The Broken by Sean Michael Frawley
motorcycle. He felt bow-legged. How had cowboys managed to travel cross-country on a horse?
"What do you think has happened with the others?" Link asked. No longer needing to yell over the noisy buzz of the motorcycle, he found it hard to modulate his voice. Though he tried to speak softly, it came out as a scream.
Since their escape from the bounty hunter outside Wiscoby, they had driven non-stop to Baselton. While on their manic journey north to the Harrington Complex, Max had informed Link that he and his son, Roland, had received word from Mrs. Greta the previous night that Link and his friends were planning to make the trip to see Panch. She thought they might need help.
Since they knew the end destination, he and Max had planned to stay far enough behind the group that they did not tip off their presence to any Broken that might be trailing. The precaution had nearly backfired when Link's dad had unexpectedly exited the highway for gas. After Max and Roland realized they had lost them, they had circled back and painstakingly searched the last couple of exits.
Max's explanation had made Link consider how much the old man knew. Though Tom, Celia, and Link had all agreed to tell the adults that they were only coming to visit Panch, it had seemed odd to Link that Mrs. Greta had known they might need additional help. This made him wonder what other information she might have withheld from him.
Link nearly jumped when he realized that Max was staring at him with the same grim-faced irritability that Link remembered seeing from the kitchen window. "They'll be fine," he said. "Don't you get it? The only reason they were in danger in the first place was because of you." Max stated this observation as a fact, not as a point of debate.
The reverberations of Max's words shook Link to the core, not because they were mean, but because they were true. Aside from Ayden, he had never once stopped to think about the danger he had put the others in. How could he have been so careless with the lives of all the people he cared about?
Max faced Roland, who was busily retrieving a few items from a leather rucksack. "In case we get separated, I'll take this punk. You watch after the other brat. Remember, time is critical. We need to get to the kid before they do. I just hope it's not too late."
"Why are we in such a hurry?" Link said. "There's no way they managed to catch up with us. I dare say you were driving a smidge faster than the posted limits."
"What makes you think Raythuse isn't already here, waiting?" Max stared bullets into Link's skull. With a frightening intensity Link never before would have dreamed possible from such an old man, Max ambled up to him.
"Let's get one thing straight," he said. "I don't like you. And I sure as hell don't like your brainiac friend over there. If you ask me, something ain't right about this whole deal. But we all will be better off with Raythuse out of the way, and we need you for that. So until then, you do as I say. I so much as catch you blinking without my approval...I'll shoot you myself. Am I making myself clear?"
There it was. Max did understand the real reason they were here. "Have a bit of a trust issue, do you?"
With reflexes that only Mrs. Kidacki could have matched, the old man hoisted Link off the ground and threw him to the curb with such ferocity that Link momentarily feared for his life. Stunned by the suddenness of it all, Link remained sprawled on the ground, uncertain whether he should get up or stay where he was.
Before he had time to blink, Max stood over him. His faced burned bright with fury. He bent down from the waist and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me tell you something, boy." His breath smelled of cigar smoke and his words dripped with condescension. "Friends make you weak. All they do is let you down. Don't kid yourself. Once your adorable little posse of rugrats fully understand the extent of the danger you've placed them in, they'll hate you for it." What then started as a laugh turned into a deep, hacking cough. He cleared his throat and spit a large glob of phlegm onto the street. "Trust issues?" he said. "You better believe it. I don't trust anyone that isn't blood. And even then, I sleep with one eye open. Why do you think I'm still alive? Now get up! We've got work to do."
"If I'm not supposed to trust anybody," Link said, "then how do I know I can trust you?"
Max scowled and said, "You don't."
Link got to his feet and dusted off his shirt. He checked the camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged. What was wrong with this psycho-geezer?
"Link?" Tom said. "What are you waiting for?" He stood in the doorway, waiting.
Link entered the building, and the pair of them followed a long, winding corridor that was lined with tinted windows. Link whispered, "Thanks a lot for your help back there, Tom."
Tom appeared confused by the comment. "Do you mean when you tripped? What do you think I am? Your nanny?"
"Tripped? Is that what you call being thrown to the ground by an angry old man?"
"Angry old man? What are you talking about? Max didn't do anything. I saw the whole thing, Link. You got off the motorcycle. Then you tripped over the curb. Not that it's any surprise. You can't even make it down a flight of stairs without falling. Why should a curb be any different?"
Link was used to Tom disagreeing with him, but this time was different. He could tell by Tom's expression that he really believed Link had tripped on his own. But how could that be?
The corridor emptied into an impressive atrium with brown marble floors and expansive ceilings supported by thick columns. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls and decorative kiosks full of lush tropical plants helped soften the otherwise rigid architecture.
As he neared the reception desk, Link began to second-guess himself. Was he doing the right thing? What if his plan failed? His experiences over the last week had been nothing short of a giant wrecking ball, demolishing his carefully constructed house of hard-fought sanity and order. And what if Max and Roland had a different plan than his? What if they weren't even trying to capture Raythuse? Were they even on his side? Link was miles out of his depth here, and he hoped his friends wouldn't be the ones to pay the price.
