The Artful (Shadows of the City) Read online

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  © 2014 Wilbert Stanton

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  ISBN 978-1-62007-526-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-527-2 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-528-9 (hardcover)

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  I dedicate this book to everyone who said I should write. At times it was hard to believe in myself, without the support and love of you all I would have never found my inner muse.

  To my father, it has always been my goal in life to make you proud. I always dreamed of the day I could surprise you with this book.

  To my mom, who always knew my potential even before I did. For always taking me to the book store. For telling me to never give up.

  To my sister, for always reading everything I ever wrote, and swearing I would be an author one day. This is officially that day!

  To Crystal, for being my backbone and believing in everything I do. For reading countless drafts, and standing by me through my ups and downs. For being my voice when the world was too loud. I will always love you, from now until the world ends. Even though you don’t like time travelling-pirate-elves.

  Lastly to my “crew”, Brandon, Dontae, Todd, Jamel, Diana and Jessica, each of you are in this story. Each character and idea is based on one of you or something we’ve shared in some way or form. I thank you all for being my strength, courage, confidence, loyalty, and dedication.

  March 17, 2025— Manhattan

  odger was only eighteen, yet he stood at the center of the party, a gravitational force attracting everyone. He wore a fancy-tailed coat and top hat with loose, brown hair falling from underneath, framing his sun-tanned face. With a glass elegantly in his hand, he acted the part of Mr. Cool with little thought. People, women in particular, flocked to him.

  I was never jealous of Dodge, not really. I envied him and readily acknowledged I would never be as intriguing. In all my seventeen years I could never have the confidence he had. I was just a hopeless scrawny kid in comparison, average at best. I accepted that. I did, however, hate that I felt myself forever in his shadow. You see, Dodger and I were Gutter Punks, the best crew of thieves the world has ever seen, but I think the world believed I was his sidekick.

  “Twist, here, boy, now there’s a lad!” he yelled in the mocking voice he used to make fun of the wealthy.

  I sauntered over, awkwardly pushing my way through the group of giggling girls surrounding him. I felt uncomfortable, my pants too big, the fancy dress coat too long for my liking, and the gold-tipped cane all but useless. While Dodge wore his disguise like a form-fitting glove, I looked like a child wearing his father’s clothes.

  Dodger was busy talking to a well-endowed socialite; her high heeled boots met a Victorian bell-shaped dress, and her corset was so tight I wondered how she could breathe. Her skin was pale, and her eyes had the usual bloodshot look we saw in drug users. Many of the other women were of the same cast. They were ghosts, hanging onto every word he spoke as if he were a magician, able to conjure up whole new worlds.

  “So I was telling my fellow Twist here”―he looked deeply into the cleavage of his mark―“We’ve explored so much of this city, our skin is permanently tanned. It’s time for new adventures, wouldn’t you say? With Mayor Reynolds nearly set to go to war with that Brooklyn tyrant Chrysler, Manhattan will soon be a battlefield! You would think each mayor would be content to stay in his own borough, and yet they both want a piece of our great Manhattan. I shudder to think what would happen if these parties were put to an end. All we need is to hijack an airship, which would be no challenge for me.” He ripped the cane from my hands and pointed it at a passing waiter.

  “Move and you die, good sir. Alas, what have you to offer me in your surrender?”

  The waiter frowned, and held up his tray of wine.

  “Very good.” Dodger finished off his glass and replaced it with a full one.

  Dodger’s swooning admirers laughed and whispered in thrilled excitement.

  “You see, I am quite skilled in swordplay. Once we have control of the ship, we will sail past the quarantine border and to the end of the world.”

  His mark gasped in exaggerated fear.

  “Ah, no worries, my dear.” He leaned in close, holding his hand to her chin. “As we search the farthest reaches of the world, I shall use your beautiful smile as my morning star, always shining my way back home.” She squealed in delight, her pale face turning a shade of pink, then flat-out red. He leaned in and kissed her, long and passionately. The other girls frowned in jealousy; he ran his hand down her back and dipped her.

  I found the band playing center stage more interesting, though I use the word playing loosely. It was more of a death rattle. The pianist seemed to be fighting sleep and losing dearly. The guitar player held an amazing instrument, all gold and geared. He strummed the fine threads slowly, rocking back and forth, lost to a dosed haze. Dosers were what we called the rich and advantaged who spent all their lives drugged up. It wasn’t surprising to find even the band members were escaping through drugs. While the rest of the world struggled and fought over valuable meds, they took for granted and abused what they had. It made me angry just being in their presence.

  Dodger walked off; his shadow of groupies followed. I surveyed the party, the extravagant wealth. The reckless consumption of alcohol and wasted food made my stomach grumble. I refused to eat, knowing so many suffered from hunger. Yet these people acted as if they were another breed, lived like they had no idea what the world was like outside the protection of their tower. Partygoers danced, while some collapsed in dosed heaps, and the most uninhibited ripped at each other’s clothing in darkened corners. The windows were tinted dark, holding the damaging sun rays at bay. I felt like taking a hammer to the glass and letting the rays consume these vampires of wealth.

