Midnight Ride, Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Midnight Ride
At midnight two shadows crept down the stair way of apartment complex 77th. One was tall and wiry with a small pack on his back. The other was shorter, fatter, and lugging several suitcases. The taller one was obviously the leader because he led the way, pausing at each corner to cautiously peer around before proceeding. And every time he stopped the shorter shadow bumped into him with an “oof” and had to back up several paces. Eventually they left the building entirely and slunk through the streets.

Frank had really wanted to take his car. But Art absolutely refused; it was unthinkable to manage un-detection in a bright orange sports car. They would walk to the nearest bus. Reluctantly Frank agreed.

The other problem had been luggage. Art thought one light backpack was more than sufficient for all their travelling needs. But here Frank put his foot down firmly. He wasn’t going to South America without several changes of underwear, toothpaste, refill deodorants, his new portable 3-dVD player, a couple pillows, sleeping bags, four brands of bug repellent, enough sleeping pills to kill an army, and a good supply of salted peanuts. The only thing he didn’t have in good supply was cash; he couldn’t risk a bank visit in the middle of the night, so he stuffed what he did have in his wallet and hoped it would be enough. In the end Art just shrugged and said “you’re carrying it.”

Together they inched through the streets. Frank wasn’t exactly sure where Art expected the bus to take them, but he was fairly confident in his friends mapping skills. Somehow or they they would get to South America.

The night was a cold one. High above their heads Frank thought he could see stars, but he wasn’t quite sure. City lights drowned out the prickly little points of light men and woman have gazed at since the world was born. Frank had never seen the big dipper, only the brilliant North Star was strong enough to pierce the red smog which hung like a veil over the city skyline. And even the North Star looked like an airplane cockpit, or a dying radio tower. Sometimes Frank wasn’t even sure it was really there. Tonight he saw it glimmering like a beacon above them. He wondered if it would be brighter in the jungles where they were travelling.

“Pssst, keep up!” Art hissed a few feet in front of him. They had reached the bus stop.

A couple minutes later an old bus creaked to a stop letting them climb in. The bus driver looked like the bus, badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. Art picked seats n the very back and gestured for Frank to follow him. Frank stumbled forward over an old Chinese ladies oversized purse and plopped into his seat. Art was already seated. The bus lazily lurched away from the curb and neither one noticed the small, thick set, man who had boarded almost unseen behind them. He sat on the opposite row.

Art pulled out a map and glanced about nervously. Noticing the stranger across from them he ducked his head and spoke under his breath.

“Once we get to South America we’ll start looking for clues. Until then we’ll take it easy and you can get some sleep.”

“The bus is taking us all the way to SA?” Frank asked dubiously.

“No, we’re going to stop at my cousin Kera’s, the greenie remember?”

“Oh yeah, she lives in Texas. How are we going to get across the border?”
Art wrinkled his brow in thought. Frank saw him narrow his eyes and grimace. A few moments passed in silence.

“Well?” Frank repeated getting worried.

“Hush, I’m trying to think.” Art remonstrated.

“You mean you’re making this up as you go!” Frank splurted. Art was being unsettlingly vague.

In the Twenty Third century no one could travel outside the bounds of his province of habitation without written documents of approval from the magistrate. The bus they were on would only carry them 50 miles or so, an easy twenty minute stretch. After that they would be on foot.
Passing borders was another problem. Luckily there were very few borders to cross. The world was governed by a universal parliament with the exception of one or two uncooperative republics. Of which Texas was one. Crossing into Texas on foot was going to be next to impossible, Frank wondered if they should turn back now before it was too late.

“When we get closer to Texas, on foot I’d say it would take us a week or so, I will call Kera. She’s used to my crazy schemes and should fall for a sugar coated lie. I’ll tell her I want to measure the growth rate of seaweed in the Atlantic, compared to the Pacific. It ought to appeal to her sensibilities.” Art finally said.

“How is that going to help us?” Frank asked impatiently, “We still don’t have papers to get across the border so unless your cousin is a magistrate or something…”

“WELL, I happen to know that Kera is currently dating a border guard.” Art winked.

“Oh, you didn’t say that a minute ago” Frank replied in surprise. That shed new light on things.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do about it until we get there. After Texas it should be smooth sailing, as long as we keep low profiles.”

Outside the bus windows the world was flying by. Frank could barely make out distinguishable shapes. Once he was certain they were passing the old main street mall – an abandoned shopping center which had seen its day before the advent of virtual e-stores. Now it was used as a rallying area for teenage gangsters who ruled the night world. He shuddered and looked upwards. Street lights cast fuzzy illumination on dumpsters and newer garbage disposal units painted bright bright blue. The scenery was getting pretty boring. Slowly he leaned his head against the cool black window pane and began to doze.

The man in front of them was wearing a bright red ball cap. He sat perfectly erect in his seat, engrossed with a small device he was holding. The device was about the size of a paper dollar bill and nearly as thin. Despite its fragile appearance it was really very strong, resisting the man’s firm thumb strokes. The man was pushing up and down on the device with his thumb, and every time he touched the metallic like screen it flashed a differently colored streak. First purple, then green, red, orange, and hot salmon pink. He held the device low, carefully sheltered from the view of the bus’s other inhabitants, between him and the seat.

