Free Robyn's Egg by Mark Souza Page A

He’d faced the monster and thrown his hat in the ring. He smiled. He felt like bounding to his desk, but restrained himself to a springy jaunt. He glimpsed over at Petro and broke into a wide grin, giving him the thumbs up sign. Petro nodded with a smile and turned his thumb up in acknowledgement. Moyer managed to log in before the clock hit all zeroes.
     
    Moyer headed for the elevator at lunch break. Petro caught him by the arm. “Moyer, my man, mind if I tag along?” he asked.
    “Actually, I’ve got business to take care of.”
    “What kind of business?”
    “I’m headed to Hogan-Perko.”
    “Oh, right.” The smile drifted from Petro’s face.
    Moyer was still floating on the elation from the morning’s victory and felt capable of anything. He pulled himself free from Petro and nodded toward the status board, “The clock is ticking. I’ve got to get going.”
    Petro called after him as Moyer ran up the stairs, “Be careful, my man. There’s no such thing as free.”
    Moyer rushed out of the building without a care.
    Over the Circle, a thick layer of clouds threatened rain. The air was still and smelled of ozone the way it does before the sky opens a torrent. Moyer zipped his jacket up to his chin. Viktor Perko’s giant grandfatherly face gazed down on the Circle, infused into the glass façade of the Hogan-Perko tower with some sort of etching process, the phrase “ Father of Mankind ” emblazoned below his chin. To Moyer, there was a predatory edge to the smile on Perko’s likeness, the lips drawn a little too taut, showing a little too much tooth, the eyes a bit too intense. That was one reason Moyer preferred to keep his eyes pointed at the ground when he crossed the Circle.
    On clear days, when the sun was at just the right angle, Perko’s image reflected onto the bricks of the Circle in colorless shadow and light like a faint charcoal rendering. People didn't walk on the image. Any child old enough to speak knew nobody steps on Viktor Perko. It was bad luck. And, it was said, he was always watching.
    A knot formed in Moyer’s stomach as he stepped into the shadow of the HP building. He slowed and swallowed hard. The thought of negotiating made him uncomfortable. Operating in gray areas outside the law felt wrong, as if he was doing something he could be arrested for. Black and white was what he preferred. Pay list price, everything on paper and legal, nice and proper. Nothing could go wrong that way. Haggling seemed too much akin to bartering on the black market, which was definitely commerce crime, and made Moyer nervous. What had Petro called him, a straight arrow ?
    As he approached, the crowd thickened and grew boisterous. Something was going on. He pressed his way through the throng. A line of hooded figures marched in front of the Hogan-Perko building. Amplified white noise blared down from the building’s speakers drowning out Begat chants of Hogan-Perko is not God . A dense crowd had gathered to eat lunch hoping for a show. Moyer sensed their anticipation. They were hoping to witness a confrontation. Would Security Services come crashing in? Would skulls be cracked? It was all entertainment to them. Bloodlust.
    What horrid luck. He thought of turning back. To Moyer, this was a sign that perhaps today was not the day to beg for a baby. It was one more thing to stack atop his growing dread. Who would blame him if he swung a 180 on his heel and went back to the safety of his desk? But he couldn't shake the image of Robyn on the sofa, a flock of balled up tissues clustered on the coffee table, her eyes red and swollen at the thought she’d never have a baby.
    He also rememberedRobyn’s determined face after she’d heard Kelsey and Petro had negotiated for a baby. She had not asked that he go to Hogan-Perko, it had been an ultimatum. How could he face her if he didn't even try? Though it went unsaid, Moyer knew more than a baby was at stake.
    He pushed past the line of Begat protesters