“Where is your friend with the sticks?” I turned; it was the topless girl. Her accent was like the man we’d talked with yesterday—she pronounced Ws like Vs.
“He’s at home,” I said. I didn’t figure it was worth trying to explain all of the nuances in that statement.
“Was he playing a game with them?” She made a strange, scrunchy facial expression, almost like she wasn’t aware other people could see her face.
“It wasn’t a game. They’re weapons, for protection.”
She made a grunting sound that I took to mean she understood. I glanced at her chest. I couldn’t help it, her breasts were right there. Her nipples were puckered, her areolas as big as silver dollar pancakes.
“Why doesn’t he just have a gun?”
I opened my mouth to answer, then saw that she was grinning. I laughed, and she laughed with me. We stood there looking at each other, only I realized after a moment that she wasn’t looking at me, she was looking off over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at. It was the bamboo outbreak.
She smiled, suddenly looking almost like any city girl.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“I guess you could say that.”
It occurred to me that these people were like modern hunter-gatherers. A few years ago I’d watched part of an old documentary about a hunter-gatherer tribe in Africa. These people were so much like them—they loved nature, no one seemed to be in charge, they kept moving and seemed to live almost totally off the land. I wondered if they’d been out in the woods since my tribe had been out there. That would be eight years, a long time to be wandering around in the woods.
“Hey, Jasper!” It was Cortez, jogging toward us. He waved briefly to the girl and then pulled me aside.
“Remember yesterday when I told you that I felt aimless, that I didn’t know where my life was going?” He didn’t wait for me to reply—he was excited, talking at high-speed. “Now I know. I found this book on your shelf…” He fumbled in his pack, pulled out a softcover book. It was
“
As Cortez looked up from reading, I was surprised to see that his eyes were filled with tears. “It’s like those words have always been inside me, waiting to come out. A warrior-sage—that’s what I am.”
“Hm.” I nodded, as if I were thinking about what he was saying. It was good to see him so up a day after his house had been bambooed.
Cortez dug back into his pack and retrieved an old Batman comic. “Yesterday I was rereading this. I’ve always admired Batman. I was thinking that the Caped Crusader would sure pull a full shift if he were working in these times, and then it all came together. All this time honing my martial arts skills, my weapons technique… it was all leading to this.”
“To what?” I asked.
Cortez held up a finger. “I’m going to devote myself to helping others. Maybe I can’t stop the Jumpy-Jumps and the CDs on a large scale, but I can stop some crime, at least. At least I can do something.” He gripped my shoulder, spoke almost in my ear. “And I know just where to start. I found out who’s responsible for releasing that bamboo.”
“Really? Who was it?”
Cortez cocked a thumb toward River Street. “There’s a guy who sells drugs and fences stolen merchandise out of an abandoned building on MLK. I found out he also handles bamboo. I checked the place out. It’s a small-time operation. I’m going to straighten them out.”
“I’d love to see that,” I laughed.
Cortez’s eyes got wide. “Hey! Come with me!”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t be a good Robin. I have no crime-fighting skills whatsoever.” I neglected to add that I’m a coward. Before the depression, when battles were fought with words and lawyers, I would have been a much more effective fighter. Fists and guns are not my weapons of choice.
Cortez put an arm around my shoulder. “No, I’ll take care of the enforcement—it would just be nice to have some company. You can just hang.”
I had the impression that Cortez mostly wanted a witness. What’s the point of exacting retribution if no one sees it? “What are you going to do, exactly?”
Cortez waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not gonna hurt anyone. I’ll just confiscate their drugs and bamboo and grind it all under my heel, then tell them they’re closed for business.”
I wanted to say no, but Cortez was giving me this imploring, expectant look, his eyebrows raised. It seemed important to him that I go. It probably wouldn’t entail much risk. I’d watched him dismantle two knife-wielding thugs who were ready for him, and that was years ago—his skills had improved since then, and he’d have weapons of his own this time.
“Sure. Why not?”
Cortez beamed. “I’ll come get you tonight around ten.”
Cortez was dressed all in black. A fat knife was sheathed at his calf, and his Eskrima sticks were in a pouch at his waist.
MLK Drive was bustling now that the sun was down. An Asian woman stood on the corner in a faded green felt skirt, looking to turn tricks, her children sitting at her feet playing with bottle caps. One of her arms was nothing but bone and scar tissue; she’d danced with the flesh-eating virus, but she’d survived it, lucky lady. Cortez’s mother hadn’t been so lucky, along with maybe a hundred thousand others.
A bunch of uniforms were standing outside the boarded-up Lucky 7 mini-casino checking IDs, probably for no reason except to exert their authority.
An old tour trolley, stripped down to wheels and a floor, rumbled by. “Right over there, a particularly bloody stiletto went down,” a red-haired guy in an old navy jacket said into a crackly microphone. “Dude stabbed another dude seven, eight times in the face, till his blade got stuck in the eye socket and he couldn’t get it back out.”
“Where’s the harm in that?” someone shouted from the back of the trolley, a bottle of home brew clutched in his fist. We watched the murder tour roll by.
“Have you ever read that book I borrowed,
“No, I never got around to it. When I have free time I’ve been reading about medicinal herbs.”
“How’s that going? Your apothecary business?”
“It’s going okay. I’m able to stock about two dozen different herbs. I make foraging day-trips into the country.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, I enjoy the foraging expeditions. It’s peaceful in the bamboo, and fun to hunt for the herbs, kind of like a scavenger hunt. Once I started selling them people started coming into the store to consult with me about what they should take, you know, for a toothache or to help them get pregnant.”
Two guys stumbled past. “Look at the moon! It’s glowing in the dark!” one of them said, pointing. The other cackled. Stoners shot up with something, probably godflash.
“You making some good cheese?” Cortez asked me.
“Not a lot. People can’t afford to pay much, so if I want to sell it, it’s got to be cheap. Plus it’s Ruplu’s store, so he gets a cut.”
We stopped behind a battered Prius, in front of what was essentially an empty lot with a door and a roof tucked between two buildings. Blackened bricks and heat-tortured steel lay scattered and piled, casting long shadows. “This is it,” Cortez said. “Dude’s name is B-Bob, or something like that.” A tug boat hooted in the distance; overhead a bat flapped mad figure-eights around a lamppost.
I followed Cortez through the doorway, into a big, dark, empty space. In the far corner there was light, created by dozens of candles, their flames burning in a rainbow of colors. B-Bob sat on a stool behind a bruised
