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44. Cissnei: Undercover

Ted wasn't a great thinker. There was a running joke that cowpats had a higher IQ than him or his Pappy, which wasn't true, but what else could you say about a guy who literally shovelled shit for a living?

More than you could say for the son who followed him into the 'family business', that was for sure.

Even so, when Ted first saw the woman, his slow brain speeded up, and he found himself wondering what someone so pretty and sophisticated was doing in a place like Ru-Raru.

She was in the town's sole bar, nursing a glass of something potent while simultaneously trying to disappear in plain view. Her forehead rested in her hand, her fingerless black gloves exactly the same colour as her short spiked hair. She looked like a used chimney brush from behind. When Ted approached and ordered a drink for himself and a refill for her, she raised eyes the colour of cola held up to the light.

"I'm fine," she said flatly. "Don't waste your money on me."

"Ain't a waste," Ted replied. "I wanna spend it."

"Then spend it on that pretty girl over there." She indicated with one finger, the rest clamped around her glass as she raised it to her lips. She shuddered as the taste ran through her. "Gaia, that's rough."

"You look like you could do with cheering up," Ted suggested. "And that girl ain't as pretty as you."

The woman's forehead crumpled back into her palm. "Damn it," she muttered, before draining her glass and walking out.

By the time Ted had jogged over to the door she'd vanished, but the memory of her lingered in his brain for the next three days. They didn't get many tourists in Ru-Raru. It was too far off the beaten track for casual visitors, and the population was so small that anyone who did come around was usually related to a resident. That woman, however, was neither tourist nor family visitor, Ted learned. Her cheerless, sombre eyes had looked so in need of a smile that Ted ached to find out what had made her come to town, and fix whatever was wrong. He found himself flipping back the bedclothes at four in the morning to go do chores, trying to tire himself into a blissfully dreamless sleep where her expression and his desire to change it couldn't follow.

On the third day he spotted her walking along the street, deliberate as you pleased. She looked different in daylight, although Ted couldn't tell whether this was a good or bad thing. Her eyebrows were the same colour as her short dark spikes now – flat matt black with no shine. The dye job was cheap but pretty good for that. If her eyelashes hadn't been a carroty colour to match her scattering of freckles, Ted might have missed it.

She saw him and her expression dropped even further, but she refused to look away as he approached. Instead she slowed and then stopped, so she could stand in front of him, feet apart, and glare up into his face. She was tiny, barely pushing five-two, her arms and legs like toothpicks to Ted. Unlike the local girls, who were all strong and burly, and moved that way, she was graceful, as though a strong puff of wind might just blow her away. Yet she stared at him with such fierce intensity that he immediately wanted to check for greens between his teeth.

"Don't get any funny ideas," she said. "I'm out of your league, sunshine."

He swallowed. "That a fact?"

"Even if it wasn't, I'm not playing the field right now."

"Playing the field?"

"I'm not answering the door to country bumpkins with bunches of flowers and flowery compliments. Get it?"

"Uh …"

She sighed. "I'm not interested in whatever it is you've got to offer, so don't bother offering it."

"Seems a mite premature. You don't even know me."

"I don't have to. I'm not interested. Stay away from me." Then she turned on her heel and tried to vanish again.

Thankfully it was harder in daylight, and he saw which way she went. She almost foxed him by vaulting a wall and shimmying up a drainpipe so she could skip across the rooftops, but he spotted her jumping down when her foot caught on a rain barrel and made a noise.

She was staying in one of the ramshackle houses on the fringe of town. Last year a pair of missionaries had bought the line of terraces, barely fit to live in and even worse than they were now, which was really saying something. The missionaries had done their best and set up a hostel of sorts. They'd gotten hold of the strange idea that there was a lot of domestic violence in Ru-Raru and wanted to provide a haven for battered women to retreat to. The first few months showed them this wasn't the case, but they'd persevered, eventually widening their base to include anyone who couldn't go home with a place for the night. Ted knew Batty Betty, the town vagrant, habitually stayed there when she wasn't kipping in fields or barns on the more far-flung farms.

