Free Juarez Square and Other Stories by D.L. Young Page B

Chang…here . In his eight years working with the Dump Lord’s robots, he’d never known Chang to take a single step beyond the estate’s barrier wall, but now here he stood, ten miles dumpside.
    It could only mean the plan was working. The Chang who Deke had known would never have lowered himself to come here and dirty his precious clothes, unless there was something big on his mind.
    A surgical mask covered most of Chang’s face, everything but his glaring eyes. “What the hell’s wrong with your phone? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days.”
    Deke’s stomach fluttered; he resisted the urge to smile. Instead he shrugged and feigned ignorance. “I needed the phone parts for a bot. What are you doing here?”
    “Is there someplace around here we can talk that doesn’t stink so bad?”
    Deke motioned for him to follow and led him through a narrow, upward-sloping path. The Dump Lord’s right hand lagged behind, gingerly avoiding contact with everything around him and wincing at the sight of dump rats. Deke glanced back and stifled a laugh. You’re on my turf now . Back at the estate Chang might be the big shot power-tripper, deciding who got in and who didn’t. But this was dumpside, and dumpside was Deke’s side.
    A minute later they emerged from the path and into the warm sunlight at the top of a mound. A light breeze lessened the stink.
    “Jesus, that’s better,” Chang said. His eyes widened as he took in the view around him. “Christ, I never realized how big it is.”
    Deke nodded. “This is one of the taller mounds. You can see just about all of it from here.”
    Gently rolling hills of compacted garbage stretched for miles in every direction. An endless supply of windblown paper formed itself into swirling eddies, animating the dump’s surface like plumes of sand in a desert. Crisscrossing the dump was an ever-deepening network of paths carved out by the bots over time.
    Deke remembered when he could step into a bot path like stepping off a curb; now they were five, even ten meters deep in places. He reached up and touched his face, running his fingers over the lines around his mouth, the loose skin of his jowls. The telltales of middle age. During his morning routine lately he’d found himself staring into the bathroom mirror, imagining tiny unseen bots scurrying back and forth inside the wrinkles of his face, slowly deepening them like the dump paths. Turning him into an old man, alone and miserable.
    “The daily take is down,” Chang snapped. “What the hell’s going on out here?”
    Deke shrugged. “You came all the way out here just to tell me that? The dailies go up and down all the time.”
    “I’m not talking about normal ups and downs. The take is way down in the past few days. Lowest I’ve ever seen.”
    “Lowest you’ve ever seen, huh?” Deke echoed, playing dumb. “You don’t say?”
    Bits of ancient yellowed newspaper stuck to Chang’s jacket; he furiously brushed his sleeves and lapels. “How can you not have noticed? What the hell are you doing out here, sleeping all day?”
    Deke paused before answering. The moment had been a long time in coming, and he was going to savor each delicious second of Chang’s discomfort.
    “Sleeping?” he said. “Of course not. Let me tell you what I did today. First I woke up, brushed my teeth and had breakfast…No wait…I had breakfast, then I brushed my teeth.” He smiled stupidly as Chang’s face reddened. “What good would it do to brush my teeth before breakfast?” He rubbed his chin. “Where was I? Oh yeah, so anyway, after breakfast I thought about going down to Tijuana for more parts. But then I remembered this time of year the wind blows so much dust around you just want to stay inside and—”
    “I don’t care about any of that! There’s something wrong with those bots and you need to fix it quick.”
    “Okay, okay,” Deke said. “Let me take a look.” He took out his slate and tapped it to life. He