Metaltown Page 4

  “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.

  “Brotherhood has no jurisdiction over Small Parts, you little brown-nosed rat. Brotherhood protects the Stamping Mill and the chem plant. The grown-ups. You know who protects Small Parts? Me. And I’m about to take real good care of you.” White-flecked beads of spit sprayed from his mouth onto Colin’s cheeks. One ruddy fist wound back, daring them to do something. Anything.

  Colin didn’t even flinch.

  “We can work something out,” said Ty. “Overtime. Janitorial. I know you got something for us.” She hated giving in to slime like Minnick, but where else were they going to go for work? They weren’t old enough to catch a shift at the chem plant, and she’d rather die in food testing than start working a corner like the whores outside Market Alley.

  Colin breathed in slowly through his nostrils, then stuck a hand in his pocket and retracted a handful of coins that he held out for the angry foreman.

  “Oh my, oh my,” said Minnick. “Now we’re talking. Something shiny for your good friend Minnick.”

  “That’s right,” mumbled Colin.

  “What else you got? Let’s see that scrap of blanket there. What else? New duds?”

  “Given to me by Mr. Schultz,” said Colin, and even if Minnick talked a hard game, Ty knew he wouldn’t try to steal something Jed had given Colin. He liked to rough up the kids, but when another adult dressed him down he practically pissed himself.

  Minnick spat a brown wad of chew out the corner of his mouth while he considered this.

  “Get your asses inside,” he finally said. “Cross me again and you’re done here.”

  Ty exhaled.

  They followed him in, placing their personals and weapons in the employee lockers while Minnick bolted the door. Colin, still grumbling over the lost green, stripped down to a thermal, frayed around the neck and thin enough to show patches of his skin. Ty glanced away quickly. Fool should have bought one of those when he had the chance.

  She took off her coat and hat, but kept on all three sweaters she wore. She’d grown used to the heat of Small Parts. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was a lot better to be hot than to remind a room full of guys that she wasn’t exactly built the same as the rest of them.

  They picked a high locker, like always, where anyone trying to lift anything would have to make an obvious show of it. No one tried much anyway. Stealing got you fired as fast as fighting, and besides, they all came in and out at the same time of day for the most part anyway.

  Past the metal detectors, from out on the floor, came the familiar grind of gears and the consistent hum of the supply belt. The heat hit Ty like a furnace, and with it, the sharp tang of sweat. She moved to the rail, looking down over the factory floor at the hundred young workers who stood at their line stations as they had since dawn. Cutting tube casing or fuses, attaching wiring to batteries, springing the waterproof coils. Placing their finished products on the belt that snaked across the floor. This was what Ty had done every day for half her life. Ever since she’d been kicked out of the orphanage and sent to find work.

  It was better than begging. That’s what she always told herself, anyway.

  “Uh-uh,” said Minnick from behind them. “I think we’re going to go with that idea you had earlier. Janitorial, right? I don’t believe anyone’s cleaned my toilet since last summer. We’ll start there, then move to the floor latrines, how’s that sound, little rats?”

  Ty sighed.

  Better than begging.

  6

  LENA

  The businessmen came in the late afternoon and gathered in the parlor room on the bottom floor of the Hamptons’ home to smoke cigars and drink. Otto, a younger, less serious version of Josef, had graced them all with his presen
ce, wearing a pressed black suit to match Lena’s floor-length gown. Their attire was one step more formal than the rest of their guests’. There was never any doubt whose children they were.

  Lena was positioned in the center of the room, fully exposed on all sides. Eight men, including the two from her own family, surrounded her, and half a dozen of the house staff were serving liquor and hors d’oeuvres. Otto was near the bar speaking to a man she’d never seen before. Middle class, from the look of his suit, and with a tail of hair that hung down to his sweat-rimmed collar. Her mouth tightened with disapproval as her brother withdrew his wallet and passed the other man a series of bills. She wondered why Otto owed him, and imagined it had something to do with a gambling debt at the Boat House. This would not be the first time she’d seen him pay out for losses.

  Her father approached through the sweet-smelling haze, accompanied by a man with thinning gray hair. He wore strange boots—unfinished leather with a wide heel—and pants creased right down the center of his legs. A thin bolo tie was fastened by a silver clip just below his collar. She couldn’t place where he might be from; no one around here dressed that way.

  “My daughter Lena is a master of songs,” boasted her father, and despite her irritation at being dragged to this party as a centerpiece, she found herself blushing.

  “Lovely dress,” the man said with a lopsided smile. The hand not holding a tumbler reached for her waist, and before she could sidestep, it slid along her stomach.

  Lena fought the urge to jerk back, and remained composed despite the swelling anxiety. Her father had raised his glass to summon the staff for another drink. When he looked back his flat gaze met hers, dipping to the man’s hand for only a moment. He said nothing about it.

  Gracefully, Lena slid away.

  “May I sing for you?” she asked, a calm tone masking her revulsion.

  “Yes, please,” said the man. “But only if you answer one question.”

  Lena froze. Her father’s stare had hardened, his intentions clear. Do not let me down. Normally he would have redirected the conversation away from her. The fact that he was letting this man say whatever he liked made her realize the significance of their pending deal.