Chapter I - Just Another Job

Shoulders aching, Evan leaned over the kitchen counter, grunting a bit as he reached for the worn backpack resting on the other side of the island. Another grunt passed his lips as the edge of the counter dug into his stomach, his fingers fumbling at the edge of the open zipper.

Should of just walked around the damn thing, why do I always have to cut corners?

With one final burst of effort (and a sizeable accompanying groan), Evan pushed his fingers forward into the interior of the pack, fumbling through the contents and gradually growing more frustrated as he did not find what he sought.

Please tell me why, in the incredibly finite space of this backpack, I cannot seem to find the largest item...

He was about to give up with an eye roll and walk around the island when the tips of his fingers brushed against a familiar metallic surface, pockmarked with scratches.

Bingo.

He traced to the edge of the surface, over that little piece of ducktape with the loose corner, and hooked his hand around the curved underside, pulling the computer out with a final grunt. Breathing heavy with the exertion of the whole ordeal, he dragged the laptop across the counter to him, flipping the screen open and hearing the fans whir to life.

As it booted, he gazed back out across the island to the row of floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, the late-afternoon sun hanging low in the sky. It cast brilliant reflections across the wide river that lazily wound up on the right, before gently curving left behind the gleaming skyline of the city in the distance.

The windows extended off to his right past the island into the corner of a kitchen full of stark white cabinets and sparkling new stainless steel appliances. The dishwasher hummed almost inaudibly, a far cry from the jet engine noise Evan was used to from his own. To the left, the windows ran down the open floor plan of the main room into the area that served as the living room, before terminating at the wall on the other side. The living room was filled with expensive-looking chic furniture that probably cost more than his yearly rent, with a massive flat-screen TV hung against the far wall. The wall itself was covered in photos, most of which Evan couldn't make out from here, but they looked like the typical wedding/friend/family type of stuff you'd expect.

On the left side of the wall was an opening to a hallway mostly out of view, lit at an angle by warm sunlight from a source he could only assume was a bedroom. Faint, vaguely familiar music drifted lethargically out of the opening, what sounded like some Bob Dylan song Evan couldn't remember the name to.

Hell of a place to live.

It was true, the prices Evan had seen for these condos were eye-watering. Newly-built luxury residences in the heart of affluent Old City, and right against Ashford Park, acres of lush green foliage, playgrounds, an art museum, and a concert hall that were all ostensibly part of publicly-accessible land, but in reality everyone knew who was allowed to use it. You required a residential or business permit to park anywhere in Old City, and to get in by foot you'd have to cross one of the three bridges over the canal that separated Old City from the rest of town.

One bridge was virtually never open, the other only connected to a toll highway leading directly to Center City, and the final one was manned by private "Public Safety Officers" who had been granted authority by the Old City Planning Commission to deny use of the bridge to pretty much anyone without the proper permit. You could pay a $25 fee for a day pass into Old City, but the fee was card-only and the payment terminals never seemed to be functioning. On the off chance of making it in on the right day, there was a non-zero chance you'd be picked up in a block or two by the police for some made-up charge if you didn't come across as a "presentable" individual. Suffice to say, most people outside of Old City knew they were not welcome in it.

OCPC was, in theory, nothing more than a glorified HOA granted extra powers by the City Council, but in reality was a pseudo-governmental body with its fingers in everything. Half the City Council was presumed to have some kind of connection to OCPC, as well as every Mayor for the past thirty-something years. Politicians who weren't under its sway nonetheless did nothing to oppose its agenda, as those that did frequently found their opponents come re-election were suddenly swimming with campaign donations.

The only reason why Evan was even allowed in was due to his business permit, which had taken an arm and a leg and knowing the right people to get. The permit afforded him a sort of second-class status, and was how he and other workers got in and out to do their jobs. The rich needed someone to make their artisan avocado toast, after all.

As long as he kept up good appearances, always had his permit on display, and didn't linger too long in one area, Evan could come and go as he pleased without being hassled, and even walk through the fabled park. Just last Friday, after his latest job, he'd gone there to check out the Harvest Festival that marked the end of summer.

The park had been strung up with lines of old-style incandescent light bulbs that lit warm pools of light among the soft shadows cast by the trees. Farm-stands with fresh local produce, BBQ, and funnel cakes had been set up in the central pavilion, while a bluegrass band played in the concert hall. Families had set up blankets everywhere, and after a while fireworks had been launched over the treeline above the river. Evan distinctly remembered the expression of wonder a little girl had on her face as it lit up with various colors.

It had been a pretty magical night, up until the mother of that little girl had seen him looking, saw the business permit hanging around his neck, and then had given him the blackest glare a woman of her stature could muster. He'd left the park and OC in a hurry after that, afraid of losing his permit (others had lost theirs for less), and the significant amount of business that came with it. All you really needed was a slick website and some referrals and the people in this town would pay double what those anywhere else would be willing to without even batting an eye. And this particular condo complex had been a gold mine of young folks with too much money and too little common sense.

Light footsteps stirred Evan from his thoughts, and he glanced over to the opening where a young woman stood, one hand cocked on her hip, the other holding a long-handled paint roller, and a wry, ear-to-ear smile. She looked like she was barely holding back a laugh.

"I uh, heard some... sound effects out here, you OK?" She called, her composure finally breaking as she let out a giggle that turned into a laugh, bending over slightly as she used the painting rod for support. The strands of her wavy dark brown that weren't tied back in the messy bun fell forward to cover her face, partially hiding her sparking blue-green eyes and pale, slightly freckled features. Evan flushed red as he remembered getting the laptop from the bag.

"Sorry, sorry, it really wasn't that bad, just reminds me of the noises my husband makes whenever he exerts himself. A charmer, that one." She giggled one more time, nose and mouth wrinkling in a wry gesture, before pushing herself up straight with the pole and casually brushing some of the strands of hair covering her face behind an ear. The woman started to walk over before stopping, looking over with a quizzical expression and pursed lips at the paint roller in her hands. Spinning on her heels, she looked back with squinted eyes and mouthed "One, moment" before jogging back into the hallway and out of sight.

Evan heard the sound of footsteps on plastic sheeting, clattering, and then a yelp followed by yet another laugh. She emerged a short while later, a light blue streak of paint in her hair and another from her eyebrow down the side of her cheek, wearing a bashful expression with her mouth sucked in.

"I suppose I deserve this," she said in a barely audible voice, the corners of her mouth slow pointing upwards into a grin.