Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ All I Have ❯ Busy Child ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

: Busy Child :

Andy Murphy found himself staring vacantly at the paper texts in front of him. To his right was a shimmering holographic anatomy model, with bright red word texts hanging over the various areas he'd `treated' during his self-training. He was studying on his days off, finding that continuous learning kept his mind sharp and his hands busy. The medical building was quiet during Sunday afternoon; most of the medical classrooms were empty, save for a class or two on independent studies.

He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, wondering why his mind was wandering. Reaching for a cup of coffee, he finished that off and set the cup aside. Dressed in medical scrubs, with a photo ID clipped to the single pocket shirt, Andy presented the usual picture of a harried medical officer. There were dark circles under his eyes, numerous cups of coffee running through his body and it looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in days. He had forgotten what it was like to wear casual clothing, because if he wasn't wearing his field uniform, he was wearing the scrubs. Brushing his blond hair from his forehead, he shut the books closed and reached over to switch off the projector. The room's lighting adjusted with the change. As he stood up from his stool, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Sam Hill walked in with a quiet knock, a pensive frown on his face. Dressed in a metal tee and creased jeans, the younger man looked as if he belonged on high school grounds. Andy felt some affection hit him, and couldn't hide his smile. He then saw the troubled expression on the other's face. “Hey, Sam. You had the Chinese MRE last night, didn't you?”

“No. Byrons got me a hot dog.”

Andy thought of Sam's unit, picturing faces underneath protective helmets. He knew all their last names thanks to their name patches, but he didn't know them individually. “That's relatively safe, so it must be some other ailment. Still homesick?”

“A little,” Sam admitted, reaching up to touch his shorn hair. It was cropped closely to his skull, and he was still self-conscious over it, convinced it only boasted the size of his head and ears. “Yeah. It's…it's still hard. I can't seem to adjust to this.”

“It gets easier,” Andy assured him, gathering up his texts. “Walk with me.”

At five ten, Andy was considerably shorter than Sam. Blond haired and blue eyed, he was nearly a carbon copy of the younger medic. Both of them had childishly round faces with similarly nub noses; both of them had small ears and rounded eyebrows. It made sense in that they looked alike, considering that both of them were fathered by the same man. Andy had learned of his half-brother when Sam entered into the Academy and shared some of the same classes. Seeing a carbon copy of one's self had been startling, but so had the resulting history in that they were actually related.

But Andy had accepted Sam easily; he'd been a single child, and it seemed Sam needed as much support he could get from those around him. His mother, soon after marrying one of New Park's billionaires, had decided that her son needed a manly wake-up call and had enrolled Sam without second thought to his sensitive nature.

“We ran into this tent city last night,” Sam said quietly. “Peters found two of them dead inside their tents. The other guys just complained of the smell, and—and I just made a fool of myself.”

“Vomited?”

“All over Jensen's boots. I couldn't help it. It was horrendous. All I could think of was how the other homeless guys ignored the smells just to—just to pretend they weren't there, or that…”

“They probably had their reasons, Sam. Most of them are unregistered felons, offenders. They probably didn't want to bring attention to themselves if they'd reported the deaths,” Andy said.

“I know, but—! As a human being, it would just make sense to tell someone about something like that, rather than letting them fester and rot!”

“Human beings in this city have lost their ethics a long time ago. If it doesn't concern self or if it'll bring too much trouble to self, then one will not bring attention to the bother.” Andy shifted the books to his other arm. “Listen, you have a pretty good group. I bet Jensen didn't even say anything.”

“He gave me his pack of gum. Sir was all over me for losing control like that, yelling around about how I'd act if I were in another situation, but…I don't know, I think that if that other situation came up, it'd be different. I have had enough training to act the way that I need to, but when stuff like this happens…I'm just not sure. Simulations and reality are so…different. The smells get to me more than the visuals ever could.”

Andy nodded, thinking of the medical response center, where DJ's medics were trained. Every situation possible was included into the individual's training, and he'd seen Sam's scores. He knew that Sam had the knowledge to react in the way he was supposed to, but when it came to reality, Sam either froze or mixed up his applications.

“Like I said, you have a sympathetic group with you. I'm glad for that, at least. You could have been grouped with a shittier bunch. Like 93. Or even my unit. At least 58 has some manner of compassion in them.”

