Mr. Holdover led Xole out the bank, the man laughing while holding up their newly acquired copper colored card like a trophy. “HAHA! Put ‘em here boy!” he motioned, slapping the older boy a high five. “Where the hell you learn to do that shit from?”
His smile faded somewhat. “My sitter…”
“Oh,” Mr. Holdover said, “What was the bitch’s name again? Olga or—”
“It’s fine,” Xole said quickly. The two sat on the steps of the bank. “We didn’t have much money besides state given grants…which eventual dried up after a year. She would take me on errands in town, teaching me the rules and how to manipulate them to survive by paying attention to my surroundings.” He glanced over his shoulder to the inside the bank. “I could tell the woman was reading a script by the slight eye movement every time she started to speak. Yesfir would always tell me those types are forced to abide by the rules. They ‘get’ customers by keeping them in the dark and making them frustrated.”
Mr. Holdover looked at him but said nothing. He turned back at the bank and saw Malcom coming out. His jog became a full sprint when he saw them.
“Oh thank goodness I thought you left me!” he said.
“And ruin our nonexistent reputation?” He said. “Alright, just tell us who we gotta pound.”
The blue suited man glanced over both shoulders nervously and motioned for them to follow him away from the bank. “Shadow taxers,” he said.
“…What now?”
“Ever since Amesworth went down, there’ve been these strange people coming around to former employees to collect some debt he owed.”
“The hell do you gotta do with it?”
“I did use to work at Amesworth, besides that I don’t know! But they told me if I couldn’t pay they’d—” Malcom gulped. “They’d take my daughters away!”
“Can’t you go to the police?” Xole asked.
He shook his head. “They say they’re busy dealing with the fallout of Amesworth, not to mention protecting other business in fear that the same may happen to them.”
Mr. Holdover thought a moment. “Hey, when did these pricks say they’d meet you again?”
“Today at around five,” Malcom checked his watch, eyes widening. “Oh no, it’s ten till!”
The man thought a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do, you’re gonna head to Centrist Park at the middle of the city, get to the western part near the abandoned church and we’ll be right behind you. Also give the boy your number.”
“Thank you, really this means a lot,” Malcom said writing his number down. “Also I didn’t get your names.”
He shook his head. “Oh that’s not important—”
“Hi, I’m Xole. He’s Mr. Holdover. Cool name, huh?”
“…”
Nodding, Malcom gave his number to Xole and hopped in his blue car, speeding off to the park. The man just watched the car leave, zoning out.
“Mr. Holdover?” Xole asked. “Are you ok?”
“…No. But I’ll try to be.” he said walking off.
Following the man’s lead, Xole was entranced by the number of shortcuts through alleyways and streets the man knew. Before he knew it, he could see the gates of the park coming into view with the familiar sight of a homeless camp bordering its southern outskirts.
“Wow,” he said, “You sure know a lot about this city.”
“Eh…”
“…”
“…”
“…Say uh, Mr. Holdover,” Xole began. The two stopped at a crosswalk. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…about my Talent. You said I need to learn to use it.”
“Yeah.”
“Well…when are we gonna do that?”
“We’ll uh, play it by ear.” he replied. The light turned green and the two ran across the street. “I mean you haven’t felt weird or anything since it’s happened right?”
Xole thought back to the extreme fatigue he felt upon using it for the first time. His arms grew weak at the feeling as the two went into a row of bushes.
“Besides,” He continued, pushing past some brush. “You need to focus on your martial skill first. How’s your boxing?”
“Boxing?” Xole looked puzzled. “I was taught systema not boxing.”
“Not your martial arts specifically, your hand-to-hand combat. It’s what we refer to as boxing.”
“Oh I see. I mean I beat Brandon pretty good.”
He side eyed him. “Yeah let’s focus on that for now.”
The two made their way to a short curved bridge over a pond and just beyond that, the church. Malcom’s car came into view. He got out and checked his watch, glancing around before jumping at the sight of three black SUVs pulling up without a sound. Mr. Holdover tensed, keeping his eyes trained on the doors. He counted eight men climbing out, dressed in black and gray sweats.
“Weathers!” a shorter one in a baseball cap aimed his bat towards him. He wore an old teal jersey over a white hoodie and had on dark blue sweatpants. “We’ve been looking for you! Where’s the cash, bud?”
Malcom shivered, watching the men corner him at the church door. He forced a grimace and straightened his back. “I’m not doing it.”
