Ch. 72 – Bait-and-Switch

When night finally fell, Derrick couldn’t sleep. He set the doorstop alarm up against the shop’s front door and activated it. It helped him feel secure, at least in the sense that they’d know if someone was trying to break in. Of course, knowing was only half the battle. An alarm might scare a petty thief away, but a drunk or a gangster might just get angrier.

And door alarms didn’t work out on the streets. If a Leopard decided to pick a fight with him, he might be shot or knocked out in moments.

Pepper spray made sense, and a knife make sense, like Tony had said . . . They were tight on cash, but it would be worth the cost to order some for himself, and maybe even Tony if he could be convinced to carry protection.

Derrick closed his eyes and breathed evenly, hoping the rising and falling of his chest would carry him to sleep. But the room was too stuffy, the sheets were too sweaty, and the idea of carrying something to keep stalkers and Leopard away had already gotten its hooks in his mind, and was spinning it around and around. He flipped over, and grabbed his phone off the night stand. The siren call of virtual window shopping had snared him once again, but this time he would have to muster the resolve to buy something.

There were loads of different pepper sprays and knives sold by online retailers. Unfortunately, many of them had a good chunk of one star reviews . . . Incensed reviews in all caps reported that knife blades were breaking, handles were falling apart, and spray bottles were coming up empty when they were needed the most. Before he knew it, he’d opened more than fifty tabs open on his phone, and the darn thing was about to run out of battery. Shoot. He probably wasn’t buying anything tonight. Tomorrow then, after researching some more products.

Derrick locked his phone and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be another day of trying to pay the bills, on top of worrying about the stalker and the Leopards.

#

The next day was a productive one; a few patients came by Hack Alley, most of them elderly.

Derrick said, ushering the latest elderly patient toward the front door.

the patient, Mr. Chen, asked.

Derrick asked. Looking for Derrick, to be exactly.

Mr. Chen said, nodding his head.

If it ever did calm down, without the Leopards putting a bullet through his head.

Mr. Chen said. He nodded his head, and sat down at the chair that Derrick guided him to.

There was another reason for the caution, though. Xian’s barbershop rally had been packed full of business owners from around Chinatown. They obviously all suffered under the Leopards, but at least a few of them might be informing for the Leopards. And if the Leopards know that Xian was planning some sort of open rebellion in the near future, they’d be eager to try and nip the revolution in the bud by terrorizing some businesses to put fear into their hearts.

Derrick cracked the door open, and then peeked out, checking both ends of the alley. No Leopards. Mr. Chen would be leaving Hack Alley via the main street, so the next step was to check that side more thoroughly.

Derrick approached the main street slowly, hiding behind the empty plastic crates that they still hadn’t cleaned out from in front of the shop, and peeked out to either side of the street. It was also clear of any suspicious figures, or assholes walking around like they owned the place, as a Leopard would. Derrick slunk back to the shop, slowly shutting the door behind him.

Mr. Chen was still sitting on the chair. He was snapping his fingers next to his ear, and grinning, apparently pleased with his cochlear implant transmitter repair; his stained but solid teeth were exceptionally straight and healthy for his age.

Derrick said. He smiled, but ached a bit inside, as with the discount that Tony had given the senior, Hack Alley hadn’t profited much on the job. Still, it was work, and it had the side effect of generating some positive buzz around their business. Hack Alley needed that positive buzz, to convince the people of Chinatown to risk making the trip, and spending good money on a repair, while vengeful Leopards could drag them away for interrogation if they were in a bad mood. Anything went, of course, when the White Leopards were still questioning people about Raymond’s murder, and looking to intimidate and silence businesses.

Mr. Chen said.

Derrick said.

Mr. Chen said, shaking his finger.

Mr. Chen said.

Derrick said.

Mr. Chen smiled and nodded at Derrick, oblivious to the feeling of dread growing in Derrick’s stomach, and tottered out of the shop after a few more customary farewells.

Derrick closed and locked the front door—they kept it locked nowadays, and let customers knock for entry—and a frown grew on his face. It was Xian, again. The barbershop businessman was getting more and more wrapped up in their lives.

