Ch. 3 – Blue Teeth and Honey Mustard

Derrick wasn’t worried about walking to the bus stop. Sunday mornings were one of the only times he could relax, as the most violent gangsters were usually sleeping in thanks to their Saturday debauchery. There was some petty thievery, and a rare break-in now and then, but people generally weren’t dying on the streets.

A few elderly people, and one young mother holding her baby, were out strolling in front of Hack Alley. Babies were rare around these parts; it seemed like most everyone in this neighborhood was old enough to mug you. The mother whispered to her baby as she walked with a leisure that made it seem like everything was fine, and that the country wasn’t falling apart around them.

A lush, green tree rustled in the wind, and birds flitted around its branches. It was the only tree on this block that had survived, since they planted rows of them almost five years ago. The tree’s roots had broken out of the sidewalk, and concrete debris laid among them, as no one had ever taken the time to clean it up.

The bus pulled up to the stop, and the old woman who was standing there got on, sitting in the reserved elderly seating right behind the empty driver’s seat. There were quite a few people on the bus, even though it was a Sunday morning; most of them were older, unmodified folks, except for one man with a prosthetic arm sitting in the back. Derrick sat down in the seat opposite the man with the arm mod. His arm mod was transhumeral, reaching almost up to his shoulder, and actually very expensive-looking. Its matte-black surface had smooth, swooping edges leading to his upper arm, and the design was almost unbroken, save for a rectangular cut-out, where the man’s Beacon was attached.

It was a shame, seeing that gaudy, orange, government-issued piece of plastic embedded in the beautiful arm. You could actually just carry the Beacon in your wallet or purse once you got yours from the city, but the major mod manufacturers were releasing new models that enabled integration with the Beacon. Identification, payment, appointment reminders, and now even prosthetic calibration and motor control assistance: the Beacon did it all, and the city was in control of it. Pinnacle Industries developed and produced the Beacons, of course, but the city was their biggest client.

An energetic young woman’s voice came from the speakers along the length of the bus. “We are now leaving 169 Ave. Please make sure to stay seated as the bus comes into motion. The next stop is: Riverside Avenue. The final destination is: Cortez Circle.” The doors closed, and the LEDs strips on the empty driver’s seat turned red as the bus began to move.

The lulls and lurches of the buses movements always made him sleepy, when he was feeling tired.

As they began to cross the bridge, the bleak daylight illuminated the remains of old New York City sitting below them. Below the bridge’s railing, and the fortified sea wall beneath it, ruined buildings stretched on for miles along the horizon, and the tides lapped at their feet. Even five years after the series of huge storms that destroyed lower New York City, the city government still hadn’t completed the demolition of the abandoned buildings. It was high tide in the morning, but after the tide fell, you could see the scavengers and treasure hunters crawling through the ruins like little bugs, scaling rocks and toppled cars. But every now and then, a building’s foundations reached their limits, and it would come toppling down, sometimes triggering a domino effect with other buildings, and crushing everyone underneath them.

As they entered the city boundaries, the Beacon attached to the man’s prosthetic arm chirped out in a cheery tone. “Welcome to New Shore City. I hope you have a pleasant visit.” A chorus of voices joined in, as all the other passengers’ Beacons repeated the same message.

#

The city was piercing bright. Even in the daytime, glowing signs and moving ads danced across the skyscrapers that made up this maze of a city, where there were shops on every corner, and some underground as well.

Derrick got off the bus, swiping his card. The cheerful voice from the man’s Beacon sounded out again. “You have $4.07 remaining on your bus balance. Would you like me to automatically top it off from your bank account?” Derrick shuddered as he imagined having that pest on his arm the whole day.

The fastest way to get to the hospital would be to take a different bus route, but Derrick liked to walk through the city whenever he had the chance to visit. It was partly to see all the crazy people living here, with their tricked out mods, and partly to do some window shopping of his own. Even if he couldn’t afford anything, it didn’t mean he couldn’t dream.

A man sitting on the curb was playing a keyboard, both his prosthetic hands had an extra finger on each. His heels were resting on the street, and his feet wiggled wildly as he flew through the complicated and ornamented cover of an earworm pop song that had been on the radio for the past few weeks.

A few kids and their parents watched. Some were recording with their phones, and some with what Derrick presumed were the smart glasses that had been popular lately.

The street musician finished his piece with a flourish, and then held his hands up, wiggling his extra finger along with his feet, as the audience applauded him.

The hospital was only a few blocks away from the station, so Derrick went there as quickly as he could, head down. This was around the time that the city ‘woke up,’ but there was always something going on regardless of the time of day.

There were a flock of drones hovering near the police station. A pair of officers were near the entrance holding controllers and looking up at the drones. They were probably doing a diagnosis or something. The drones probably weren’t active then, but Derrick crossed the street to the other side of the street just to be safe. He didn’t want to be harassed by them again if he could help it. As Derrick was passing the police building, a police drone came down from the flock of them that were hovering near the station, and kept pace with him, a few feet away from and above his face. The voice of a young woman came from the drone. “Hello, sir. Could I check your Beacon, please? I didn’t detect a Beacon on you as you got off the bus. Please place it up to the scanner.” A tube with a camera at the end extruded out from the center of the quad-copter drone.