The other men glared and started to close in. Xole’s eyes widened and tried to move, but Mr. Holdover caught his shoulder.
“What are you doing?!” Xole whispered loudly to him, “He’s gonna get himself hurt!”
“Just wait,” Mr. Holdover said, “We need to see how this plays out.”
Baseball cap’s brow raised, he snickered and eyed his peers. “Oh? What made you change your mind?”
“Because…” Malcom balled his fist. “I decided I’m ready. Ready to stand in the face of tyranny and oppression. Ready to show the world the animal I’ve become, the—the beast this country’s molded me into.” Terrified, he forced a grin and looked the baseball capped man dead in the eye. “I’m finally ready to unleash all these pent up feelings and…and fight back!!”
Silence filled the air. Mr. Holdover felt a single tear run down the corner of his eye.
“Go ‘head Malcom,” he said.
Then he heard a muffled noise.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The mob erupted with laughter, slapping their knees and each other’s backs, their red faces streaming with tears. One even fell to the ground, grasping at his stomach. Baseball cap tossed is arm over Malcom’s shoulder.
“Hey man that was good ya hear?!” he laughed, shaking him. “I mean for real, if we didn’t have to beat the shit outta ya’ we’d keep you around! GYAHAHAHAHA!”
Looking to his side, Mr. Holdover saw Xole giggling into is fist. He caught his glance, his own face now red. “Sorry, I just—pfft! Just couldn’t take any of that seriously. Like who’d actually make that up and say it?”
Feeling a vein pop from his neck, he calmly put his hand on Xole’s shoulder. “You know what? You wanted to test your Talent right?”
“Ha, ha! Yeah, why you ask—“
Without warning, Mr. Holdover hurled the screaming boy into the crowd.
“AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“HOLY SHIT!” someone yelled just before he collided into them. Xole felt his head spin.
“Ugh, one of these days, Holdover….” he groaned getting up. He felt the man’s unconscious body under him. Quickly backing up he saw the group of men now staring at him, glaring. Malcom’s eyes lit up.
“Xole!”
Xole gulped.
“Well, well, ‘think I see what’s going on here,” baseball cap said, making his way through the center of the crowd. “You planned to ambush us didn’t ya?”
He gulped, “To be honest…yeah.”
The mob glanced at each other, now they were confused.
“Least he’s truthful,” someone said.
Two guys hoisted Xole up as another one in a beanie checked his pockets. “He’s clean Mariner, what should we do?”
“Put him with Mr. ‘so-called’ animal over here.” the baseball capped man replied.
Xole was slammed against the church door next to Malcom. Mariner held the boy’s chin up with this bat. “Alright bud we ain’t gonna hurt ya, just wanna ask a few questions. Who’re ya with?”
“You don’t want to do this!” Xole said. “I have Talent! A strong one too!”
“Oh really?” the man grinned. Reaching into his pocket, he tossed a baseball into the air, “Now watch closely. Keep your eye on the ball…” It came down in a blur just as the man smashed his bat against it.
‘CRRRAAACK!’
The ball went shot straight ahead like a bullet. Water from the pond flew, the sound of cracking from tree to tree echoed throughout the park, whizzing around like a ball of death. Finally an alarming ‘whoosh’ was heard as the ball smacked against one of his men’s faces. He fell to the ground, unconscious. The others cheered.
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“Let’s GO, Another home run!” one in a beanie smacked the man a high five. “That what I’m talking about!!”
Mariner turned back to Xole, whose face lost all color. “So kid, what’s yer Talent again?”
Xole shut his eyes, ‘Screw this! Mr. Holdover’s gonna show up any minute and beat them all up anyways. All I gotta do his holdout—’
“Hey!” Malcom glared at Mariner. “Leave that boy alone!”
“Eh?” The man glanced at him. “Wanna say that again pal?”
“You bullies, you jerks only threaten people that can’t fight back. Now children?” he chuckled. “No wonder you can’t even make little league!”
Mariner growled, swinging his bat across the man’s face, knocking him to the ground. He stepped over him, grabbed him by his collar.
“You think you know everything don’t ya? Well I was fucked over to, just like the rest of ya! I said one thing ya hear, ONE thing about how us athletes get tossed to the wolves once we get injured. Doesn’t matter how small, they think we can’t bring the cash no more! That’s all! I didn’t even begin with how we get extorted. ‘Know what they did to me? Called me a fraud, said I took enhancers, ruined my career, ruined my LIFE!”
