Metaltown (5 page)

“Stupid, hardheaded bastard!” He kicked the ground and sent rocks spraying into the concrete partition separating the empty lanes. “How could someone turn down that much green? That was two months' rent!”

“At least,” said Ty.

“At
least,
” repeated Colin. “I get he's sad about his daughter, I get that, but come on. That's no excuse to be stupid.”

Ty kept walking, hands in her pockets on the cash. It felt dirty. Just like slick Jed Schultz.

“What's with you?” she asked. “Why do you care so damn much?”

“I don't.”

“Right,” she said. “You must think I'm pretty dense, Prep School.”

“Stop calling me that!” He turned on her, stare burning, and she glared right back at him.

“Then stop acting like it!” Ty's voice echoed off the empty streets. “You're not one of them anymore. You don't belong there anymore. You think you're all big and bad because stupid Jed Schultz knows your name? Well, you're not. You may have been high and mighty once, but you're scum just like me and the rest of Metaltown now and don't you forget it.”

She was breathing hard, watching his face change from fury to shock, then back to fury.

“How,” he said through his teeth, “could I ever forget it?”

Something pinched inside of her. She hadn't meant to spout off like that. She didn't know how he got under her skin the way he did sometimes.

“That guy's dumb as a rock,” she said finally. “Forget him. Forget this whole place.”

He started walking again, and she walked a few feet back, feeling the anger still clouding the air around him. Hating herself for adding to it.

Push him back home,
she thought.
He'll be all right. Just get him back home.

“Jed won't be bent at you for bringing the money back,” she said.

“I don't care if he is,” said Colin, but his tone told Ty differently. It was important that he play nice with Jed. If he didn't show he was grateful, Jed wouldn't give Colin's family a bump. And if they didn't get the money, Colin was going to lose Cherish, just like Gabe Wokowski had lost his sister.

She hated Jed Schultz. They wouldn't have even had to come to this stupid place, and Colin wouldn't be in such a bad spot now, if it weren't for him.

“Let's just steal it,” she said. “Go to that place you always talk about. Go fishing.”

The sky was growing overcast. A change that had nothing to do with the weather, but with the chem factory across the river.

“Rosie's Bay,” he said after a while.

“Yeah,” she said. They'd never go there, of course; they'd never get out of Metaltown. But it was nice to think about sometimes.

*   *   *

Jed's office was at the back of Market Alley, where the vendors set up their wares in handcarts and canvas tents, or sometimes right on the ground. Most anything you wanted could be found there: clothing, ripped off from Bakerstown or the River District; discarded food that hadn't met control standards at the testing plant; and piles of junk to swap—teapots and cracked dishes and scrap metal.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Colin and Ty picked their way down the main drag. Colin had taken the money back from Ty a few blocks back and stuffed it in the hidden breast pocket inside his coat. Market Alley was full of pickpockets, and someone could stand to make a fortune if Ty and Colin weren't careful.

They came to a water cart, and Ty gave up her last two coins to buy them both a drink from the metal cup. As soon as she was finished, she wished she could hand over one of those bills in Colin's pockets, but knew that wasn't an option.

She found herself hungry again passing by a fire pit, edged with bricks. A little woman with short black hair and close-set eyes shoved a skewer of yellow bulbs in Ty's face.

“Roaches,” she said. “Crispy. Try a wing.”

Ty felt a sudden clenching in her gut. Anything fried was dipped in cornmeal batter, and anything on the street hadn't passed food inspection standards. Roadkill was one thing, synthetic corn another. And even if she had occasionally taken her chances, she wasn't about to do so in front of Colin, not with Cherish in the shape she was in.

At Ty's dismissing wave, the vendor's eager smiled flipped upside down. Colin chuckled as she flung curses at their backs, and Ty felt a knot loosen inside of her at the sound. There was something strangely comforting about Metalheads: what you saw was what you got.

At least that was the way with most Metalheads.

Ty cringed as the warped wooden door at the back of the alley came into view. Two clasped hands, the mark of the Brotherhood, were carved into a sign hanging from a peg just below a peephole. As they approached, the door pushed outward and Imon wedged his enormous body through the opening.

