Recycled Lives Read online

  “I won’t,” she said as she headed into the backroom, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling. She needed to save up as much money as she could to move out and start her business, whatever it was going to be. She had to put herself first like always. No emotional attachments. They just held you back and got you in trouble. She pushed the thought to the back of her head and started stacking the old boxes.

  *****

  Once they’d had their meeting in the office, Jacques and Lucy made their way back into the sweaty subway station. The buses were cheaper, but the subways were faster. Right now, they had the cash to be able to put speed before price. They separated just after the barriers as Lucy was heading to a different part of town. It allowed Jacques a brief moment of alone time. Well, he wasn’t truly alone; the subway car was filled with people, but no one attempted to interact with him.

  When he reached his stop, he made his way from the small station to the streets above. The fresh air was a relief. The worst of the cold weather was over, and the days were getting longer. Spring was definitely here. He shoved his hands in his jacket and made his way down the street.

  This area of town was very different from the place he’d come from on this morning’s job with Lucy. The richer part of town was well kept. Clean lawns, uncluttered streets, and regular members of the City Security. But not here. Graffiti decorated the tenement buildings, while the scent of trash stuck in your nose. A lot of the city services didn’t seem to stretch this far, and the last bastion of greenery was six blocks back for God’s sake. And yet, somehow Jacques felt a lot more at home here.

  He headed down a set of steps to a basement door with two large armored men on either side—mercenaries hired to keep the place safe. There was no signage; the people who came here knew exactly where they were going. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The bar was decorated in dark colors, no doubt a trick to stop them having to worry about any stubborn stains that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you scrubbed them. The bar beyond could be considered dark and dingy, but to him, there was nowhere more homey. The back room to this place had actually been his home for a little while. The Oaken Casket was one of a kind. The bar was a place for mercenaries to meet and find jobs. It was a home for the more unsavory folk, but the staff and the regulars knew each other as well as such a secretive lot could and looked after one another. It was the unwritten code of the place.

  As he approached the bar, a man stepped up, wiping a glass with a questionable looking rag. He was an older man; the creases and calluses showed his age. His square jaw was home to an impressive silver beard, and his dark eyes were aware of everyone who came into his bar. His name was Hamish, and for the longest time, he’d been like a father to Jacques. He picked him up when he fell and always tried to stop him making stupid decisions. That wasn’t always easy.

  “Evening, boy. How are you?” Hamish said. He reached under the bar, took a glass, poured a pint, and placed it in front of Jacques. The beauty of being a regular was that you didn’t need to place your order.

  “I’m good, old man. What’s news?” Jacques asked, bringing the drink to his lips and sipping from it.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. Had a scuffle in here at lunch time. M.A.X took issue with the bad attitude of some new blood ex jar-heads who came in spoiling for a fight.” Far from concerned, Hamish’s voice showed how much he had been amused that a fight had broken out in his bar.

  “I assume M.A.X put them in their place,” Jacques said, a grin spreading across his face as he glanced over at M.A.X’s preferred table. He looked a little more rough around the edges than usual, but aside from a split lip, bruised knuckles, and a black eye, didn’t seem to have come off too badly from his altercation. The short-tempered man was as old as dirt, mad as a hatter, and practically part of the furniture of the Oaken Casket. He was anything but frail and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Or at all, really.

  “Course he did. Didn’t even have time to tell the little pricks to fuck off before M.A.X decided to break a pool stick over the leader’s head to shut his hole.” Hamish chuckled.

  Hamish launched into a blow by blow account of the fight that Jacques was sure was embellished by the older man to make it sound more exciting than it had been. He didn’t mind. He liked the way Hamish spoke; the familiarity of his particular brand of storytelling relaxed him after his long day. The tale he wove was one of violence and bloodshed incited by brash words from a newcomer who clearly didn’t know the lay of the land and was used to being the toughest guy. It was the same as pretty much any story that took place here. When you catered for the unsavory types, trouble tended to come your way. Not that it ever seemed to bother Hamish. So long as his patrons stopped short of killing each other on his property and paid for anything that they broke that wasn’t covered by their medical insurance. Jacques settled in the stool, enjoying the sound of Hamish waffling and the familiar bustle of the rowdy patrons the Casket attracted. He wasn’t quite ready to go home to his empty apartment right now. Maybe a couple of drinks would help with that.