He dropped Malcom, who tried to crawl away but Mariner kicked him on to his back. He then hoisted his bat over his left shoulder. “Only difference is I’m doing what I can to stay afloat, not playing some stupid morality game. So call me a bully, jerk, whatever floats yer boat! At the end of the day I’m just tryna survive!”
He brought his bat down to Malcom’s head.
“NO!” Xole yelled jerking his arms upwards, and looking away.
“…”
Xole slowly turned his head back to see the man’s arms shaking, his bat inches from Malcom’s head. Mr. Holdover stood between the two, holding the weapon with one hand.
“Malcom,” he said, “Get in the church. Boy, you good?”
“No!” Xole said, “I got two dudes on me that YOU threw me into!”
Mr. Holdover took Mariner’s bat and rammed it into his face, sending him howling in pain. Pivoting, he rushed to Xole, slamming the men’s heads together to drop him.
Xole panted, his arms felt weak again. ‘This is just like Amesworth. But I didn’t—’
“Hey,” Mr. Holdover said, “Focus up. This is your training.”
Xole helped Malcom into the church, watching as the men engaged Mr. Holdover. One took out a pocket knife, thrusting it upwards at him. The man stepped back, kicking it out of his hand and bringing another kick to his face. Two more charged him from the front and behind. A beefier guy took him by the back of his arms as the one ahead ran for them, swinging his fist. Mr. Holdover grunted, leaning forward and jumping in the air, flipping over the charging man and landing on him, both men crying out as they collided. Mr. Holdover jumped to his feet to see the last three men coming at him. Two took out guns and the third wearing a beanie had a broken bottle.
“C’mon fella!” he taunted, swinging the glass. “C’mon, c’mon!”
Xole held his breath as he saw the Mariner get up, scowling and adjusting his cap. He whipped out another baseball, tossing it into the air.
“Batter up,” He snarled.
‘They’re trying to distract him for the baseball payer!’ Xole thought. “Mr. Holdover, look out—! “
‘CRRAAACK!’
The ball bounced off the side of the church aimed right at Mr. Holdover’s chest. Catching it from the corner of his eye, Mr. Holdover skidded back on one leg, throwing his other into the incoming ball.
‘CRRAAACK!’
The ball exploded into the direction of the three men, ricocheting off the two gunmen and then to the back of the beanie man’s head, knocking him unconscious with the other two. Mariner gritted his teeth, taking out an all-black baseball with gold lining.
“A triple eh? Alright pal, let’s see ya take this one!”
He tossed the ball in the air and prepared to swing. Xole tensed his arms and shot them forward.
“Please work, please work!”
The whistle of the bat pierced the air as the ball hit the ground with gentle ‘thud’. Mariner’s mouth was gaped in horror.
“I never…miss a pitch—“
‘CRACK!!!’
Mr. Holdover pulled his fist from the knocked out man and looked back at Xole. “Alright boy, tell Malcom coast’s clear!”
The sound of sirens wailing in the distance greeted Malcom as he stepped out of the church. He looked at the remnants of the fight, astonished. “Wow, you—you actually did it!” he said. “I-I don’t know what to say…”
“Well you can start by paying us,” Mr. Holdover said, shaking his leg out.
“Oh right!” Malcom took out a blue currency card. His face then looked puzzled. “Uh, what are your fees exactly?”
“…” Mr. Holdover glanced at Xole, he returned the same look. “We haven’t actually gotten that far yet,” He answered, scratching the back of his head.
“You know what? Don’t worry about it!” Malcom said cheerfully. “You just let me know and I’ll pay you pronto!”
“Everybody freeze!” A voice rang out.
The three turned to see six police cars and two vans drive up to them. A dozen officers got out of the cars first, led by a gruff-looking one with two more at his sides, the three all wore matching dark blue ties over their light blue shirts. The rest wore light blue ties over dark blue shirts, but all the cops shared the same visor caps that tilted over their eyes. The officers from the vans piled out quickly, jogging over to gather the unconscious men while the gruff one strode over to them.
“Which one of you called us?” he demanded.
“That would be me sir! But it’s all settled now.” Malcom said gesturing to the two. “These fine fellas got me out of a serious predicament. The men you see knocked out were threating my family.”
The officer surveyed the area. The small radio built into his badge buzzed and he turned away to reply back into it, keeping a careful eye on Malcom. After a few moments he turned back to him. “Looks like your ‘fine fellas’ hurt a lot of people here tonight.”
