The Sound of My Life Crashing Down
I could hear the sound of my life hitting rock bottom all on its own. Thud!—the table slam right next to my ear. My head throbbed. The cops yelling inches from my face had left my ears ringing.
Still, I'd slept pretty comfortably last night, all things considered. Sure, I was drunk off my ass, but I'd managed to crash somewhere soft enough. It was kinda warm, and I'd even covered up with a long straw mat that passed for a blanket. Solid sleep.
"What're you to those people? Huh?!"
"Just went 'cause they said free beer, man."
"People heard what you said. You gonna lie about it?!"
"Hell, what do I know to even lie about? You think a factory drone's got profound shit to say?!"
The detective kept grilling me, but I had jack squat to give him. The questions were all wrong from the jump—ain't no answers for bullshit like that. Who was around you? Why'd you go there? Purpose? Reason? Everything boiled down to one word: booze.
"Free beer on offer—who skips that? Right?!"
"Who invited you to drink it?"
"All the factory guys went and pounded 'em. What's the big deal?"
"Spit it out! Who said to drink?!"
"Hang on, you tell me—is chugging free beer a crime now or what?!"
I never ratted out the shift boss's name to the end. Even if I did, nothing would've changed, so why bother? Instead, I just slouched defiantly through their whole interrogation.
Just kill me already.
"Who told you?!"
"Everyone at the factory knows, man. Who told me ain't the point. Jeez, dense much?"
"Keep that up, punk. One whiff of smelling salts and you'll sing like—"
Clank!—the heavy iron door swung open. In walked an older detective who just stared me down.
What're you lookin' at?
He muttered something in the interrogator's ear.
"Tch! We're watchin' you. Watch yourself next time!"
"What, we done?"
"Get the hell out!"
"This place is cozier than mine. Can't I crash a few more days...?"
"OUT!"
They practically shoved me out the station door.
Thinking it over, the reason they cut me loose was probably dead simple. Look at me—obvious factory rat. But no way did I pass for some smart-ass in a union or whatever.
"Man, the more I think about it, the shittier I feel. Ptoo!"
I hawked a loogie and trudged back to Jenkins Factory. Long walk, but no choice. Skip tomorrow's wages, and I'd have no bed or food.
A few coppers jingled in my pocket. I strolled slow, eyeing the streets. Even broad daylight, folks sprawled passed out everywhere. No one gave a damn. Factory gates locked tight.
"What?"
"Here to work."
"Scram!"
"Hey, I work here! Max! Max!"
"Heard you got dragged to the station last night?"
"Wasn't just me. Let me in!"
"That ruckus you caused? You're blacklisted, idiot. Beat it!"
I rattled the gate. The guard popped out, thwack-thwacking it with his baton.
A few beers and rowdy mouthing off, and they boot me from the factory?! I shook the gate harder. He swung at my hands without flinching. The clang grew louder. No sign he'd open up.
"Piss off already!"
"Fuck this! For real!"
"Who you cussin'?! I said scram! Ptoo!"
I spat right at the gate. Guard saw it, started unlocking.
Purpose clear: beat my ass.
"Spittin' here?! Hold it!"
He chased, baton whistling—whoosh-whoosh—grazing my heels.
Fuck this dump too!
I bolted. He didn't pursue far. Ducked into an alley, wandered aimless.
Screw it. Beer time.
Headed to last night's rowdy underground beer hall.
"What, closed here too?"
Cops in uniform ringed the building, standing guard. Looked like a murder scene.
Fiddled with my loose change, slunk back to the alleys.
Now what?
"Haa..."
Sighed, plopped down in the alley beside the beer hall entrance. Cigarette would make this perfect. Ice-cold brew, thenahh! I smacked my lips.
"Max?"
"Starlina?"
Short blonde hair, clothes worn from work—a familiar face stood over me.
"Solo? Where's your mom?"
"Hid after last night's mess."
"Yeah? Man, could go for a cold one."
Starlina sat beside me. You homeless too? Future looked bleak. Factory at least paid five coppers a day.
"Not heading back?"
"Wanna, but they canned me. For drinkin' heavy? Bullshit."
"Totally. Real assholes."
"Sigh. What now."
I fake-sniffled. Felt her eyes on me—left side, intense. Uncomfortable.
"What?"
"Wanna work?"
"Duh. Five coppers a day gig. Gotta find another."
"What kinda work?"
"Dunno, never thought. Somethin' meaningful, maybe."
Meaningful. To me? Cash. Brews, fancy smokes, puffin' free. That's meaning.
"Meaningful, huh..."
"What, you hook me at the beer hall?"
"Better—more helpful, greater. Come see?"
"Pays?"
"Course!"
"Servin' beer?"
"Way better!"
Hmm...Screw it. Nowhere else. Workin' with Starlina? Not bad. Pretty girl over grimy factory dudes and magic stones? No contest.
"Long as pay's on time, I'm good. Let's go!"
"Hehe... They'll love you."
She stood, offered her hand—hurry up.
Hauled my ass up from the filth. Rough hand, but soft—woman's touch.
"Kinda far, so stick close!"
"Hold hands!"
"Nuh-uh!"
Followed. Tried snaggin' her hand a few times—she dodged smooth.
Deep past factory district, central than the station. Crowded brick tenements everywhere. She stopped.
First time here. Rich kids' study-abroad playground, party central.
"This way! Watch stairs, don't trip!"
"Dangerous? Hold on then!"
"Nope!"
Down she went, nagging caution. Pitch black now—deep underground.
Am I bewitched?
"Starlina!"
"Yeah?"
"This ain't traffickin', right?"
"Hey, harsh!"
"I smoke heavy—bad health! Nothin' to sell!"
"No worries!"
At least two floors down. Stopped at an iron door—stairwell end.
Knocked dainty knuckles. Peephole slid.
Eyes blinked, scanned.
"Password?"
"Shandy. Shandy. Shandy."
"Purpose?"
"Recruit."
Click!—lock echoed underground. Door thick—bomb-proof.
She beckoned inside. Magic stone lamps glowed everywhere.
"Come on."
"Wait."
Desks, books, paper stacks. Typewriter clacks amid thick smoke.
Cleaner than the station cell.
"Lucky. Shandy—you're in the clear?"
"Phew, yeah."
"Close call. Mom?"
"Safe spot. Probably on the magic stone train now."
"Perfect."
Starlina? Suddenly stranger.
She chatted easy in the cramped entry with them.
"Boss and cadres?"
"Other room. That's him?"
"Yeah, prime talent."
Door shut. Magic stone dust clogged my brain—no processing this.
Through the foyer, inner door opened.
"Everyone here?"
"Oh, Shandy. In."
"Max, c'mon."
Followed slow. Turn back. Figure this out.
"Heard you gave a helluva speech at the beer hall."
"Hold up."
"Hmm, Shandy?"
She grinned wide. Five folks here—clean, no rags.
"What is this place?"
"Welcome, Max! To our Iskra!"
"Iskra?"
"Hehe..."
Emergency klaxons blared in my skull.
What else? Life goin' to shit sound.
This? For real.