The woman with the dyed hair didn't seem like a vagrant. She was too clean, though her clothes were old and probably second-hand. She went inside and Ted wondered whether it would be inappropriate for him to knock on the door. He was just trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for doing it when the roar of an engine cut the air. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and suddenly his most pressing concern changed to finding a place to hide. He was a big guy, and he hated fighting, but Cliff's gang equated 'big' with 'up for it' and always sought out the likeliest guy for a brawl when they came to town. It was their way of making sure everyone stayed scared enough to give them what they wanted without trouble – take out the strongest and you became the strongest yourself.

Too late. Ted was nearly away when the first motorcycles drew up in front of him, cutting off his escape. He tried to turn and go back the way he'd come, but the biggest hog ground to a halt in his path, and Cliff himself grinned across at him.

Some said Cliff was a looker once, before he got his first bike and rode off into the sunset to find as many mean bars as he could, so he could trounce as many mean guys as he could, and collect as many mean tattoos as he could. Cliff was 'mean' personified, from the clench of his fists to the look in his eye when he removed his sunglasses. Others said he'd turned mean after his daddy took his belt to him once too often and caught himself a bad case of being dead. Nobody knew for sure what had happened. The trauma of whatever it was had sent Cliff off the deep end. When he finally reached Ru-Raru on his travels he'd bulked out and bore little resemblance to the skinny kid he used to be. Somewhere along the way he'd acquired a gang of likeminded bikers – inasmuch as 'likeminded' meant they all liked to beat on folks and thought each town they visited owed them payment for not smashing the place up.

"Yo, big guy," Cliff said in a friendly voice. "What's happening?"

Ted swallowed, not fooled for an instant. People called him stupid, but he wasn't. Not really. Not when it counted. "Nuthin' much."

"Really? That's too bad. Me and the boys, we're bored and looking for something to do. Figured we'd come into town to see if there's anything going on to take the edge off. Y'know how antsy a guy can get when he's been in a place a while?"

Ted had lived in Ru-Raru his whole life, so he hadn't a clue. "I guess."

"This town's a real dud on the entertainment front. The bar's crap, there ain't nothing even approaching a strip joint, or even an adult bookstore, and all the women are butt-fugly. I drive past all the damn fields and find myself checking to see whether what's in them are wearing skirts, just so I can tell whether I'm looking at cows or milkmaids." Cliff laughed. His gang laughed dutifully along with him, even though it wasn't that funny. "You're not laughing, big guy."

"Um …" Panic suffused Ted.

"You got any ideas what we could do for fun tonight?"

"Uh …"

"Examining your own navel seems to be the course of action for most folks." Cliff talked real strange. Sometimes he sounded rougher than sandpaper, as if he'd just crawled out of a gutter and was still spitting out garbage. Other times he used phrases that were far more highbrow. It was confusing, and made him all the more threatening even when he wasn't trying to be. An upper class guy who could not only succeed on the open road, but lead a contingent of its roughest patrons, was more dangerous than someone who'd never known anything but drinking, fighting and … well.

Ted tried to back away. He knew what was coming next.

"Hey, big guy, don't go. We were just getting to know each other." Cliff snapped out the kickstand of his bike and advanced on foot. There was nothing in his hands, but there didn't need to be. "Reckon I could take him, boys?"

"Sure you could, Cliff," said a ratty guy with a goatee.

"I dunno," Cliff said pensively. "He's as broad as I am tall. Might be difficult."

"Might be fun!" someone shouted, to a chorus of laughter.

Cliff waited for it to die down before speaking to Ted again. "Tell you what, big guy. To make it interesting, I'll let you get the first punch in."

"I-I don't -"

"Aw, c'mon. Here, I'll even shut my eyes so I won't see you coming."

Ted felt panic climbing his spine like a spooked cat up a tree.

"No?" Cliff shrugged. "Ah well. Can't say I didn't try to be fair, right boys?"