The man was baffled. “Wait what? What are you talking about, these ‘people’ we’re going to hurt me!”
“Sounds real selfish of you,” The cop said, “We haven’t got a lick of information helping your case.”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean!?” Mr. Holdover snapped. “He’s called you dumb fucks before about these same people and you all blew him off!”
The officer glared at the man but spoke to Malcom. “So you’re the guy who kept pestering our phone lines, eh?”
“I’m not sure how someone calling for help is pestering,” Xole said.
“Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf, kid?”
“No one knows what you’re talking about dumbass!” Mr. Holdover said. “The culprits—what’d you call them again Malcom?”
“Shadow taxers.”
“Yeah, that. These guys were illegally talking money from him and other ex-Amesworth employees. Why don’t you bring them in?”
“You know boy…” the officer narrowed his head at him. “I’ve had it up to here with your harassment! You wanna make things harder?”
Mr. Holdover craned his neck, looking down at the cop. He was a good head taller than the Collared man. The two other Dark Blue Collared cops had their quivering hands at their sides with more filing into view. Xole clenched his fist. ‘What’s wrong with these guys!? We saved someone’s life and we’re the ones getting punished!’ despite the pain in his arms, he could feel the start to tense. ‘These jerks are lucky I can’t…’
“Chief Bennis!” an officer in a light blue tie said, quickly approaching them. “We’ve discovered the SUV’s the suspects came in where stolen from Gleem’s car dealership branch. Also we did a background check on the talented individual ‘Mariner Pitcher’. ‘Looks like he’s got a long track record.”
“How’s Gleem looking right now?”
“Bad, sir. We think we’ve tracked another mob of homeless folks on their way right now!”
“Understood, we’ll be there shortly.” The chief turned back to the three, pointing at them. “You three got off real lucky tonight you hear? But don’t think this is over.”
The officers cleared out from the park faster than they came, speeding off back to the city, sirens blaring.
“Fuck you too!” Mr. Holdover called out.
Malcom sighed. “It’s fine, really. This sort of heckling isn’t anything new for us blue collars.”
Xole watched the cars speed off, remembering what the officers said. “Guess those homeless showed up just in time, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, which is weird now that I think about it,” Malcom replied. “I’ve been seeing them less and less recently.”
“Recently?” Xole said, “If anything I thought the homeless population in this city would just get bigger.”
The man shrugged. “Same here, but what I do know is in the rare instances they show, it’s usually arson on business or assault with the police, but civilians have been known to get caught in their violent back and forths.”
“That’s…weird,” Xole said. He looked back from the city and to Mr. Holdover. “Well it’s a good thing the ones we ran into were nice, right Mr. Holdover?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Changing his face to a smile, Malcom jogged to his car, popping open the front door and glancing back. “You guys need a lift back?”
Mr. Holdover shook his head. “No. Just get back to your family and tell them the good news.”
With a wave and a nod, Malcom hopped back into his car and drove off. Mr. Holdover and Xole turned around to head back. Xole took one last look at Malcom’s car, watching the older Volkswagen beetle hurry away reminded him of someone.
…
“Say, Mr. Holdover, what did he mean by ‘us Blue Collars’?” Xole asked. The two were making their way back to the parlor as evening rolled around. The sun was just beginning to set behind the tall buildings that outlined the city, the roads were jammed with people in a rush to get home and refuel for the next busy day. Fumes filled the air, giving the setting a hazy tone. “I mean, is it normal for them to get pushed around so much?”
“Yeah.” Mr. Holdover answered bluntly. He took a breath, regretting it instantly, and gagging into his arm. “There’s a food chain, boy, that’s how this world operates. White Collars at the top benefit from the Red ones who enforce the shit laws. Said Red Collars give orders to the Blue Collared law enforcement who use their power to shove around anyone beneath who doesn’t play by the rules, including other Blues.” He paused, his neck tie felt stiff. “We’re all just crabs in a damn barrel. Everyone’s in a constant game for the top at the end of the day, pisses me the hell off.”
“That…” Xole thought back to what Brandon told him on the roof, “makes sense I suppose. Guess it explains why that Mariner guy did what he did.” He squeezed his shoulder, feeling the pain slowly wear off. His jaw clenched. “Still, I wish I could’ve done something! Malcom was going to die and if you hadn’t come in—“
“You didn’t need me,” Mr. Holdover said.
