The Job

This is not my best story, and I not at all happy with the writing, but whatever it got done. I can always come back to it another day.

Someone once told me life is a series of choices. I wish that was so, as I’d like some choice in my life. Maybe that someone had a choice, and if so they should count themselves lucky. When presented with multiple options people freeze in terror, unable to select one course of action leading the choice to fall into the hands of others, those more proactive. Decision-makers choose for the layman and leave nothing to him for his trouble. If you don’t want to lose that power over yourself there’s no time to wait and think, but the decision-makers don’t leave any time to act, so what do you do then?

Decision-makers take on the title of authority, and they make all of the decisions they can. Despite this they don’t want the responsibility that comes with their choices, so out of this conflict government arises. Government shifts the responsibility of decision-making onto the people, the taxpayer and offers up the illusion of safety as payment for taking on responsibility. Why doesn’t anyone walk away from this deal? Why do we all jump at the chance to be enslaved by the system? Some present the situation as Hobson’s choice, but the alternatives to the status quo cannot be worse than the current contract between government and the people. Hundreds of years ago men believed in the idea that authority lied with the people, but we lost that, I lost that.

A couple of years ago I gave up my freedom to choose not for my own safety, but for the safety of someone else. I now stand before that someone in a large, open glass office looking over the hundreds of steel towers of mid-Manhattan. A clear blue sky bends over the city, extending the view for miles; it’s not every day you get such beautiful weather in early spring. I’d rather be outside on a day like this than standing in this office, but that’s not my choice to make. That honor belongs to my boss Ms. Anderson, but she’d rather I call her Cassie. We grew up together, and my sacrifice gave her this office, her job, and authority. I’m happy for her.

Cassie tied her red hair back into two ponytails looking immature. With a wide smile she fidgeted in her seat, crossing her legs back and forth unable to settle down into a steady rhythm. Her voice cracked once causing her to pause. I asked her if she needed me to leave and she responded, “No, I’m fine. You’re fine; I’d like you to stay.”

I waited for Cassie to give me my first assignment as my new boss while she played with her tablet pc, tapping on the screen conducting the beat to some unheard orchestra. Cassie talked to break up the silence, “It’s been a long time James, I’m sorry we had to be apart for so long. I’m glad Huron let us work together again.”

I never gave an answer though she gave me ample time. Her smile vanished and she got down to business, presenting the job. She said leaning back in her chair and stretching out her arms, “We’re renting a warehouse over at Port Elizabeth. . .”

“Yes?”

“Yes, owned by some Russians and they asked for more money to handle the goods Huron stores there. Things got tense.”

“Really”

“Really, Huron doesn’t want to pay, so the Russians decided to seize our goods as compensation. I need you to go and deal with this, and do your best to not kill anybody this time, alright?” Cassie looked down at her computer, “It’s a . . . small arms shipment, but don’t worry too much about it. Just get back to me when you’re done, and if it’s late you can stop by my apartment, here’s the address. It’s been a long time James.”

She tossed me a folded piece of paper. I paused for a moment; Cassie hasn’t changed as much as she probably thinks she has. She smiles again, though this time it looks painful. I spent the entire time in that office looking past the girl behind the desk and out the window, but I gave her a quick glance when I said, “Alright, I’ll do the job.”

Cassie sighed, standing up and walking over to me standing too close for comfort, “James you’re the best guy we have, when you want to be. The reason they put us together again is the board hopes you’ll shape up working for someone you like. . .”

I finished, “Isn’t that why they hurt you back then, why they separated us in the first place?”

Cassie stood dumbfounded when I left her office, and I didn’t much care to hear her answer when she finally got around to giving it. I leisurely made my way to the docks at Port Elizabeth figuring if I can’t choose what jobs I get I can at least do it the way I want, taking my time. When I got there three SUVs sat parked outside the warehouse Huron rented, all black. I guess they were Russian mob, but it doesn’t matter, they didn’t stand a chance against me. It’s funny, Huron does business with scum like the mob, but I learned not to care overmuch about what my employers are up to lest I learn too much for my own good. I’m not what most people would call normal, and my capabilities prompted Huron, and Cassie, to send me on this particular mission I’m sure.