The thin gadget was a TraitorCon, a recent development in job identifying technology. Marketers offered it as another wonderful way to help parents determine their child’s future profession, but it worked on more than infants. At the moment the stranger in the ball cap was using it to read Art and Frank’s personality types. The bright colors which flashed as he touched the screen told him not only what weaknesses the two men might have, but also the emotions they were experiencing at the moment. He chuckled as he detected strong signs of hunger in Frank; they showed up chestnut brown on the reading scale. A small click alerted the man that the graph was finished. He softly tapped the shiny back of the TraitorCon. With silent precision it ejected a small slip of paper as wide and long as itself into his palm. He stared at the tiny numbers on the page. Then he frowned.

Franks analysis was straightforward, even humorous. The fatter one loves to eat, sleep, and watch TV; he rarely exerts himself beyond what is strictly necessary, and has a weak will, let alone mental perception the stranger thought. One stubby finger reached up to scratch his head under the ball cap. His TraitorCon flashed, alternating between stop sign red and banana yellow. But that fellow Art Scew now, he’s way too high wired the man noted. He purposely shifted in his seat while watching the machines murky screen. It flashed again. The one called Art is feeling edgy; every movement seems to catch his eye.

Art was indeed edgy. He darted glances at every person in the bus, nothing escaped his attention. Why doesn’t that guy turn around he thought desperately wishing the man in the ball cap would let him see what he was doing. Or else go to sleep. The fact that he was awake boarding busses at midnight was suspicious. The bright red ball cap remained where it was.

The man had finished analyzing Art. Again the tiny slip of paper inserted itself noiselessly into his open palm. The man could feel Arts eyes boring into the back of his neck. He leaned forward and peered at the emoticons results. They were confusing. On one side the intelligence level soared, few people would ever land on those levels. (Mr. Wildrow perhaps, but Teaser knew of no one else) Then, on the other side, the reading plummeted dangerously low. Apparently Art struggled with producing emotions such as love and joy. He had no problem with guilt and depression; the black streaks were unusually strong. But happy emotions were definitely lacking. The stranger once again scratched his head. This was unexpected.

How am I going to deal with this guy, guilt him into giving me the map? Find his weak spot and threaten it? The map is his weak spot as far as I can tell. He wished he could just pummel the fellows, it would be so easy. Why does Live always have to make things so difficult? If he wanted the map then Teaser could get it. He could stop the bus here and now and shoot the idiots down. He made himself focus on trickier tactics, like Mr. Wildrow wanted. The one named Frank would be easy, offer him a few trinkets and promises of rest after a few days in the jungles where he assumed they were heading and the man would cave in. But Art, who was obviously the leader, would be a tough nut to crack.

The bus stopped abruptly. A few sleepers snorted noisily and went back to sleep. They ha already handed in their papers earlier.

“Everybody without a license to leave California County, get off now” the bus driver surly announced. Art got up with a sigh and poked the sleeping Frank.

“Come on, we have to get off ” Art explained. Frank groaned and began gathering his suitcases. The man across from them hopped up quickly and moved down the aisle. Art eyed him curiously.

“Stop staring at strangers Art and help me with this back pack” Frank whispered hoarsely.

“Oh, sorry buddy, I didn’t see you needed help. It’s just so strange you know, a guy riding around CA at night. Most unusual.” He absent mindedly lifted Franks pack to his own shoulder, “I suppose the fellow has a permit” he continued as he saw Teaser shove some papers under the bus drivers nose and, what was odd, gesture their way. The man moved back to his seat and sat down.

“Lucky” Art murmured shaking the cobwebs out of his brain. They had a long cold walk ahead of them. Together he and Frank walked to the front and were about to step off when the bus driver held out a hand.

"No need to leave. You may go back to your seats. I’ll take you as far as the Texas borders if you like” the driver said. Arts eyes nearly bugged out.
“But we don’t have a permit sir” he said before he could stop himself. Frank elbowed him in the ribs.

“Shut up Art, don’t you know a piece of good luck when you see it?” He demanded in a low voice.

“Wait a second, why is he doing this for us?” Art asked back, also in a low voice.

“Who cares, maybe you look like his second-cousin. Let’s go get some sleep.” Frank replied turning around and shuffling away. Art had no choice but to follow against his better judgment.

Back in their seats the bus took off. Once more the windows resumed a blurry aspect. Frank dropped his stuff and began snoring immediately. Art fidgeted around for awhile. Something was definitely wrong; he just couldn’t put a finger on it. There’s no such thing as happy coincidence or good luck, his mind reasoned. There had to be something else going on. The man across the aisle still bothered him; he wished he would take his hat off. Soon however even Art could not ward off the sleep we all require. His eyes demanded to be shut though his brain continued to process unseen images. Late into the morning he dreamed fitfully, waking now and then to stare at the red baseball cap which never moved.

Teaser was chuckling softly. He had worked everything quite nicely. Now they could reach their destination much faster and at less expense to him. And the idiots didn’t even put up a fuss he gloated. Of course Arts reading were going off the scales. The TraiterCon was beginning to overheat just trying to keep up with Arts wildly fluctuating emotions. After awhile Teasers course paws began to burn as he grasped the device and he had to put it away. He wondered why Art had decided to stay on the bus under such conflicting circumstances and realized that if it hadn’t been for Frank the brainy man would have walked. Thank god for the fat one was his last thought as he drifted into a steady doze.