Dorado

A/N: Quick post, 'cause only prologues aren't that fun to read. Enjoy!

Please recommend this story!: http://www.tumblr.com/directory/recommend/creative%20writing/misol
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chapter one
  

          Pulses. That was what he remembered of the bombings. Whenever he closed his eyes, he lost himself in the memory. The first thing that came to mind was the rumble underfoot. The floor would fall away, and for a brief pause he floated effortlessly before gravity slammed him back into existence. The grind of skin and stone was numbing at first, but with his first exhale the nerves came alive. It felt as if someone had taken a cheese grater and-

          The car bounced over a familiar set of potholes, and Beck’s eyes shot open.

          “Stop the car,” he barked, sitting up and fiddling with his already perfect tie. He’d had a late start that morning, and hadn’t been able to stop back at his apartment to change out of his suit.

          Beck ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly curls. “I’ll be back in an hour. Keep the car running.” The driver barely had time to nod before Beck slammed the door behind himself.

          The car peeled away from the curb, turning back the way it had come. He flicked at an invisible speck on his suit jacket. Outwardly, he knew he looked calm and possibly even a little disgruntled, but this half of the city was just…unsettling. Nevertheless, he moved towards the decrepit building in determined strides. Beck had been here multiple times, and this visit would be the same as any other.

          You hope, a nagging voice told him.

          He rapped a knuckle against the rusting metal door three times while glancing down the street. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take care of himself; he just didn’t want to get this suit dirty fighting off muggers. There was an obviously underage and underfed working girl standing at the corner. Beck stared at her heels.

          How do women walk in those things? As if reading his thoughts, the girl turned and returned his stare with a flirtatious wink. Beck had to fight to keep from making a disgusted face.

          The metal door creaked open and a man poked his head out. His hair was matted and stunk faintly, and his dull green eyes had dark bags underneath.

          “Yeah, whaddya want?” The man slurred. Beck leaned away slightly; apparently the man had yet to be introduced to a toothbrush.

          “I’m here for Connors,” he said, tightening a grip on his briefcase.

          The man’s face suddenly brightened. “Hey! You’re that- you’re that…guy!”

          Beck snorted. “Yeah, that’s me.”

          “Well, come on in, come on in!” The heavy door creaked as he pulled it back just enough for Beck to slip inside.

          Taking in the peeling walls and mysterious stains in the rug, Beck had the sudden urge to wash his hands. He tried not to breathe too deeply, wondering what the hell was floating in the stale air, and followed the man deeper into the building. The furniture was also in a sorry state; water stained and faded with what looked like claw marks at the bottom edges.

          The bedraggled man led Beck into a dark room, where tattered curtains were drawn over the windows. Connors was lounging on the single mattress with his legs sprawled out in front of himself, and a scantily dressed girl curled by his side. His hair was in a mess too; the red curls tangled into something that resembled a bird’s nest. Connors’s expression was blank.

          How people can get high this early, I’ll never understand, Beck thought, grimacing at filth caking their skin.

          When Connors caught sight of Beck, however, his eyes immediately became alert and he scrambled out of bed.

          “Mr. Moody!” He crowed, stumbling towards Beck. The man who had led Beck in flopped into Connors’s vacated seat. “I’ve been waitin’ all day for ya!”

          It’s probably best if I breathe through my mouth. “It’s ten.”

          “Ah, numbah’s aren’t my thing.” Connors teetered a bit, and steadied himself by gripping his shoulder. Beck stiffened and resisted the urge to shrug the man off.

          It’s my own fault for wearing suits to places like these, he reasoned with himself. No need to go around stabbing people’s fingers off.

          Beck cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could move onto business?”

          “My kind ‘f guy,” Connors approved with a grin that showed his yellow teeth. He definitely had some sort of vegetable as his last meal if the green gunk between his teeth is anything to go by. “Spiffy get-up, by the way.”

          Beck ignored the want to vomit and laid his briefcase on top of the only rickety table in the room. “The usual?”

          “Actually…,” Connors leaned against him heavily, his rank breath almost caressing Beck’s cheek. “Do you have any Micol?”

          “I might, if you would step away,” he bit out.

          Connors clucked his tongue. “Aw, don’t be like that, Mr. Moody.” He poked Beck in the cheek. “I kno’ ya like me,” he slurred.

          “Please,” Beck said, opening the briefcase. “Have some faith in my preferences.”

          The case was neatly packed with rows of bottles, caplets and small plastic baggies. However, Beck ignored these and lifted one of the trays. Underneath it was three blue bottles and Beck loosened one from the black felt.