"You're a model of fairness and equines, Cliff," said a guy with a voice like a dump-truck spilling out gravel.

"Equines?" The ratty guy screwed up his nose in a rodenty expression that might have made Ted laugh under different circumstances. He could just imagine him with whiskers and a long pink tail stuffed into his biking leathers. "Ain't that horses?"

"I think he means equality."

"Oh. Right." Ratty guy nodded, but it was clear this word didn't mean much to him either.

The beating was short but brutal. Halfway through Ted could have sworn he heard a woman scream, but by that time the ringing in his ears was so bad he wouldn't have heard the triangle on his Granny's porch if it was right next to his head. About the only thing that got through was the sound of laughter and growling engines as Cliff and his gang roared away, and that was mostly vibrations the cheek he had pressed against the floor. He lay there in the middle of the street, wondering if anyone had seen what happened, and whether they'd admit it if they had. Ru-Raru was a miniscule town. It didn't even have a mayor, and the sheriff had been for show for so long before the bikers got here that nobody could even remember what half of his duties were anymore – including the man himself. The town had been easy pickings for anyone used to life at a faster pace than a crawl. People weren't just scared of Cliff and his boys; they were paralysed by the threat of them moseying into town to cause havoc.

Ted wasn't sure what happened next. He figured he must have passed out, because the next thing he knew his arm was curiously warm and there was someone talking beside him.

"You didn't help him!"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know. Basic human decency perhaps?"

A snort. Ted thought he maybe recognised the voice, but he couldn't be sure. "I never signed on to play champion of the oppressed and stupid. You're my mission, not him."

"How can you be so callous?"

"You have no idea."

Ted groaned.

"Damn it. Get back in the house."

"But I haven't finished -"

"In. The. House."

The warmth evaporated, and with it the cushioned feeling that had stopped Ted noticing quite how sharp the gravel was against his cheek. He pushed himself into a sitting position, flexing the arm he was pretty sure Cliff had dislocated when he rammed the fist high between Ted's own shoulder-blades. His head still rang, but not so loud as before. He stared up at folded arms and a wintry expression that looked wrong on such a pretty face.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you how to fight?"

Ted blinked. She sounded accusing. Wasn't she going to ask if he was okay?

"You just stood there and let that guy macramé your face."

"You were watching?"

"Better than TV." Sarcasm dripped off her words like honey off a knife over fresh toast. Ted's Mammy used to keep bees before she died.

He blushed at the thought of his mammy seeing him now, all blood-stained and dirty, with his clothes ripped from rolling around in the dust getting the crud kicked out of him. "It's worse if you fight back. Makes 'em go after more than just you."

The woman with the dyed hair squinted at him. "You're saying they hurt members of your family if you don't let them beat you half to death?"

"Not always. Sometimes they just go after your house." He shuddered to remember Winnie Westbrook's home ablaze after she ran out to slam her skillet against Cliff's head for whaling on her grandson. Winnie was spry for her age, but she'd only just made it out, and had lost everything in the fire. She'd been the example to make the rest of them play by Cliff's rules. "Or if you've got a store they break in and trash it. Steal the stock. That kinda thing."

"And nobody stops this?"

"Ain't nobody who can," he said, a trifle defensively. "We just gotta wait for them to move on and leave us alone so's we can get back to normal."

This far out, the big cities didn't care what happened to people. Small townships like Ru-Raru, of no interest to Shinra because it wasn't worth the expense of setting up mako reactors here, were self-governing for the most part. That was all fine and dandy, and created close-knit communities where everyone knew and helped out their neighbours, but only until extortionists like Cliff showed up with their protection rackets and itchy fists.

"Can you fight?" the dyed-hair woman demanded.

"Not really."

"Figures." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm not a hero," she muttered, and Ted got the feeling he wasn't meant to pay attention to that part. "Nowhere in my contract does it say I'm a hero." She looked at him. "Get up."

He did so.

"Go home."

"But -"

"I said go home. You don't have a concussion."

"How do you know? You ain't checked -"

"Trust me, I know. No concussion for you. Now scram before you can add 'whupped by a girl' to your list of humiliations for today."

