The Underground (18 page)

“Want some?” she said, playfully licking the chocolate-flecked vanilla ice cream.

“Of course!” he said. She slowly fed him, purposefully dribbling some on his chin. He struggled to lick it. Before he could reach it, she pulled it back and put a big hunk of it on his belly and then proceeded to lick it ever so sensually. Finally, she untied him and wordlessly handed him the ice cream container before she settled alongside him.

After that, she rolled onto her side, moving close to him as she rubbed tufts of his chest hair between her fingers. He thought of getting up, but soon drifted to sleep. Between the wine, the sex, and the ice cream, he was spent.

His sleep brought Shayla to his dream. She was topless, but wore stockings identical to those Claire had.

“Nathaniel, why are you playing these games?” Shayla asked. She ate from a pint-sized container of ice cream. “What are you doing with that woman? Can’t you tell she only wants your sex? I want all of you! I love you Nathaniel. I love you. I love you. IloveyouIloveyou…”

Nathaniel woke up next to Claire who was fast asleep. He wondered if Shayla was also sleeping next to a lover who had satisfied her in a way that made Nathaniel nothing more than a distant memory.

“I’ll call you,” Claire said, the next morning. He didn’t know whether she would or not. He hoped she would, if for no other reason than there was no other living soul who knew his alias: Joe Merino.

Chapter 23

“I doubt that Grounders were involved in that last protest,” Simon said, as though Gerald was some overprotective parent.

“Why are you so sure?” Gerald said, his voice icy.

“The Webavision photos.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Gerald said, with a biting laugh. “The Webavision photos are your intelligence data? That reflects a fraction of what’s out there,” he said, unable to filter anger from his voice. He wanted to tell Simon to get his shit together.

“Okay, Mr. Palace, tell me what you know,” Simon said.
 

“There were three hundred protesters. I can’t get my hands on the names, but they are supposedly all in custody, spread around dungeons of area jailhouses in D.C., Virginia, and Maryland. From what I can glean, the Queen is trying to figure out what to do with them. Any idea how many Grounders are late checking in?”

“We don’t have regular check-ins with everyone anymore. It’s too risky,” Simon said.

“If they are in custody, they will be forced to talk,” Gerald stressed as best he could. Simon didn’t immediately respond. Clearly, he didn’t know what to say.
Finally,
Gerald thought.
He’s listening.
 

“Is there anything you can do?” Simon asked, sounding slightly humbled after a pause.

“I doubt it. The Queen is scared,” Gerald said calmly, even though he was angry. Gerald couldn’t help but wonder when they stopped having regular check-ins and who made that decision.

“That’s good. She should be scared because we are going to take over,” Simon said with excitement.

Gerald realized just how clueless this guy was. How he had risen in ranks was a mystery. In the olden days… he started to think, but stopped himself. It was a waste to think like that.

“Don’t delude yourself. When she’s scared, she tightens the noose. You think the laws are tough now? Just wait and see.”

——–

 
“Something smells delicious,” Shayla said, as soon as she stepped into the apartment.

“Your mother mentioned that tuna steaks were your favorite, but you are probably smelling the fresh bread.”

“I’m impressed,” she said, feeling annoyed at her mother for butting in. Did she really have to tell this guy her favorite food? Already?

“Let’s just say I’m very comfortable in the kitchen,” he said, sounding both modest and confident.

“Glass of wine?” he asked.

“Please,” she said, following him into the kitchen as piped classical music paved the way.
 

“Nice place,” she said, looking around. The kitchen wasn’t large, but nicely decorated and organized. The living room was homey, tastefully furnished with original paintings that complemented the formal couches and inlaid wood coffee table.

“It came from Singapore,” he said, watching her study the table.
 
“As did the dining room table,” he said, motioning toward the beautifully set table, cloth napkins and all.

“My phone.” she said, pointing to the ringing from her purse. “Work has been crazy.”

“By all means, take your time.”
 

Shayla stepped away from the kitchen and opened her phone.

“Hello?” The phone clicked dead. That had been happening with some frequency, and it was annoying. She looked at the number, but like all the other calls, it appeared as some sort of weird scrambled phone number. Somebody was blocking the real number. Could it be Janice? It could be, but that didn’t make sense. Would she even know how to block a call? Plus, the few times she called before, she was drunk and rambled, and the last time she called was months earlier.

Maybe these calls had something to do with Nathaniel’s disappearance. She swore she wouldn’t think about the possibility of him returning anymore. She turned off her phone, thinking it might be time to enlist the help of her mother’s head of security to get to the bottom of these crank calls.

“Sorry about that,” she said, turning around to see Michael setting down two exquisite plates of food that were as beautiful as any gourmet dinner she had ever seen in the Palace. “Wow!”

“I hope you’ll say that after you taste it. Why don’t you have a seat?”
 

Chapter 24

“I’ve only got a few minutes,” Garrett said, after a sweaty handshake. They were at a café down the street from Nathaniel’s first assignment.

“I got you an easy job to start. It’s at a bank. Think of this as a favor that I might need returned someday,” Garrett said, looking at Nathaniel with a distrustful eye. Nathaniel hated the idea of being beholden to anyone, but he knew he’d better get used to it.

“I really appreciate it,” Nathaniel said, forcing himself to sound friendly, but he didn’t like this guy.

“Any questions?” Garrett asked.

“This kind of work is new for me. Any tips about working at a bank?”

“It’s not rocket science. Be extremely attentive, especially to the ladies. That’s about it. I’ve got my own shit to deal with. My two year old has a cold, and I’ve got to work today and then take him to the doctor and get home and clean the house and put a decent dinner on the table. Otherwise there will be hell to pay. If you really need to contact me, here’s my number,” he said, jotting it down on a napkin. With that kind of endorsement, Nathaniel thought he would almost rather call the Tasers for help. Garrett nodded, got up and left.