  *****

  With a sigh of relief, Ava placed the final crate of beer on to the stack. The weekly delivery was always a big one, and the regular streams of people definitely knew how to put the drink away. She grabbed a bottle of water and took a swig before regarding the stock before her. It was going to be a busy and laborious day as she sorted all the bottles and kegs into their places. It was better than where she had been, so much better than selling her body for a cheap high and a roof over her head. She glanced out into the bar. The dark and dingy place had started to become her home; it was so much nicer than anywhere she had lived before. Even the main Valkyrie house seemed like squalor compared to here.

  It was time for a break. Ava leaned against the wall and looked out into the bar. She watched from the backroom as Jacques made his way into the Oaken Casket and settled at his usual place at the bar. It had become a regular occurrence. At least three times a week he’d come in, settle in his bar stool, and make basic conversation with Hamish before nursing a drink or two for a couple hours. He hadn’t noticed her, though. She wasn’t sure he even knew that she still stayed here, not that it bothered her either way.

  He looked different from the last time she had seen him. His usually clean-shaven face showed signs of a five o’clock shadow, while his eyes focused entirely on the drink in front of him. He swirled the liquid in the bottom of the glass, watching it intently. There was obviously something on his mind.

  It had been a few months since their escape from The Fringe. The gang infested hellhole was just a thing of nightmares now. A regular nightmare that visited her every night and left her cold and sweating in her bed. Jacques had been part of the team that had helped bring her from that God forbidden hole out into the world proper, and that was one of the reasons that she avoided him. She was thankful for what he and his team had done for her, but to admit to him and the others how grateful she was seemed somewhat weak in her eyes. Even so, his status as one of the few people she knew of this side of the wall meant that she had felt the draw to talk to him a few times. She supposed it was time to stop hiding away and bite the bullet. It wasn’t in her nature to be such a coward. She picked up a box of beer and made her way into the bar.

  “Do you actually have a home to go to? You seem to prop up this bar better than the supports,” she asked as she placed the box down and started loading the beers into the mini fridges.

  “Yeah, I got a place. It’s like a palace. Four walls, hot water, power, a view of the city, and it even has a bed that doesn’t squeak like it’s about to fall out from under you,” he said with a slight smirk.

  “Wow, look at you. Mr. Made of Money. Don’t forget to tip your server,” she said with a wink. She grabbed him a shot glass and poured a measure of whiskey. “So why are you here and not there?”

  “I’m here for the enchanting atmosphere and this,” he said. He raised the glass to his lips and peered at her over th
e slight foam. He held his eye contact as he took a long sip. He smacked his lips as he placed the drink back on the bar. “Ah, that’s good. A damn sight better than wandering the streets.”

  “What? These lovely streets? With the beautiful sights, smells, and the friendly locals,” she said acerbically. She didn’t really feel that way. This place was a major upgrade from where she had lived before, but it wasn’t idyllic. The streets were still grime covered and the residents as desperate and oppressed as her home. They just had access to running water, healthcare, and technological escapes from reality. Hamish had drilled it into her that she needed to keep her origins under wraps. She had to appear like a local to not arouse suspicion. If Seattle Security found out she had come from The Fringe, she’d be sent right back into that pit.

  “Already fancying some elevation from your current situation? They aren’t that bad,” he said with a sarcastic smile, spinning idly on his bar stool. “I used to be one of those beautiful sights, smells, and friendly locals.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure if Jacques was flirting with her or just being ignorant. Throughout her life, her interaction with men had only ever boiled down to one thing that they wanted from her. Her upbringing had reinforced the notion, making it clear that she only had one purpose in life—sex for profit to help fund the gang. She didn’t know or really understand any other way. She was still trying to learn the way things worked this side of the wall, and Jacque’s signals confused her.

