Junkers by Benjamin Wallace

Author:Benjamin Wallace [Wallace, Benjamin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Published: 2016-06-13T04:00:00+00:00

10

You could tell a lot from a knock.

The first and most obvious clue was what time the knock occurred. If it came too early in the morning it was most likely a neighbor out to complain. A midday knock was the most ambiguous, though it was generally the post office or a salesman knocking under the guise of opportunity. Most evening knocks were prearranged and rarely any cause for concern. Anything after nine was probably bad news. And anything after midnight was certainly trouble.

The number of knocks and the rate at which they occurred had to be measured together. A single quick rap was a desire for subtlety. A slow, loud knock meant business. And an unending series of soft, quick knocks usually meant the visitor had to pee.

The knocking now was fierce and steady but not quick. Normally this meant “hide,” but Jake knew Hailey could see it was him. He kept the pounding steady and fierce.

Hailey opened the door quickly either out of curiosity or for fear he would wake the neighbors. She hadn’t turned in yet but she had dressed for bed. She clutched a robe in front of her chest. From the way she looked, one might imagine a sheer negligee beneath it. Jake knew, however, it was sure to be a vintage band tee shirt long past its prime.

“Jake. Do you know how late it—why are you covered in oil?”

“It’s a new nighttime treatment. It gives my skin that luster that drives the ladies wild. May I come in?”

“It’s really late.”

“Well it took quite a while to walk my bike home.”

“Oh, Jake. That’s just sad.”

“Very sad. A raincloud followed me the whole way. But it gave me some time to think. May I come in?”

Hailey shrugged and pushed the door open. “Just for a minute. I was on my way to bed. Also, again, why are you covered in oil?”

Jake stepped into the apartment and was greeted by the humming rotors and blaring chirps of Whir-bert. The machine had a limited vocabulary that made it cute according to focus groups, but it had no problem expressing itself. It swore at him in harsh tones but still seemed nicer than the cat.

Jake pointed at the small bot. “I really hate this thing.”

“Whir-bert,” Hailey said. “Go to sleep. Wake me at the regular time.”

The machine buzzed off to some unseen charging station and the room was quiet once more.

Her apartment was everything his wasn’t. Spacious. Modern. Furnished. It didn’t smell like a demon cat’s vengeance urine. He walked across the entryway into the living room. “This is a great place you’ve got, Hail.”

“Uh, thank you. You have been here.”

“I know but I never really noticed it before. It’s so much nicer than my place.” He spread out a throw on the couch and dropped into the cushions. He bounced. “Nice furniture. Fresh air. It’s not on fire.”

“Don’t sit there. You’re fil—What do you mean it’s not on fire? Is your place on fire? Did your place catch fire?”

Jake nodded.

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