Page 8
T he morning didn’t start well. Downstairs, as Helen arrived for a hot cup of shut the fuck up until I drink this, seated at the table was a man, one who easily identified as a scary bastard with a scar on his face that hindered vision in his left eye. He scowled when she entered the room, which turned into an outright frown as Stephen sashayed into the kitchen in a bright green blouse, black and white leopard spandex, and green painted boots. Helen instinctively stood between the man’s line of sight and Stephen.
“Who is Him?” Stephen asked, looking over the rim of a pair of rose-colored glasses.
“Don’t know yet, but he’s in the house, so he can’t be a foe, just not sure yet what kind of friend he is to the Boss, so let’s move cautiously,” Helen told Stephen. “Please start breakfast.”
“Yes’m,” Stephen said, looking at the man. “You need more coffee, Mister?”
“Naw, I’m good,” the man replied, looking at Helen. “Yield.”
“Yield to what? If you’re coming in this house to start some shit, you walked into the wrong place, and I will yield to nothing, good Sir,” Helen said, moving to the counter to grab a knife.
“My handle, you scary little woman,” the man said. “I am Mr. Yield. A Technician. I am a Direction.”
“Oh,” Helen said. “Cranberry. I’m a Fruit.”
“Fruity, you mean,” Yield replied with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “Where’s Apple? He had me come all this way. What the fuck does he want?”
“I guess it depends on what the fuck it is you do, which would be your first indicator,” Helen replied. “More than likely, he called you do so some of that. Have you had breakfast?”
“Quick. Observant. And yeah, I could eat something,” he said, his eyes returning to the colorful man-child humming at the counter as he checked the coffee levels in the carafe. She spoke to the boy, still intentionally limiting Yield's field of vision for the kid.
“Stephen, please make a batch of waffles, no meat this morning, with a side of cheesy eggs for extra protein,” she added, all the while keeping her eyes on Yield.
More footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. Apple stopped at the entry to the kitchen, noting Yield at the table, Helen at the sink with a knife, and Stephen doing whatever in the hell Stephen called himself doing. The boots were too much, even though the shirt left questions in the minds of sober men as well. Apple started there.
“Stephen, when you start school, think about pulling back a bit on the bright colors. Bright colors make you a target,” Apple said. “I’m not asking you to be less than your authentic self, but there is no need to invite more trouble than you can handle.”
“Oh, I can handle it just fine,” Stephen replied, smacking his lips and placing his hand on a narrow hip.
In three moves, Apple had the boy around the neck, Yield had him by his feet and Helen had knives at both men’s gonads. She applied pressure, ensuring they placed the frightened child on his feet. She shook her head no to both men, as they lowered him to the ground, giving Helen a moment to push Stephen behind her.
“We teach by example, not by fear or intimidation,” she stated, calling over her shoulder to the boy. “Stephen, are you okay?”
“No, I pissed my pants,” he whimpered.
“Go change. I got this,” she told him as the boy skulked away. To both men, she turned her wrath. “That was fucked up even by your Technician standards. This home is supposed to be a safe place for him to express himself. No, he will not go out in public looking like the Grand Marshall for the Pride Day Parade, but damn it, you have just told him that this is not a safe place for him to be himself either. Shame on you both.”
Yield watched her closely. Apple did as well. Ricky had silently entered the space from the dining room to see Helen go into action, and he smiled.
Apple spoke to Yield, “See what I mean?”
“Yes, the reflexes are fast and the instinct to protect is fierce, but can she do anything else?”
“She learned to use a drill and a leveler, and she can shoot,” Apple said. “I got a kid in yesterday that came from a Field of Flowers over in Milwaukee. He’s branded, but some creeper got a hold of him, and the boy is in rough shape. I need to find a cocoon in Milwaukee and shut it down.”
Yield asked, “How’d you get the boy?”
“Pear picked him up on a sweep,” Apple explained, nodding his head in Helen’s direction. “She’s sharp, but I’m needed here to get the boy over the hump. Take her, sweep the area, and find me a trail a follow.”
The man with the scarred face frowned, a scary frown which lessened the appeal of being in his company for any amount of time. “Me? What did I ever do to you?”
