Tales of the New World Chapter 11: Plight of the Common Man Part 2

                Greg walked silently into the front office of Tolli  Shipping and Repair a small branch of the manufacturing giant that specialized in shipping materials for retrofits and maintenance for installations. He walked in with a grimace his hand nursing the unseen bruise across his chest.

                “Morning Greg.” Spoke Muriel Finch the secretary. “I’ve already clocked you in.”

                Greg paused by the eastern wall of time cards. He turned to find his I.D. badge floating quietly in front of him.

                “Thanks.” He said eyeing the aging secretary. She was 73 years old though you wouldn’t know it. The only proof of her age the class 3 now had was her grey hair and the black and whites that were framed against the wall of her shaking hands with Reginald Tolli when she was 18. He remembered his surprise the day he walked in seeing what was once and elderly woman who used a walker replaced with someone that more closely resembled his mother, and he was expected to believe this was Muriel.

                For the most part she was the same. She still had the same by the book no nonsense manner, she still spoke with the same indifference, and she still listened to the same classic rock and roll of the 1950’s. The only thing really different about her was her dress. Gone were the loose fitting dresses and frocks instead replaced with tight work shirts and fashionable tops, she even started bearing cleavage the sight of which made gave Greg double vision. It was no secret the old widow had rejoined the dating pool.

                Greg reached toward the backdoor ready to enter the warehouse.

                “Roger’s in today the forklift’s broken again.” Muriel informed and Greg gave an aggravated sigh. He would have to fix that of course. “And be careful. She’s in one of her moods.”

                Greg flinched again. He was not in the mood to face his boss today.

He entered the large warehouse. It was mostly empty since the last shipment went through a couple weeks prior. Now they were in the midst of restocking. He passed isle after isle of empty shelves absentmindedly making his way toward the back entrance and his work station. He was responsible for loading and unloading the shipments into trucks or boats or whatever before it was shipped off as material for new projects, or at least he was. For the last two years he’d been working there new “elevated” hires had come on board rendering him more or less obsolete. Roger came to mind instantly. He usually worked the night shift, but with the fork lift broken again he was getting more and more hours and cutting into Greg’s forcing him to take whatever shifts they had available. Not that any of it truly mattered considering their supervisor could probably do all of the day’s loading in five minutes, if she ever gave a shit.

                Greg removed his jacket and grabbed his tools. He needed to get started on the forklift quickly; in truth it was probably the only reason he kept his job. He put on a pair of work gloves and jogged over to the corner where the lift was usually parked. It was gone. He scratched his head in thought. Maybe he left in near the docks. He wasn’t really supposed to but since that’s where it was used the most and he was the only one to really use it no one seemed to mind. He ran outside the back garage onto the docks. He paused only briefly to marvel at the large ships and freighters that were anchored there. Most of them busy loading and unloading different cargo. He looked back and forth but the forklift was nowhere in sight. That’s when he heard the loud rhythmic footfalls of ten foot high heels clacking against the concrete pavement.  He turned and gulped as his boss Bridgette Murphy stood to loom over him the broken forklift cradled in her left hand.

                “Sorry, Danielson.” She spoke with a cold demeanor. Her lips were pursed and she looked generally displeased. “You’ve been replaced.” In one instant she crumbled the forklift in her hands like an aluminum can letting it fall and crash to the ground mere feet away from Greg. It was twisted and warped into an unrecognizable mess rubber, gasoline and crushed machinery.

                “Replaced?” Greg asked with a skeptic look. “What about my old job.”

                “It now belongs to Roger.” On cue a giant of man with dark skin emerged from behind Bridgette. He looked taller than even Ramona but still barely passed his bosses knees.

                Greg nodded in agreement. It was only common sense. Roger had been virtually doing his job for the last three month’s anyway and in half the time.

                “So what does that mean for me?”

                Bridgette sighed clearly more than fed up with even having to leave her office and interact with a normal. “The main branch feels your “talents” could be used elsewhere so they’ve put you in charge of repairs.”