  Their skin was so pale, almost translucent. They had clearly never been out in the sun. I bitterly remembered the rough boils and blisters that tortured me in my youth, caused by the sun they were lucky enough to avoid. Ten years ago, no one had been spared from the virus, but the med heads and dosers made it clear a line had been drawn. There were those who could afford the sanctuary of the towers and all the medication they could ever want to fend off sickness and boredom, and those who couldn’t.

  Nobody knew where the virus had come from. Theories abounded, of course―terrorists, Mother Nature, the Rapture, amongst other things. Regardless of your view, one thing remained the same. Half the population had been wiped out, and the survivors were left carriers with a deadly allergy to the sun’s rays. But being inside a tower, watching as the wealthy lived their wonderful lives, I couldn’t help but have another theory. Perhaps it was those in power who released the virus in order to maintain supremacy.

  I walked around them in disgust. They had no more say about being born to wealth than I did about being born poor. They were tower babies, too young to have been a part of the segregation and line drawings. Simple luck separated me from them, nothing more. If I were in their shoes, tucked safely away from the harsh side effects of the sun, given steady doses of medication to counteract the effects of the virus, knowing nothing of the worl
d that crumbled outside, would I trouble myself with the problems of roaches that scattered at my feet? All a matter of perspective, wasn’t it?

  But what can I say? I was bitter. I had no problem stripping them of their worldly possessions. I made my way to the door, leaving the hall of indulgence behind. On my way, my magic fingers found perch in purse and pocket of many unsuspecting victims. By the time I reached the well-lit hallway outside, I had acquired a fancy Zippo, a couple of bucks, and a room key. The key would be useless to me. However, I smiled at the great trouble the occupant would have returning home later in the day. I looked to my left and right, each side lined with doors, each door leading to a different themed party. Muffled laughter and music emanated from each. The privileged, trapped in their tower, had no choice but to pass their days of boredom with parties, drugs, and strange sex practices. Hard life, indeed. I walked a couple doors down to the janitor’s closet, taking one last survey of the area before I stepped inside.

  Two men struggled against their restraints; they wore only boxers and were tied together front to back. The way they struggled to move was almost comical, like a slug slithering across the floor. Their muffled groans only added to the effect. I found my equipment and started removing my clothes. I couldn’t bear to wear the uncomfortable pieces any longer.

  “Calm down,” I said. “You’ll have your clothes back soon enough.” I quickly disrobed and put on my worn-out jeans and a shirt, its long sleeves coming down way past my hands, making it easier to steal things. I added a pair of goggles, which I rested on my forehead; a hoodie, which I used to protect the back of my neck from the sun; climbing boots; and my shoulder bag of climbing equipment. I was lacing up my boots when Dodger walked in, red lipstick all over his neck and shirt collar.

  “Man!” he said, sitting down hard on our struggling captives. “She just wouldn’t quit. But did you see the size of her?” He held out his hands in front of his chest, smiling from ear to ear. “They felt amazing, have you ever had yourself a nice pair to squeeze, Twist?”

  “Sure, plenty of times…”

  He looked at me questioningly, ready to pry, but thought better of it. “Well, I got it,” he held up a card. “And I tell you, it was some work. There’s nothing better than emotionally blackmailing a female by withholding sex.”

  I shook my head in defeat. The girl with the cleavage was the daughter of a wealthy doctor, our mark for the night. While I had no problem picking the pockets of unsuspecting victims, Dodge always used seduction when the opportunity arose.

  “So hurry up and change,” I said, tossing him his bag. “I hate the Empire State Building. We need to be going.”

  We legged it through the maze of halls, our footsteps banging on tiled floor, crunching loose papers, and knocking over debris. I sped up ahead; running mazes was my thing. I had a knack for getting out of sticky situations, the shifty one who always chose flight over fight. I was admittedly a coward, but what can I say? The art of flight was my forte. I had memorized the schematics of the Empire State Building long ago, the images burned in my memory.

  Dodger had no problem trusting my keen sense of direction; having this one talent over him empowered me. He was never one for studying charts, strategizing, and tactics. Like a well-aimed arrow, I led him through the halls, suffering the presence of those rich enough to lay collapsed on the floor, staring with vacant smiles in their drug-induced haze. They were like discarded trash, stuck in that limbo between going home or back to another party. We made for the emergency stairwell entrance. I shoved aside a boy, no older than sixteen, giggling and waving his hands to a soundless tune.

  “How far up?” Dodger shouted from behind.

  “We go up four levels, then turn down the hall to Stairwell B,” I said.

  “Why can’t we just take this straight up?”

  “You’ll see.” Our steps echoed off the grated walls, making it sound like we were being pursued. We constantly looked over our shoulders for any sign of danger, when we were in fact just scared of our own shadows. Light began to seep down from the upper floors, and a warm breeze passed over us. I put on my goggles and the world turned a tinted hue. As we approached the twenty-ninth floor, rays of heat attacked our skin. We were out in the open.

