There was still no sign of Heap, and it was still raining. If nothing else, this night was consistent. They'd been in the alley for well over an hour, watching and waiting for anything to happen, but there were no cars passing by, no people on the sidewalk. The city was like a void--dark, vacant, stripping inanimate souls away like meat from a bone and leaving the corpses to pile up in the streets.
Tommy sat against the tenement wall. Charlie leaned against him, her head pillowed by her cap and his coat. She felt drained, ready to fall asleep if it weren't for the constant reminders that they were huddled in a god-forsaken alley. Water still dripped around them, and every once in awhile, metal garbage cans clanked and clattered with cats and mice as they scrambled for shelter.
Tommy made a noise like a low hum. It was a questioning tone--one that didn't need words to let Charlie know something was on his mind.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing. It's just that this is beginning to seem like a waste of time."
Charlie leaned forward and stretched. "Yeah, with this kind of weather, the city's not fit for man nor machine tonight. Do you want to try again tomorrow?"
"Let's check the garage first," he said. "Something's going on there, and I'd like to find out what."
Charlie grunted affirmatively. She almost hated to leave this spot. It may have been dirty and smelled horrible, but it was dry and safe, at least. Tommy was up already, stepping out onto the street without hesitation. With a deep breath, Charlie followed.
The cap was useless, she soon realized. The rain soaked her hair, leaving it heavy and causing thicker streams of water to pour down her back, saturating her coat and chilling her skin. She was suddenly inspired to cut it short the next time she had a chance.
The garage in question was a dingy, freestanding building with dark metal shutters hanging below the windows, like the face of someone who's gone without sleep for much too long. Discarded chunks of metal and circuitry littered the ground, and Charlie felt sick to her stomach before even setting foot inside the place. It seemed somehow unfair that this festering hovel, this dark shadow of a place could be called a garage, forcing it into the same category as her own shop.
"This is no garage," she said. "It's a butcher shop."
"I believe I'll stay behind you," said Tommy, pulling his hat down low. He'd caught a glimpse of a discarded robot torso that made him nervous.
"Good idea. You better let me do the talking."
They could hear a loud buzzing inside, the sound of metal being torn apart. Just inside the door, sparks were flying, and not the good kind. A dark-haired man with thick eyebrows resting above a set of round, bug-eyed welding goggles was at work, cutting up a discarded robot with tools standing around him. It looked like an operating room, and on some sick level, it was. He had a plasma torch in his hands, and the stream shooting out the end caused Charlie to block the glare with her hands. Even so, the slits between her fingers glowed red.
Seeing his visitors, the man eased off the torch trigger, yanked the goggles up to his hairline, and leapt to his feet. He was short with a strong build, and at that moment, he looked very, very angry.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Charlie took a quick breath and cleared her throat, and then, with a spitefulness that matched the man's, said, "I'm looking for Heap."
"Nobody named Heap around here."
"I'll say it again, slower this time. I'm looking for Francis Heap."
The machinist dropped the torch carelessly and shrugged.
"I told you, lady. There's no Heap here."
Charlie felt her coat pocket, slipping her fingers inside and around the handle of her revolver, just in case her acting failed.
"Then I don't know what to say. The little scumbag told me to meet him here. I've got a deal for him," she said, gesturing at Tommy, who cocked his head curiously.
The man nodded with a smirk. "Oh, that Heap. Haven't seen him."
"But you saw him yesterday?"
"Yeah, but listen, you don't got to deal through him. I can take care of you, too, you know," he said, rubbing his hand across his stomach.
"What do you do here?"
The machinist shook his head with a scoffing laugh. "Salvage."
"For what?"
"What's the difference? Listen, you wanna do business, or what?"
"For Chrissake," she said, "it's a simple question. I just wanna know where my parts are going!"
The machinist sighed. "We do a little resale--stripped-down chassis mainly, but some rebuilding. Sometimes we do a few for, you know, sport, and some for the meat market."
"I follow, except for the meat market."
He laughed and pointed at a few large pieces of flesh-colored latex meant to simulate human body parts. "There's some real freaks out there," he said.
Charlie suddenly felt more ill than before. She stifled the look of disgust that tried to appear on her face, dragging it to a place beyond indifference, the only real thing she could afford to show at the moment.
"Well, listen," she said, "I don't mind going through you. It'd probably save me a lot of hassle, anyway, but I need to find Heap first. Let him know what's what. You know if he'll be by later?"
The machinist shook his head. "He was supposed to be here this afternoon, but the asshole never showed. Cost me about a hundred credits, too, with the load he promised to bring in."
Charlie cast a quick look at Tommy, and she imagined she could sense some urgency in his flat eyes. She knew what he was thinking--that they had to go back to Heap's place, quickly.
"Well, thanks," she said, "I'll be back in the morning."
The machinist nodded and went back to his work, never even giving his visitors time to look away before picking his torch back up and pulling the trigger, causing the bright flare of ionized gas to shoot from the tip.
Tommy and Charlie were already scrambling toward the door. It was still raining outside when they crossed the threshold. Charlie felt as if she could throw up. She could still hear the buzzing. Through the sound of the rain, it sounded vaguely like the cold scream of metal, a robot's scream.