                Greg cursed to himself. Bridgette personally oversaw repairs. Sure she was technically warehouse manager but the warehouse pretty much ran itself. Most of her job was in the financial department and repairs contributed a large part to their annual income. He could only hope he would be put on call. It might actually be nice to get out of the warehouse and see the city, maybe visit the other branches, meet with customers, it might even be worth having to report to her every day. 

                “So I guess I head to front and pick up a truck?” Greg tried.

                “No such luck Danielson.” Bridgette stated. “All our trucks have already been assigned. You’re with me.”

                “Don’t you work in the office?” Greg questioned.

                “Not anymore.” She spat bitterly. “Apparently there have been some rather sour claims about are company by the competition as of late. They want me out there to help with relations and show the customer we care.” She put on a plastic smile.

                Greg cursed again.

                “And you’re sure this is safe?” The woman asked worried. She stared with concern as the normal man installed the guardrails on her countertop. She then glanced at the other women standing next to her.

                “Of course.” Bridgette insisted. “The bars are made of high quality stainless steel. Greg here can demonstrate.” She nudged her tiny partner in the back knocking him over. He shot her a look before heading towards the bars and giving them a strong shake. They didn’t budge.

                “See nothing to worry about.” He smiled up to the concerned class 2 mother.

                “I just worry that Jeffrey might fall?” she insisted. “I usually carry him when we’re in the kitchen but he’s getting older now and I want him to be independent but after the last ones.”

                “Don’t worry ma’am.” Greg comforted. “At Tolli safety is our number one priority.” He then hurdled over the five foot railing and plummeted toward the ground shocking both women. He landed safely within the nylon safety mesh that extended outward ten feet down. He climbed up and into Bridgette’s expecting hands. Both Tolli representatives smiled cheerfully at the mom.

                “You’ve convinced me.” She nodded offering Bridgette her hand and the deal was sealed with a friendly shake. Soon papers were being signed and the women was cutting Bridgette a generous check, before they headed out waving cheerfully as the satisfied customer gave her final thanks.

                When the door finally shut they dropped their façade; the cheery welcoming smile replaced with frowns of exasperation and annoyance. Whatever hope he had of enjoying his new job were dashed as soon as he met the clients. The overprotective mom was refreshing after spending the entire morning listening to trivial complaints from dissatisfied customers who had no real problem with the services and were just looking for a refund. It was a symptom of the market. Tolli now had competition and many clients were looking for cheaper options. Of course those options were nowhere near as good as Tolli and half the orders were reinstalls for people who had jumped ship only to come crawling back when their normal family member couldn’t go upstairs because a Equaltec brand elevator decided to crap out on them. You get what you pay for.

                “Fuck that took forever!” Greg whined. “I can’t believe she wanted it all replaced.”

                “You could have warned me you were gonna jump.” Bridgette sneered. “Do you know how much time it takes to file and accident report.”

                “She needed a push!” Greg defended. “It’s not my fault she wasn’t buying your sales pitch.”

                “That’s because it wasn’t a sales pitch!” She shot. “I’ve worked too long to be back in sales.”

                Greg looked up at the sky. It was hot and the sun was riding high.

                “What time is it?” he asked. The giant women huffed before checking her watch.

                “2:30” she gasped.

                “And how many more appointments do we have.”         

                Bridgette checked her clipboard. “Five!” she groaned.

                “I fucking hate repairs.” Greg grunted

                The day finally ended with the sun setting and casting the sky in a deep orange red. Greg sat eagerly on Bridgette’s desk as she perused through her files making sure all the money the account was properly balanced and the appointments for the day had been cataloged. The process normally didn’t take very long but was otherwise distracted by a phone call from what Greg could only assume was a rather upset daughter. This left him restless as he paced back and forth on her desk waiting to receive a late check.

                “I know sweetie.” Bridgette consoled. “I’ll  see what I can do. I don’t see why one normal boy’s birthday is so important. Fine whatever you want. Mommy loves you.” She then hung up the phone and turned her attention back toward Greg. She narrowed her eyes as he gave her a rather sour look.

                “My check.”

                She reached into her desk and removed an envelope smaller than her fingernail and handed it to him. “You know most people go on direct deposit.”

