The Criminal Streak Read online

  “Hurry up,” Georg said. “This isn’t a holiday.”

  Jawn reluctantly took the cloth and scrubbed at his body, trying to remove a month’s worth of sweat and dust without soap. He studied his hands. Because of the protective cloths, they hadn’t tanned. He wouldn’t stand out on the way to the Hub. He knew that was what the police looked for when patrolling for criminals returning to the city. He dried and put on the clothes he’d been given. They were a bit big but that didn’t matter. They were clean and he was clean.

  The afternoon sun was still high when each of the five picked up a backpack full of chopped and pressed tobacco, which had been divided into individual packages and wrapped in pieces of cloth. They settled the packs on their backs as Georg led the way through the machinery to the hole in the fence chosen for today’s run. There, two guards waited with clubs and knives. One held back the covering for them to climb through, while the other fell into step behind them. He would accompany them as far as the wall. They spent their time watching for an attack as they hurried along the not yet occupied streets.

  Jawn had decided that going would Georg would give him an opportunity to see how they got into the megalopolis. He watched for things he could use as landmarks so he would know his way in the future. He felt a building of excitement. He would soon be back in Megalopolis One, his home. It suddenly felt as if he’d been gone for months. He wondered if he’d see any of his friends. Maybe he’d even sell them some tobacco. He thought about taking the commute-train to see his mother. He doubted that Georg would let him and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to. He didn’t know if he could take seeing her again after all the pain he’d caused. He remembered how she’d cried during his trial and when he boarded the train to the Fringe. By now, she’d have accepted that he was gone and that it would be five years before she saw him again. Why change that? Especially when he wasn’t even sure if he would contact her when he made his escape.

  It was a long walk to the hidden opening in the wall of the megalopolis. Once there, they put down their packs and began to pull at some bricks. Slowly, what had looked like a thick, solid wall opened up into a small hole just large enough to crawl through. They removed their hats and protective cloths and gave them to the guard. It would be dark when they returned. The guard replaced the bricks on the outside while the last one through layered the bricks on the inside. When Jawn stood up he saw that they were in a dim corner of the train repair shop. Between them and the actual shop was a tall, old car that had been permanently retired and looked like it was being used for parts.

  They huddled against the wall as Georg gave them instructions. “Ruthi, you take the east archway into the Hub. Marc, you get right inside near the garden. Tery you take the archway nearest the commute-train. Jawn and I will stay at the west archway. And we’ll meet back here at 11:30 as usual, whether we’ve sold everything or not.”

  The others nodded then one by one walked to the end of the car. Marc, in the lead, peered around the corner into the lighted shop. When the area was clear he scurried away. Ruthi and Tery followed. Jawn waited as Georg checked. He ducked back and signalled for Jawn to keep quiet. Jawn could hear the crunch of boots on the floor and his heart threatened to stop with fright. They were caught already! He was ready to run back to the hidden hole in the wall, when Georg grabbed his arm. He listened as a worker sauntered to the car and climbed on board. They could hear him walk down the aisle.

  Georg leaned close to Jawn. “We’ll have to wait until he’s asleep.”

  “How will you know?”

  “He snores.”

  It was a few minutes before Georg whispered. “Keep up with me.” He led Jawn across the floor between cars waiting for repair. When they were close to the doorway, Georg paused.

  “I’ll go and look out. If it’s safe, I’ll wave to you.”

  Jawn nodded. He watched as Georg tiptoed the short distance to the doorway and opened the door a crack. When he spotted no one, he opened it wider to see in the other direction. Without looking back, he waved to Jawn, who hurried over. They slid out the door and into the nearly deserted walkway, quickly pretending they had just come off work.

  The repair shop took up a multi-block near the Hub. Jawn had had no idea this was where some of the tobacco suppliers entered the city.

  “Do all the tobacco sellers come through here?” Jawn asked.

  “No. Each of them has their own secret entrance. One actually comes through the wall into the apartment of a relative who gets paid for the service.”

  They headed toward the Hub. Because of their clean clothes and hair they blended in well with the other people on the walkway and no one gave them a second look. Jawn knew that none of them would have guessed that just this morning they had had on the ragged, dirty uniform of a resident of the Fringe.

  As they got closer to the Hub, the number of people increased. At their archway, they walked half way in then took a place against the wall. Within a few moments they had their first customer. Soon they were doing a brisk business, and it wasn’t long before one of their backpacks was empty. Jawn had thought it would be hard making a deal in the constant movement of the passing crowd, but he soon saw that, for the regulars at least, there was a method.

  The buyer signalled to Georg as he approached. Georg nodded and put out his hand to Jawn who pulled a package from the pack and handed it to him. As the buyer went by, the package and money would be exchanged without either of them looking at each other. Georg would quickly check the money before sticking it in his pocket.

  “How does he know how much to pay?” Jawn asked.

  “The price has been set for years.”

  “What if you find that he hasn’t paid the right amount?”

  “Then there’s no next time from him.”

