Pop Travel (46 page)

“Yes, sir.”

The driver shook his head at Crews and opened the passenger door. He was definitely human.

Keeping up his façade, Crews smiled like an idiot and peeked inside before getting in.

“There’s my favorite son.”

But his efforts flew away on the breeze, wasted. Jonas sat focused on his Qnet Viewer, whispering dirty nothings to the hologram of a shapely female bust hovering over his wrist.

Of course.
Crews’ smile turned into a scowl.

Jonas held up his finger for Crews to wait a minute. That audacious fool thought himself a big shot making Crews stand in line for an audience with him.

Taking a seat across from Jonas, Crews wondered if he would survive the ride home without puking on the little punk. His mind felt completely sober now. The pain and cloudiness ebbed substantially. The time had come to conclude their business.

“Shut your QV and let’s talk.”

As the car pulled away, Jonas blinked at the Colonel’s sudden commanding and fluent bark. “I’ll have to call you back,” he said to the image and disconnected, shutting his QV with a light tap. Leaning back, he raised an eyebrow and judged the Colonel’s condition. He grinned annoyingly.

“Right. Business. You never were one to waste time.”

“I’m still not.”
Ingrate.

Waiting for Jonas to find the pluck to begin his speech, Crews considered all the events in his life that led him to this point, sitting in a plastic limo with a snot-nosed bureaucrat he produced. Flashes of Crews’ decorated military career and celebrated political achievements streamed through his consciousness in the moments before his unjust crucifixion.

Jonas leaned forward and clasped his hands together, reminding Crews of a team manager sending a lame duck back to the minors. After a deep breath, the boy began.

“Colonel. Crews. You’ve been a valuable leader throughout my campaign…”

And there it was. Tuning out Jonas’ words, Crews stared into those narrow-minded blue eyes. The Colonel taught Jonas how to intimidate with a cold stare, and he felt its power. But Crews would not succumb nor cower to Jonas. He still held a few aces he hadn’t shared with his pupil.

As Jonas rambled, the Colonel’s thoughts wandered again to what he might do next. He would easily outlive this naïve novice’s career, but thinking of future prospects prickled his spine. He’d predicted this scenario. And though he’d seen it coming for weeks, this time he’d done nothing about it. He was tired of rummaging through the ignorant, impudent political hopefuls.

Retirement was not an option either. The world still needed his influence and guidance. If only he could find a young soul with an ounce of respect and a pound of sense. Crews didn’t have the stomach to play out another scene like this one.

“… and so, I’m afraid you won’t fit into our new direction.” As Jonas finished his speech, he wore a pitiful, patronizing pout. The sympathetic expression drove him mad, worse than the boy’s overconfident smile.

Crews wanted an electrogun to zap the boy’s head off.

“Pull over.”

“But Crews…”

“Pull. Over.” The Colonel’s glare, the original intimidator, beat Jonas’ ten to one and took no arguments.

“Are you sure? We’re still downtown.”

The Colonel responded in a low, guttural voice, growling from his clenched teeth like a mean junkyard dog. “I know where we are and I know where I’m going. Pull over the confounded car, right now.”

The fear that jumped into the young man’s eyes comforted Crews. Jonas had crossed the wrong old man.

The boy touched his armrest. “Stop the car.”

Before the driver could reach the door, Crews stumbled out. Apparently, his body hadn’t quite caught up to his brain for sober yet. No matter.

Gripping the door for support, Crews spoke his last words to Jonas. “You just doomed yourself. I could’ve made something of you, but your arrogance has blinded you. Your political career is but a splash, just enough to dampen the crowd, then be wiped off and forgotten. Your lack of judgment will cost you dearly.”

Crews slammed the door shut on a bewildered Jonas.

As the car pulled away, Crews summoned his personal droid on his QV.

“Echo, come get me.” His high-end, custom-built android was an extra right hand and remained close by at all times. Crews had even installed a homing device in himself so it could find him if he went missing. Echo would pull up at any moment.

While he waited, Crews took in his surroundings. Dark, desolate, and deserted. He recognized the rows of huddled, abandoned buildings as part of an old warehouse district, unofficially given to the homeless by the city of Atlanta, and affectionately called the Unknown City. No cars parked along these corridors. No chattering citizens walked the gloomy sidewalk. A stark contrast to the hell raising, neon lit Plaza from whence he came.

With one lonely, flickering streetlight to guide cars as they rushed by, rattling across the old railroad tracks, the alleys remained ominously dim. Trash blew around in the slight breeze and the abundant silence played tricks on Crews’ ears. He had a suspicious feeling someone watched him through cracks in the boarded up windows.

Most people feared this area, describing it as a forbidden part of town, haunted by evil, lost souls. Some called it a disgusting cesspool of disease and vermin where one might not get out alive. Especially at night. No one knew the truth, so urban legends rose about it. Not even the street thugs ventured there after dark. They had nothing to gain and were ignorantly superstitious.

Crews had no such illogical fears. He knew better. The Unknown City existed and thrived as a secure residence for the homeless and downtrodden, hidden from the general public. Blind eyes in the government absorbed the costs of electrical, water, and Qnet services that trickled into the Unknown City. No doubt someone had a few of those votes accounted for as well. These people were a new breed who no longer begged on the streets or lived out in the open under bridges. They kept to themselves, avoiding the attention of the general public. They existed with their own organized code of interdependence. And as long as they stayed invisible, they would be peacefully ignored.

The Colonel’s old Marine buddy and on-call private investigator once told Crews the Unknown City welcomed newcomers, no questions asked, and erased their electronic histories. But anyone who rocked their steady boat disappeared. And no one missed them.

That concept appealed to Crews. He climbed a crumbling cement staircase to the main entrance of the central building, where an office might have existed once. The rusty metal door was locked by a crude number keypad. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered through the still-intact, thick, square window at the top of the door. Inside, the haunting foyer funneled into a deep throat of a corridor, full of shadows and vastly empty, except for dust and spider webs—part of the eerie, abandoned façade.

Crews nodded. The people who lived in the Unknown City relinquished their identities. They had no past, no links, no baggage. Each person who entered became a clean slate. Now that was something the Colonel could work with.

As thoughts of a promising new strategy coalesced, a barely legal, converted electric Rolls Royce pulled up next to him. Echo stepped out to greet him.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“Fine, Echo. Fine.” A sinister smile smoothed out his thin lips. What started out as a lynching would end in a resurrection.

Echo opened the passenger door for the Colonel.

Crews held up his hand. “Not just yet, Echo. You must help me select our new house guest.”

Thanks to my wonderful critique artists―Angela Cothran, Elizabeth Arroyo, and Vikki Biram. They taught me so much.

Special thanks to Andrew Buckley for giving me a chance with Curiosity Quills―and to all the staff who guided me through the process. They are the BEST!

And a last thank you to my sweet neighbor, Jagruti Khandhadia for giving me a glimpse of the busy city of Mumbai, India.

Tara Tyler
came out of college as a math teacher to prove learning it is not so bad―anyone can do it! She went on to have a hand in everything from waitressing to rocket engineering.

Living up and down the Eastern US and traveling worldwide has given her many alternate perspectives. Now she resides in Ohio with her three active boys and Coach Husband. Atlanta is the most dear as her parents live there and that’s where she got married. So many stories to tell. In addition to her novels, she has published short stories and poetry.