“Thanks again,” Nathaniel said, calling after him. This job would be sink or swim.

He watched Garrett’s chubby body scurry toward the café’s exit and was glad to see him go. He was unkempt; his jacket slightly wrinkled, his pants a little snug. Nathaniel figured they probably fit when he bought them. Despite his looks, Nathaniel knew Garrett was a success as far as the Underground was concerned. He had a job that helped their cause, tithed his salary, and was married.

Nathaniel finished his coffee and walked out the door, nearly bumping into a group of Tasers. Whenever Tasers were in the area, he felt more nervous than he had before he was in the Underground. He breathed deeply and continued down the street. Looking straight ahead, he did his best to shoo away the paranoia that crept into his thoughts.

The bank entrance was a few blocks away. As soon as he stepped inside, he felt immediate relief from the threat of Tasers. The environment felt very professional with a lot of women but many men, too. Just being in the building was pleasant. The high ceilings and pristinely clean bay windows lifted his mood. After months spent with the Underground, he had a job that allowed him to look outside whenever he wanted. He would never again take the sunlight for granted.

“Stand here and when anyone comes in, direct them to the right area of the bank to speak with the appropriate person. Here’s the chart, okay?” said Eve, who was assigned to manage him.

“Anything else I need to do?” he asked, wanting badly to do a good job.

“If there is, I’ll let you know, alright?” she said, smiling. His eyes drifted to her ring finger and he was sorry to see she already wore a wedding ring.

——–

 
“We’re moving you out of this position,” Eve said two days later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Nathaniel asked.
 

Eve smiled. “Just the opposite. People keep talking about how much they like you as the first face they see. The Bank President’s administrative assistant is ill, so they need someone good, pronto. You’re movin’ up, Joe!”

As Nathaniel rode the elevator to his new job, he thought of all the hard labor he had done at the Cambridge Public Works. He had used jackhammers, fixed broken water mains, and responded to emergencies of all kinds for years. Much of his time was spent underground in the sewers. Now, he was on his way to a skyscraper penthouse office where he would report to a bank president, answer phones, serve lunches, coffee, and run errands. He would be trusted by women in ways that he had never experienced. He had become a white-collar worker, the very kind he and Brigg used to look down on.

And he liked it.

——–

While his work life was progressing, dating was laborious. He religiously attended the Parties of Availability. He often got dates, and even found himself in fancy houses of wealthy women. Still, he couldn’t stop wishing for Shayla. He remembered making love in her dingy office. That’s all he wanted, even with the annoyances of that tiny room – like the annoying sound of that hissing radiator.

He tried not to think about her, but did look her up on the Internet when he first got out of the Underground. He found a single news report dated just weeks after he went to the Underground.
“Shayla Smith, daughter of the Queen has left the Cambridge Public Works to pursue interests in the private sector.”
He read the short article a few times, but it rang false. She was passionate about being a public servant. Why did she leave?

He sighed as he remembered their time together, but living in the past and wondering what the hell she was doing was futile. He needed to lure a wife, preferably someone high-powered and financially successful who would make the Underground happy. He braced himself to enter his umpteenth POA. He had been attending a few a week, for months. He pulled his identification card out of his wallet and went through the registration line before heading to the bartender.

 
“I know what you want,” the bartender said, not waiting for Nathaniel to order.

“That’s a bad sign! That means I’ve been here too often,” Nathaniel said, trying to be light.

“Don’t worry, it’ll happen. Coming here is like throwing darts at a board, you’ll get the bulls eye soon enough. Chin up. This is where I met my wife,” the man said, handing him a Manhattan.

“Here comes one now,” the bartender said before walking away.
 

“You work at Kelly Boys?” a woman said, walking up to him, glancing at her electronic tablet. She wore a plain blue dress and sensible black shoes that looked like they came from “The Walking Store.” He always thought of those stores for older people, but she looked to be in her early 30s.

“I sure do!” he said, having long since mastered the upbeat cocktail party tone.

“I work at a company that uses Kelly Boys, so I am familiar with the caliber of people working at your company. I’m Lianne, by the way,” she said holding out her petite hand. Her light blond hair was cut in a sensible bob that flattered her sweetheart face.

“Well, thank you,” he said, before noticing Claire out of the corner of his eye. Claire had never called him as she had said she would. Now she was flirting with another young man, sipping her wine and tossing her hair. Women.

Lianne continued the interview but cut it short a couple of minutes in.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to go to the ladies room,” she said, but he had heard that line before. He had been to enough POAs to easily tell when someone was going to come back to him or not. Lianne was moving on.

As he took a sip of his drink, he wished to be somewhere else. He really longed to spend
 
an evening at The Black Hole, sitting next to Brigg, clinking a neat glass of Maker’s Mark with his friend.

Instead, he nursed his watery Manhattan, retreating to the corner to regroup and reenergize before hoping another woman would approach. All of a sudden, a group of Tasers ran toward the exit as though someone yelled fire. Nathaniel’s heart sped. Other people quickly followed suit, swarming the exits, but Nathaniel didn’t know why. In the frenzy, many men didn’t follow the usual checkout protocol, but Nathaniel couldn’t afford to do so. That kind of mistake could invite a visit from the Tasers for breaking the law. It was too dangerous, so he nervously waited in line amidst the chaos. After finally checking out, he tentatively walked toward the exit where a group of men solemnly stood. As he moved toward them, he heard the chants coming from outside. They all watched through the simple glass doors as though it were a movie, but this was very real.