Delivery Boy

Just out of high school, university freshmen were starved for cheap thrills, easy work, and quick money. The most obvious choice was to become a member of the metropolis’s high-speed delivery crew. They had access to the most fashionable vehicles on the market, the ability to cruise as far and wide as necessary to deliver their goods, and a fairly valid excuse to break traffic laws.

 

In fact, the last 3 months saw 1200 accidents involving Hoverbikes. The top reason for most if not all accidents: “He came out of nowhere!” This particular sentence had never once been uttered by Marlo Waterson. People knew him as one of the best delivery boys in the district. No accidents, completely dependable. At least, until now. What made this worse was that it truly was not Marlo’s fault, he was riding on a straight path when the guy came barreling out from the side of the street. Mildly upset over the loss of his perfect record, Marlo tabbed a message to the rest of his team, broadcasting his now blemished status.

 

The first of the street lights and neon signs started flickering to life. Marlo had always held a deep appreciation for this transition between day and night, he slowed his bike to admire the waking of the city when a loud buzz shattered his concentration. Jabbing on the earpiece, an irritated Marlo answered the call, and an image of Isaac appeared on his global positioning system (GPS).

 

“Hey-”

 

Marlo had barely gotten a word in before Isaac started spewing profanities, mixed with what Marlo suspected was the intent of the call.

 

Wincing Isaac’s sheer volume, Marlo’s natural instinct was to shout back. “Hey, HEY!” The yelling went down a few notches before Marlo could be heard, “you calm now? What’s going on with you?”

 

“What’s going on with me?!” Isaac sounded offended, but there was a distinct undercurrent of fear. “Oh man, you don’t even know what you’ve done.”

 

“I’ve been on-call all day. Whatever it is, it wasn’t me. Look, I’m heading back right now.”

 

A slam was heard, “Don’t. Don’t come here. They’re looking for you. You got one of their guys today. They’re out for blood.”

 

“Who?” Marlo furrowed his brows, “What the hell is happening, Ike?”

 

Through the static, Marlo heard the distinct sound of another hoverbike starting up. Isaac’s voice faded back in, “Listen, you know that dude you knocked into today? He works for Kalta. He was being pursued by cops when you grazed him.”

 

Upon Isaac’s revelation, Marlo’s blood froze. He had gotten a member of the city’s most notorious gang arrested. He had never heard of anyone under Kalta being identified much less caught before. Marlo felt sick, not able to formulate a single reply.

 

Exasperated with the silence, Isaac huffed, “I encrypted the GPS right before I left, they shouldn’t be able to track you. Stay low. Don’t trust anyone.” The call clicked and Isaac disconnected.

 

What could he do? Hide? They would just hunt him down when he came back. The routes towards home or school were probably swarming with Kalta’s cronies by now too. Grimacing at his lack of options, Marlo routed his way through small, dank alleyways in search of refuge.

 

Reaching the outskirts, Marlo turned his final corner and powered down his bike. He hopped off, and ran to the end of the street. The old video shack where he used to work was in shambles, a dilapidated sign read: Beyond Cosmos. Marlo jogged to the back, and threw his weight against the door. The lock gave way unexpectedly easily and Marlo pushed the door open.

 

In the darkness, he heard the quiet clinking of glass. His hands gripped around a dusty broomstick as he moved across the room. Hiding behind a wall, Marlo allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The main store was cleaner than the back, a lone figure sat in the middle, conducting some chemical experiment. Squinting, Marlo recognized the figure as his old boss, Cosmo. Not wanting to alarm him, Marlo placed the broom down and called out to him calmly.

 

Cosmo whirled around, eyes wide, gun aimed straight for Marlo. “Who’s there?”, a frantic tone gripped his voice as he glared fiercely at the backroom.

 

“It’s Marlo! Cosmo, it’s just me”. Keeping his voice even and hands above his head, Marlo walked into the main room. Confused, Cosmo stared at the boy, “why are you here?” He gestured for Marlo to take a seat next to him as Marlo began to recount the day’s events.

 

“Sure, you can stay here until this thing blows over.” Cosmo handed Marlo a thermos, “drink up, you must be thirsty after all that”. Grateful, Marlo took a long sip of the unidentifiable drink before the world went black and the floor came up to meet him.

 

The next thing that Marlo knows is that he was rudely awakened by a splash of ice-cold water. Attempting to wipe the water from his face, Marlo realized his hands were bound. With other men in the room, Cosmo stands before him, his friendly demeanor replaced by a cool anger Marlo had never seen before.

 

“Morning.” Cosmo’s tone tells Marlo he does not expect a reply, “so you do know of the trouble you have caused me today.” Marlo’s jaw drops as he draws the connection, who would have ever thought the quiet owner of a failed video store to be a Mafioso?

 

Squatting down, Cosmo looked Marlo in the eye, “I’ve already trashed your precious shop, so now you can either fix this or watch even more destruction befall your friends”. Cosmo pulls out Marlo’s phone from his own pocket, the screen displaying the full list of his contacts.

 

Desperately, Marlo fought against the ropes to Cosmo’s amusement. When it was clear his efforts were futile, he slumped over, “what do you want?”

 

Cosmo smiled, “that’s more like it.” He stood up, looking down upon Marlo, “You’re the wonder-boy of deliveries. People know that. All I need you to do is what you do best and send a package down to Police Headquarters. Oh, but don’t shake it too much.”

 

Cautiously placing the package into his pack, Marlo starts up his engine and rides back into the heart of the metropolis. Heart pounding away, he parks and heads into the building, the price for his friends’ safety tucked under his arm. Protected by his identity and his reputation, no one bats an eyelid at his presence. Sweating profusely, Marlo located the main control room, the mainframe being his true target.

 

Each footstep rang like a gunshot to his ears as he approached the room, he gingerly placed the package on a low locker. The package no longer on his self, but the burden of it remained. Marlo turned on his heel and made his way out of the building, out of the blast zone, invisible on his way out just as he was on the way in.

 

The next day’s news would report that most of the police records were destroyed in the bombing, drawing attention away from the small break-out from a detainment center in a precinct downtown.