“What am I supposed to say?” Colin said under his breath.

Imon stepped aside, allowing them entry. It was creepy the way he never talked. Ty found herself wondering if he had a tongue—if he was one of the poor, unlucky saps who'd burned their mouths out in food testing.

“Tell him the guy wasn't home,” said Ty, suddenly worried that Jed really would be mad they'd botched the delivery, and what that would mean for the both of them.

Colin nodded, and they stepped through the dark entry into a tight corridor. Imon squeezed past them, sending a jolt through Ty as he brushed by her. She didn't like tight quarters like this. She preferred an open area, enough room to move, to defend herself if necessary.

Colin walked just behind Imon, making an immediate left into a small office, thick with the bittersweet stench of cinnamon cigarettes. Fancy stuff, Ty thought. Not your typical hand-rolled tobacco.

Jed was sorting through some papers atop his desk while he stood behind it, a heavy scarf hanging loosely around his neck despite the warmth of the room. He'd changed since this morning. He was wearing a clean suit, beige with fancy black stitches, but his hair was just as greasy as ever.

“There he is,” said Jed as they entered. He didn't even glance at Ty, and she was glad for it.

“Hi, Mr. Schultz,” said Colin. He sniffled, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then reached into his pocket and withdrew the money, carefully folded, just like when it had been received this morning.

Jed's smile melted, and in its place flashed a look so cold, it made Ty's spine tingle.

“Bad luck, eh?” With his words came an expression of understanding. Colin released a breath he'd been holding, but Ty was still on edge.

“Sorry,” said Colin. “We went to the place you said, but no one was home.” He placed the money on the desk before Jed, and took a step back, bumping into Ty.

“If you ever need anything else, I'm good to help,” he added.

Jed picked up the bills slowly, flattening them in his hand and counting them, one by one. The tension thickened the air between them. Colin's face darkened.

“I didn't take any of it. Sir,” he added.

“I know that, son,” said Jed, continuing to count. “You're a good man, like I said.”

They waited. Ty glanced back toward the door, but Imon was still blocking it. Her toes stretched to the ends of her boots.

“I used to work in Small Parts, like you, back in the day. Did you know that?” asked Jed, still counting. Ty rocked forward and back on the balls of her feet. “I was about your age when some slots opened up at the Stamping Mill. It was a pretty ugly place then. Wasn't unusual to go weeks without pay, or have the foreman knock you around for looking at him wrong. McNulty let it all slide. He used to run this town back then.” At the name of his old rival, a wistful look spread over his face. “I know it's not perfect now, but it's better. You know why it's better?”

“Because of the Brotherhood,” answered Colin.

The corner of Jed's mouth lifted, but he didn't look up from his task. “That's right. Because of the Brotherhood. I started the Brotherhood because the people needed protection from the men upstairs and the gangsters that controlled them. Because they needed someone they could trust to take a hit when they couldn't, or help them meet the rent when they were short. That's what the Brotherhood does, it helps people. For a small fee, of course.”

Ty knew what the Brotherhood did for the Stamping Mill. The employees handed over twenty percent of their pay to Jed Schultz, and that tax went to help the needy. Small Parts didn't have a Brotherhood. Small Parts was made up of small people—kids—and no one cared if a kid got a check, or if a kid worked long hours, because kids were hardy, and had their folks to fall back on.

Well, not
all
kids.

When Jed got to the bottom of the pile, he pulled two bills out and handed them back to Colin.

“For your troubles,” he said, smiling. “You could use some new trousers, looks like. A sweater, too. It's cold outside.”

Ty swallowed. She willed Colin not to take it—owing money to the wrong sort was worse than being poor—but what choice did he have? Like Colin had said earlier, when you got a generous gift, you took it, and you survived.

“Thank you,” said Colin. He reached for the bills, but Jed didn't let go when Colin went to pull back. Ty's jaw tightened.
Sick joke,
she thought. So they were in trouble after all.

“Colin, you don't have to lie to me,” said Jed softly, leaning forward over his desk.