Max approached the reception desk and fell into a short line of people. Behind the desk, two women gave the visitors the information they required to find the right floor and room.
One of them was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She had long, bouncy blond hair and perky sunshine in her voice. The older woman standing next to her was tall with dark brown hair pulled back and fastened with a long silver pin. The way she wore her tortoise-shell glasses on the end of her nose forced her head to tilt back, creating the impression that she was looking down on everybody she helped.
Both wore uniforms that consisted of a pinstriped, navy blue business suit, a pearl-white button-down blouse, and a red silk scarf. Link noticed that all other people coming and going were dressed formally as well. He looked back at Max's fluorescent green racing suit and wind-swept silver hair and noticed how out of place he was. How out of place they all were. For their sakes, he hoped neither woman would make an issue of it.
Too late. Zoning back in, Link saw Max waving his arms about.
Link hadn't heard the woman's actual words, but gauging by Max's sudden outburst of anger, something had made him mad ? again. "What do you mean we need to wait?" he shouted. "What we need is to get into the room so that we can see him! We don't have time to just wait here, you pretentious, backwater cow!"
The older woman responded to Max's verbal lashing with an unwavering pretense of calm and maintained a cool smile. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said. "Until I receive word from the floor's administrator confirming you as an expected visitor, I'm afraid you will need to wait. Standard procedure. I assure you it's nothing personal. I will, of course, continue to phone them on your behalf."
"Don't you?"
"In the meantime," she cut Max off before he could get started, "why don't you take a seat in our waiting area?" She pointed down the hall. "We have free refreshments if you're thirsty. I'll have Claude show you the way."
Two beefy security guards emerged from their post next to
the elevators. One approached Max while the other slid closer to the women behind the counter. Until now, Link had not noticed them. While scanning the room for danger, he had never thought to take the building's security guards into account.
Link watched as a man in a black business suit flashed an ID card and passed through the security station on his way to the elevators. Link counted five guards in all. Two manned the station and three others were positioned throughout the lobby, so sneaking by them seemed to be out of the question. The numbers from his mother's journal and the message from Jim Jim floated back into his mind with a possible connection. Could 1317 be a room number? If so, that would probably mean that Panch was on the thirteenth floor in room number seventeen.
Max still seethed, apparently unused to not getting his way. But the lady behind the counter paid no attention to him and was already helping the next person in line.
51
In the Bathroom
The white, impersonal walls and rows of wooden chairs atop a tan carpet gave the waiting room an ambience of sterility. The dying light from the late afternoon sun filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall. Small metallic end tables with an assortment of magazines sat evenly spaced between every fifth chair.
"We need to get up there, Roland," Max said, still fuming. "You know we don't have time for
"What do you think has happened with the others?" Link asked. No longer needing to yell over the noisy buzz of the motorcycle, he found it hard to modulate his voice. Though he tried to speak softly, it came out as a scream.
Since their escape from the bounty hunter outside Wiscoby, they had driven non-stop to Baselton. While on their manic journey north to the Harrington Complex, Max had informed Link that he and his son, Roland, had received word from Mrs. Greta the previous night that Link and his friends were planning to make the trip to see Panch. She thought they might need help.
Since they knew the end destination, he and Max had planned to stay far enough behind the group that they did not tip off their presence to any Broken that might be trailing. The precaution had nearly backfired when Link's dad had unexpectedly exited the highway for gas. After Max and Roland realized they had lost them, they had circled back and painstakingly searched the last couple of exits.
Max's explanation had made Link consider how much the old man knew. Though Tom, Celia, and Link had all agreed to tell the adults that they were only coming to visit Panch, it had seemed odd to Link that Mrs. Greta had known they might need additional help. This made him wonder what other information she might have withheld from him.
Link nearly jumped when he realized that Max was staring at him with the same grim-faced irritability that Link remembered seeing from the kitchen window. "They'll be fine," he said. "Don't you get it? The only reason they were in danger in the first place was because of you." Max stated this observation as a fact, not as a point of debate.
The reverberations of Max's words shook Link to the core, not because they were mean, but because they were true. Aside from Ayden, he had never once stopped to think about the danger he had put the others in. How could he have been so careless with the lives of all the people he cared about?
Max faced Roland, who was busily retrieving a few items from a leather rucksack. "In case we get separated, I'll take this punk. You watch after the other brat. Remember, time is critical. We need to get to the kid before they do. I just hope it's not too late."
"Why are we in such a hurry?" Link said. "There's no way they managed to catch up with us. I dare say you were driving a smidge faster than the posted limits."
"What makes you think Raythuse isn't already here, waiting?" Max stared bullets into Link's skull. With a frightening intensity Link never before would have dreamed possible from such an old man, Max ambled up to him.
"Let's get one thing straight," he said. "I don't like you. And I sure as hell don't like your brainiac friend over there. If you ask me, something ain't right about this whole deal. But we all will be better off with Raythuse out of the way, and we need you for that. So until then, you do as I say. I so much as catch you blinking without my approval...I'll shoot you myself. Am I making myself clear?"
There it was. Max did understand the real reason they were here. "Have a bit of a trust issue, do you?"
