Max Hernandez - Thieves Emporium

T he New Badlands :

Thieves

Emporium

Max Hernandez

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Max Hernandez

10/1/13

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-9887030-1-8

New Badlands Publishing

Santiago

Dominican Republic

Dear Reader:

Please, I need your help.

This book is offered at no charge because I need your help to improve it. Right now, it's still a work in progress. Please give me feedback, negative as well as positive, so I can make it better.

Leave me an honest and detailed review where you downloaded this book. Or, better yet, contact me directly at at MaxHernandez@vistomail.com.

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Thank you.

Max Hernandez

For most of mankind's existence, there has been a frontier. For those who didn't fit in, there was always one option: Cross it. Leave. Walk away and live outside ordered society. It gave the rest of us a way to deal with the misfits and the outlaws: Banishment. Throw them out, or just let them go.

For our ancestors, living in small tribes, the border was always close. Crossing it meant leaving for unsettled lands. Those that did were the first explorers, the first to settle in Europe or Asia or Oceania or the Americas. For them, land was plentiful. They picked the best places, the fields of milk and honey.

As mankind grew, those fertile lands were all occupied by regulated societies. Crossing the border came to mean either moving to another country or going to lands that were too rough, hard, or dangerous for any settled country to want.

And still the world became more crowded. Even the harshest places were claimed by some government. Crossing the border came to mean going from England to France, China to Japan, or the U.S. to Canada. No longer did it mean leaving structured society, to trade security for opportunity, regulation for risk.

Finally, about a hundred years ago, regulated societies won. All lands, no matter how rocky or dry or cold, became patrolled, regulated, and governed. The wild men, the misfits, the outlaws, and the eccentrics lost their final refuge.

Now, all that has changed. Once again, as during most of mankind's existence, there is a place for them to escape to. It is a place not governed or regulated or controlled by structured society because it is beyond the reach of any government.

Once again, there is a badlands.

THE NEAR FUTURE

She got there late but still managed to find an empty corner. It got little heat because it was near the outside of the building but the security provided by two walls was worth the chill. Besides, the late autumn cold kept the other mission guests away, and she appreciated her privacy.

She half-sat, half-leaned against the angle made by the two walls. Her bare legs pulled to her chest, her back was cocked sideways to reduce the strain on her left side. A mission blanket wrapped around her slight frame, covering her shoulders and a skimpy blouse. A padded bra produced the only curve in her otherwise boyish figure. Earlier in the day, heavy makeup covered her face, but now freckles showed.

Short-shorts exposed bare legs only partly covered by the blanket. Leaning against them were her twins, two small girls, like peas in a pod, also with freckles. They huddled together under another blanket, their matching pajamas protecting any exposed skin against the chill. Softly, knowing this was not a good time to annoy their mother, they played some secret game, one that required occasional spasms of suppressed giggles.

Pain shot through her left side whenever she moved her back, but she didn't think there was any serious damage. The Bastard was quite good at that, just the right amount of force to change behavior, never enough to damage the merchandise. And, God forbid, never where a John could see it.

Tomorrow morning she would have to be out of here. Back to the Bastard? Unless she could think of another alternative, she would have to make do. Her world offered few choices.

Of course, she could stay here. If she wasn't worried about the twins, that is. Social Services visited in the mornings, looking for mistreated children. Foster care awaited. Her girls may not be well fed by the state's standards, but they were hers, the only joys she had left after her husband vanished. She would never give them up.

As she fretted the alternatives, hoping to find something she might have overlooked, she noticed a figure walking towards her from the main room.

The visitor was an older woman, of average height. Heavy-set, she wore simple clothes of the warm, dark, and dull variety. Short pepper hair framed a wide face. Around her neck hung a large silver cross.

She carried a tray. Stopping at the foot of the mat, she raised it for emphasis as she asked "Hungry?"

The young mother did not appreciate the notoriety. But there it was, like it or not. An unavoidable risk.

Was she with welfare? A do-gooder working for the state? Dinner in bed was not standard here.

"You with the government?" the young mother asked. The last thing she needed was a FEMA ride.

"No."

The she weighed the answer in silence, trying to judge its veracity.

"I work here nights," came a further explanation.

More silence.

"I saw you come in late. Missed dinner. Thought you might be hungry."

The visitor set the tray down on the floor. Day-old rolls, stale, with three bowls of split pea soup. Flavored with sausage. Hot and thick. The smell pulled at the young mother. Her girls looked for permission. They were hungry, too.

With a wave of her hand, she gave it. But she didn't reach for a bowl, instead keeping her full attention on her patron.

"You give room service to everyone?"

"Only to the ones I think I can help."

"Why?"

"God tells me to," answered the woman with the cross.

Oh oh, here comes the sermon.

"Well, thank you, but we're Buddhists."

"Give me back the soup, then. There's meat in it."

That made the young mother pick up her bowl. She couldn't ignore the smell any longer anyway. Her girls were already half finished. Made with a generous helping of oil and herbs, the soup would have been good and hearty even if she weren't so hungry. After the first spoonful, she ate with a most unladylike haste.

"You staying the week?" her patron asked. That was the mission's time limit.

The young mother shook her head, not willing to talk with her mouth full.

"You leaving tomorrow?"

She answered with a nod, not wanting the conversation, either, but needing to be polite.

A shadow showed briefly on the visitors face, barely noticeable in the dim light. After a moment, she asked "Want some Advil?"

That stopped the young mother's spoon just as it touched her open mouth. The mission didn't offer pain medications as part its standard service. Why the special treatment?

The cross held out a bottle. An Advil bottle.

Was it really Advil? If not, what was it? If it was, why offer it to her?

"I saw the way you walked when you came in," came an answer to the unspoken question.

For most of her life, the young mother had hidden in the shadows. Like a mouse on the jungle floor, she had survived by not being seen, by not taking chances. When in doubt, hide. Or run. But take no risks. Say nothing that might attract attention, might offend. Do whatever you have to, please whoever you have to, but do it quietly. And don't stand out.