“Sir…”

“They didn't want the help, no problem,” said Jed. “I didn't intend to make anyone feel awkward, least of all you.”

He released the green into Colin's hand.

“I … okay,” said Colin. “I just couldn't believe he didn't want it, I guess.”

Jed laughed then, and Colin joined in, weakly.

“Isn't that the truth?” said Jed. “Some folks just don't know what it means to struggle. Not like you and me, huh, kid?”

Colin nodded. “Sorry, Mr. Schultz. Won't happen again.”

“All right,” said Jed. “Get out of here. The foreman at Small Parts is expecting you back in an hour. Why don't you get some new things before then?”

With the conversation closed, they left the office, but the cinnamon smoke had given Ty a headache, and left a nasty taste in the back of her throat.

*   *   *

Colin bought new wool trousers that only had a couple fixable rips in the back pocket. He bartered fiercely with a vendor over a pair of boots, but when it was all done, he ended up with a fleece blanket, thrown in for half-off with a thick-knit sweater.

“Wanted this anyway,” smirked Colin, folding the blanket under one arm as they exited Market Alley. “You sure you don't want anything? I still got some change.”

“No,” said Ty quickly. She had a bad feeling about spending Jed's money. A feeling like he might want it back someday.

“Suit yourself,” said Colin.

Just past the alley on Factory Row was Whore's Corner, where half a dozen girls were flaunting their goods. They were all fishnet and cleavage, even as the cold patched up their skin, and Ty swung into the street to give them a wide berth. She'd work doubles every day for the rest of her life, long as it meant she could keep her clothes on.

As they passed, a blonde in red leather whistled at Colin, and he winked back at her.

“Two for one, baby,” called another. She opened her waistcoat and flashed them. “I work for small parts too.” She cackled.

“I still got some change,” Colin repeated, tripping over his own feet.

Ty pushed him on past the daunting stone archway that marked the entrance to Division I—the Stamping Mill, owned by Hampton Industries, just like the rest of Metaltown. Even outside you could hear the loud crunch and squeal of metal through the tall barred windows behind the gate.

Another block and they came to Small Parts, a fat, deep building just as gray and drab as the rest of Factory Row. There were no windows here, no chance for break-ins, or break-outs as the case may be. That was because Small Parts worked in explosives.

Not all the unstable stuff—that was done at the chem plant just across the river. But in the back of the factory, in a corner they called the “hot room,” was enough white phosphorus to blow the cap off half a city block. So Small Parts was kept locked down, with a deadbolt across the door and a signed contract that sent thieves straight to lockup in the district prison.

Ty didn't have to read well to know the sign said “HAMPTON INDUSTRIES—DIVISION II.” They passed the front double doors—there more for show than anything else—and rounded the alley to the employee entrance on the west side. Ty had never been late before, and the nerves were already dancing in her stomach when Colin banged three times on the metal grate.

Jed Schultz better have kept his word and talked to the foreman.

Colin stepped back as the familiar sound of a chain pulled off the inside handle. A moment later the door flung open to reveal a short, ill-tempered man with a glistening bald spot right on the top of his head. Minnick, his thick, red brows furrowed, glanced down the alley as if to make sure they weren't followed, then picked at a sore on his grisly jaw.

“I bet you two think you're pretty hot stuff, don't you?” he growled. “Sending the Brotherhood to my door.”

“I thought it was Hampton's door,” said Colin. Ty shot him a quick glare.

“Oh, very nice, very nice. Schultz got you on the payroll, does he? Guess you won't be needing your job here anymore then, will you, smart-ass?”

“Colin,” warned Ty. They were two of the most productive workers on staff, but that didn't mean Minnick wouldn't fire them. The foreman was a pain, but not someone you wanted to push.

“Mr. Schultz said he talked to you, Minnick. That you should expect us back this afternoon.”

“Oh, my apologies!” bellowed Minnick. “Yes, my liege! I have indeed been expecting you! May I show you to your regular station?” He grabbed Colin's collar and jerked him down. Ty's hands fisted in her pants pockets, fighting the urge to strike out in defense.