15. The Damn Ant and the Jewish Underdog (Part 1)
Hear No Evil (15)
The wall of glass shimmered against the sliver of sun that was left of the summer day. Traffic
in the parking lot picked up a bit, just as the street and mall lights sparked to life.
Ethan slumped to the ground beside a crushed cigarette butt. Never leave two girls alone in a
mall with money, he noted to himself. They were only supposed to pick him up a pair of new shoes
(which he really didn't want) and then go home. Come on, he still had a whole stack of rusty
cages left to CLR.
This was really a giant waste of time, Ethan thought. He had a perfectly good pair of black
velcro sneakers.
Okay, so the soles were held on by staples and a prayer. So the velcro didn't stick on his left
shoe. So his pinky toe stuck out a little on his right shoe. So what? He had FINALLY broken
them in!
But no, no, no. The girls (mainly Melissa) would hear none of that.
He blankly stared at an ant crawling into a crack in the sidewalk. Very slowly crawling into a
crack in the sidewalk. Crawling into a goddamn crack in the goddamn sidewalk.
What the hell was taking them so long? He idly scratched his wrist under the SM box, now
rendered prongless.
I will NEVER let those two drag me here again, He promised himself. Never, never, nev-
A foot mericilously crushed down onto Ethan's ant. He jumped in surprise and jerked his head up
to squint at a very serious face, perfectly sillouetted against the setting sun. The dark, brown
eyes set in that serious face jumped to Ethan's wristband, then rolled in their sockets,
exasperatedly.
You gonna help me or not, man? he sighed.
After a moment of confusion, Ethan jumped up and grabbed the other end of the enormous table that
the Warren Commander was balancing under one arm, leaning half of it on the ground behind him.
The table was grey with a red stripe and had various WYS slogans stenciled onto the surface. The
Co turned his head to the slave and pointed with his free arm.
I'll go first, just follow my lead. I'm gonna KILL those-
He was cut off from Ethan's vision as he tugged the table towards the mall doors, kicking one
open and almost ripping the table from Ethan's grip. Luckily, they were both the same height, so
at least the table wasn't banging against his knees.
They came to a halt at the center plaza of the mall, just before a large, coin-filled fountain.
Jake dropped his end and waited for the slave to do the same.
He made a looping gesture with his hand. "Okay, now just tilt it and lift that side. I'll duck
under and release the legs." The slave hesitated, then did as he was told. Jake snapped the two
legs back into place.
Jake grabbed the slave's shoulder just as he was about to slink away. "Nah, man. There's some
stuff in the truck I need help with. My guys called in sick."
The slave scratched behind his ear and spoke for the first time. "What about my mistress?"
Jake had to stop himself from laughing. The question was so innocently posed, yet overwhelmingly
stupid. Who cared about your mistress when a WYS officer was giving you an order?
Jake was lenient, guessing that this guy was probably new to the area. Either that or newly
disabled. It wasn't uncommon for poor families to injure one of their children and sell them.
He smiled consolingly and released the slave's shoulder. "What's your name, man?"
Warily, he answered. "October Six."
"Alright October, here's an orange pass. Anyone gives you trouble, just whip that out." He
pointed out the doors. "There's a humvee with an impatient-looking WS Cadre behind the wheel. Get
as much stuff labeled "concession" as possible from the back of that truck before he leaves."
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"Just keep your mouth shut and hand out the pamphlets. No one will be able to tell the
difference." This failed to comfort Ethan much. Here he was, cornered by the commander, stuffed
into a WYS uniform and handing out recruitment flyers. Did this mean he was working for the
enemy? Was the WYS his enemy . . . or just it's commander?
He gently tugged at his collar and waved his pamphlet around a bit, trying to draw attention.
"No, no, Bud. You're doing it wrong. Think WYS . . . Like this," Jake slapped a pamphlet into
the chest of a skinny-looking teen passing by. "The WYS is power. Consider it, man." The kid
grabbed the flyer and nodded while making haste for the door.
"See, he may be scared now, but later he'll remember and want to scare other people. It's
sad, but true. I'm just fishing for recruits, plently of time to teach them values AFTER they
join the regi-"
"Brennen Sie in der Hölle! Im Sohn des Juden und im Hund!"
Jake jerked his head just in time to see two kids display an unpleasant gesture in his direction
and then make a mad dash for the doors.
He took a deep breath and muttered to himself, "Unterschätzen Sie nie den jüdischen Unterhund."
While personal insult was no real beef to Jake, the idea of them shouting that in a crowded mall . . .
very bad publicity for the Warren Defenders. Those two would have to be taken down. Publicly.
But it would be too embassing for a Regimental Commander to chase two idiots around a freakin'
parking lot.
Besides, this was the last day the WYS would be holding recruitment concession in the Mall. There
was a schedule to follow, after all. No time to press EVERY jackass down into the dirt.
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Cassie laughed at some obscure remark of Melissa's as they dragged the bags into the plaza. Peering
through the spray of the fountian, she jerked in suprise. Ethan was inside? And so close to
the WS recruitment stand.
"Does he have a death wish?" she muttered.
Melissa was stunned all the more. She cursed and whispered, "What the hell is he wearing?"
Cassie's lip curled into an unfamiliar line of disgust as she recognised the blood-red stripes . . .
End of Chapter 15