“I know. But if something happens…if something happens and I can't respond to it…I'd feel so bad,” Sam said with a sigh, hanging his head. “I want to be able to return the favors, but I'm so afraid of messing up.”

“If that happens, I'm sure you'll do your best,” Andy said, turning through a corridor to enter a stairwell and walking down. “What's your group up to, today?”

“Edwards organized this fight night thing. He has bets going on with some guys. His fighter's going to be fighting against some guy from F4.”

“Prisoners taking place in organized fights?”

“It seems that this…this Go person hasn't any other challenger on Earth because of his age.”

“Ah. That guy. Isn't he in high school, still?” Andy asked, leading them into a locker room. He quickly changed out of his scrubs and into some standard issue BDUs.

“Yes, but he's of age to participate.” Sam sighed, leaning forehead against a locker and picking at the knob with one fingertip. “I don't want to go. But they invited me. So I was wondering if you'd go with me, too.”

Andy hesitated, glanced at his books. He then sat down to pull on his socks. “Well…I don't really know those guys. And…I've got…studying to do.”

“They're not so bad. They're just really, like…easy going.”

“Neilson threatened to kick my head in, one day. For accidently walking into the ladies' room near the commons area. I'm kind of scared of her.”

“She's…um…nice?” Sam said, scrunching his brow.

“She also threatened to disembowel me the next time she saw me. I want my bowels where they are.”

“Well…she might've been kinda cranky. She probably even forgot all about you.”

“I am easily forgettable.”

“I wish there weren't girls in the military. It's just really weird. She was blown up the other night by some guy with an RPG, but she just got right back up and kicked his face in with her boot. The guys just let her handle the arrest. But I always find myself thinking that, if we weren't equipped with this stuff, she'd never be able to handle it.”

“Equality is different in this area, Sam. When you have the power and the means, anything goes.”

“It's just weird. I grew up with girls dressing all girly and wearing high heels, yet most of the toughest soldiers out here are scared of that one chick.”

“58's not the only ones scared of Neilson, Sam.” Andy studied his locker for a few moments, then closed and opened it for another look. “Hmm. Help me find my boots. They appear to be missing.”

Sam found himself smiling as Andy gave the locker room a slow turnaround, looking confused. He reached atop of the lockers for a worn pair of boots that had been set up there, and Andy gave a sound of exasperation as he took them. “You and Peters are so alike. He's probably our cousin, or something.”

“A scary thought.”

The Fast-Trac was crowded; as Adam took a standing position within the center of one car, Ian sat on the floor and started a rambling conversation about the city's reliable infrastructure with a couple of tourists. It felt so unchanged, so comfortable; this unfailing need of each other's presence, the tight companionship between them. Adam had only the vague and logistical thought that their only separation would be caused by death on the field, due to some accident or purposeful threat. He studied his friend's reflection in one of the windows that flashed black due to the tunnel they were currently in. Ian was too friendly, too eager to start some conversation or friendship with somebody, but none of those he spoke to would know him the way that Adam did.

For years as his confidant, Adam knew Ian was terribly insecure. He knew of his flaws, the weakness of his character as Ian either confessed them, or had to show them in a moment's failure of support. He knew Ian was the type to fret over not having enough friends or attention; he knew that Ian was afraid of seeing his father's face again, and he knew that every girl Ian dated was definitely not the one for him.

As friendly and open as he was, Ian was full of opposites. And only Adam knew. He was the only one who knew how to negotiate him back from the darkness, to convince him that his time here on Earth was needed. It was because of these that Adam felt constantly needed, because he knew Ian wouldn't take the time to tell anybody else.

The ride into the center of the city was a forty-five minute trip due to the stops and the delays in the tracks from other cars. But by the time they boarded the center station, it was nearly noon; and neither had any idea on what to do.

“I'm going to put money on Go, tonight,” Ian said once they climbed out of the station, entering the bright, uncomfortable heat of New Park's center streets. The sidewalks were crowded with activity, and Adam was grateful for his formidable size as he made his way up. People hit him with their various shopping bags and shoulders in rude fashion, but it didn't anger him or rile him as much; New Park was filled with rude, self-centered people. “Just because the kid's reliable.”

