Entering the bright light of the outside world yet again, the sounds of the crowded park they were in, along with the familiar smell of exhaust fumes almost knocked Mr. Holdover back. He shook his head and let is eyes adjust, he recognized the familiar sight, shooting a quick glance behind him at the church they’d just left.

  “What the—it’s the same park again!”

  “What park?” Shakar asked.

  “Never mind you weren’t there.” He looked around, spying the route he used then. “The shelter should be up this way.” He said going ahead.

  “You know this how?”

  Like I said, you weren’t there. It’s just a route I memorized from here to the parlor. Actually I haven’t seen that place in ages, wonder how it’s holding up?”

  The two made their way out of the crowded park and back into the main street along the sidewalk, Mr. Holdover shoving past people in a hurry while Shakar politely maneuvered around them the best he could. Mr. Holdover squinted ahead, he grinned and pointed “It’s right up a…head…” his words trialed off as he stopped, his smile gone.

  Shakar looked at him, then at what he saw. “Oh…”

  There was nothing, only yellow tape and burnt wood. Mr. Holdover blinked. Shakar looked at the site, puzzled.

  “Look at what?” he asked.

  “M-m-my…” Mr. Holdover dropped to his knees, his hands squeezing on to nothing but air as he bellowed to the heavens, “MY BUSINEEEEEEEESS!”

  Watching nearby people stop to look. Shakar shrugged, “I don’t see why you’re so upset since you were going to sell this building originally.”

  Mr. Holdover jabbed a finger at him “You shut your mouth!” he looked back at the destroyed building, both hands behind his head. “This was supposed to be our origin! The beginning of our revolution!”

  “A revolution owned by the city.”

  “That homeless bastard!” The older man seethed, “That’s why the motherfucker wanted us away so damn quick yesterday!”

  Shakar watched Mr. Holdover’s body tense so much he could see his back muscles from his white shirt. Shaking his head, he looked back to the street, noticing a large black van at a nearby stoplight. When the light turned, the van sped off, heading in the direction of the bank. He looked back to Mr. Holdover.

  “Sir—”

  “I’m gonna WRANGLE that spitting bastard by his ski-cap!”

  “Sir, the homeless shelter—”

  “What about it?!” he snapped to Shakar. The younger man pointed off to where the van left.

  “Well if we’re not fast enough to beat the unmarked van on its way to the shelter as we speak, then we may as well burn that down too.”

  ‘Eh?” Mr. Holdover looked off, stretching his neck for a better look. His eyes nearly budged out of his head, and bolted ahead. “FUUUUUCK we gotta go!”

  Doing his best to keep up, Shakar followed Mr. Holdover down the street, the lead man constantly glancing back and forth from the fence, “Hey, kufi!”

  “I’m going to stop responding to that soon!”

  “You see a shortcut or what?”

  “I see…” squinting ahead, he saw the northern end of the park was bordered off with yellow tape, and on the other side patrolled by Blue Collared law enforcement, waving off any civilians who got too close, “…Quite the opposite actually,” He replied.

  “Huh?” Mr. Holdover looked over himself, yelling in raw emotion. “Fuck that!” he saw the black van get to its last stop on the corner of the park. He looked ahead. “We’re gonna get in street-side instead!”

  ‘The back?’ Shakar thought, ‘Is he planning on breaking us in from the back while forgetting about Blue Collard security?’

  Shakar followed Mr. Holdover over the fence and around the back too warn him…just as he ran face to face with two large Blue Collars.

  “Hey!” One yelled, “You’re not supposed to be here!”

  Shakar reached for his stick but Mr. Holdover was quicker. He ran in between the two men while shooting his fists out to his side.

  ‘C-CRACK!’

  Shakar looked at the knocked out officers on the ground, then to Mr. Holdover who was looking up at the building.

  “Well? He asked impatiently, “What are you waiting for?”

  “Y’know I didn’t think ahead this far,” He said.

  “You didn’t what?”

