I &^%#@ hate this so much! Nothing like a six am 50,000 volt wakeup call! Hauling myself off the floor of the seventeen dollar a night roach hotel I look around for my phone which is no doubt going to… “I swear you’re enjoying this!”
“Central Station. Platfo…”
“What, no good morning? How was your evening? Just st…”
“(&^$$ YOU!” I roar as I hit the floor again. I scramble across the dirt encrusted filth pile carpet and listen to the phone.
“We talk. You listen!” rasps one of the Quans, can’t tell which one of the bastard brothers it is at the moment. I can’t keep doing their dirty work, I won’t! But I don’t want to die either.
“What do you want?”
“Central Station. Platform nine. Seven forty five. Carriage four.”
I am going to burn their blood! Fry their eyes! I am going to make them ash! It takes me a few moments to get my composure and balance back. I pick up the phone to hear. “..ere round eye?”
“I’m here. Central, platform four…”
“NINE! Stupid round eye!”
“Central, platform nine, seven forty five, carriage four. Am I collecting a package?”
“Carriage four explodes by seven forty seven.”
“Or you’ll shock me? Or rape me?” I wince waiting for the electrical burst to ripple through me. Surprisingly it doesn’t come. But the next four words chill me to the core.
“Carly and Brooke Forder.”
Charles Hawser, the carrier known as Freight Train, stood patiently in line at Central. He’d been here since 2am to secure his spot for the meet and greet Bam-Bee, the pop star sensation. And even though he’d gotten here early, he was still third in line. He thought about using his status as a member of The Response to cut to the front.
“Have you seen the update on the app?” asked the girl at the front of the line as she furiously tapped her phone. With almost military precision the line of fans whipped out their phones, Charles included.
“Hi my deers,” said the video of Bam-Bee still in bed but looking like a billion dollars. “I’ll be in Indigo in about an hour. See you all soon. Kisses.”
Charles happily sighed as he glanced down the line that had swelled to over a hundred. Crowd marshals, security guards and station officials buzzed about like bees in preparation for her arrival. “Excuse me Mr…um Train?”
“Yes.” Charles looked at the young lady with the earpiece and Ipad.
“Are you here in…” she paused as she multitasked. “An official capacity?”
“Just a fan today miss.”
Back when I was young and dumb I knocked up a customer; Carly Forder, mainly because she was hot and constantly low on funds so I helped her addiction and, well you know one thing leads to another and I’m a dad. Now Carly and I tried to make it work but she being addicted made us more like Breaking Bad than the Brady Bunch.
I got busted for possession so I did a runner and went in hid out in the army, where I met Rico. He went on to be a marine or something, I just did enough to escape going to jail. Carly swirled the drain between being clean and being a mess, somehow avoiding the system. I’ve probably seen her three times since we split. Then right before TGI I got an email of Brooke, who’s now eight. I thought they’d got to Australia or something…
“If you har…”
“Empty threat round eye!” It's Genghis Quan. “You blow train or we organise a special train for your little family.”
I may think Carly is a sub-human drug pig but I wouldn’t wish a Quan on anyone. “Central. Platform nine.”
“Picture on phone. Make sure she dead.”
The phone goes dead and I’m left standing there shocked to my core. These &^%# know my life and have in ready to ruin in a heartbeat! They have me over a barrel. I wish I could just say I didn’t care, that part of my life is ancient history…but to have them…looks like I’m blowing up a train. The phone hums in my hand and I see a picture of a slightly familiar woman. I don’t know here but I’ve seen her. It’s Brianna or Barbie or…no she spells her name like monkey picked it from a Scrabble set…Bam-Bee. Some vapid pop whore with sugary songs that give you audio diabetes and raunchy videos that should be classified as porn. They want me to kill a pop star?
I’ve got an hour. I could call in a bomb threat but that only helps the pop star stay alive. I could call the CBTF and I get shocked, possibly raped and…&^%#!
THIS IS &^%$#!!
“This is &^%$# amazing!” yelped Freight Train as he and the others up the front were showered with Bam-Bee merchandise. It was like Christmas on his birthday! The nice lady with the earpiece tapped him on the shoulder.
“Even though you’re only here as a fan,” she said. “I may be able to swing a few minutes where you could meet her.”
“I just wet myself,” he said before pausing. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”
“I won’t tell…,” she replied absentmindedly as she touched her earpiece. “No, no, no. Please excuse me. Three bags of blue, two of red…”
Freight Train beamed from ear to ear.
I arrive at 7.30, damn cab driver plus damn traffic! Right, platform…oh man look at all the people! It’s packed like a rock concert for this talentless girl. I scan around and don’t see that idiot Wind Bag nor any of his friends hovering around which is good, and bad meaning I’m about to blow up a train and kill dozens of people to save my daughter who I haven’t seen in five years and her drug pig mother.
Holy $#!^!! What the actual ^%$#! I pick myself up off the floor, brushing away the good Samaritan who tries to help me up. My phone rings.
“Your powers come on in ten minutes.”
“Any pa…” I don’t get to finish when they’ve hung up, they don’t care about what I’ve got to say. I hurl the phone to the floor showering people with plastic fragments. I'm done with this!
“Watch it psycho!” a man in Beach City Babes varsity jacket. It’s a blur but I’m nose to nose with him when I refocus. He’s terrified. My hands are tightly grabbing his ears and if I don’t rein it in I’m going to tear his head apart.
“Keep your comments to yourself!” I spit in his face and push him away. He stumbles back and lands on his ass. People stare. Good job Nate, keep it up. I head for the platforms and see there’s even more people crowding around platform nine. I ain’t getting close to this. I’d need my powers and then that’ll cause a stampede. &^%#!!
I notice a group of CBTF agents in riot gear on standby meaning that I’m going to get shot or even killed pretty soon after I start this rodeo. And from past threats if I head their way I’m going to get shocked. On the wall is a poster for some TV show or something called Peacekeeper…that’s it! I need a CBTF uniform.
The young boy looks up from his phone playing the latest Bam-Bee clip. “Wot?
Ah kids today. “Want to make some money?”
He looks at me suspiciously, probably thinking I’m some dirty old man.
“Here go buy eight Road Bulls and deliver them to those guys over there.”
Don’t slap him! Don’t slap him! “You do this and I’ll get you into her secret concert tonight.”
“Bam-Bee doesn’t have a conc…”
“Fine, you obviously don’t want to go.” I walk off when his little hand grabs my shirt.
I hand him the cash “No reason to lie little man,” I lie straight to his face sincerely. It’s just like lying to the cops. “Hurry.”
He’s off like a shot to the food cart to buy eight cans of sugary diuretic. Road Bull was banned in several countries due to the sugar, guarana, caffeine and taurine levels being ridiculous. It’s a tasty drink and wakes you up but it also makes you pee like a race horse. I just need one of those goosestepping morons to scull one, preferably two, and combined with the morning coffee they’ve hopefully had…&^%#! I duck down as the kid points in my direction.
I casually glance over and thankfully they’re just being the meatheads the press paints them to be. Clock in the station says I’ve got about six minutes til I can burn this place to the ground, preferably not but I ain’t got many choices.
Oh good, a monkey needs to pee.
To be continued…