Xole stopped walking. “…What? Then why didn’t you show up earlier!?”
Mr. Holdover stopped to glance over his shoulders. “Because I had to see for myself if that Malcom guy was legit and if he really means what he said. Also…” he continued down the street. “The last thing we need are weirdos like baseball cap knowing what you can do. Did you already forget what we stressed back in the house?”
Xole jogged back up to him. “I know that. But what was I supposed to do?”
“…” Mr. Holdover scratched the back of his head, placing his hands into his pockets. “We’ll get you trained up so it won’t happen again, alright?”
‘Even if I don’t really know how,’ he thought.
The massage parlor came into view ahead of them. Shakar sat on a foldable chair in front of it, ankle resting on his knee, reading a book. He looked over to them and smiled with a wave. “Ah, didn’t see you there.”
“’The hell’re you doing outside?”
“We got kicked out.”
“Eh? Tell me about it inside,” Mr. Holdover said, trudging to the boarded up door. He ran into it a few times. He blinked and felt the entirety of the border before spinning back to Shakar; face red. “What…in the FUCK am I looking at?!”
“I told you we got kicked out.”
“I don’t care!” he yelled. He moved around the windows quickly to peek inside. “You should’ve beaten the shit outta them or something!”
“If I did,” Shakar began, getting up. “I would’ve been arrested for loitering and attempted murder along with any ‘affiliates’ for that matter.”
Mr. Holdover continued to fume. Xole eyed the structure himself. “But…why?”
“Apparently the city’s claiming any building once owned by Amesworth. Of course, they’re still attempting to swindle money out of anyone who hasn’t paid their fine to the company despite what was exposed about them. Thankfully however, I passed as a weary African immigrant just looking for a place to sleep after a long boat ride to the new world. You’re welcome by the way, Mr. Holdover.”
“Shut up!” Mr. Holdover said, kicking the newly boarded up window once more. After several more kicks he stopped, falling back against the building and sliding to the ground. “Did they ask for my name?”
Shakar shook his head. “They just asked for a, ‘loud and vulgar idiot with serious anger issues’.”
“Oh? That’s goo—” He glared. “Wait a minute…”
“Why don’t we just pay them?” Xole asked. “I mean if this place means that much to you and everything.”
“Cuz we can’t,” Mr. Holdover said. He turned and started to the RV parked on the other side of the street. “We need to keep our names off of any—and I mean any—sort of record. At least until we can establish the business.”
Xole ran after him. “But we have Malcom.”
“Beyond Malcom!”
“Who’s Malcom?” Shakar asked.
“I’ll tell you in the RV,” Xole replied.
“House!” Mr. Holdover exclaimed getting into the vehicle along with the other two. Xole took a seat behind the driver’s side while Shakar sat at the table to his right. The older boy plugged his phone to a charger at his side, looking out the window. He squinted at some slight movement near the parlor but ignored it.
“So then,” he asked, “where to now?”
Mr. Holdover adjusted the rearview mirror. “As far from here as possible.”
“Well ok, but I’ll remember what you said earlier. We need a place where I can explore my Talent.”
Shakar’s brow rose, “You told him that?”
“Get off my back,” Mr. Holdover said.
“Oh I’m not judging you, just skeptical that’s all. If we want expert advice then I’d personally recommend finding the nearest tribal reservation.”
Xole looked surprised. “Those are still around?”
“Why of course. Though, whether they’ll let us in is another story…”
“Not to mention finding one of those nowadays is like a needle in a fucking haystack,” Mr. Holdover said, “Government made sure of it.”
Xole’s shoulders slumped. “Well what am I supposed to do now?”
“Relax we’re not at a total loss.” Mr. Holdover said, adjusting the rear-view mirror. “I’ve got an idea, but it’s on the west coast.”
Xole’s eyes lit up. “The west coast?!” his hand shot to his pocket where his scrapbook was and yanked it out, flipping until he found the small map he’d drawn years ago. ‘That’s it,’ he thought, ‘this is where my parents were last recorded!’
He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think that can work!”
“While I’d appreciate the minute decrease in pollution,” Shakar said, “I must ask why the other side of the country, Sir?”
The RV pulled away from the parlor. “It’s a hunch,” he replied, “but I think that’s where we can find one of Yakub’s missing documents. A place where the government would never look too deep.”
The two exchanged confused glances. Mr. Holdover looked on ahead.
“A city hidden underground.”