Ah fuck, not again. These things were getting more and more persistent every year. Derrick pulled his fake ID card out of his wallet, and held it up in front of the drone.

Not even a second later, the drone’s alarms flashed red. “Just a moment, sir. We’ve encountered an issue. Please wait for an officer to come and help.” One of the policemen holding the remotes noticed the alarm, and came over to check it out.

“Show me your Beacon.” He held his hand out, not even looking at Derrick, but at the device in his hand instead. The drone remote control was on his hip holster.

Derrick handed his fake ID over. Sweat was building on his forehead. It was a good one, but he never knew when a cop might make it harder for him.

“You’re still using an ID card, huh.” The cop sighed, holding it up to the light looking at it back and forth. “Get a Beacon already. We’re giving them out for free for chrissakes.”

“Yeah, sorry. I haven’t had a chance to get the new one yet.”

“Yeah, whatever.” The cop tapped the drone’s screen a few time, and then flashed his own Beacon over the camera, and the drone flew back to its flock. “You’re from Chinatown, right?” he said, looking Derrick up and down. “Stay outta trouble.” And with that, he walked away.

Beacons had a uniquely identifiable pattern on them that was very hard to fake. Derrick had a top of the line fake ID thanks to Tony, because, well, he couldn’t exactly get a real one. But once the city made Beacons mandatory, he was out of luck.

There was a small bodega up ahead. I guess I’ll buy that can of beer for Nathan.

#

The hospital was right ahead. Derrick stopped by the fast food joint that Nathan often stopped by, and sat down in the back, setting down the beer that he bought for Nathan. He checked his phone. It was 9:23 am, and Nathan hadn’t responded to any text messages, but then again, he often showed up unannounced.

Ten minutes passed, then Derrick ordered a drink so the manager would stop glaring at him, and then another ten minutes passed. Nathan Freedman finally showed up at the glass double doored entrance, dressed in his scrubs, and glancing side to side. Derrick waved at him. “Hey, over here.”

Nathan came over, taking his sweet time. “Heyyy, if it isn’t Derrick. Long time no see.” The booth table creaked as he sat down and leaned on it, massaging his temples with both hands.

“Nathan,” Derrick whispered. “I’m glad to see you. I’ve got some more stuff that needs to be cleaned.”

“Fuck, my headache is killing me. Gimme a minute.” He scrunched up his face, and contorted it back and forth, like he was trying to itch something on his nose without using his hands. Derrick was surprised Nathan could function in the hospital like this, but he had somehow held down this job despite years of hangovers, or so he claimed. Derrick had only known him for a year when he came in for a tune-up on his ‘blue tooth’ mod. “Actually, are you hungry, Derrick? Cause I’m starving. I’m gonna order something.”

“Sure, sure. Go ahead. I’m fine.”

Nathan got in the ordering line, standing right behind the woman ahead of him, who gave him a nasty look, and scooted forwards.

How long was his break for? Or how long could he sneak out for? It was already 9:46, and there was no way Derrick was going back to the office with unsterilized cochlear implant receivers.

Nathan was arguing with the woman at the cash register.

“Hey, Nathan, you all done?” Derrick called. He went to the edge of the line, to hear what all the commotion was about.

“Well how come you didn’t charge that guy for the honey mustard?” Nathan said, gesturing at a customer who glanced back at the scene while hurrying out the door with his take-out bag. “And now you want to charge me for honey mustard? It’s the exact same condiment, why am I getting charged?”

“Sir, you asked for ten packets, he only asked for one packet.”

“If one packet is free, how come ten packets isn’t? Ten is just one times ten.”

“Ten is too much! What do you even need ten packets for?”

“It’s cause I’m Black, isn’t it! Why are you treating the Black man differently?”

A middle aged man, whose tie draped over his beer gut, came up to the front, and put a hand on the employee’s shoulder.

“What’s the problem here?”

“This bi—, she’s trying to charge me for some honey mustard, when no one else is getting charged—”

“—Don’t disrespect my employees like that—”

“—No one else is asking for ten packets—”

This could only put Nathan in a worse mood, and Derrick needed him in a good mood. “—Hey, mister Manager.” Derrick cut in and pushed past Nathan to the counter. The middle-aged man looked up at Derrick in surprise, and then in disgust.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Sit your freak ass down, or wait your turn.” The cooks in the back were hooting and hollering, watching the showdown.

“I want ten packets. I’ll pay for them.”

“Oh, hell no. Why are you letting them charge you for honey mustard? That shit should be free.”

“It should be if I was paying for food, but I just want the packets. How much are they?”

The manager’s mustache was practically bristling at this point, and his ruddy face was getting redder. “If you want to order something, get back in line. If you’re here to cause trouble, get out.”

“Look, I don’t any trouble. Let’s just solve this as fast as we can, alright? Hey, back there,” Derrick gestured toward the cash register woman, who was whispering to another employee, “how much is the honey mustard?”