          “One bottle,” he explained, holding it out of reach of Connors’s grubby fingers. “Has thirty gel tablets. You only need two for a high.”

          Connors was nearly drooling. “You’re a lifesaver, man.” He reached for the bottle again.

          “Three hundred.”

          “What!” His eyes bulged. “Fer only thirt’ caps?”

          “I can assure you, Connors, that I’m the only distributor carrying pure that you’ll ever find.” That wasn’t true, but it wasn’t as if Connors had enough of his mind left to reason it out.

          “Ah, you’re a stiff bastard, ya know that?” Connors stumbled back towards the mattress and leaned over the snoozing pair. He dug a hand into the girl’s pocket, fishing out a wad of bills.

          Of course it’s impossible to fold bills neatly, Beck thought, grimacing as Connors slapped the mess into his hand. He dropped the bottle into Connors’s waiting hand.

          Beck un-crumpled the bills and flipped through them quickly before tucking them away into his inner suit pocket. Meanwhile, Connors had opened the blue bottle and was in the process of popping his fourth pill.

          “I wouldn’t do that.” Beck flipped his briefcase shut and closed the clasps. “Anything more than two is lethal.”

          He walked out of the room amidst swearing and gagging.

  
&
  

          Every time he pulled into the garage below Mather’s Media, Beck found it hard not to gape at the structure. It was one of the last few skyscrapers left in the city, which didn’t say much considering it blended in quite well with the other buildings. Although what it lacked in height, the building made up for with a spacious floor plan. It had escaped the bombings relatively unscathed, although the southern wing had been demolished. But that was expected of a building walled with mostly glass.

          The driver pulled up to the underground entrance and Beck slid out of the car with a murmured thanks. It would have been nice to drive his car, but the hassle of parking and hoping nobody stole it was more than he needed. At the moment, it was tucked away in a corner of the very same garage.

          I think it’s still there, Beck thought, stepping into the lift. Or that’ll be the third one this year. They were company cars and he was sure everyone was limited to one, but having a close friend as a boss sure did help.

          The lift chimed and opened to the first floor. Beck automatically straightened his tie before stepping out. Before the Pulses, Mather’s Media had been a thriving business. Now, as he crossed the marble floor, the spacious lobby was deserted. A few withering plants cowered in the corners, and the wood paneling was starting to wear.

          “Good afternoon, Penny,” he said to the secretary nearly dwarfed by the front counter. She paused in her typing to give him a smile.

          “Good day, Mr. Carson!” Beck never understood how she could be so cheerful every day without fail. “Do you need me to ring upstairs?”

          He made his way towards the back, where another pair of lifts was waiting. “Yeah, that’d be great. Let George know I’m on the way.”

          “Of course! Have a good day!” Penny craned her neck over the counter to give him a wave before the lift doors shut.

          Maybe she’s going crazy from having no one to talk to. Beck pressed the dimly glowing nine on the side panel. I’ve never seen anyone in the lobby but her.

          All floors from two through six were sets, seven through ten were offices, and ten through fourteen were apartment complexes for employees. When the lift opened Beck was greeted with plush red carpet and dark wooden paneling. He stepped out and continued left, where the corridor ran on for quite a distance. The right side of the hall was door after closed door; the left, however, was a continuous stretch of floor-to-ceiling glass.

          He never walked near the windows or even in the middle of hall, preferring to stick close to the office doors. That, of course, had collided him with more executives than he cared for.

          I just don’t want to trip and smash through, Beck thought with unease. But he knew, deep inside, that it was the view that unsettled him.

          After the last Pulse, a layer of dust coated the city, layering windows and fine architecture with grime. Hollow and roofless buildings were common, and piles of debris sometimes rose above the brick structures. It was devastatingly urban; it almost seemed possible to touch the smog. City streets were lined with cars, but most were old and useless with busted windshields, tires and missing rims.

          Just after the city edge was a long gray plain of leveled concrete, now and then disturbed by deep craters that were filled with stagnating water. Beyond it was the wilderness, and the sky.

          Beck had loved the sky as a child. He had even wanted to be a pilot. There were days when he would just sit at the window and watch the clouds drift across the clear blue sky.

          But now the sky was a sickly yellow and green, and most days Beck found it hard to look heavenwards.

          He came to a stop in front of a door at the end of the hall and rapped his knuckles against it gently. A faint “Come in!” floated out and Beck twisted the doorknob.

          “Bit late today, huh?”

          Beck shut the door with a nod. “Busy.”

          The man gestured at the seat in front of his desk. “Surely you can spare me a moment?”