With reflexes that only Mrs. Kidacki could have matched, the old man hoisted Link off the ground and threw him to the curb with such ferocity that Link momentarily feared for his life. Stunned by the suddenness of it all, Link remained sprawled on the ground, uncertain whether he should get up or stay where he was.
Before he had time to blink, Max stood over him. His faced burned bright with fury. He bent down from the waist and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me tell you something, boy." His breath smelled of cigar smoke and his words dripped with condescension. "Friends make you weak. All they do is let you down. Don't kid yourself. Once your adorable little posse of rugrats fully understand the extent of the danger you've placed them in, they'll hate you for it." What then started as a laugh turned into a deep, hacking cough. He cleared his throat and spit a large glob of phlegm onto the street. "Trust issues?" he said. "You better believe it. I don't trust anyone that isn't blood. And even then, I sleep with one eye open. Why do you think I'm still alive? Now get up! We've got work to do."
"If I'm not supposed to trust anybody," Link said, "then how do I know I can trust you?"
Max scowled and said, "You don't."
Link got to his feet and dusted off his shirt. He checked the camera to make sure it hadn't been damaged. What was wrong with this psycho-geezer?
"Link?" Tom said. "What are you waiting for?" He stood in the doorway, waiting.
Link entered the building, and the pair of them followed a long, winding corridor that was lined with tinted windows. Link whispered, "Thanks a lot for your help back there, Tom."
Tom appeared confused by the comment. "Do you mean when you tripped? What do you think I am? Your nanny?"
"Tripped? Is that what you call being thrown to the ground by an angry old man?"
"Angry old man? What are you talking about? Max didn't do anything. I saw the whole thing, Link. You got off the motorcycle. Then you tripped over the curb. Not that it's any surprise. You can't even make it down a flight of stairs without falling. Why should a curb be any different?"
Link was used to Tom disagreeing with him, but this time was different. He could tell by Tom's expression that he really believed Link had tripped on his own. But how could that be?
The corridor emptied into an impressive atrium with brown marble floors and expansive ceilings supported by thick columns. Expensive-looking paintings hung on the walls and decorative kiosks full of lush tropical plants helped soften the otherwise rigid architecture.
As he neared the reception desk, Link began to second-guess himself. Was he doing the right thing? What if his plan failed? His experiences over the last week had been nothing short of a giant wrecking ball, demolishing his carefully constructed house of hard-fought sanity and order. And what if Max and Roland had a different plan than his? What if they weren't even trying to capture Raythuse? Were they even on his side? Link was miles out of his depth here, and he hoped his friends wouldn't be the ones to pay the price.
Max approached the reception desk and fell into a short line of people. Behind the desk, two women gave the visitors the information they required to find the right floor and room.
One of them was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She had long, bouncy blond hair and perky sunshine in her voice. The older woman standing next to her was tall with dark brown hair pulled back and fastened with a long silver pin. The way she wore her tortoise-shell glasses on the end of her nose forced her head to tilt back, creating the impression that she was looking down on everybody she helped.
Both wore uniforms that consisted of a pinstriped, navy blue business suit, a pearl-white button-down blouse, and a red silk scarf. Link noticed that all other people coming and going were dressed formally as well. He looked back at Max's fluorescent green racing suit and wind-swept silver hair and noticed how out of place he was. How out of place they all were. For their sakes, he hoped neither woman would make an issue of it.
Too late. Zoning back in, Link saw Max waving his arms about.
Link hadn't heard the woman's actual words, but gauging by Max's sudden outburst of anger, something had made him mad ? again. "What do you mean we need to wait?" he shouted. "What we need is to get into the room so that we can see him! We don't have time to just wait here, you pretentious, backwater cow!"
The older woman responded to Max's verbal lashing with an unwavering pretense of calm and maintained a cool smile. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said. "Until I receive word from the floor's administrator confirming you as an expected visitor, I'm afraid you will need to wait. Standard procedure. I assure you it's nothing personal. I will, of course, continue to phone them on your behalf."
"Don't you?"
"In the meantime," she cut Max off before he could get started, "why don't you take a seat in our waiting area?" She pointed down the hall. "We have free refreshments if you're thirsty. I'll have Claude show you the way."
Two beefy security guards emerged from their post next to
Link watched as a man in a black business suit flashed an ID card and passed through the security station on his way to the elevators. Link counted five guards in all. Two manned the station and three others were positioned throughout the lobby, so sneaking by them seemed to be out of the question. The numbers from his mother's journal and the message from Jim Jim floated back into his mind with a possible connection. Could 1317 be a room number? If so, that would probably mean that Panch was on the thirteenth floor in room number seventeen.
Max still seethed, apparently unused to not getting his way. But the lady behind the counter paid no attention to him and was already helping the next person in line.
51
In the Bathroom
The white, impersonal walls and rows of wooden chairs atop a tan carpet gave the waiting room an ambience of sterility. The dying light from the late afternoon sun filtered in through a series of windows on the far wall. Small metallic end tables with an assortment of magazines sat evenly spaced between every fifth chair.
"We need to get up there, Roland," Max said, still fuming. "You know we don't have time for