“He can't even speak English,” Adam said. The series of tongue clicks, short hisses through teeth and deep throat chirps continued to mystify him in how a humanoid even knew what it was that was being said. The stunted English that had followed needed subtitles. “That interview the other day? What sort of language is that?”

“But he's good; awesome footwork for someone of his size.”

“I'm not interested. I'd rather bet on the other fighter. What's his record?”

“Whatever. The point is, I'm going to make a few bucks. I was also thinking we should eat. Man, feels like I hadn't eaten a thing in days,” Ian then complained, stopping short to scan the area. He pointed out a hole-in-the-wall across the street to Adam. “They serve these awesome tacos.”

Adam studied the alley-side entrance, noting the lingering characters in front, one of them being cursed out by an imposing waiter. Instantly suspicious of the cameras dangling from necks and wrists, he deduced the obvious group of paparazzi; the armed and photo-dangerous pests that accosted various celebrities and politicians in New Park. Before he could say anything along those lines, Ian was crossing the street, Adam following along with a reluctant noise of sound. The waiter let them in after a second's glance, seemingly recognizing them in a way that made him feel well-known. But Adam knew it was only their posture he accepted, for he gave them both a welcoming nod and a brief hello.

The booths were faded and rickety, and he had doubts that they'd hold him. Within the center of the room was a massive plant display, covering an interior pillar. Around it were small tables, enough for a pair to fit comfortably. The windows lined only the wall near the front entrance, and the lighting was dim. The music that played was slow rock, something that instantly made him sleepy. Ian led the way to the back of the room, where they had prime view of what was being taken out from the kitchens. Indeed, as Adam followed, he saw a few trays that were brought out for seated parties and felt his stomach clench in anticipation, mouth watering.

“How do you find these cockroach joints?” he asked quietly, sitting very carefully at a booth, hearing it protest his size and weight. He held still. “These are not going to hold me.”

“Try holding your breath.”

“How is that going to help my size?”

“You do have a fat ass,” said a childish voice from nearby.

Adam looked up to see Ian perform a double take, pausing in his effort to sit at his own bench. To see his best friend's face light up the way it did whenever he saw her already told him who it was sitting within the plant display at a single table. He didn't need to look, his face shifting into that of heavy irritation as he resettled himself with a tense quiver of his thighs. The booth protested again but seemed to hold tight as he folded his hands atop of the table.

She sat with a smirk on her teenaged face, a tray of sizzling food sitting before her. Long dark hair fell around her broad shoulders in a shimmering mass. Athletically shaped legs crossed at the knee, sandal-style heels gracing her feet. Everything about her screamed high-maintenance and hard-to-pronounce brand names. It irritated Adam the way the world catered to the spoiled teen; despite the color of her skin, the obvious nationality of her features; the paparazzi wanted more of her and her exploits were featured in every evening newscast.

“My homos-to-be,” Felicia Passage said slowly, red-glossed lips forming each word carefully, struggling to stave off her horrid `ghetto-speak'. “What's up, soldier boys?”

Adam knew Ian's face was brilliant with some smile of his. How the other man could even venture to have feelings for this vulgar and somewhat mannish insult to womankind was completely beyond his comprehension. With a slight shake of his head, he resolved himself to sit in the booth and wait to catch the attention of some guy with a telephoto lens to point out the teen that was obviously in hiding.

“Felicia!” Ian said, sliding into the other side of the booth. “What brings you over here?”

“Food, for one,” she said, giving him an annoyed look for speaking so loudly of her name.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, that's right.”

“Peace and quiet for another.”

“The paps outside belong to you, huh?”

“I ditched my usual entourage once I saw the mongoloids,” she said. She then shifted to dump a heady amount of salsa atop of her carnitas. “They should be finding me soon. A gal needs a bit of peace and quiet every now and then.”

“That's what jail cells are for,” Adam heard himself muttering.

She slapped the table. “That's what she said!”

“Go to hell, you piece of shit.”

“Quit with the compliments. I think you're just kissing ass to get on my good side,” she added, reaching for a spork and digging into her food with all the gusto of a teenaged boy. Salsa and grease caught along her top lip. “Yum. You should have some after you lose twenty or so pounds.”