“You saw it. She’s got natural instincts, but I’m distracted. This house. The kids. Her training couldn’t have come at a worse time, so I’m calling in my favor,” Apple said.
Helen didn’t appreciate being discussed as if she wasn’t in the room. She sure as heck didn’t appreciate being pawned off on some man she didn’t even know, let alone taking off with him to wherever to find a cocoon of pedos or worse. Fear set in, but she maintained her cool.
“And if I say no?” Helen asked calmly. “I was sent here to be trained by you, not fobbed off on the Dred Pirate Roberts over here, no offense.”
Yield scowled. “Offense taken, lady. Hey, Apple, I owe you a solid, and a solid doesn’t mean some wet behind the ears tart little berry to get on my damned nerves. Plus, I don’t know her.”
“Her initial training started with Slow,” Apple said, and Helen watched the body language of the man with the scar.
In her head, she recounted the conversation Slow had shared with her and Cherry. She recalled him speaking about the initial group of Technicians brought in by Gabriel to start his ragtag crew of weird do-gooders. She didn’t take her eyes off Apple as he spoke slowly. Helen took the time to phrase the words correctly.
“No matter where we go in life, it always comes full circle,” Helen said, taking a pause. “Whether we work at Summer camps for the church or alongside lifelong friends, at the end of the day, it becomes about the kids. I’m here to learn to make this world a better place for the kids even though I shall bear none of my own. That right was taken from me. Faith has brought me this far, and faith will lead me on, at least that’s what I was taught that brief summer in Vacation Bible School when my mother couldn’t afford childcare. We all learn from each other in some form. I am here to learn. I want to learn, Mr. Yield. Teach me your technical skill.”
Yield’s entire body language changed. She knew who he was. Slow had shared information with her, and she had repeated it back to him in a way that let him know the little berry knew more than she let on. Ricky didn’t get it.
Ricky asked, “Cranberry, you worked at a summer camp with kids at a church?”
Yield turned in the seat, using his better eye to spot Ricky, “No, I did. My father ran one where me and a few of my friends worked each summer until we went off to college, and even after that, we came back to the camp.”
Helen offered a soft smile at the corner of her lips and said, “You guys must have been some hellified camp counselors; all things considered.”
Ricky was at a loss. “What things? What things considered?”
Apple held up his hand to his friend, “The Southeast Crew of the Directions. All of them worked at the camp for kids in the summers.”
“Holy shit,” Ricky gulped.
“Teach me,” Helen said.
“No, not my thing,” Yield replied.
“Must you make me pull rank?” Helen asked.
Yield offered half a smile and asked, “And what rank do you have to pull, Ms. Tart Berry that no one likes unless they have a urinary tract infection?”
She arched an eyebrow and took out her phone. She pressed a button, and a voice on the other end answered. Softly, she spoke. “This is the Cranberry. We have a situation and Yield has been called in to take over the task. The Bad Apple is attaching me to a traffic sign, but the wind is strong and the sign won’t bend. It is telling me it will not yield to complete this portion of my training. Can the request be escalated?”
Helen listened and nodded her head. She ended the call, poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. The moment she took a seat, Yield’s phone rang. She maintained direct eye contact with his good eye as he took the call.
“Yield,” he said into the line. “Yep. Yep. Oh, really. Hmph. Fine, but I won’t like it. Whatever.”
Then he ended the call. His good eye squinted at her while the bad eye tried to focus on what he assumed was a smug look on Helen’s cute little face, but she didn’t have one.
“What’s your game, Cranberry?” Yield asked, feeling distrustful of her making the call to his handler. He also wasn’t certain how she knew The Archangel.
“No game,” she said. “I know things, but I don’t understand what to do with what I know. I was sent here to learn so I can become the best form of whatever shape I’m to take in this evolution of my journey. I am, in academic speak, a tabula rasa, for you to shape, mold, and teach the ideal habits of whatever it is that you do so well. I gather, since I have learned to assume nothing with you people, that for this man to call you in, to take me away from his protection, to be alone with you, that you are the biggest, baddest, and fiercest wolf in the forest, so he chose the best. You’ve earned that respect from him. Do the job. Bring me back. We part as colleagues.”