Without a word, they both started running up the street, back toward Heap's apartment.
Tommy sat against the tenement wall. Charlie leaned against him, her head pillowed by her cap and his coat. She felt drained, ready to fall asleep if it weren't for the constant reminders that they were huddled in a god-forsaken alley. Water still dripped around them, and every once in awhile, metal garbage cans clanked and clattered with cats and mice as they scrambled for shelter.
Tommy made a noise like a low hum. It was a questioning tone--one that didn't need words to let Charlie know something was on his mind.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing. It's just that this is beginning to seem like a waste of time."
Charlie leaned forward and stretched. "Yeah, with this kind of weather, the city's not fit for man nor machine tonight. Do you want to try again tomorrow?"
"Let's check the garage first," he said. "Something's going on there, and I'd like to find out what."
Charlie grunted affirmatively. She almost hated to leave this spot. It may have been dirty and smelled horrible, but it was dry and safe, at least. Tommy was up already, stepping out onto the street without hesitation. With a deep breath, Charlie followed.
The cap was useless, she soon realized. The rain soaked her hair, leaving it heavy and causing thicker streams of water to pour down her back, saturating her coat and chilling her skin. She was suddenly inspired to cut it short the next time she had a chance.
The garage in question was a dingy, freestanding building with dark metal shutters hanging below the windows, like the face of someone who's gone without sleep for much too long. Discarded chunks of metal and circuitry littered the ground, and Charlie felt sick to her stomach before even setting foot inside the place. It seemed somehow unfair that this festering hovel, this dark shadow of a place could be called a garage, forcing it into the same category as her own shop.
"This is no garage," she said. "It's a butcher shop."
"I believe I'll stay behind you," said Tommy, pulling his hat down low. He'd caught a glimpse of a discarded robot torso that made him nervous.
"Good idea. You better let me do the talking."
They could hear a loud buzzing inside, the sound of metal being torn apart. Just inside the door, sparks were flying, and not the good kind. A dark-haired man with thick eyebrows resting above a set of round, bug-eyed welding goggles was at work, cutting up a discarded robot with tools standing around him. It looked like an operating room, and on some sick level, it was. He had a plasma torch in his hands, and the stream shooting out the end caused Charlie to block the glare with her hands. Even so, the slits between her fingers glowed red.
Seeing his visitors, the man eased off the torch trigger, yanked the goggles up to his hairline, and leapt to his feet. He was short with a strong build, and at that moment, he looked very, very angry.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Charlie took a quick breath and cleared her throat, and then, with a spitefulness that matched the man's, said, "I'm looking for Heap."
"Nobody named Heap around here."
"I'll say it again, slower this time. I'm looking for Francis Heap."
The machinist dropped the torch carelessly and shrugged.
"I told you, lady. There's no Heap here."
Charlie felt her coat pocket, slipping her fingers inside and around the handle of her revolver, just in case her acting failed.
"Then I don't know what to say. The little scumbag told me to meet him here. I've got a deal for him," she said, gesturing at Tommy, who cocked his head curiously.
The man nodded with a smirk. "Oh, that Heap. Haven't seen him."
"But you saw him yesterday?"
"Yeah, but listen, you don't got to deal through him. I can take care of you, too, you know," he said, rubbing his hand across his stomach.
"What do you do here?"
The machinist shook his head with a scoffing laugh. "Salvage."
"For what?"
"What's the difference? Listen, you wanna do business, or what?"
"For Chrissake," she said, "it's a simple question. I just wanna know where my parts are going!"
The machinist sighed. "We do a little resale--stripped-down chassis mainly, but some rebuilding. Sometimes we do a few for, you know, sport, and some for the meat market."
"I follow, except for the meat market."
He laughed and pointed at a few large pieces of flesh-colored latex meant to simulate human body parts. "There's some real freaks out there," he said.
Charlie suddenly felt more ill than before. She stifled the look of disgust that tried to appear on her face, dragging it to a place beyond indifference, the only real thing she could afford to show at the moment.
"Well, listen," she said, "I don't mind going through you. It'd probably save me a lot of hassle, anyway, but I need to find Heap first. Let him know what's what. You know if he'll be by later?"
The machinist shook his head. "He was supposed to be here this afternoon, but the asshole never showed. Cost me about a hundred credits, too, with the load he promised to bring in."
Charlie cast a quick look at Tommy, and she imagined she could sense some urgency in his flat eyes. She knew what he was thinking--that they had to go back to Heap's place, quickly.
"Well, thanks," she said, "I'll be back in the morning."
The machinist nodded and went back to his work, never even giving his visitors time to look away before picking his torch back up and pulling the trigger, causing the bright flare of ionized gas to shoot from the tip.
Tommy and Charlie were already scrambling toward the door. It was still raining outside when they crossed the threshold. Charlie felt as if she could throw up. She could still hear the buzzing. Through the sound of the rain, it sounded vaguely like the cold scream of metal, a robot's scream.
Without a word, they both started running up the street, back toward Heap's apartment.
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