  Jawn noticed the hat of a police officer above the crowd. His heart stopped and he crouched against the wall, his stomach clenched. Then he remembered that Georg had said they were paid to look the other way. He glanced at Georg who was calmly making a sale. His gaze returned to the hat and he watched until it was out of sight. Only then did he relax.

  Chapter Nine

  After thirty years of duty the Ceriem had been deemed too old for long-distance space missions. When the need for more ships for the Orbiting Prisons arose, it was assigned there. What had once been the command room had been turned into the surveillance room, the kitchen had been enlarged, and some of the crew bedrooms were now apartments for the guards. The remaining available space, including the closets, had been converted into cages and cells.

  Murderers were kept in the cages, segregated by sex. The cages had been built along one side of all the wide hallways. They had bars on the three sides not against the wall and there were three sets of bunk beds, one each along the side set of bars and one against the back wall. There was a space between the cages so a prisoner could not reach through the bars to attack another. The arrangement allowed the guards to keep a better watch on the activities within the cages. Not so they could break up any fight that might take place, but so they could see if anyone had been killed and, if so, remove the body.

  The lights were kept on day and night.

  The cells had walls between for privacy and housed the convicts who had sneaked back into the megalopolis from the Fringe and had been arrested a second time.

  On the female side, Shela was the dominant female of her cage. She had the best of the three top bunks, the stuffing in her mattress was still soft and hadn’t begun to lump, and her blanket was the one her cage had received from the annual issue. And she got the pick of her women’s extra food and clothing. Not much compared to her life five months ago, but here on the Ceriem, it was first class.

  Shela’s bunk was the top one on the back wall. From there she could keep an eye on the five other women in her cage as well as the women in the cages on the right and the left. She could watch the guards pace up and down the hallways. And she could see what her women’s visitors brought them.r />
  Each prisoner was allowed one visitor a month and that visitor could bring food or clothing each time. Those who had relatives or friends received fresh clothes, those who didn’t wore whatever they could beg. None of the prisoners had shoes. The guards took them away as soon as each prisoner arrived. They claimed the prisoners didn’t need them since they had no place to go.

  Shela sat quietly on her bunk as Dore, one of her women, pulled a sweater through the bars. Dore glanced over at Shela then hugged the sweater tight. Shela didn’t particularly like the colour but she’d take it from Dore anyway. After all, she was the Marahanee of the cage and she had to keep her women in line. Her stomach growled and she wished Dore’s visitor had brought food instead.

  As she waited for the visit to end, her mind returned to her life before the Ceriem. Until five months ago she’d been one of the highest paid women on Harlot Row. Then she’d had to kill her hustler and within two days of the event, she’d been found guilty of murder, was stripped of all her possessions, and was on her way to the space prisons. The sudden turn in her life had shaken her and when she was escorted down the hall to her cage by guards wearing gas masks, the stench of unwashed bodies and overflowing toilets had overwhelmed her.

  At that time Behv had been the Marahanee. While the four other women sat on their bunks and cheered, she’d hit Shela as soon as she’d entered and knocked her to the floor. The attack had startled her so badly all she could do was raise her arms to ward off the next blows. Behv then yanked off Shela’s blouse, leaving her with just her pants to wear. When Shela tried to crawl onto the last remaining bunk, Behv pulled the mattress out from under her and tore the blanket out of her hands. Shela spent the night huddled on the hard metal.

  But she’d survived many fights with both clients and fellow professionals on Harlot Row and so the next morning she’d struck back, jumping on Behv and hitting her and beating her head on the floor until she’d surrendered. Since then she’d had the best bunk, was given most of the extra food brought to the women by their relatives, and had her choice of their new clothes. None of them dared to refuse, knowing the beating Shela would give them.

  In fact, just yesterday she’d hit one of her women so hard that she’d been taken to the medical ward. She flexed her swollen hand and looked at the bruises, then idly wondered when they were going to fill the empty bunk. She hoped it wouldn’t be another sniveller. She’d like to have someone with a little spunk, someone who would give her a challenge. She needed a little excitement in her life.

  She was brought out of her reverie by the voice of Conni in the next cage.

  “Hey, Mat,” Conni called to the guard making his rounds in the hallway. “When are you going to start bringing us liquor again? We’ve been waiting a long time and so have you.”

  “You know I can’t do that, Conni,” Mat said through his mask.

  “What’s the matter? Scared of a little regulation? It didn’t bother you before.”

  One of the rules on the prison ships was that the guards were not to associate in any way with the prisoners. But many of the guards had ignored that restriction and had brought back liquor at the end of their leave. This they’d traded with the women for sexual favours.

  Then, after two drunken women got into a fight over a guard and somehow killed him, the authorities decided to enforce the rule. But some guards had continued the practice. The penalty was changed from six months off without pay to the guard being sentenced to the prisons.

  Since then, the liquor supply had dried up.

  “Leave the guy alone,” Shela yelled at Conni.

  “Oh, shut up,” Conni called back.

  Shela went back to watching Dore and her mother. When the visit was over, Shela leaped off the bed and grabbed Dore’s sweater.