“Forty cents.”

“Alright, here you go.” Derrick handed the manager four dollars in cash, and then grabbed ten packets of honey mustard from behind the counter. “Come on, let’s go Nathan.”

“Yeah, get the fuck outta here,” the manager growled.

“I’m not done with these assholes.”

Derrick held Nathan away from the counter as the man in scrubs tried to circle around and push Derrick out of the way. “They’re not worth your time,” Derrick said in a hushed voice. “They’re . . . they’re just a bunch of racists, come on, let’s go.” He was trying to appeal to Nathan to calm him down, but really, ten honey mustard packets? Derrick would probably have probably charged for that too.

“That’s right, you hear that? You’re all fucking racists,” Nathan shouted, cracking up as Derrick pushed him back towards their seats.

“You’re disturbing the other customers. You need to leave,” the manager shouted out in response. “Jeremy, get them outta here.” The tall employee mopping the floor shrugged his shoulders and started moving towards Derrick.

“We’re leaving! Just hold on, let me get my stuff.”

Derrick grabbed his jacket and pushed Nathan, who was laughing and flipping the bird, out of the door.

#

“Well, I guess I’m never going back there again,” Derrick said. The streets were full of people now: stragglers late to work, tourists pointing up at the skyscrapers, and young people browsing the shops.

Nathan dunked his burger in a packet of honey mustard before taking a bite and mmming in appreciation. He coughed mid chew, and kept coughing while fighting to keep the food in his mouth, until he swallowed and dipped the burger in the honey mustard packet again. “Don’t even worry about it,” he said, clearing his throat. “No one ever works long at these fast food joints. And the manager won’t remember, believe me—Oh, well I guess it’s hard to forget your face.”

Yeah, you think? “Sure . . . . Anyways, let’s get out of the street.” They walked out of the neon lights into an alleyway, which was practically empty. There was something weird to Derrick about a clean alleyway after working at Tony’s place, where the trash could pile up as tall as a man. Well, mostly clean, anyway. Derrick accidentally kicked a crushed up soda can, sending it bouncing, the harsh metallic sound echoing between the alley walls.

Once they had gotten far enough from the street, Derrick reached into his bag and pulled out the padded carrying case. “Here’s the stuff that needs to get sterilized.” He put it on the ground, since Nathan’s hands were filled with food. “And here, is a thank you gift.” He pulled out the beer can, and put it on the ground as well.

Nathan wiped his hands on the wrapper and tossed it over his shoulder, and then crouched down and set his bag of food on the ground. “And thank you indeed. Although, I’m gonna need a little more this time.”

“More? What do you mean?”

“My ‘blue tooth’ has been giving me issues, and I need a tune up.”

“Again? Wait, what is that—” Derrick hadn’t noticed before, but Nathan was holding the partial fake tooth veneer in one hand as he was eating. “Nathan, you’re supposed to wear the cover while you eat. Didn’t I tell you before?”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“You’re damaging the mod! And the cover can’t shield your ‘blue tooth’ from detection if you don’t wear it.” Detection would be a big problem. Nathan’s tooth mod was made to warn him if cops were in the vicinity while he was slinging magic mushrooms: his ‘side hustle,’ as he called it. Although it didn’t actually use Bluetooth technology, it was able to receive a wireless signal from a remote server that used AI to parse police radio scanner activity, and then vibrate the tooth if it determined that Nathan was too close to the cops. Tony, unfortunately, started calling it a ‘blue tooth,’ because he thought it was funny, so the name stuck.

“A man’s gonna eat how he wants to eat, and you can’t tell him otherwise. That’s why I have eggheads like you, right? To fix shit when it breaks.”

“Nathan, listen. I don’t want you to get caught for having a police scanner in your mouth, because that’s not good for either of us.”

“Can you get me a more comfortable cover then?”

“That’s the only one they make—”

“—I’m not wearing that thing; it’s like having a wedgie in your mouth.” Nathan cracked open the beer and guzzled it down between bites of honey mustard drenched french fries.

“Okay. I’ll see if we can get you fitted for a custom one. But you have to pay for it, and the fitting. And I’m charging you for the parts for this repair too. I can’t keep fixing your mod for free if it breaks this often.”

“Almost fair . . . . I’ll pay for the parts, but you cover the rest of the job. I’ve been bustin’ my ass to get your shit in the sterilizer without anyone seeing, so you owe me.”

“I’ll give you a discount on labor. That’s all I can do.”

Nathan crushed up the can and tossed it down the alley. “Fine, deal then. You drive a hard bargain, man.” He wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the case. “I’ll be back here in a couple hours, gotta wait for the next sterilizer cycle that’s coming up.” He grabbed his food bag and got up, before looking Derrick in the eye with a grin. “By the way, thanks for that back in the fast food joint. I’m always cranky in the morning after I have too much to drink. This is for you.” He held the open food bag out.

There was a pile of french fries and way too many packets of honey mustard at the bottom. Well, free food was free food, and he had paid for the sauce packets anyway. Derrick took the bag.

“Thanks Nathan, see you back here in a few hours.”