  “Oh well.” Mr. Holdover turned to Shakar, hands on his hips. “Looks like we’re gonna have to break every window on the fourth floor open until we find that fat John’s room.”

  Shakar spun away from him, taking a few steps back with his hand to his mouth. After a few deep breaths he went back to Mr. Holdover, his face flush.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “You…you meathead! Are you even capable of any sort of intelligent thinking?”

  “What?” Mr. Holdover made a face at him, “What’s got you so pissed?”

  Shakar felt unholy urge rush from his stomach to his now trembling neck and shoulders. He did his best to remain calm but breathing normally was becoming more and more of a chore.

  “Hey!” A voice called from above. The two looked up to see Big John waving from the far left window at the top. “Up here, hurry! I can see the van!”

  Feeling his body return to normal, he pulled his rope from behind him and tossed it to the man above, much to his surprise, who caught it. Mr. Holdover and Shakar took hold of it and were yanked up into the room swiftly. Scrambling to their feet, a pair of old clothes were thrown at them.

  “We don’t have much time,” Big John said, “Put these on now!”

  Shakar eyed the clothes; holed jeans, sweat hats, wrinkled flannel shirts and one brown leather coat. He took a whiff and threw his head to the side at the sour stench. “Is this really all you have?” he asked.

  Big John shrugged, “That’s the only set my roommates aren’t wearing right now. Don’t worry they don’t stink that much.”

  “Mine smell like smoke,” Mr. Holdover said putting his on over his clothes, topping it off with the coat.

  Shakar shuttered at that and felt his dashiki. “If I may, can I use your back room to change?”

  “Sure thing,” the man replied, watching him hurry back. “And you can call me ‘Big’ for short!”

  “So how’s this thing gonna work?” Mr. Holdover asked. “Raise our hands and volunteer as tribute?”

  “Ha! You’re funny.” Big John laughed, “But no. They usually knock on doors and scan us with these little devices that check blood pressure and temperatures. Usually they take us unless we’re really, and I mean really ill.”

  “Is that what the rest of your roommates are doing?” Shakar asked, walking back in, itching himself. He adjusted his glasses. “Or are they just taking their chances with the street?”

  “Most of ‘em got families,” He replied, “They use this room as a storage space but are staying with their families in the floors below.”

  Mr. Holdover caught sight of his kufi. “Why you still got that on?”

  “I’d rather not catch lice.”

  “Then put a hat on over it.”

  “I quite like my kufi a little too much for that.”

  He rolled his eyes, “If someone recognizes your ass with—”

  There was a knock at the door, sending everyone’s gaze at it immediately.

  “Shit, already?!” Mr. Holdover said.

  Big John ran over, looking through the peephole before opening it. The other two could see Dolly standing there with a paper slip in her hand.

  “John,” she said, “Are you calling in sick again?”

  “Yep!” he nodded, “Just me again.”

  The woman nodded, “Ok, you know the drill.”

  The large man nodded and reached into his pocket, giving her several wrapped hard green candies. The woman snatched them, her large eyes scanning them before shoving them in her dress pocket. She looked up, “Is this all?”

  “Don’t be greedy,” Big John replied, snatching the slip from her. “Haven’s stock is low so you’re lucky I could give you that much.”

  “Oh no, I’m not being greedy, just curious.” She said, handing him the slip. With a smile she waved to Shakar before turning to leave. “I’ll let them know you’re off the list again.”

  Big John shut the door and went back to the pull out couch to see Mr. Holdover had been staring the entire time.

  “What the hell was that?” he said.

  “Look I can’t afford being taken,” The man replied, “We’ve all got agreements anyways. Besides it’s your job not mine!”

  “I know that, but enhancers though? Really?”

  Shakar took a quick shallow breath, “So the plan currently is…”

  “Get in, get out.” Mr. Holdover answered, rolling his sleeves to his forearms.

  “And how do we know when to ‘get out’?”

