The Ties That Blind: Chapter Four

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By Christoper Mitchell

IV.

Sickle inched her way from underneath the barmaid’s arm. The woman wasn’t as attractive in daylight, but Sickle was still impressed that something so pretty would still live in Detroit. The woman continued snoring as Sickle pissed and washed her hands. She wondered if there’d be any food here. She got dressed and stumbled from the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Her eyes fell on a young boy eating cereal. The little ferret had bright red hair and peered at her through thick spectacles. He munched loudly, losing interest and returning to the back of the brightly colored cereal box in his hand.

Ick…

“The bowls are up there.” He inclined his head toward the cabinet by the fridge.

She eyed him suspiciously, then turned to grab a bowl. Sickle didn’t know shit about kids. She couldn’t tell—and couldn’t care less—if he was closer to five or fifteen. To her, he was just another sticky-fingered reminder that sex came with consequences.

 The kid poured her some cereal as she turned and set it down, then went back to reading the box. Without looking, he reached out and picked up some papers and handed them to Sickle. She laughed aloud when she realized it was the morning paper. “Holy shit, they still make these?”

“Mom says when the power died here, everybody got used to getting news like in the old times.” The kid scratched at his nose, and Sickle was glad she’d seen him do that after he’d poured her cereal. He was talking about the EMPs. Those were dark days; literally and figuratively.

“What’s your name?” Sickle grabbed the milk from the fridge and poured it to the brim, spilling cereal over the side of the bowl.

The kid didn’t even bother to look up at her. “Does it matter? I won’t see you again after today anyway.”

Sickle snickered. “You got that right, kid, your mom’s a seven at best.” The kid looked up from the box for a moment, then returned to his reading.

Touchy little shit, isn’t he? Sickle thought it was funny, at least. She ignored the kid for the moment, noticing for the first time the headline of the morning paper:

Mystery in Blue: Policer Cruiser Found Abandoned, Officers Missing.

She narrowed her eye and swept cereal from the newspaper for a better look. Something in that headline worried her, so she read on. She was surprised cops still patrolled the streets in this shithole.. Still, she supposed the origin source would draw people like moths to flame, even if it were under nuclear slag. She sensed it now: that unnatural impression of feeling perfectly at home in a town she despised.

She couldn’t wait for her flight out of here.

“It says that even the radios were ripped out.”

Sickle looked up from the paper to a set of huge eyes looking at her through thick lenses. “What was that, ACOG?” The kid’s head tilted in confusion, and she chuckled. “It’s a scope for a rifle; makes it so you can see things far away.” She looked him up and down, then pointed at his glasses. “With those things, you can probably see through time.”

The kid smiled, showing a line of crooked teeth. He repeated what he’d said about the radio, then added, “That’s not easy to do.” He hooked his two pointer fingers together, then pulled. “They’re locked into the dash column behind a steel lock-and-bar system.”

Sickle smirked. “Some car radios just won’t be stolen, will they?”

The kid shrugged. “We get by.” He held his hand out. “I’m Mags. It’s short for Magellan.”

Sickle shook his hand. “I’m Amy. It’s not short for anything.” She let go of his hand and used it to stir her cereal. She knew it was weird, but she preferred it soggy. “Are you a thief by trade?”

He looked past Amy, towards his mom’s room. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Sickle looked back over her shoulder. Mom still snored peacefully. “Fair point.” She turned back to face Mags. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your profits.”

Mags smiled again. Sickle was growing fond of his goofy little face. “What can you tell me about this?” she pointed to the paper, curious.

The kid’s smile faded, and he looked down to stir his own cereal. “Haven’t heard yet. I’m supposed to meet up with some of my friends soon.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school soon?” Sickle raised an eyebrow.

Mags smiled, but his eyes said he was confused. “It’s Sunday, Amy.”

“Ah. Well.” She folded up the newspaper. “I’ll just have to stop back by and get some information then, won’t I?”

“I guess so.” The kid smiled again, and Sickle decided to leave him be. They ate in silence for a bit, neither able to hear anything over the sound of their own crunching. It was off-brand cereal, but it got the job done.

“Are you a cop?” The kid’s question shook her from her thoughts. She was thinking about ophidons.

“Nah.” She shook her head. “Secret Agent.” Mags rolled his eyes, and she pretended to be hurt. “What, you don’t believe me? You think I wear this eyepatch because it’s fashionable?” She lifted the patch to show him that it was, indeed, real.

His reaction caught her off guard. “Aw, that’s sick! Can I touch it?”

She paused, craning her head slightly. “You aren’t scared?”

Mags shook his head. “Grossed out but not scared.”

He paused, then looked up sheepishly.

“So can I? Touch it, that is.”

Sickle smiled and nodded. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t stick your finger in there or anything.”

He gently touched the outside. “Ugh, gross! This is so awesome…”

This little gremlin wasn’t half bad. “Had it ripped out by a Faction Elder.”

“What’s that?” Mags continued to touch the outside. “Some sort of secret agent you fight?”

“Basically.” She stepped back and covered her eye once again. She looked around secretively, then leaned in and whispered. “There’s a whole other world underneath your feet, little man.” She stood back upright and held her bowl up by her head. “Thanks for the cereal.”

She slipped on her boots and left, waving to Mags as she opened the door to the house. She pulled her phone from her pocket and stifled a curse when she saw the number of missed calls from Parchment, Ink’s name nestled in between calls at two-minute intervals for the past hour. How was it already ten in the morning?

She didn’t feel like taking an earful from her Orator, so she called Ink instead.

Ink’s voice didn’t hold its usual charm. “Where have you been, Sickle?”

That was the tone of worry. Was she serious? Since when had Ink worried about her?

She decided to keep her answers short. “Busy. What’s the issue?”

Ink let out a sigh of frustration. “We’ve got a problem. Rake is missing.”

Rake? What did that have to do with her? “You should call Parchment, Ink. She was going to see him after the escort job.”

“I’ve already talked to her, Sickle, and you should, too. Rake never showed up to meet her, and he isn’t answering our calls. We haven’t contacted Hammer or Anvil about it yet; we don’t want to worry them.”

That would be a bad idea. The Wonder Twins were very protective of their orator and would burn down half of Detroit to find him.

Sickle shaded her good eye as she exited the decrepit apartment structure. The August sun mixed with last night’s rain, leaving her feeling wet and sticky. “What are my orders?”

“You’re on standby. The flight out is already cancelled. Link in with Parchment and be ready for S&R procedures.”

Search and Rescue… wonderful. She hated these missions; someone always died.

“Acknowledged. Calling Parchment now.” Sickle ended the call and dialed her orator. “Hey, Parchment, sorry I… whoa, slow down…”

Parchment was panicking; it laced her voice like a cheap perfume.

“What are you worried about? The kid probably fell asleep reading Pride and Prejudice and hasn’t woken up yet… What do you mean, the police are down the street from his safehouse?”

Parchment filled her in, and her mind went back to the newspaper headline she’d read earlier.

“Shit, I saw that in the paper… yes, the newspaper, Parchment. These cavepeople still read it… NO! Do NOT go to the crime scene! If Hammer and Anvil see you there, it’ll start a fucking forest fire… No, they DON’T need to know we’re here; how do you think it’ll look if they know we’re here and they can’t find their partner? …Yeah, stand by, I’m headed your way now. DON’T LEAVE THE HOTEL!”

She hung up the receiver and shook out a chill that shot down her spine like hot tungsten through bone. How could she be cold in this oppressive fucking heat? She knew, though. That headline raced through her brain again, leaving behind an icicle of dread driven straight through her soul.

Even in a dying city, cops didn’t just abandon ship.

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