanding.
He knew my reaction wasn't just about his bar. But his bar represented to the community as a whole.
Hope.

 

Fine, now! Would you please sell me that damn toad's skin for three Zeds…I'll make them my own self! ;-)

 

I like the direction this is going...

But what about the bad guys?

 

We rob them and kill them and make their women pick our cotton…well, that is an answer!

 

The barter economy going monetary, I like that, just like what happened when we got out independence from Great Britain in in 1776. Most people don't know that prior to our independence the Colonies used Spanish Gold and Silver and the every day person disliked using British money.

 

We printed the "Continental Dollar" that wasn't worth a Continental damn but it was worth your life not to accept them; once used they were punched with a hole to prevent reuse. Now, about that toad's skin for my char seats and sheet…and maybe we can capture usums some slave womens to get the cotton crop in before we're all naked and sheet…;-)