  “My current situation is a dream come true compared to my last one. Y’know living in a trash heap was just greeeeaat,” she said, sarcasm dripping heavily from her tone. When she had been exiled from the Valkyries, she had been forced to live amongst the trash on the outskirts of the gang territories, struggling to survive. “The rats were the worst part of it. Waking up to them in my bed. Though that at least meant I would have breakfast that day.”

  “You had a bed? You were lucky, princess; I had to sleep on my rats,” he said, that smirk still firmly in place. She was still trying to figure out if he was joking or not. Did he really think his life had been harder than hers?

  “Well, it wasn’t really a bed, more moldy blankets on the floor. That’s totally the same thing,” she said. Just thinking about that trash heap sent a cold shiver up her spine. It had taken weeks to wash the musty scent of stale mold out of her skin and hair. She never wanted to be anywhere like that again.

  “Blankets, too? Luxury. You’ve clearly never slept in a dumpster you had to steal from another hobo,” he said with a playful grin. She shook her head a little; the Seattle born man really thought his bad fortune could compare to that of her Fringe background.

  “A dumpster? Man, I was doing that when I was ten. I had to fight a girl to have a dumpster with a lid; when I won, I pushed her into the shit pit…literally exactly what it sounds like…a pit full of shit,” she said. It had been almost three months since she’d escaped The Fringe, and she couldn’t imagine going back. She had quickly come to love things like indoor plumbing and living in a house that didn't get soggy when it rained.

  “You fight dirty, for real. I like that,” he said, taking a contemplative gulp from his beer. “Once I broke into a house while the occupants were at work just to take a shower. While I was there, I decided they didn’t need their abundant collection of shower gels and soap…or toilet paper.”

  “I did something similar. One of the last johns I had was a real piece of work, so while he was sorting himself out, I stole the rounds from his pistol. Those things fetch a fair price at the market,” Ava explained. She didn’t add the part that she never saw him again; no doubt he started a fight and got shot up because of his empty gun. In The Fringe, you had to protect yourself.

  “I used to practice my pickpocketing by stealing things out of people’s shopping carts. When I’d get caught, I used to pretend that there was something wrong with me. Sometimes they would be sympathetic enough to buy the goods for me,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  On this side of the wall, the rules were different, but it was nice to meet someone who hadn’t had a good upbringing. It made her feel a lot more normal.

  “When I was young, I used to break into the kitchens of the Valkyrie kids’ dorms to steal the sweet treats they had there. They didn’t let us have any to…y’know to keep us skinny. When they noticed things were missing, I was good at shifting the blame onto some of the others. I never got caught for it,” she said. She hated to think about those dorms. Ten beds to a room, ten little girls who either grew to embrace the Valkyrie lifestyle or were kicked out to find their place elsewhere.

  “Is that so? Well, buckle up, sister, as this one can’t be beaten,” he said with a wicked grin as he set his pint back on the bar. “In my fourth and final orphanage, there was this hard-ass drill sergeant of a carer who threatened to starve us if we didn’t comply with his rules. All us orphans hated him, so I got two of them to beat me black and blue. I filed abuse charges against him, and the others testified as witnesses. He’s still in jail now, and will be for a few more years.”

  There was a little part of her that was impressed at his dedication to help people, or was it revenge in this case? Either way, he had been willing to go the distance and take a beating to put a bad guy behind bars. She found herself respecting him for that. It had been something she’d been forced to do herself.

  “I killed a guy once. He was screwing with a few of the young girls. The Valkyries start preparing the girls for the trade when they’re fifteen. When I was eighteen, there was this guy, and he was beating on some of the younger girls if they didn’t do things ‘right’ the first time. I mean that he was nearly killing them. I only intended to castrate the bastard, y’know make him pay, but I didn’t expect the blood loss,” she said.