  “When the van stops,” He replied.

  The younger man could only suck his teeth.

  ‘Knock, Knock,’

  “ECPD, please open up.” A mellow tone voice on the other side said.

  “That’s them!” Big John whispered loudly. He looked at the door and cleared his throat, “I’ll be there in once second!”

  ‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’

  “ECPD, we told you open up! NOW!”

  Mr. Holdover craned his neck, “I’ll give them something to knock about!” he said quickly strutting to the door, to which Shakar grabbed him back long enough for Big John to hurry to the door. He gave a smile over his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll keep an eye on your clothes, afro hat.”

  “That’s surprisingly worse than kufi.” he muttered.

  He opened the door and three cops burst inside, immediately pointing their noses around the room, and then the three inhabiting it. Nodding to each other in satisfaction, one went to the back while the other two stayed. One in a long topped hat with a protruding lip took out a device, and waved a blue light over the three. It blinked green. He smirked.

  “You three are coming with us.” He said.

  Big John showed the cop his papers, to which the man snatched them and angrily read over it. The homeless man grinned.

  “Now if you don’t mind, please keep it down while I get some rest,” He said, flopping on the couch.

  The cop tore up the papers just as the third one came from the back. “Room’s clear.” He looked at Mr. Holdover and Shakar, “Is it just these two?”

  “Just these two,” The officer in the hat growled.

  Being shoved out of the room, Mr. Holdover withheld the urge to curse as a cold set of odd-feeling handcuffs were slapped on him and Shakar. The officer smirked at him, “These cuffs should stop you from making any—let’s just say—erratic movements.”

  Mr. Holdover eyed the bronze collared cuffs on his wrists, ‘So this’s how they restrain Talented,’ he thought.

  The two were then ushered out of the room with a growing number of homeless filling the hall. Most shouted and protested while some where dragged by their ankles. Being crammed shoulder to shoulder with them, Mr. Holdover and the rest trudged their way down several flights of stairs and finally out the front door to the parking lot. Getting a better look, he saw there were now a dozen vans outside, most of which were being overcrowded with people, some of which were forced to lap up. Mr. Holdover glanced at Shakar who returned the same look. The officer in the hat put his hand up.

  “All of floor four and any stragglers to the can on my far left!” he said. The crowd grumbled, slowly dragging themselves. A few even fell to the ground in defiance. The officer clapped his hands together, blowing a whistle. “I said move it, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!”

  More Blue Collard cops began kicking and dragging the ones on the ground and corralling them in a tight group. They then shoved the crowd to the doors of the back of the van and began stuffing them inside while more stood along the sides as a barrier. Grumbling, Mr. Holdover was shoved into Shakar and a bearded man, all pressed crammed together. The three where then halted by a couple blues and pushed down into the cold benches inside. Bright white lights showed nearly two dozen people all scrunched together with the cops standing and holding on to the grab bars at the back

  The officer looked around, “Anyone else? Nope? Alright, let’s pack it up!”

  The door slammed and Shakar let out a sigh of relief, ‘At least this one isn’t a crowded as the others. You would think that’d be the opposite…’

  The van lurched forward. A few people started crying while some more cursed at the officers. Throughout all the noise, Mr. Holdover sat calmly, waiting for the eventual sound of their destination to be announced.

  ‘Until that happens,’ he thought, ‘It’s gonna be a long ride—’

  ‘KRTKRTKRTK-K-KRT!’ the sound of a nearby radio crackled to life. “Are your passengers secure, squad twelve? Over.” the voice asked.

  “QUIET!” A large cop with freckles squeaked. He picked it up, “This is squad twelve confirming, yes we are all secured and awaiting our final destination. Over.”

  “KRTKRT! Thank you. We should be arriving to the Head Precinct shortly.’

  Both Mr. Holdover and Shakar’s ears perked at the sound. The two looked up but only Shakar turned to Mr. Holdover. The older man stared ahead.

  “We’ve been setup!”