  “Hell!” Dodger said, shading his eyes with his hand. The wall was blown out from long ago; the staircase ended in a wall of destruction, the upper levels unreachable. We stared out at the gray-washed and desolate world that kneeled before us. Solitary figures moved about like lost roaches searching for crumbs. Toppled buildings were strewn throughout the distance. As far as the eye could see, the world lay dying. And here we were, looking down from a tower of wealth, where all who lived within enjoyed ignorance of what waited outside.

  “Check it out!” Dodger pointed up at the gray sky.

  “Is that the Phantom Child?” I asked.

  “No, I think it’s The Falcon.”

  The airship soared miles above, seeming to move at a snail’s pace, but it was in fact one of the faster airships we knew of. Her balloon was wide and pulled thin by all the cords molding it into shape. The undercarriage was an old naval boat, its front reshaped like the mouth of a hungry shark. Massive wings attached to the sides, and huge thruster fans sprouted from various spots. The balloon’s front section was condensed in such a way that it cut through currents. She was well-armed, cannons hanging out the sides with airmen beneath deck scanning the world below. A tow cable hung freely from its rear with a crate attached, swinging in the wind. Supplies.

  “We have to hurry and get to the medical center while security is distracted with the drop!” I said, pulling Dodger along.

  “Hurry?” Dodger said, out of breath. “I thought we were hurrying.”

  We entered the building once again and ran down the hall. This floor was different; it wasn’t an entertainment level. These were guard barracks; the level provided suitable camping grounds and a simple way to watch over the cavity that stained the side of the building. But, as I had timed it, most of the security patrols were up on the loading docks, overseeing the supply drop-offs airships were bringing in from the world outside the quarantine zone. We made our way to Stairwell B with no problem and, despite Dodger’s protests, began another climb up more unforgiving stairs. Two more flights up, the thirty-first floor sign lay abandoned on the floor. I pushed open the door with caution, meaning to peek to see if the coast was clear.

  Dodger, however, thought otherwise and barreled over me into the hall, hunched over, hands on knees, gasping for breath.

  “Dodge, you know there’s patrols on this floor!”

  “Screw them, if I see another stair―” We were in an elevator bank, enclosed by fancy glass doors. He turned around, facing the elevator, a look of confusion on his face. He walked over to the elevator doors and placed his ear close against the cold steel to listen. “These elevators are running.”

  “Yeah, they run from this floor all the way up to Mayor Reynolds’ suite. You can only access it with a card.” I pointed out the reader next to the call button. I turned my attention to the doors and used the access key Dodge lifted to open the heavy glass door, which led into another hallway.

  “It’s all for show. Everyone thinks they keep all the meds on the top floors where it’s heavily guarded,” I said. He followed me out into the hall. We walked down a narrow corridor lit by flickering fluorescent lights.

  “But they decided to hide all their supplies in plain sight,” I continued. “Why do you think they have the barracks so near?”

  “Because of the breach?”

  “Yeah, but no. You can only access this floor from Mayor Reynolds’ private suite, or coming up from the twenty-ninth floor, but in order to do that you have to go through the barracks. Regardless, no one would think they’d keep their stash down here, especially so near the breach in the wall.”

  We reached a T-junction. I knew we had to go right, but I was cautioned by the static of a walkie-talkie. We crept up to th
e corner and peeked around. There was a Suit on post, his back to us.

  “Which door?” Dodger asked.

  “The one right next to him.”

  “Well, I have a plan.”

  “What?”

  Dodger straightened and held up a finger, taking a deep breath as if he were going to impart some great knowledge. Instead, he walked around the corner and tapped the Suit on the shoulder. As the Suit turned around, Dodger punched him in the jaw. The small man in his finely pressed two-piece, white pin-striped suit stumbled into the door and crumbled down to the floor. Dodger knelt beside him and started checking the man’s pockets. Then the door opened, and another Suit appeared. This one towered over Dodger and was probably double his weight. Dodger looked up at him and smiled a crooked smile.

  “Crap―” Dodger barely had time to get the word out of his mouth before the behemoth lifted him up by the neck and tossed him into the opposite wall. Dodger was quick to jump to his feet, only to get torpedoed into the wall again. His seemingly miniscule hands batted at the Suit’s back. Dodger kneed his attacker in the groin so hard the Suit looked like he would throw up. That was all Dodger, he made a run for it down the opposite hall, yelling, “Plan B!”

  “Plan B? Plan B…what the hell is Plan—oh, Plan B!” I ran through the doorway into the adjoining room, locking the door behind me. I barely had time to catch my breath before a blow hit the back of my head.

  I was on the floor before I could fully gather my senses. My ears were ringing, and I was certain I was concussed. That’s what happens to people who take bad blows to the head, right? My vision took its time returning. Everything was gray, blurred, and spinning. I realized I still had my goggles on, so I lifted them off my eyes. No, the world was still spinning.

  “Son of a bitch!” Someone stood over me, smiling from ear to ear with sparkling white, gapped teeth. His hair was a shock of curly black. He went in and out of focus. “You all right there?” A sharp slap across my face brought everything back into focus.