The tabula rasa was a very academic term, and she had somehow garnered he had been, and still was, in his heart, an academician. He didn’t like the icky feeling she gave off, knowing so much about him when he knew nothing about her.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure how I will feel being on the road with a woman I don’t know,” Yield said, scowling even more at how she carefully and prettily pulled together the right words to soothe his ruffled feathers.
Ricky stepped forward. “She’s got a man. Whoever he is, she’s not interested in whatever you have to say or offer.”
Yield looked at her and asked, “Is this man of yours going to be an issue?”
“Only if you make him whinny,” she replied, cocking her head.
Yield sat up tall in the seat. He looked at Helen with a fresh eye. She was interesting. Now, he wanted to know more.
“Pack light for three nights, which is the max I do on a trail. The leads are more than likely cold, but we will find what we find,” he said. “Hurry up and don’t make me wait.”
Helen was on her feet and moving. Ricky came to sit at the table. He had all kinds of questions. “What did she mean by ‘the whinny’? Who is that?”
“You don’t want to know. Hell, I don’t want to know, but now I do,” he said. “Shit, how did you end up with this one?”
“She’s the replacement for The Cherry on Top,” Apple said.
“No shit!” Yield replied. “Well, this is just fucking dandy. Apple, when I find what you need and bring her back, don’t call me anymore. Ever.”
Helen returned with a backpack, three knives, and a 9mm, in which she seated a round in the chamber. She did it all without breaking eye contact with Yield. A second later, she grabbed two bottles of water and a couple of pieces of fruit, tossing one to him. “Let’s do it!”
Yield shook his head, accepting the water and fruit and heading out the door. “Three days tops, and I’m bringing her scary ass back.”
“Three days, and you may not want to,” Apple said, already feeling the loss of her company and she hadn’t even left. He looked at Ricky and said, “Your thoughts.”
“I think I’m in love with her,” Ricky said. “I can’t believe you’re just letting her leave with Mr. One Eye and not put a tracker on her.”
“Hell, he is the tracker I need and the luckiest son of a cracker I know,” Apple said. “She will either learn or burn out. He will teach her how to stalk, among other things. We shall see. Three days.”
“Three days and no Ms. Helen,” Ricky said. “Why do I feel like she and I just broke up and she left me and the kids to fend for ourselves? I don’t like this. I’m going to my camper and sulk silently in protest.”
“Would you stop pouting and get to work?” Apple asked. “I have to go eat crow with Stephen.”
Ricky leaned against the kitchen sink, half watching Helen and Yield leave the house, feeling every emotion he could imagine. “I feel like I’m watching my teen daughter go off to prom with a dude I know is going to try to fuck her. I don’t like this at all. And what was with the thing you and Mr. One Eyed Willie did to Stephen?”
Apple too had come to the window to watch Helen climb into the front seat of the black Ford-F150. He didn’t like it either, but Kendrick didn’t look good. The last thing he needed was for the woman to be here if things took a turn for the worse, which he expected over the next three days. It would be best if she weren’t attached to the boy if shit came out sideways and ripped up a pucker hole. He thought of Stephen.
“Ricky, at the end of the day, we are men,” he said. “Stephen wants to play on both sides of the world and he can’t. He’s not strong enough yet to truly defend himself against those stronger than himself, which is what Yield and I showed him. He must learn to pick his battles.”
He called for the boy, who came down the stairs in a regular pair of jeans and button-down shirt. It was the most normal Apple had ever seen the kid look since his arrival. Apple instructed him to start breakfast.
Stephen asked, “Where’s the scary man and Ms. Helen?”
“They have work to do, as do you,” Apple said. He noticed the fear in Stephen’s eyes, and his reluctance to turn his back to him. “I will never hurt you. However, in this world, we must learn to blend in, or we are targeted and harmed. Call it code switching or playing into the stereotype, whichever one keeps you the safest. You’re Asian, so this world expects you to be a smart nerd. Use that to your advantage until you find your tribe. Choose wisely. It matters. And you need to learn to fight. Ricky can teach you.”
“I’m not a fighter,” Stephen replied.
“You need to be if you plan to dress like you did this morning,” Apple said. “You can wear that stuff here, but out there, blending is key. Understand?”
“Understood,” Stephen responded, setting about to make breakfast for the family.