Ian cleared his throat before Adam could say anything more. “Well, it's our day off. We're kind of just wandering around, looking for something to do.”

Felicia lifted an arched eyebrow, dumping meat and onions into a warm tortilla. “That new porn museum just opened up on West 97th. Go check it out. They won't let me in because I'm somewhat underage. Like I don't know what a dick's for, snerk.”

“Don't whores usually know their profession?” Adam muttered.

“You mean you don't? Haven't ya been takin' it up th' ass all this time?”

“You fucking bitch—!”

“Your furious expression just made my croc-skin clutch shiver.”

“Your friend Go fights tonight, huh?” Ian said quickly, shooting Adam a look. Adam merely shook his head, disgusted with the entire situation. The girl was sixteen, nearly seventeen. If it wasn't for her makeup and clothing that caused her to look slightly older, she would have been avoided entirely.

“Yup. He'll get his skinny ass knocked out sometime in the second round, forty-five seconds remaining. He's good, fast and knows his business, but he ain't experienced like Mortimer. Hah. A convict named Mortimer. Isn't that a gas?” She remembered to wipe her mouth with her napkin. “Figurin' on that, I got all the odds on Mortimer. No one likes the bad guys, anyway.”

“Adam here bet on him as well.”

“Adam, despite that fat ass of yours, yer a smart guy,” Felicia said. “I'll go halfies with you. We'll make gazillions.”

“I don't make deals with underage, spoiled delinquents,” Adam said slowly, looking at Ian pointedly.

Felicia flung some of her flavored beef in his direction. “How dare you call me underage! I'll have you know, sixteen is legal in most states.”

“`Legal' for what?”

“Let's just say it'll get me places if my unc goes belly up.”

“Um, well, we're going to eat somewhere else,” Ian then said uncomfortably, giving Adam a look. Adam frowned at him for taking so long in making that decision. “So…so have a good day. Stay out of trouble.”

“Give me ten bucks and I'll consider the options,” Felicia said with a full mouth.

“You are the niece of a bajillionaire. You don't need money from a poor person like myself.”

“I could always use a little extra. You know how I love wasting it on the poor.”

“Like you're capable of thinking of people other than yourself,” Adam muttered, rising from the booth and heading for the exit.

“Oi! Quit pointing out my good points!” Felicia hollered after them, and then grimaced at the attention brought her way.

Ian gave her one last look, and then hurried after Adam. He saw a couple of paps enter the eatery, their backwards capped heads turning from right to left as they renewed their search. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he squinted at the crowded sidewalks. Alien and humans pushed their way amongst each other, visiting the various shops lining the street. Traffic was at a near standstill, the roar of some enraged Alien filling the air above the normal noises of city chaos.

Adam gave him an irritated look. “Why, Ian? Why her?”

Ian shrugged. “I don't know. I guess…it's just…”

“Underage, offensive as hell, and she obviously lacks something. Ever since she came into the scene here, you're drooling all over her like she's some piece of meat.”

“I've not—! Drooled,” Ian repeated. “Yeah, maybe I do go out of my way to do the wrong thing, in people's eyes, I do the wrong thing, but I don't think it's really that big of a deal to go up to her to talk to her. She's just this…this lost kid that tries too hard to fit in.”

“It's unbelievable the way you make excuses for her behavior. And to think I thought you had some common sense. What's wrong with the girls you date? The ones that are your age?”

“I don't…I mean, they're fun…I like being with them from time to time, but none of them—I can't get too close to them. I don't know.” Ian shrugged, hands in his shorts pockets once more. “I just…it's…it's something I can't explain right now.”

“Try thinking with your fucking mind and not your dick! Underage doesn't mean better!”

“I can't even explain it to you. You're getting all riled up over something as trivial as that.”

“It's disgusting when you moon over some stupid kid. Especially something like that!”

“I don't moon. And I won't get into a big fight with you over this.”

“Frankly, there's nothing in that area of hers that'll make you into some kind of big man on campus, if that's what you're thinking,” Adam said nastily, nearly pushing aside a couple of women with heavy shopping bags. “Score with a heiress and people will respect you. They'll only find you a fucking joke. Like you're not already.”

“You're still going on about it.”

