A Meeting in the Rain

Chapter 1 of 40 for "Fort Irving" Catch the next chapter first at https://www.gouldenbean.com/fort-irving

A young man strode down the rain-slicked sidewalk of San Tadeo. He clutched his fingers tighter on his briefcase, and tilted his head to glance behind him. Just like in the movies, right? He’d always dreamed of excitement… but now a boring desk job seemed very attractive.

He came to the road and immediately began crossing. The sign above read “Academy Way”, the last road before the Progress District ended. Until then he was on SIDTE’s company property. He kept his eyes towards the ground, and saw the brilliant saturated colors of advertising reflected on the wet asphalt. No need to look up, he only needed to see that particular shade of red to recognize the soft drink he was supposed to buy.

Around the young man was the nightlife of the District. Teenagers passed by in cliques, wearing clothes more expensive than the smartphones they carried. A snapshot to remember the night, then into the clothing label they go. He looked inside at the new jacket on display, ogling the price tag before he pressed forward. He wasn’t here to shop for his girlfriend, he had a job to do.

Now he passed by a bar - and there was SIDTE security at the door. The pale blue leather running down his sleeves gave him away, and he stood with hands behind his back. The young man hesitated for a moment. Stop, it’s okay, you’re supposed to be here… that’s what he was told, you have every right to be in this area. Hoping he hadn’t missed his step too much he passed by the officer, nodding his head quickly. “Night.”

The officer offered a thin smile back, and a nod. “G’night,” he replied. His eyes kept scanning the inside of his glasses, keeping an eye on minute-by-minute reports. The young man kept walking, heart pounding. Finally he passed by. With a relief he kept pressing forward to the next intersection and came to the edge of the sidewalk.

Behind him was the Progress District, glimmering neon. In front of him lay the rest of the city, which struggled to keep its yellow street lights burning. The young man kept going, his pace quickening. He had more leeway now that SIDTE’s cameras were not watching his every move. He passed by a bus stop, the paint flaking off the sign. Only one person sat at the bench, slouched forward in a hooded jacket. Drops of water splashed on the polyester and dribbled down to the cracked sidewalk. The young man kept walking, and soon approached the lighted facade of Jimmy’s Pizzeria. There were two men dining at one of the tables outside under an awning, with a pair of sodas before them. As he approached, the two looked up.

“The rain is keeping my garden alive,” the young man said.

“Even more the gardens overseas,” they answered.

The young man sat down and held the briefcase on his lap. “I got it. Everything you need to know about the K-10 Project, and the plans the company has.”

He handed it off to one of his contacts, a tall man with balding hair, who set it on the table and opened it. The man nodded solemnly. “Definitely looks legitimate.”

“Where did you get these documents from?” The other contact asked. He was short, a little rounder, with a mop of black hair.

“I, uh…” the young man coughed. “I can’t tell you my source.”

“Then how do we know for sure these are legitimate?”

The young man stared hard at the shorter contact. “If you didn’t think they were legitimate, you wouldn’t be here now.” He looked at the taller man. “All the documents are real. They’ve been taken off the desks of very reliable people, and if I tell you who gave them to me then I risk putting them in danger.”

The two contacts looked at each other. Then the taller one leaned forward. “If we’re going to do anything with these, we need to know where this information is sourced from. Who gave these to you?”

“I-I didn’t realize names were important for this kind of thing…” he cursed himself for that quaver in his voice. He needed to pull this off. As his contacts remained silent, he tried to change the subject. “So when can we expect our next meeting?”

The shorter contact looked down at his phone, thumb dancing across the screen as he sent something.He then set down the device, and reached into a pocket as the man looked up, “No point talking about a next time if you won’t tell us what we need this time. Now I’m going to ask you again…”

He pulled out a small pistol.

“...who can we thank for this wonderful information?”

The young man eyed the gun. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. The noises around him died; the pounding of his heart deafened him. “I… when you put it that way…” he softly cleared his throat. “Can I - May I have a drink?”

The taller contact pushed his soda glass forward. The young man reached for it with a trembling hand, lifted it to his lips, took a slow drink. Suddenly he lowered it with a frantic whisper: “Cop!”

His contacts looked behind to see nothing.

The young man slammed the case shut and ran.

“Hey!” The shouts came from behind as he sprinted past the bus stop and down an alleyway. He spotted an open dumpster.  With a lunge he tossed the case inside and kept running. A bang and a whizz by his head. Ricochet off the brick, shards raining on him. He tried to step side-to-side as there was another bang, and a loud curse behind him.

He ducked around a corner and into a empty lot, which served as a makeshift dump. The rain left the ground soft and muddy, sucking at his shoes. The smell of months-old refuse burned his nose, as did the sudden physical workout. Never mind that now though. He slammed his back against a concrete pipe, hoping to be overlooked when they passed by. The hiss of rain on the ground made it difficult to hear any footsteps, and the sound of his breathing - his breathing! He clapped a hand over his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, lungs begging for mercy, praying that he wouldn’t be noticed.

A nearby squelch. His stomach tied. He looked to the side. A short squat shadow came around, and grinned. “Hey kid…”

A pow. A pain in his leg. He fell to the ground yelling in pain as the shorter man came over to him, roughly grabbing the young man by the back of his jacket and dragging him out.

“Got ‘im!” His triumphant pursuer chuckled. “Go back, grab the info. Left it in the trash!”

The taller man nodded with a smirk and jogged back to the dumpster. He climbed up the side and looked in. There were mountains of trash.

No briefcase.

“What the…” as he waded in to dig around, he didn’t realize the person sitting at the bus stop had vanished.

Author's Note

Obviously as my first chapter, I'm hoping this acts as an effective hook. Any thoughts and critiques are helpful!