Memonic stood near the entrance to the alleyway, his left hand clutching the familiar brick wall of the old tenement building. The brick's rough, coarse, and distinctive texture gave him an anchor to the world. An anchor he desperately needed, for even after years on the street, he had no idea who he was or why he was here, just that this was home.
"Hey, where do you think you're going, runt?" The voice broke through the sounds and voices of the street. Memonic stepped out to see the back of a large black man, his hair kinked and curled in the old afro style, confronting a boy of ten or so. He knew the man well. Big Ronny, as he was known on the street, was nothing more than a bully by most decent people's standards.
"Please, let me go, Ronny. I ain't got nothing you want," the kid said.
"Yeah, so what's in the sack?"
"It's milk for my baby sister," the boy said.
"And you don't think I drink milk? Give it here," Ronny said, grabbing for the bag. The boy side stepped, but Ronny was bigger and faster, and grabbed the boy by the shirt collar with one hand, and the top of the bag with the other. The paper ripped, and a carton of milk fell, exploding on the cracked and broken concrete walk in a spray of white.
Ronny made an excited yelp, dancing away from the splash, but too late to keep his pants leg and shoes dry. "Damn it, kid, now you're going to get it."
"I didn't mean it, Ronny. I'll get you more milk, I promise," the kid said.
"Too late. I don't like getting my shoes wet." Ronny dragged the kid, kicking and screaming, toward the alley. He walked directly at Memonic, his eyes glassy and unfocused, making no effort to change his course.
"Let the kid go," Memonic said.
"Huh?" Ronny said, then stopped. He turned to one side, then the other, finally turning in a complete circle. "Who said that?"
"I did," Memonic said. "I think you owe the kid something for spilling his milk, don't you?" Memonic concentrated, looking directly at Ronny.
"Uh..., yeah, sure, now I remember," Ronny said, letting go of the kid with one hand, then digging in his pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash, and pushed it at the kid. "Here, kid. Sorry I forgot," he said.
The kid hesitated.
"Go ahead, take it," Memonic said.
The kid grabbed the money, and Ronny released him. "Thanks, whoever you are," the kid said, and ran off.
After a few seconds, Ronny shook his head, bobbing it from side to side. "This ain't right. Somebody's gotta pay. You better tell me who you are, or I'm gonna really make it hurt. Come on now, show yourself. Who are you?"
"Nobody worth remembering," Memonic said in a sad voice, once again concentrating. Ronny frowned, then scratched his head. After a few seconds, he shrugged and walked across the street. Memonic gave a wry smile, and started walking in the direction the kid had taken.
A cool, chill breeze blew across his path. He pulled the old black trench coat's collar tight around his neck, and pulled in a long, deep breath. For a moment, he held it, savoring the crisp, clean air. He hadn't tasted air that sweet in a long time. Something tugged at his thoughts. A memory of his past maybe? He could never be sure.
The breeze passed, and once again the putrid, rank odor of garbage and sewer gas permeated the air. Memonic let out his breath in a sigh. As good as the clean and crisp air was, this was the smell of home. This was the smell of belonging. Even if he could remember his past, he wouldn't go back to it, that he knew. There were people here that needed him.
He continued to walk down the street. Small stores and shops--mostly strip bars, porn shops, and pawn shops--lined each side, separated by abandoned tenement buildings and empty lots full of trash. As rundown, and falling down as it was, it was still a place of hope. The neighborhood hadn't always been like this. Hero City was going through a rough time, but he had faith and hope that some day it would come back. Finally, he made it to the shelter.
A group of street people, made up mostly of the homeless and the poor, congregated near the entrance, milling about. While the sight of a line was not uncommon, this looked more like a throng, a chaotic mass not knowing where to go. A large sign on the door, hastily scrawled with a red marker, told him why. Closed until further notice due to a lack of funds, is what it read.
Memonic shook his head. Some of the men and women around him hacked and coughed, and he knew that more than a few might die without shelter or food. Without even the money for a cup of coffee, or a sandwich, the shelter was the only place they could count on. Now it was closed. He cursed.
"Hey, that you, Membo?" a squat, older man said, looking around in confusion, finally settling on Memonic as he allowed himself to become visible.
"Yeah, Hank, it's me," Memonic said.
"This ain't fair. Somebody's got to do something."
Memonic chuckled. "You mean me, don't you?"
"Who else is going to help us? You always done right by us."
"And I intend to again, that's a promise."
"What're you gonna do? No that I doubt you, it's just that it takes a lot of money to run a shelter. Where's it going to come from? The only place I know of is those greedy bastards up in the expensive parts of the city, and they aren't going to give you anything. They don't care at all about this place, or any of us."
"Then I'll just have to make them care," Memonic said, and again concealed himself. As he made his way toward the financial district of Hero City, he could hear excited talk and cheers behind him.
Crossing Hero City on foot would take far too long. He needed to get the shelter opened again as soon as possible, meaning today. Because of that, he needed to hurry, and for that, he needed a ride. Across the street from the shelter, he noticed a ganger getting into a hopped up Chevy. Just what he needed.
He stopped and looked through the windshield of the car from his vantage point. He could see clearly the greasy matted down hair, and unkempt fingernails, black dirt clearly visible under the nails as the ganger clutched the steering wheel. Memonic concentrated on the driver, then he carefully crossed the street and got in the passenger side.
"Hey, get out of my car, man. I'm waiting for a friend," the ganger said, turning toward the open door. The ganger blinked and frowned. "What?" He looked out the side of the car to the front and behind. Memonic concentrated upon the man for a second, then the man nodded, smiled, and got the car moving again. "You're lucky I remembered you needed a ride today, buddy. I almost forgot."
"I appreciate it," Memonic answered.
