Story #76 - Fifteen For The Road

Fifteen For The Road

Fifteen cents were counted out in front of me, bronze faces glinting dully in the monochromatic overhead light. The government spent precious little on its facilities and made sure every penny that came through was accounted for.

A penny didn’t buy much, but fifteen would get me through the week, last me even to Sunday if I was lucky. Scooping the coins into one hand I scratched my signature on the line with the other and turned to make my way across the waiting room. Even now, before the pale husk of dawn heaved itself across the sky the room was full, a sad collection of whinos and junkies just looking for a “free” cent or two, not really having any idea what was being done to them when they took they chair. Sure, they didn’t feel anything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t losing something in the bargain.

“Please take a seat in the recovery area, sir.” The receptionist said from behind her glass-walled prison, with just a hint of scorn in the last word. She could get away with it, and in most cases, it was deserved.

“No.” I didn’t bother with the “thank-yous” anymore – she was going to protest no matter what.

“Sir,” she said, and this time the scorn was more like a slap, “you really should -”

“No!” I cut her off. I wasn’t angry, but I had to make it seem that way - it was about the only emotion these people understood. I met her eyes and she backed down, shrinking into her padded seat and waving at the guy behind me.

I passed a spasming teenager on the way out, his hands contorted into the claws that meant C3 addiction, and I wondered if he had anything left to give, anything worthwhile that the government would want to pay him for.

A body blocked my way but I stepped over it; addicts would often use the clinic as a way to get a free night’s sleep, though if they weren’t willing to do what was required they were hustled roughly out into the street. Everyone thought, and everyone got – simple as that.

The rain was still slicing down outside, hard and wet, hammering into the gutters around the clinic and chipping out small divots in the concrete. Grandmother had told us stories about a time when going outside didn’t mean bringing a steel-cased umbrella and when dollars, not pennies, were the norm – it was true enough, as far as it went, but that didn’t make it any more possible for any of us now.

A drop struck me in the shoulder before I had the ‘brella all the way up and I winced. Crying out in pain would’ve just added to the general cacophony on the street, something I wasn’t willing to do. Most of it rolled right off of me, now, but the screams got on my nerves.

Winding my way toward the apartment I kept one hand wrapped tightly on the umbrella handle and the other buried deep in my coat pocket, clutching my coins. If someone decided I was an easy mark, a metal-heavied fist would put them back in their place.

Just so long as I didn’t lose any of the coins.

Edging around a breadline I cut down an alleyway; I’d deal with the food issue tomorrow – a half-can of beans had my name on it and the power had been working when I left. If I was lucky it would stay on all night.

The sputtering entrance light on my building told me things were going my way for once, but of course that was right about the time the Daze hit. I’d beaten it before, but it was like running ahead of an avalanche; it was going to get you no matter what, you just had to try and make the best of it.

For me, the best of it was at home, in front of my TV, zonked out of my gourd, but that didn’t mean the avalanche gave a damn for what I wanted.

The black spots were already closing in as I hit the ground-floor steps, and I tripped over two punks napping on the first landing. I muttered out something unintelligible and pounded my way upstairs, but by the time I’d reached my door they were almost on me.

There was no point in politeness so I ripped my hand from my jacket and swung hard, catching the one closest to me across the jaw. As he went down I kneed the other in the crotch, then pushed him off the lip of the nearest stair. I heard at least one bone snap as he hit the bottom and another go when I pushed his idiot friend down on top of him.

Jamming my key into the lock I shouldered the door open and collapsed inside, using the last of my strength to push it closed behind me. Familiar darkness took me, but at least I had made it home.

An hour later I struggled to my feet, mind blank and legs wobbly. Fortunately, the only thing of use in view from my front door was my couch, so I stumbled over to it and sat down hard, then hung on as my mind started to sort itself out.

What they were doing in the clinic with what we were giving them I couldn't be sure – there was a lot of radio chatter about a “single solution” to the war, but whatever they said was probably a lie. The Feds always had their reasons, and even if it was an “ends justify the stinking means” scenario, they'd hold hard to the notion that they were doing us all a favor.

Tarnished metal caught my eye in the light; fifteen coins laid out across the threshold of my door.

Penny for my thoughts – I was giving them one hell of a bargain.

- D