“Sorry for scaring you like that, but I did it to make a point that even if you were expecting an attack from me, people who hate travel in packs,” Apple told him. “You may be prepared to deal with one, but it is always the accomplice you don’t see that takes you out.”
YIELD WAS QUIET AS they drove. He hated Milwaukee and everything about it, but he would start at the Field of Flowers, looking for clues, then back his way out to locate the cocoon where the new field was planted. He had questions for the woman riding shotgun; her silence was fucking with his calm.
He threw out into the quietness of the truck cabin, “So, family huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know the family?”
“To what family are you referring, Good Sir?” Helen asked, eyes focused on the road.
“Don’t play coy with me, Cranberry. You made the call to my handler, who called me and instructed me to do this. You have his number, so you know the family,” Yield said.
Helen didn’t see a need to answer a question he already had the answers to and moved on to another subject. “As I said, I know a lot of things, but don’t understand where and how the pieces fit. Like this, for instance; you’re carrying no weapons and are dressed like an unemployed Indiana Jones, and the boots are new and hurting your feet. You’re not a killer; it isn’t in your eyes, so what do you do, track, hunt, or retrieve?”
He couldn’t turn his head to look at her since he needed the right eye to remain on the road. However, he could feel her, and she felt...odd. In some ways, she almost made him feel calm, which unnerved him, making him feel... unsettled. Yet, Cranberry was observant.
“Tracker, the lucky type. He wants me to walk you through this, see what you can deduce on your own, then we find the new Field of Flowers,” he said.
“Okay, help me understand this Field, the cocoon, and Chrysalis shit. Are we talking butterfly themed pedos, running a human trafficking ring?” she asked.
“Close,” Yield replied. “Each region has a group of creeps who like kids or unwanted people society has tossed aside. They pull them off the street if those people aren’t too far gone with drugs or disease. If they can catch them young and pull them into these communities, the butterfly catchers can put them in kind of stasis, training the kids to recruit more kids while protecting, I guess you’d call it, the main one.”
“So, we need to start with food banks and small grocers,” she said.
“What? How did you get there?”
“To make the butterfly grow while it is in stasis or while it metamorphoses, the pupa requires nutrition,” she told him. “As you said, no one wants to screw a sickly person unless that is their thing, which is all kinds of icky. How do they feed a field full of butterflies? Usually, the caterpillar will suspend itself under a leaf out of plain sight, but before the process begins, does the worm eat the leaves for sustenance?”
Yield chuffed a bit. “Aren’t you clever? You still didn’t answer my question about the family.”
Helen turned in her seat to stare at his profile. In some ways, Yield was a handsome man. He also wore a plastic ring on his left finger. At some point, he’d had a kid in the truck and she spotted the candy wrapper in the tray from a sweet treat she didn’t see the man eating nor enjoying. There was also mud in the vehicle on the floor mat of the back seat where she placed her bag. The dried mud was caked in the form of a circle which more than likely came off a cleat. The man had at least two kids, and one played either soccer or football. She would use that to shut him the hell up.
“At the end of the shift, Mr. Yield, we all want to come home to family, and I want to learn, and be of use so that I can go home to mine,” she said softly. “You and I have no need to get personal. I gave you enough information to add two and two and arrive at a reasonable conclusion. Can you leave it there?”
“Consider it left,” he said. “What if I decide when we get there to leave you?”
“Naw, you wouldn’t,” she said. “Your kids love you, and to do something like that, you wouldn’t be okay with them finding out their Daddy did a horrid thing.”
“Well shit,” he said. “I’m not sure if I like you, and I don’t feel like you’re a threat, but you are. You’re kind of fucking scary.”
“Kind of?” Helen said, flashing him a smile. “How far is this warehouse and do you have any weapons under the seat in the corral just in case shit gets sticky?”
Helen knew about the under-the-seat storage. She knew about Gabriel. She was in a relationship with the Whinny himself, Mustang, which connected her to Slow, which also connected her to Gabriel. There were a lot of connections and he wasn’t sure how she was plugged into the Technician universe, but she made him nervous.
Mr. Yield wasn’t certain if the nervousness came from fear or excitement. That in itself worried also him. He didn’t get excited often, but he was eager to find out how her mind was going to work this tracking bit, nearly, almost, but not quite, making him smile.