  She remembered that day well. Yes, the Valkyries sold sex, but they usually looked after the girls in their care. Most were their daughters. When the new guard had come in, she hadn’t thought much of him, just another gangster with an ego complex. When he started knocking the girls around, she had told someone, but no one seemed too concerned. She knew she had to step in. Death wasn’t a scary thing in The Fringe; you saw it most days. But when it was by your own hand, things just seemed so different. Until that day, she had hurt people, but had never taken another life.

  “At least he deserved it,” Jacques said with a sigh. Ava looked back to him. All the humor of their banter had evaporated. The lines of his face hardened due to whatever he was thinking. “I’d wager a lot of people here have taken a life, and hopefully, those who died also deserved it. Maybe someone here once came home to find a stranger in his girlfriend’s bed and assumed the worst. Took it too far…and…”

  He trailed off. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the back wall. Whatever happened had obviously fucked him up. It was easy for her to forget that death and murder wasn’t a part of everyday life here like it had been for her. She grabbed a bottle of liquor from the bar, filling two glasses and placing one in front of him.

  “We all do things that we live to regret. Sometimes for good reason and sometimes not. At the end of the day, it’s what shapes us. I was trained to be a whore and nothing else. What’s truly going to shape me is what happens this side of the wall,” she said, and she drank the whole shot. It burned all the way down, but that was a feeling she liked.

  “I don’t like the shape that it made me…nor the others involved,” he said slightly gruffly. He downed the shot and slid the glass back to her. “So you’ve settled in nicely it seems. Anything else you need?” Ava noted the deliberate change of topic and allowed it. The man clearly wasn’t any keener on discussing his past life than she was on reliving hers.

  “Hamish is making sure I get what I need. Not that I understand the shit he’s giving me. It took me three or four weeks just getting used to the fucking payment system,” she said with a chuckle as she tried to brush off her insecurity. She topped up her own glass and returned the bottle to the stand.

/>   “I’m surprised that fossil knows how to log into his own gauntlet. I’ve wasted most of my life living through mine,” Jacques said, seeming to cheer up at the conversation change. He grabbed a peanut from the nearby bowl and flicked it with perfect aim to land straight between her cleavage. “I guess I could fill the position of strict and overbearing sensei if you fancy being an adoring and insatiably grateful student.”

  “So you want a woman who will fawn over you and tell you that you are wonderful. Is that it, Jacques?” she asked with a coy smirk as she fished the peanut from her cleavage and flicked it back at him.

  “Who wouldn’t? But if you do, well, the…uh…praise would be returned,” Jacques responded with a slight smirk. She leaned forward with her elbows on the bar.

  “You assume I’m a girl who lives for praise,” she said in a flirtatious tone that dripped with lust. It was a tone that she had perfected over the years. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there.”

  His eyes focused on hers at the moment. She wondered how hard he was trying to not look at her breasts. Her shirt was stretched tightly over them, giving him a good view as she leaned forward. He turned his attention to the band on his wrist and typed something into his gauntlet. There was a beeping from her own wrist.

  “You got that? We can start when you get off shift tomorrow if you like. Gives me a chance to spruce my place up a bit. Light some incense, delete my browsing history, hide the bodies. Real gentlemanly stuff,” he said with a slight smirk.

  “Aww, not hiding all the good stuff on my behalf, are you? Bodies make a fantastic centerpiece, don’t you think?” she said with a slight laugh as she finished her drink and put the glass in the dishwasher. “Anyway, I better get back to work. I have to earn my keep around here. Have a good one.”

  With that, she turned back to the bar and set about stacking the beers in the fridge. She swore she could feel eyes watching her; she swore it was Jacques. When she turned around, she found the barstool empty, but his empty beer bottle stood solitary, and a generous tip waited to be transferred to her. It had been nice to have an actual conversation with someone for the first time in a long time.