“What's so fucking good about her that you're willing to go to these great lengths to make a Goddamn joke of yourself over? She's fucking brown, she's a kid, and there's nobody in this city that gives a shit about her unless its that adoptive family of hers, and fuck the East Side and their conniving Alien Underworld ways,” Adam spit. “You trying to get in it is absolutely pathetic. What are you trying to prove to them? To yourself?”

Quietly, Ian let him rant. When Adam was finished, he gave a tired exhale and glanced around them to see their next destination. Upon coming to a light, standing behind a large group of impatient people, he said calmly, “You'd never understand.”

Adam reached up to touch his eyebrows, tracing over them with a fingertip. The avoidance of eye contact, the hiding of his hands—Ian knew exactly what he wanted to say to Adam, but he wasn't saying it. He seethed in silence, struggling to quell the rest of his frustrated, rising emotions in the matter.

“Look, we'll eat. Then go check out the park. They got crazy setups over there. It's time for the circus freaks to come out from hiding,” Ian then said after a few minutes of walking in silence, pointing across the way to a park that was set up with brightly colored tents.

“Look, you'd tell me if—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Over there. They have awesome Long Island Iced teas.”

Adam swallowed, struggling to silence the stubborn voice in him that wanted to continue arguing. “The stuff chicks drink?”

“Oops. I mean,” Ian lowered his voice, “draft beer is awesome. Short stack ribs—yum.”

Adam gave an acquiescing shrug, following Ian as he talked and walked in that direction.

By the time they'd returned to base, Larson had been entertaining the small mass of off-duty soldiers for nearly a half hour. The kitchen was filled with various ice-holding containers holding alcohol and water, and pizza boxes lined whatever surface was available. The large screen holoset was the newest investment he'd made, and it made a difference. Every available surface was filled with either standing or sitting men and women, most of whom were holding an alcoholic beverage in one hand.

“Wow, it's full in here,” Ian observed, squirming his way through the throng to reach the kitchen. He found Sam standing next to the sink with another person, both of them looking entirely out of place in the noisy environment. “Hill, I hope you're not drinking yet. You're not of age.”

“I'm not,” Sam said quickly, gesturing at his root beer. He shifted aside so Ian could rummage through one of the coolers, pulling out a green bottle. Next to him Andy shifted uncomfortably. “Peters, this is my, um, my brother. Andy. Andy Murphy, from 43. He's their medic.”

“Hi. 43, huh? You guys cover the Marina district, right?” Ian then asked, pausing short as he gave Andy a onceover.

Seeing Ian Peters up close and personal intimidated Andy. He couldn't understand why; the man seemed pleasant and personable, crowding their space only slightly to be heard and to be peered at by sharp blue eyes that looked as if they stripped a person immediately of their secrets. Andy felt himself flushing out of pressure, dropping his sight down to Ian's sock covered feet encased within sandals, a hideous combination. “Yes. The outer edge.”

“Have you guys noticed an increase of shipping activity from the west docks? I thought it seemed a little suspicious that the South claims—”

“We're not here to discuss work!” Larson interrupted, shoving Ian aside to get to one of the pizza boxes. He'd finally changed out of his sleepwear, but his hair looked just as wild and untamed as it did earlier that day. “If I hear anybody discussing work, they're kicked the hell out of here.”

“But I live here!”

“No exceptions! Hey, Sam, don't drink anything you're not supposed to,” Larson then warned, shaking a finger at the younger medic.

“I won't.”

“I was just asking about the activity at the west docks. Remember when we caught up to that Jester guy, and he blabbed about buying recently from some southern group—”

“Shut your mouth. Shut your mouth with your crazy talk,” Larson commanded, slapping a hand over Ian's mouth.

“Actually, there had been an increase of activity, but it was found to be a few cartels from down south that had upped their supply with the local Alien factions here on the North side,” Andy said. “DEA handled it after we discovered the details and took in the Aliens responsible.”

“I knew it! Once we intercepted a shipment of cocaine through the cab driver, I knew it had to be from the southern continent, and not the South Side. It's way too tacky for those guys—”

“That's it. You're evicted,” Larson said, kicking Ian to the side, the man disappearing into a throng of men that shouted and held their beers high to avoid losing them. Larson gave Andy a warning look. “You continue with that behavior, I'm going to have to bring the foot of justice down on you.”

