Balance - Book 2 by Marc Dickason

  *****

  Downstairs I exited the building as an Enforcer van arrived. Two men climbed out and I limped passed them.

  ‘Jet Clarence is not here, ignore me.’

  They ran inside and I climbed into the vehicle. Before departing I dug around and found a spare pair of blue trousers. I rolled them up and stuffed them under my shirt. They began to turn red.

  I arrived back at the apartment thirty minutes later. It was a journey made in relative ease despite glimpsing two barricades. One had been under aggressive siege. I had ignored both.

  I mounted the steps, Enforcer trousers now soaked clean through. My mind worked on the details of a plan. It was to my benefit the uprising still raged. A bare minimum of people could possibly be looking for me. And I would be long gone by the time enough could be spared to present a real threat. A man like me could disappear forever. Or at least, until he wanted to return. How ironic that Phillip the security guard and I would ultimately be living similar lives.

  I arrived at the top step and gasped a sigh of relief. My unsteady legs carried me into the apartment and straight into my bedroom. But the painkillers were not there. I inched over to the bed and eased myself down.

  “Please,” I said, “Please, I need them. It hurts so much.”

  The demon looked at me with cold eyes. The flame burned, licking up from its shoulders towards the ceiling.

  “Please,” I begged, “Let me have them.”

  It inclined its head out my bedroom door.

  “What? What’s out there?”

  I painfully returned to my feet, grimacing, and hopped out into the living room. It stood by the bathroom door, nodding inside. I approached and entered the bathroom. It stood by a cabinet and nodded to the doors. I opened them. Inside was a small medical kit.

  Halfway through clumsily bandaging my stomach the phone began to ring. I ignored it. As bloody clothes were stripped and new ones pulled on, it continued to ring. Still I ignored it. It was only as I headed to exit the apartment, a carry bag of essentials in one hand, I finally turned to give it attention. For a long moment I hesitated. Then grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Kingston,” a voice said.

  “No, Clarence. Who is this?’

  “Julian.”

  “Who?”

  “Julian. Kingston wanted to know where the girl is. The Latino girl. Still wanna know?”

  I paused, my brain racing. “From the diner. The high school girl abuser.”

  “Hey, man…”

  “Tell me.”

  “Payoff is still five hundred, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Some of the boys just tipped me off she’s hiding out in a building. East side. Abandoned shit hole. Not sure what a girl is doing in there by herself. Either way, I would be careful going there right now. The streets are burning up that way.”

  For what seemed an eternity I stood with receiver in hand. That empty place in my stomach where the furnace was again growing cold, began to flutter.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  I avoided Main and stuck to the back routes, managing to skirt erected barricades upon spotting them. Many of the streets were littered with broken glass and debris, and some commercial zones appeared apocalyptic in their level of destruction. I pressed on, relieved at my good fortune. I was made to eat this relief soon after, as I rounded a corner and found myself facing a mob of what must have been thousands. They were headed in my direction, two hundred meters up the road. I slammed the car into reverse and began executing a rapid u-turn. But a second later noticed two Enforcers.

  Between my car and the approaching mob two uniformed men were stumbling, both on the verge of full blown panic. I waited, hesitating, then threw open a door and climbed out. They approached at a jog, panting like steam engines.

  “Go!” one gasped, “Now! Move!”

  “Get in the car,” I told him, “Wait. I can handle this.”

  They gaped at me and jumped in the car. “Get in!”

  The faceless throng of civilians was bearing down on me. Hundreds of faces, so different, yet so much the same. I waited for them, finding my calm. Their roar of blood lust was deafening.

  ‘A better life for me, a better life for my children, a better life for me…’

  My Spirit blasted out like a tsunami. It swept up the road, licking the sides of buildings and engulfing streetlights. The crowd was swallowed and began to slow. Brows wrinkled in confusion.

  “You are all puppets!” I bellowed out, “You think you are working for a better future, but you are not! You are under a spell. One cast by those who live in the penthouses above you. Those who sip fine wines and watch the streets burn far below! When did you start believing those men?!”

  Eyes blinked and glances were shared. I continued to pour out Spirit.

  “Turn around!” I continued, “Go home to your families! All of you!”

  Silence descended. For a long time the crowd stood motionless. Then, as if hearing his name called from far off, a man in the front row dropped a bottle and walked off. A second followed, then a third. The crowd began to disperse. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to my car. The two Enforcers were staring at me with saucer eyes.

  “Holy shit, it is Jet Clarence,” one said, “what happened to you? Are you bleeding?”

  “No, I’m not Jet Clarence,” I replied.

  “I recognise you. Where’s your uniform?”

  A second sigh of relief. “Off duty.”

  “God damned good thing you were here, Clarence. Swear you’re a Godsend. Our barricade was overrun up the road. Thomson and Jones took off in the other direction. What a shit storm, huh?”

  I nodded. “It is. Where can I drive you?”

  “We need to get to a D.O.M. Regroup.”

  “Let’s go.”

  I dropped them on a corner at a nearby Department of Magic. The area was a chaos of departing and arriving vehicles. I accepted their handshakes and continued on my way.