A good chunk of the elderly who had come to Hack Alley for routine maintenance and standard jobs had stopped coming since the Leopards had ramped up their Chinatown patrols and general terrorizing of the population. But the trickle of business had slowly ramped up in the past few days. If Xian was to thank, then Hack Alley would probably be seeing a lot more of him in the future. He seemed like he knew his way around money, to an extent, so it would be smart to accept his help . . . But what was the catch? Maybe he would start asking Hack Alley to compensate him for the free advertising.

Derrick jerked as the front door rattled, but his nerves settled with the unmistakable jangle of keys. The front door opened again, and Tony walked in. He was finally carrying around his own key nowadays. “I just bumped into Mr. Chen as he was walking from the shop. How’d his transmitter repair go?”

“Well enough,” Derrick said. “He seemed happy with his hearing.”

“Good,” Tony said. “Now, let’s talk about some business.” He motioned toward the back of the shop, where Derrick’s room was.

“Ah, right,” Derrick said, locking the front door again, and rushing to catch up with Tony, who was hobbling at an impressively brisk pace.

They shut the door to Derrick’s room and Tony pulled his phone out, unlocking it and showing a row of texts to Derrick. “Xian texted me back. His computer vision contact is coming today. I reckon we can go meet the fella and see how he can help. Are you free right now?” Ah, it was Xian again.

“Yeah, I was just about to document Mr. Chen’s visit. Should we go right afterward?”

“You’ve got it, my boy.”

“Alright. And just so you know, boss, I wouldn’t get your hopes up about this guy’s expert. I mean, what sort of fancy machine learning expert would wanna come out here to Chinatown, where we’ve got poverty and gangsters? They could be having a good time in a nicer part of the country.”

“Oh, just keep any open mind, won’t you? You never know, maybe he snagged a world-class expert for us! Someone who’s seen it all, and is just in it for the thrill of the chase, now.” Tony chuckled, and rubbed his chin, eyes glimmering with imagination.

“Sure. I sure hope so. And I hope his services come cheap,” Derrick said, shaking his head.

After Derrick had gotten the paperwork squared away, they left Hack Alley and walked toward a small noodle shop, which Xian had offered to meet them at, supposedly because his contact would be hungry after getting off the bus. The noodle shop’s owner let them stay, as it was a slow day, anyway, and Derrick and Tony weren’t causing any trouble. So they sat at the bar, with their heads down. A few white-capped Leopards strolled past the entrance, and Derrick’s legs tensed, preparing to bolt out of his chair if the Leopards walked in and accosted them. But the Leopards merely peered at the menu posted outside the shop, and then shrugged their shoulders and walked away, apparently not in the mood for noodles.

Derrick and Tony had waited for around half an hour—at which point they’d actually ordered noodles—before Tony got another text from Xian, saying that he’d already led the contact to the place where he’d be staying—to get settled in earlier—and that Derrick and Tony should meet him there instead.

“Jeez, this guy has no respect for our time,” Derrick said.

“Eh, he usually shows up on time when it counts. He’s probably just trying to be considerate to his tech expert pal,” Tony said.

The address that Xian gave them was in the crowded apartments in the older part of Chinatown. The rows of crumbling buildings were always a depressing sight to walk past them, as they hadn’t been maintained or repaired, even after decades of storm damage. They were cheap, though, and that was enough for the unfortunate people just looking for a place far from the sea, and safe from the worst of the superstorms.

There were a handful of gray-haired men digging through the plastic trash bins for recyclable bottles: worth a few cents each at a recycling center—that is, if the recycling center hadn’t already been flooded with empty bottles immediately upon opening. The poor souls would have to take the bus to New Shore City proper—as Chinatown’s bottles for cash program had closed down—and then hope that the local New Shore City needy hadn’t beaten them to the punch. It was a hard life.

Past the bottle hunters, and a few rows of doors, a man, woman, and child were waiting in front of their house, and the man was jiggling the lock. The poor family was no doubt having trouble getting their door open: a real pain, in the cold.

The man turned around and unzipped his jacket, fanning himself from the exertion, before he spotted Derrick and Tony, and waved at them. The woman and child turned around too, frowned, and then looked at each other. The reason why soon became clear. The family didn’t seem to be a family at all, judging from the way the mother and child scooted away from the man when he turned around.

And the man happened to be Xian.

***

This chapter came a bit later than normal!

I’ve been very busy lately, so keeping up with writing is hard. But hopefully I’ll soon have more time to write more, and iron-out some other small details to set up for important story beats :)

***

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