The ride uptown took about twenty minutes, which was fine with Memonic. It gave him time to think. Hank was right. Keeping the shelter going would take some cash, and not just this once, but a steady stream of it. That meant that he had to arrange for a real sponsor. Some big shot corporate guy with the money and public relations people to handle it right. Then he shrugged. Well, that seemed easy enough.
Looking out the window, he saw the skyline of downtown Hero City quickly approaching. The gleaming spires and reflective windows of the buildings looking like some kind of fairyland. On a whim, he picked the tallest. "I'm going to that tall building there," he said, pointing out the window.
"Sure thing, pal. No problem. You ask, Manny drives."
Another few minutes they were there. Memonic got out and made his way into the lobby, passing through one of the five sets of massive revolving doors. Once inside, he hesitated, and a cold chill raced along his spine. It was far too quiet here, and the place smelled of cleaning supplies, dry and lifeless. Not like the tang and stench of the street. It was as if all vitality had been sucked from it.
For a moment, he was at a loss. He was where he wanted to be, so now what? The building itself was easy enough to find, but how would he find someone important enough to do what he needed? After a few nudges and bumps from surprised people who wondered what they had stumbled into, he saw a listing of businesses in a glass case on the far wall.
A total of thirty seven businesses had offices here. Of them, three were Banks. One of them should do, he thought, and selected the Greater Trust of Hero City, which took up the top three floors, the 82nd through the 85th. No doubt then, the eighty fifth floor is where he should be going.
He headed to the elevator with several other people, and got in. Looking at the panel, he saw that several floors weren't listed. Among them was the 85th, so he clicked on the 84th floor button, and rode it up. People nudged and bumped him, but he made no effort to respond. Like with most things in life, people didn't pay attention to the world around them, and the unexplained encounters would soon be forgotten.
By the time the elevator made it to the eighty fourth floor, he was the only one left on it. The light on the control panel went out and the ding of a bell announced its arrival. The hallway in front of him was manned by two armed guards who sat safely in what must have been bulletproof glass cubicles. In between the cubicles, was a belt for bags and parcels that went through a scanner, and a magnetic sensor walkway, just like he'd seen in airports.
The two guards glanced toward the door, then back at monitors. "Hey Joe? You got something on your monitor?" one of them said.
"Yeah. It shows a guy, but I don't see anybody," the other one replied, then rapped on the top of the monitor. "Piece of junk."
Memonic didn't wait for them to become more confused. Instead, he concentrated briefly on one, then on the other. "Now I remember. We had the same glitch a week ago. Nothing wrong at all," the second guard said.
Memonic smiled, and walked through the detector. The detector shrilled a warning, but he didn't stop or look back, and kept walking. Behind him he heard the guards cursing, and he chuckled.
Once past the basic security set-up, getting around the office building was no problem. Like most places, those that were already inside weren't considered a threat. The eighty fourth floor proved to be pointless, and he began searching for stairs and a way up to the top floor. After a few minutes, he found one, and walked up.
While the other floor had been a place designed for day-to-day office work, the top floor obviously held the offices of the big shots. Going from door to door, and checking desks and signs, he finally found an office door marked with Stanley Schmidt, President and CEO.. He walked inside to find Stanley to be a balding, middle aged man sitting behind a large desk.
Stanley looked up. "Who are you?"
Memonic smiled. "Nobody. Nobody at all." Then he concentrated on Stanley. Stanley frowned, then reached for the phone. "Ms. Kingsly."
"Yes, Mr. Schmidt," the phone replied.
"I just remembered that I wanted you to call down to accounting and have a check for one hundred thousand dollars written to the South Side Shelter. Also, I want you to call whoever's in charge there, and tell them to get it open again right away. If they need anything, you arrange for them to get it ASAP. This is going to be good media, so get a hold of all the media outlets and spread the word that we'll be supporting this shelter from now on. We need to support our forgotten neighbors."
"Uh... Sir, are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right. Now get on it!"
"Of course, sir," she said, and clicked off.
Getting out of the building was no more trouble than getting in had been. By the time he left, it was getting onto night, and he felt pretty good. The shelter would be saved, and looked to be set for the future. The bit with the media should make them hold to the promise, too. It being a nice evening, he decided to walk part of the way back.
Once he was out and a bit away from the big downtown buildings, he became more comfortable. That world had not been real. It was all lies, containing nothing that money couldn't buy. He'd take the people of the street any day. At least they were real, not fake or phony.
A panicked scream came from an alley ahead. "No!" yelled a woman in distress. "Don't hurt him!" Picking up his pace, Memonic headed for the alley. Before he could make his way there, he saw a woman pull a black silk cloth out of her purse. Then she put a book of some kind and her purse into a trash can. Strange behavior indeed.
Before he could consider it, the woman turned into the alley where he thought he had heard the screams. Now he was truly baffled. He ran to the alleyway, wondering what the woman intended to do. He was just in time to see the young woman, now with the black scarf tied around her head, make an inhuman leap to the end of the alley. There she confronted a mugger who was harassing a middle-aged couple. One kick, and one punch later, the mugger was down.
The black-scarfed woman leaned down to help the man who had been cut, while the older one used her cell phone. Memonic frowned. It seemed that there was nothing left to do here. The young woman had taken care of it, but who was she? More importantly, was she even human? The questions bothered him enough to go back to the trash bin to check her purse to see what he could.
After finding an ID and other information, he put everything back. This woman, while strange and unusual, didn't seem to be a threat. In fact, just the opposite. In a city as whacked out as Hero City had become, he wasn't about to cause trouble for someone who just wanted to help. That he could respect, but it didn't mean he didn't want to find out more. This Beth person would need to be checked out, but not right now. For now, he just wanted to get back home.
This page by Paul Comstock, 2008.