                “Yeah well I’m not most people.” Greg insured. He needed his checks given to him if he wanted to keep his money a secret from Ramona. She managed the finances among many other things and there were a few things he didn’t want her knowing about…yet.  He tore open the envelope to gaze upon the paper inside. What he saw did not please him. “400 dollars!” He shot daggers in Bridgette’s direction.

                “What?” She asked nonchalantly.

                “I know I make more than 400 fucking dollars a week!” Greg yelled.

                “Normally yes.” Bridgette agreed. “But Roger’s been handling most of your work load this week so corporate cut your pay for that time.”

                “I still came in!” Greg defended.

                “And did what? Fix that broken down hunk of junk!” She snapped. “I’m sorry but that’s the decision corporate made!”

                “Corporate or you!” Greg interrogated . He’d known for a while that Bridgette was responsible for all the new elevated employees. She wasn’t very keen on normal and it was no secret she was responsible for getting most of the normal staff laid off. Part of her “restructuring” .

                “If I wanted to fire you I would!’ she stated. “Instead I leave you with half pay. You should be grateful.”

                Greg would have challenged this but the truth was: he was grateful. Jobs in labor were harder to find for normal. They literally couldn’t compete. He never went to college and he was lucky he got this job when he did. He probably didn’t need to work as Ramona made way more than he did, but his pride wouldn’t let him leech of her. Plus he had certain things he needed his own money to accomplish.

                “Thank you.” He managed almost too soft for Bridgette to register.

The class 2’s expression softened slightly. “With this new position you’ll get more regular hours, hours we can actually pay you for.”

Greg sighed and left of the side ramp of Bridgette’s desk before leaving her office feeling bitter sweet. He was happy he still had a job but angry that things were being delayed another week. He said his goodbyes to Muriel before heading home under the stars of the night sky.

It had gotten dark quickly as Greg walked back through the city towards Ramona’s apartment. He was forced to catch the last bus waiting for his check and missed his transfer because of it. This meant he was forced to take the hours walk through the city back home. This was fine with him as he needed time to think. The day had been pretty shit all things considered. He was really counting on that last check. He walked past a jewelry store and peered through the window. On display was a green emerald ring Ramona’s favorite color sized to fit elevated fingers. It was a simple gem but pure and elegant. The tag red sale and the price was 24k.

“Still looking or do you plan to buy?” he heard in a nasally high pitched voice. He turned around to see a shockingly tall thin man waving at him. It Barney the store owner opening the door to greet him.

“I don’t have it today Barn.” Greg sighed. “I really thought I would too.”

“We do have layaway.” The man informed. He gave him a wink and Greg could see the eye that changed color when he elevated. The old man claimed it let him see through walls. “ I won’t even charge you interest if you put down half the deposit.”

Greg beamed. “Really!”

“Sure as long as you put some down in cash.” The man informed. “We all have bills to pay.”

“I don’t have any cash on me.” Greg blurted.

“I think there’s a bank a few blocks up but I don’t know if there still open.”

“Do they have an A.T.M.?!”

Barney shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t close yet Barn I’ll be back in a moment.” Greg raced out the door and down the block happy that this day had a silver lining.

René had decided she needed to move on. Her crew was holding her back. She sat in on a trash can in corner of an alley with her two partner’s eyeing the passersby. All three of them had elevated but she was the only one who actually changed. There was Brock a bruiser. He was the muscle of the group and elevation had made that statement truer than ever. He was 15 feet of pure ugly muscle and nothing to do with it. He didn’t seem to gain any enlightenment with his new status and was content to indulge in his baser desires and otherwise perpetuate the dumb grunt trope.

Then there was Terry. He was never a powerhouse but he was always good for spotting scores. He had keen eyes, fast hands, and good instincts common traits of a pickpocket. When he elevated it wasn’t as dramatic as Brock but he was taller, faster, smarter, and just as short sighted. He couldn’t see past the next easy take only wanting enough to further enable his ever changing addiction. One week it was coke, the next week heroin,  he was always chasing the next rush as if somehow elevation wasn’t enough. Poor fool didn’t realize as an elevated that shit didn’t affect him much anymore if at all.