I experience time and space differently than most with the ability to distort both, bending them to my will. I move in ways defying physics to those with the . . . limited perspectives of regular people. The prevailing assumption is the universe is a collection of different points separated by some distance existing in a three-dimensional plane, but I see it as one single point, no one position apart from any other. People limit their perspectives and see less of the truth of things, but it’s comforting to see only a straight line instead of the complex shapes reality takes. I’m scared of how I see and what I can do, so I don’t use my powers often, but Huron asks me to do jobs requiring my skill set so I can’t avoid it.

I vaulted my way up to the roof of the warehouse and entered through an access door. I hung out in the rafters and chose to watch the Russians, waiting for the right moment to attack. Most of the grunts spread themselves out throughout the building, guarding the few moving Huron’s goods into place for transport. The whole process went on uneventfully until I noticed one of the Russians jump and shout in surprise. Behind the man lifting crates another person appeared out of thin air and this new arrival proceeded to call out for whoever leads this operation. One Russian stepped forward and addressed the man, and the two talked quietly while the others went back to work. I felt a knot in my stomach just looking at the Arrival, he appeared so suddenly I didn’t even notice, and he seemed so out of place. The man smoked a cigarette and dressed in a tattered plaid sports coat, corduroy pants having an unkempt beard and wild eyes; he looked like someone’s crazy uncle.

I jumped down from my perch and landed near the Arrival and the Russian with a resounding thud. All eyes turned toward me, most incredulous at having witnessed a person fall so far and survive, let alone land standing up uninjured. The Russians draw weapons on me, but the Arrival waves them off and tells them, “Get out of here, I’ll handle this.”

The Russian nearest us starts to object but gets waved off once more. The Russians file out quickly and the man left behind asks who I am. I respond, “Huron.”

He laughed and I asked who he was, he responded, “Me? You can call me Rock Rogers.”

I said, “Funny name.”

Rock took the cigarette out of his mouth and smothered it on the floor. That very moment I doubled over in pain, Rock’s fist buried in my gut. I didn’t see him move, but I felt the perturbation of space around the man. He’s like me, only faster . . . and stronger. I can’t win this fight. I took two steps back and took a defensive stance. I said, “Hey, look I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here for the goods. I’m not looking for a fight.”

Rock responded, “I’m here for the goods too, so if you want them you need to fight.”

I knew I couldn’t abandon the job. Huron’s done worse to me, worse to Cassie for lesser transgressions, and the last thing I can do is run away. I decided the best course of action right then and there was to get the hell out of there. I backed away slowly, but Rock advanced with me, keeping at an even distance.

I said, “Come on, just let me go. I really don’t want trouble.”

Rock chuckled, “You come in here and call yourself Huron, and you should expect trouble. Do you know what’s in these crates?”

Rock knocks on the wooden boxes, and I stare uninterested at the object while glancing towards the man hoping to find an opening. I said, “Small arms?”

Rock smiled and cracked open the case, “Nah, it’s nothing like that. This here’s the worst kind of crime, the most despicable form of human trafficking. Huron’s trading in human embryos.”

Rock held up a clear plastic tube with metal casings on its ends and encased in the middle was a pink blob, reminiscent of a human. The blobs pure black eyes radiated death, and I could not pry my own stare from its. I wondered aloud on why Huron, why Cassie would lie to me about the mission, and Rock responded, “Why not?”

Rock placed the tube back into its crate with ease and then looked at me. I felt space bend in my direction, but my own reflexes betrayed me, reacting too slowly to meet Rock’s movements. He stood before me as I tried to flee, but found his fist in my face instead. There was a moment of intense blows hitting my body and terrible pain followed by darkness. I don’t know what happened after I blacked out, but I awoke in a comfortable bed in a quiet room. I ached all over unable to move myself out of bed. Apparently Rock took the opportunity to rough me up while unconscious. Tired I tried to keep myself awake, fearful my latest location might all be a dream and hoping to prove that thought wrong. As I drifted away a familiar voiced called out, Cassie cried delightfully that I finally woke up and asked if I was alright. I told her I was fine, and asked how I got here. She told me, "You don't remember? I found you outside holding onto the piece of paper with my address.

I said I couldn't remember, and she asked, “Well, then what the hell happened to the job? Who did this to you?”

Too tired to say much I struggled to raise my voice loud enough to hear and gave Cassie her answer before falling asleep once more, “Rock Rogers.”