Scales

Sovereign Row - Fatima

Wealth was prolific in Vargos, even amidst the dizzying levels of poverty that existed beside it. There was the wealth of the corporations and those who served them. There was the wealth of those who carved out a niche in the black market. There was even the wealth of those who simply got lucky, escaping poverty through sheer dumb luck and minor chance.

But then there was the wealth of old money, the wealth of the descendants of the city’s founders and those who had built the foundations upon which the corporate city-state now stood as a monument to human endeavor.

This wealth did not live scattered throughout the city. Vargos' old money was too afraid of what the city had become, feigning ignorance as to how it got there. They did not live among the corporations or the lawless underbelly of Vargos.

Instead, they dwelled in a faux utopia, carved into the city's very center, wedged between Downtown and The Sprawl. Surrounded on all sides by either corporate greed or the hungry mouths of those who would tear the rich limb from limb for a taste of their opulent lifestyle.

This was Sovereign Row. A place where Vargos’ old money hid, waiting for the end of times as the city they built touched the sky without them.

It was deep within Sovereign Row, inside a parked Version Z flying car, that Fatima Hussain Bakhir awaited the man who would make her world right again.

She instructed her driver to remain on the street corner while she entered a small coffee shop that rainy morning. She told him she would be inside for exactly fifteen minutes and if she did not return in that time, he was to come and get her.

The driver nodded and she stepped out into the pouring rain and hurried into the shop.

The café was entirely automated, a common choice for businesses in Sovereign Row. Most of the clientele leaned toward abusiveness when dealing with service workers. AI-run shops could take the brunt of the abuse without the consequences that came from mistreating human staff.

At this time of day, the café was nearly empty, save for a lone man in the corner, nursing a steaming cup. He wore a well-fitted suit in the popular “De Minimus” style—no tie, unbuttoned top button, thin suit jacket, and a neon lapel pin featuring the tailor’s signature.

She approached him carefully. His eyes glowing blue, a sign he was browsing the net via an augmented reality plug-in.

She hesitated, then whispered the phrase her sister’s husband had instructed her to say.

“Bluebird.”

The blue glow in the man's eyes faded, revealing his natural green irises. But the malice behind them sent a chill up her back.

“Sit.”

His voice was quiet, deep, and gravelly, a sound scraping against her ears like tires on loose dirt.

She obeyed, settling into the chair across from him. He sipped his coffee, his eyes never meeting hers.

“Fatima Hussain Bakhir. Our mutual friend says I can help you with something.”

“Yes,” she hardly got the word out, she was tripping over her speech trying to relax. Clandestine meetings like this were entirely unfamiliar with her, but she’d come too far to back out now. “I want a problem taken care of.”

“No shit,” he grumbled. “No one schedules a meeting with me just to chat.” She sipped his drink and finally met her gaze. His face was hardened and rough, like tanned leather hardly adhered to the shape of his skull. Fatima gulped then launched into the speech she’d prepared.

“I want my husband, sorry, ex-husband taken care of. He told me he was done with his whores, but after years with that liar I should have known his promises meant nothing. I was told you could take care of it for me.” The man took in her words, leaning back in his seat.

“A lot of people can. The Wraiths, two-bit trick shots in the Sprawl, Fountainhead security for the right price. Why enlist my services over theirs?”

“I hear you don’t keep a record of your contracts, and with all of those options my name would be recorded. All of those services keep buyers’ personal chit ID’s as collateral.”

“Correct, but that is not a reason to hire me specifically. Try again.” Fatima was confused. That was exactly why she was seeking out his services.

“I don’t understand–” he threw a hand up, interrupting her before finishing his coffee and looking her dead in the eyes.

“You hire The Tall Man because he has never failed. You hire The Tall Man because he can personalize a kill to fit whatever moronic poetic justice you’ve fantasized about in your head, forgetting that it’s just ending someone’s life and nothing more profound than that. You hire The Tall Man because your prim hands are too fragile to do a thing by yourself but you can’t risk failure at this particular thing. You hire The Tall Man because you are weak, but he is strong.” She was sickened, the man was grotesque.

“Fine, go to Hell! I can find help from somewhere else.” She had half a mind to storm out, but something was keeping her in her seat.

“I doubt it, I’m not usually the first pick. If you’re coming to me you’ve thought about the other options and for one reason or another this is where you landed. I will do this service for you, but you’re going to tell me why your ex-husband needs to die. You’re going to sit with the choice you’ve made and tell me out loud why he deserves to meet his end. Vargos may not be known for the intentionality behind the deaths that plague it everyday, but I am.” The man leaned back and rested his hands on his lap, waiting for her to speak. Fatima teared up and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, before gritting her teeth and speaking with more venom in her words than she knew she had.

“He’s a backstabbing, low-life piece of shit who vowed to love and honor his wife, and he’s done nothing of the sort since the day I said ‘I do.’ He locked me in this gilded cage of a neighborhood and leaves every day to fuck whatever moves the right way in those disgusting parlors in Neon Heights. He only cares about himself and whatever base desire he’s fulfilling in this city he trapped me in. I don’t deserve to suffer here forever. If I’m never going to be able to leave Sovereign Row, at the very least, I deserve to live out my days here without having to tolerate him.” She spoke with fire in her voice and furiously wiped her eyes. She was crying now.

“That’s more like it. Thank you for being honest with me, and with yourself.” He gave her a surprisingly warm smile, then looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your car?”

Fatima turned to look out the window at the empty street, rain filling her field of vision but no car in sight. She turned back again at the sound of cold metal tapping gently on the glass table. The man had set a large gun in front of him and met her eyes as her lower lip trembled.

“The reasons he gave me about you weren’t anywhere near as legitimate. But rest assured, Fatima, I’ll still get the job done.”

She was finding it hard to breathe now, her hand gripping the handkerchief shaking uncontrollably.

“Would you like to talk some more before we part ways?”

She could hardly breathe, but for the first time in years, even under these circumstances, it felt good to be heard. She nodded and continued to share her feelings as the rain poured down outside.