Finally there was her. René Johnson. She could remember a childhood where she actually relied on these two. She closed her eyes and let the visions play in her head. As a kid she bounced from foster home to foster home till she finally had enough and just ran off when she turned 16. She had been taken in by these two to live in a shitty motel paid with their meager scores. They shared the experience of foster care together and could relate to each other. Of course those ties weren’t very thick and she had to give them something in order to stay with them. It helped that she was cute. Then they elevated the both of them and for a time things were good. They were making more money and finally moving up. Soon things stalled and it was clear they had peaked too early. Terry was falling back into his vices and Brock just didn’t have the imagination to plan a decent score. It seemed they were destined to remain lower class trash. No better than the normals. She’d all but resigned herself to her fate, forever a street rat and toy to those who had power and didn’t know what to do with it. Then it happened, midnight August, 3, 2011. It was her birthday and she’d received the greatest gift of all. Elevation.

She was smarter than Terry, stronger than Brock and had ambition. She took the power from the two idiots and assumed her natural place as their leader. She even recruited a new member, for a time. Poor Shifty, he still had five years until he was eligible for parole. Of course she also gained clarity and perspective. This small time shit was getting them nowhere. She didn’t even want to resort to it anymore. It was beneath her, but whenever she thought she’d saved enough to finally make a move. One of her two idiots managed to fuck things up. Her face scrunched as she remembered the time Terry blew their savings on a “sure thing” when he was going through his gambling face. Or the time Brock spent thousands trying to keep a class 2 women that had scamming him. It was embarrassing and worth cutting whatever lingering ties she had to the two. She decided right then that she would do one more score. A quick easy one as a final gesture to them, then she would leave them to strike out on her own and hopefully find a better life.

“I think I’ve found a mark.” Terry mused.

One last time wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Greg eagerly punched in his ATM password. It was 1214 the date he and Ramona first enjoyed the “pleasure” of each other. He looked at his bank account he had precisely 18,241 dollars. The amount he saved up over the last year, minus a few expenses,( like his new PS4).  A thousand was all the machine would let him withdraw and he was surprised at even that. Hopefully it would be enough to satisfy Barney until the bank opened tomorrow. He took the cash and shoved it in his coat pocket before taking off back toward the jewelers. He rushed down the block before something gripped his collar and he was lurched backward.

He landed on his chest aggravating his bruise. He screamed in pain clutching his tender torso.

“Looks like someone’s done a  number on him already?” a voice remarked. Greg looked up to see a giant of a man equal in size to Roger standing over him. The large man looked Middle Eastern and had a nasty looking scar over his right eye. He lifted Greg off the ground by his throat. “You sure he has something on him?”

“Yeah I’m sure.” Came another voice. “I saw him withdraw a ton not two minutes ago.” Another man emerged from the shadows. His skin was pale and he looked rather like a bird with a tall thin build and beak like nose. He was shorter than the other man but still dwarfed Greg.

“Elevated.” Greg thought. “Class 1’s by the look of it.”

“What do you want?” he croaked. Causing the larger  man to tighten his grip.

“Whatever we please.” The smaller man laughed.

“Easy boys.” Came yet another voice, this one sounded softer yet more dangerous at the same time. Like a siren calling him to his inevitable doom. “We don’t want him dead.” Another figure emerged a women who stood somewhere between the other two. She had skin tanned to a dark amber and purple dyed hair cut short. Almost everything about her screamed punk rock, from her torn jeans to the tattooed that covered her body, she was beautiful and built with a physique that he could only compare to Ramona’s only slightly less pronounced and with less of a bust. He somehow knew she was a class 3 without even asking. It was her eyes, they had a glow that seemed to look past him. He stared at eyes like those every morning.

“Look this can be very simple if you cooperate.” She stated. “Just hand over your wallet and whatever cash you have on you.” She smiled at him.

Normally Greg would be more than willing to comply but not today. He couldn’t hand it over, he couldn’t start over. Despite his better judgment he shook his head.

She looked amused and sad at the same time. “Don’t be stupid, little guy. Brock can crush your skull like a grape if he wanted to.”

The big man laughed at that remark. Greg gurgled something in response.

“Ease up Brock.” She commanded.

“No.” Greg managed.