          “Of course.”

          George Evans was by no means a small man; he seemed to tower over Beck even while seated. His dark hair curled over the nape of his neck in a way that made Beck want to scratch at his own.

          George’s hazel eyes held a glazed look that Beck knew belied a sharp mind. Actually, his expression in general seemed to have a tired quality to it, but the man was friendly enough.

          Beck leaned his briefcase against the side of the chair and loosened his tie.

          “So how’s Samantha doing?” George retrieved a decanter and two glasses from the side cabinet. “Want one?”

          Beck declined with a shake of his head. “She’s doing alright, I guess.”

          “Only ‘alright’?” He slid back into his chair, glass in hand. “Then what about that rock you carry around in your pocket?” There was a knowing glint in George’s eyes.

          Beck fought back a blush and changed the subject.

          “Ah,” he said. “I almost forgot.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a hefty wad of bills.

          George whistled in appreciation. “Damn. Very busy.” He took the bills from Beck and tucked them into a desk drawer. “Are you up for a few drinks later? To celebrate all your hard work, of course.”

          Beck rolled his eyes. “You’d still want to celebrate even if I were fired or run over by a car.”

          “I’m an alcoholic,” George laughed. “I’ll drink to anything. So what do you say?”

          “I’ve actually got to go up and change; night shift today. Maybe another time.” He rose from the seat. The muscles in his back protested.

          “Hey, you’re right. Spiffy get-up you’ve got there.”

          Beck groaned. “Please don’t say that. I’ve already heard it once. It’s a suit, and it’s old, not ‘spiffy’.”

          “By the way,” he said as he let himself out, “I think Connors is dead.”

          George waved a hand in indifference. “Real shame. I’ll find you a new guy for tomorrow.”

          He’d be back tomorrow to pick up a freshly stocked suitcase.

  
&
  

          He rode the lift up to the thirteenth floor.

          Beck wasn’t superstitious, especially when compared to the other employees. Mostly because a few ghosts and bad luck were the least of his worries.

          We’ve all already had a shit load of bad luck, his inner voice grouched. He tapped in his room code and the small light above the handle turned green. Ghosts don’t exist, either way.

          But just because he wasn’t superstitious didn’t mean Beck never got the creepy feeling that he was being watched. Because he did. A lot.

          As far as he knew, there were only four other employees living on this floor. The apartments were already nice and spacious, but Beck enjoyed being able to return to a nice and quiet home.

          Beck showered quickly since he was still behind schedule. If he was really lucky he might have time to get a bite of dinner, but not before he washed the day’s grime off. He grimaced as he wrapped a white towel around his waist; he’d need to have that suit cleaned before he could wear it again. God knows where Connors’s hands had been.

          Rubbing a palm over the condensation on the mirror, Beck watched as his reflection came into view. He looked like shit. There were bags under his brown eyes and the dark curls of his hair lay limp across his forehead. He ran a hand through them reflexively.

          The suit was where he had left it, draped over the edge of his bed. He picked up the pants by a leg and something fell out of the pocket and bounced away with a light clink.

          “Oh, fuck!” Beck dropped to the ground and tried to grab the ring, but it had already settled right in the middle, faintly shining.

           Why did I get a bed I can’t fit under, he thought, eyeing the ring. And nail it to the floor?

          He flopped onto his back with a sigh and looked at his watch. No time for dinner.

          Beck picked himself up with a groan and rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a faded tee and jeans. His stomach growled in protest as he shuffled through the kitchen, but he ignored it, shoving his feet into a pair of trainers instead.

          Today’s a bad day, he concluded while riding the lift down to the sets. The doors opened and he stepped out, but not before running a hand over all the other numbers. It made him feel a little better.

          “Carson! You’re late! We’re starting in three, so get moving!”

          Beck had no idea where the voice was coming from, and he usually didn’t, so he just nodded his head and took of at a light jog. The third floor was modestly full and nearly done with preparations.

          He found his camera already on and prepped. Whichever kind intern that had taken the time to do this would go straight to the pearly gates; Beck was sure of it.

          “Lucinda!” He called out as a warning to the woman behind the stage desk. She glared back at him and adjusted the small microphone clipped to the edge of her suit jacket.

          “Lights!” Everything went dark as the large stage lights came on and focused on the set. Lucinda plastered a smile onto her face and folded her hands neatly on top of the desk. Beck snorted while watching her through the cam and raised a hand. The chatter died down to a deafening silence.

          “And we’re on in three…two…”

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Please recommend this story!: http://www.tumblr.com/directory/recommend/creative%20writing/fihs