Free Broken People by Ioana Visan Page A

followed could have been in
appreciation of the strong beer or the plan the other man had
presented.
    “How do we get the stuff out?” the one who
needed convincing asked.
    “That’s the trick. We can’t get close with a
car because someone is bound to notice. So we park behind the
abandoned warehouse and take all we can carry.”
    “Hmm …”
    “A few small items, sold to the right
people, will bring us more than we make in months. I say it’s worth
it. We should do it.”
    The sound of fingers tapping on the
lacquered table set Dale on edge. Those weren’t normal fingers.
That was the sound of metal hitting against wood. Fingers capped
with metal? Something one shouldn’t have been surprised to find in
such a place.
    “We go tonight to take a look,” the second
man said. “If—and only if —we find it safe, we go in.
Otherwise, we wait for another day and plan better.”
    Dale clenched his glass. Considering how
deserted the train area looked at night, there was no way the two
thugs would find it unfit for business. He tapped his fingers on
the bar top and debated what to do about it.
    The racket made by chairs being moved around
grated his ears, signaling the men were preparing to leave. There
was no time to think. He needed to act before he lost them.
    Dale leaned over the bar to speak quietly to
the bartender. “I’m taking off early today.”
    Milo shook his head while wiping a glass
with a towel. “Boss won’t like it.”
    “Tell her to take it out of my
paycheck.”
    “Her?” Milo’s eyebrows shot up his wrinkled
forehead.
    Dale didn’t answer. The two conspirators had
reached the door, and all he could see were two large backs covered
with heavy, brown coats patched up with leather. They shouldn’t be
hard to spot in a crowd, assuming he didn’t wait too long. He
grabbed his jacket from behind the bar and started after them.
     

16

    The hour before the beginning of the show
was the quietest for those who remained on the train. With the
passenger cars being soundproof, none of the agitation from outside
disturbed Cielo as she walked along the corridor. The hand panels
allowed her access from one car to the next until she reached the
third before last. Rake and Spinner called it “the factory” because
that was where they fixed people. But people suffered in here, so
she was partial to the term “infirmary” instead.
    Familiarity with the layout of the place
allowed Cielo to find her way around the workshop with ease,
despite the dim light. She placed the thermos she’d brought along
on the corner of a workbench, careful not to disturb anything, and
turned on a bright lamp. Next to her, the unconscious patient lay
on a mechanical bed. With well-practiced moves, Cielo picked a vial
from a drawer and injected its contents into the IV. While waiting
for him to wake up, she pressed the buttons and had the upper part
of the bed elevated.
    A moan broke the eerie silence in the
room.
    “It’s okay. It’s just me,” Cielo said in a
soothing voice. “They’re not here to torture you.” It was supposed
to be a joke, but a groan let her know the man didn’t appreciate
it.
    Blue eyes opened and focused on her face.
After a second of scanning, his facial muscles relaxed. The
contraption that kept his jaw in place prevented him from speaking,
but the swelling around his eyes and nose had retreated, allowing
Cielo to see his real features. In a day or so, he would look human
again.
    Cole’s eyes strayed to the left where his
liquid meal waited.
    “It’s still soup,” Cielo said with an
apologetic shrug. “But I mashed some vegetables and meat into it so
it will have a higher protein value. It shouldn’t taste too bad.”
She uncapped the thermos and guided the plastic straw to Cole’s
lips. “Take it easy. It might be a little hot. I hope the straw
won’t clog,” she added, mostly to herself.
    She placed the thermos on the metal frame
pulled close to the bed and ran her hands down