  “Why didn’t your mother bring you food?” she demanded.

  Dore cringed. “She didn’t have any extra.”

  “Why did she bring you this?” She scornfully held the sweater in the air.

  “That’s all she could afford,” Dore said.

  “I like it.”

  “But I need it,” Dore whimpered. “That blanket doesn’t keep me warm at night when they turn the air purifier on.”

  Shela shrugged. “Not my problem,” she said, as she tried on the sweater. It didn’t fit very well, not all the clothes did, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she had a right to them.

  The kitchen staff and servers were prisoners considered non threatening to each other or the guards. They provided three meals a day, the last one after visiting hours. Shela climbed onto her bed and waited. When the server pushed the six plates through the hole at the bottom of the bars, Shela pointed at Behv. She immediately jumped up and grabbed the first plate, taking it over to Shela. Only when she had begun eating did the others get their plates.

  Just one more tactic to keep them in line.

  * * *

  At the knock, Gwin opened the door and smiled at her friend. “I’ll be right with you.” She wrapped her favourite scarf around her neck, slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped into the hallway. They headed down the stairs and out through the arch to the walkway.

  “How did the Assembly go today?” Britt asked, as they strolled through the crowd to the conveyor.

  “Well, it looked as if they were going to choose my planet so I stood up and protested.”

  “You did?” Britt stared at her friend.

  Gwin nodded, a slight smile on her face.

  “And what did they say?”

  “They want to hear my reasons tomorrow.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “So what are you going to tell them?”

  “Basically the same things I’ve said to you and Mikk.”

  “Oh, they’ll be sorry once you get talking,” Britt grinned. “Did they at least give you a time limit for your speech?”

  “No.”

  “They’re definitely in trouble now.”

  “I’m not that long winded.”

  “When you talk about that planet you are.”

  “I doubt that it will do any good.” Gwin’s voice lost some of its enthusiasm. “Royd wrote a good report on it and it really is the best place we found.”

  “At least they’ll see you are very passionate about it and will take it into consideration.”

  “I hope so.”

  They took the conveyor up to the ground level and caught the train to the station at the Hub. The walkway outside the Hub multi-block was full of people, some leaning against the wall and talking, some strolling hand in hand, some just standing around. Gwin and Britt walked through the nearest archway where they saw two dealers selling tobacco.

  “Do you want to buy some?” Gwin grinned at Britt as they passed by.

  “No, thank you,” Britt replied, emphatically.

  They both laughed.

  “You sure did turn green,” Gwin said, referring to a tobacco party they’d attended while at university. It had been the first time either had tried inhaling through a pipe and while Gwin had only coughed, Britt had gotten very sick.

  “And that was the first and last time I’ve tried it.”

  At the end of the archway they came to the centre walkway, the most crowded place in all of Megalopolis One. It was a block wide and square-shaped with five-block long sides. It separated the buildings on the outside of the huge square from the Garden on the inside. The buildings contained restaurants, bars, gambling rooms, and Harlot Row. The Garden was an open area filled with tables and tall artificial trees.

  Lights strung around the trees illuminated the Garden, while on the buildings hundreds of bright neon lights flashed incessantly. Halfway between, in the middle of the walkway, was a murky area where pickpockets did their best business, where dealers from other planets sold their drugs, where tobacco growers from the Fringe sold their tobacco and pipes, and where hustlers found clients for the guys and gals on Harlot Row. It was almost impos
sible for the police to enforce the law in this shadowy area. They could not sneak up on the criminals unless they were in plainclothes and even then it was easy for the culprits to disappear into the horde of people.

  Gwin and Britt turned into the crowd, which was one huge mass of moving people all going in the same direction.

  “Do you want a drink first, or do you want to walk around?” Britt asked.

  “I could use a drink. Let’s go to Buddy’s.”

  Buddy’s had been their group’s favourite hangout during university and they still met an occasional acquaintance from their school days there. They found a table near the open doorway and sat.

  “I’ll have a beer,” Britt told the waitress.

  “And I’ll have a glass of red wine,” Gwin said.

  “The only thing that has changed about this place is the faces,” Britt said, looking around. “I wonder just how long that picture has hung on that wall.”

  Gwin glanced at the faded painting of a dying tree stuck out in the middle of the dead land. Cracks in the ground spread out from its trunk and what leaves it had left were a shrivelled, dry brown. It had been on the wall the first time they’d come to the bar.

  “Probably since our parents’ time,” Gwin said.

  The constant temperature and the fact that all businesses in the Hub operated 24 hours a day meant there were no doors on the buildings. When their drinks arrived they sipped them while watching the people pass by. During their university days they’d spent many hours people-gazing out that doorway.

  The cheaper bars, nightclubs, and strip clubs were on the ground floor. Some people preferred the lounges and clubs on the upper floors. They were quieter and offered more privacy but were also more expensive.

  “Do you want another?” Gwin asked.

  “Not now,” Britt said, dropping some money on the table. “Let’s see what changes have taken place since we were here last.”