Ted was still reluctant to leave. "You're new in town. I don't think you understand -"

"Oh, I understand plenty. I've met pricks like that Cliff guy before. I know how they operate." She shook her head, eyes flashing. "Taking it to the families? I hate cowards like that. Not even … um, some guy I used to know, not even he … uh …" She looked frustrated. "Damn it, I am not a hero."

"Uh -"

She cut her eyes at him, as if suddenly remembering he was there. "Scram already, will you? Get the lead out. Vamoose. Clear off. You're getting on my nerves."

Ted sucked up his nerve. "It ain't safe for a lil' lady to be left on her own in the middle of the street. Not with those guys around. I'll walk you home."

She boggled at him. "You're going to protect me to my door?"

Chastised, Ted nonetheless got to his feet and offered his arm like the gentleman his Pappy had raised after his Mammy passed on. The woman didn't accept it. She stalked away again in the direction of town. She was as different from his Mammy – from any woman he'd ever known, come to think of it. Different like shoofly pies were different than cow-pies. Ted watched her go, his temples throbbing. There was something strange about her movements, he saw now. Beneath that ballerina grace were muscles like liquid steel.

He turned to go himself, and could have sworn he saw another face at the window of the old hostel. When he looked again, however, it was gone, and for some reason he was even more uncertain about approaching the door now than he had been before.

Ted woke the next morning to his Pappy shaking his arm. "You gotta see this, boy."

"See what?"

"Just come lookit. I can barely believe it myself."

They were trussed in the town square, laid out like chickens in the butcher's window. Ted only just recognised Cliff under the mask of blood. The other bikers had fared slightly better – they, at least, all still had both ears intact – but they had clearly all been in a fight where they'd come off worst. They were all also terrified, and refused to say why.

"Said she'd come after us if we told a soul," Ratty said cryptically until the others silenced him with their glares.

Suspicion blossomed in Ted. As the other town members fussed about, throwing speculations like frisbees, he withdrew from the crowd. He already knew the gang was finished. They wouldn't be able to follow Cliff after this, if they even returned to the open road as they had before. Their rep was shot, and ninety percent of their world was reputation. There was always the chance they'd go back to their old ways to reclaim their rep – maybe even worse out of humiliation and retribution – but Ted doubted it. He'd seen their eyes. They'd been broken like ornery chocobos. He'd seen it in their faces. Something had spooked them good enough to clam up tighter than a glassblower's butt.

The hostel was empty. The missionaries were in one of the other houses, tending Batty Betty, but they didn't know anything about anyone from the end terrace.

"Nobody could live there. That one's full of dry rot. The floors are collapsing on the second floor. It's really dangerous. Even we never go in it if we can help it."

Which had made it perfect for anyone who needed a place to stay for a short time before moving on – especially if they wanted privacy.

Ted wondered what had driven the woman to the bar that day if she'd been hiding. The miserable curve of her back stuck in his head more than if he'd swallowed glue. Whoever she was, that woman had been the loneliest person he'd ever seen, or would ever see.

He never did see her again. Even if she'd come back with different hair, dressed smarter, or wearing something other than a pinched, haunted look, he would've recognised her. There was just something about her that wedged in his memory, and not just the fact he was convinced she'd had a hand in Cliff's comeuppance. Ted thought maybe it was the sadness in her eyes, which belied her tough talk, lethal-ballerina movements and fugitive haircut. The parts didn't cohere; the whole was lacking, as if the pieces added up but the answer got a big red cross put on it by the teacher, without any comment about how to change the wrong answer into the right one.

However, though he lived to see a giant meteor threaten the planet, survived Geostigma when he went travelling so he could see more of the world, and ended up writing several books about his experiences that really shut the traps of those who'd called him stupid, Ted never even caught a glimpse of her. Of all the things he regretted in life, for some reason that insignificant little thing topped the list.

A/N:

... Ru-Raru ...

- Rough Japanese version of the word 'rural'.