“What?” Terry asked.

“I said no you FUCK!” Greg yelled. “You’re not getting my money. Not today!”  His eyes turned angry and wild.

The women sighed. “This makes things a lot harder for you.” She waved a hand and Greg could see the man. “Brock’s?” hand raised and cock back ready to give him a quick lights out punch. Before he could Greg pressed his forehead into Brock’s nose with as much force as he could muster. The impact was heavy and he felt like he was head butting steel but he did feel something give and suddenly he was dropping toward the ground.

René couldn’t believe what she just saw. Did that little guy just hurt Brock? She didn’t want to believe it but all the proof was to the contrary. Brock reared back holding a hand against his nose, blood was trickling from it.

“I think he broke my nose!”

“You fucking idiot!” Terry spouted.

Greg was in another world. He had managed to damage Brock but he was sure he gave himself a concussion in the process. He pressed a finger to his forehead and found it just as bruised as his chest was and it hurt like hell. He tried to regain his footing. He had to run. If he could get to the street he was sure they wouldn’t attack him with witnesses around. Before he could stand a foot pressed into his back.

“Where you think you’re going.” He heard and sure enough Terry was standing on of him twirling a pocket knife in his right hand. “You made my friend bleed. It’s only fair you pay with some blood of your own.”

Greg panicked. He reached out towards something anything! His hands found something hard and metallic and without thinking he swung it backward hitting Terry in his kneecap. The class 1 man squeaked from the sudden pain. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make him lift his foot. Suddenly another blow came to the back of his knee and he was down, then another blow and another.

René stood in shock. Was this really happening? Was this her reality? Two class ones; pillars of strength and wisdom were being out matched by one normal. She looked over at Brock who was still pinching his nose trying to stop the bleeding she gave him a sharp look and he returned her expression with a middle finger. Meanwhile Terry was being relentlessly assaulted by a half delirious man with what looked like a rusty pipe. She was sure he wasn’t hurt but the man was crazed and hitting him in the face again and again to fast for Terry to react. They were giving elevated a bad name.

“Fucking pathetic.” She grumbled to herself. Part of her wanted the guy to get away now. He had more than earned it, but she had pride and she felt she kind of owed them.

Greg kept up his assault every swing aimed towards Terry’s face. It was his only chance, he knew he couldn’t take them but if he stopped for even a second, if his hand slipped, if even one of his two partners decided to interfere it would be over. Out the corner of his eye he could see the women sigh to herself before approaching him. He wanted to engage but knew he couldn’t stop his assault for even a second. The tension grew with every step until she was crouching right next to him. He forced himself to stop.

“Don’t stop on my account.” She smiled. “Keep hitting the moron.”

Greg spun around smacking the pipe across the women’s face in a desperate attempt to take her out. It stopped instantly as if he’d swung it at a concrete wall and a vibration rocked his entire body. Suddenly the pipe went red hot burning his hand and forcing him to drop it. It turned to ash before it even hit the ground. The women smiled at him again before resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You have a lot of fight don’t you?” she smiled. In an instant he was pushed backwards into the opposite wall hitting it with a loud crack. “It’s really cute and trust me any other time I would probably ask you out or something.”

The wind was knocked out of Greg and he could feel himself lose start to fade as he slumped to the ground. The other two had regained their composure and went to stand next to the women.

“I’m done with you two.” She spat as she walked toward Greg. She removed his black leather jacket claiming it for herself. She ripped off the sleeves and placed it on herself it looking like a short vest on her. She reached into his pocket and fished out his wallet and his grand.

“All this for a lousy grand.” She sneered scattering the money in the air. “Enjoy it you dumb fucks.”

“What about his bank card?” Terry asked as he and Brock scrambled to collect the money. “We could probably beat the passcode out of him.”

“It’s mine now.” The women informed. “I know a guy that can crack this in a minute.”

“You can’t just-“Brock was cut off by a hard stare.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want!” the women shouted. The two flinched in fear. “Now get lost the both of you.”

They stared at her with puppy dog looks.

“NOW!”

Both men ran off and the last thing Greg saw before he blacked out was the women smiling over him.

“Sorry about all this.” He heard.