“It's crowded in here,” Bridgette grumbled, pushing aside a couple of men to be heard.

“And here it is,” Larson finished, gesturing at her.

Andy cringed, and Larson shifted to the other side of the kitchen counter. Sam merely smiled, starting to loosen up now that he knew everyone was on comfortable favor with each other.

“I can't hear myself think,” Bridgette continued, reaching up to fiddle with her shoulder-length, straight brown hair. The only female of 58 was wearing a loose purple blouse, her ample chest obvious even with the measures she took to hide it. The rest of her frame, strong and generous as most of the women were in the military, was stiff in blue jeans and flats. She hadn't bothered with makeup, but she did spray on perfume. “Sam, don't you even think of touching that other stuff, because if I see you even contemplating the notion, I'll make damn sure you piss from your nose for the next two weeks.”

“Y-yes sir—I mean, ma'am. I mean…yes. I mean, I wasn't even thinking of even touching, or even—”

“Are you guys brothers?” she then asked, furrowing her overplucked eyebrows.

“My name's Andy. 43,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Oh, God, Ken's crew,” she said instead, tilting her head to the left as she gave him a look. She gave his outstretched hand a withering look until he lowered it. “You're with Ken Powers. You know Powers, Lars. The prick that shot up the Marina district's YMCA.”

“But he looks harmless,” Larson said, sipping at his beer. “Like Sam, almost.”

“That's what your girlfriend said,” Sam mumbled, Larson giving him an outraged look before reaching for him and administering a noogie.

“You didn't invite the rest of your crew to show up, did you?” Bridgette then asked, glaring at Andy.

“No. I'm here with Sam. I usually don't come to these things,” Andy said quickly.

“I hate Ken Powers. Just so you know. Now those brown kids down there haven't any safe after-school places to go. That YMCA was their safe place. How could he just think that it could be replaced so easily?” she went on, opening her beer with a flick of her fingers.

“Um, there was this thing about discussing work?” Sam spoke up, looking at Larson. The bespectacled man quickly ducked out of view and disappeared.

“What about it?” Bridgette snapped.

“Nothing. Where's the bathroom?”

“Oh. It's upstairs. To the left. Adam doesn't want anybody in his room, just so you know,” she added, walking off. She grabbed the ass of one surprised soldier, who could only scurry away with a startled sound.

Andy exhaled heavily, hand to his chest. “She's even scarier without her uniform.”

“It's funny how the guys will talk all big, then back down whenever she shows up,” Sam said with a small laugh. “I like to tease Edwards about it. He's the fastest to disappear.”

“Where's Jensen?” Andy asked, glancing around.

Sam took a long drink of his root beer. “Um…they're good guys, but everyone else still has this thing about…about non-Caucasians. And Jensen's black. He just sticks to himself most of the time because of all the things people say about him. Edwards and Peters tried to get him to come out here last night. He just…doesn't want that trouble.”

Andy nodded in understanding, gazing over the throng of people. The pre-fight activities were taking place, highlighting both fighters' careers over the year. As GoDarun's came up, the young fighter speaking first in his Alien language, he said, “It's sad how the Race Wars continue to come up. Even if we're united in one common thing, the color of our skin continues to hold some of the best people back.”

“Jensen's a cool guy. But he's mistreated a lot. So is Juarez, from 32. Juarez is the stealth officer there? And he gets a lot of flack. But they're so strong and tough, and just seeing them doing their thing is so motivating,” Sam said, nodding.

“Where's Byrons?” Andy then asked, looking around.

“I don't know. Um, Cooney doesn't hang out with us much. Thinks we're a bunch of jokes.”

“Leads always think that.”

“Peters was that way, too,” Sam continued, leaning back against the sink. “He didn't like Jensen. You could tell. But he tried to work with him in a civil manner.”

“You're kidding. Golden boy couldn't tolerate another color of someone's skin?”

“Here's the big thing,” Sam said, lowering his voice and leaning in close. “It wasn't until this, well, Byrons complained about it once to Edwards, but it wasn't until Peters met that girl from the East Side that he started to tolerate non-Caucasians.”

“What girl…?”

“You won't even guess. Not in a billion years.”

“Some rich bitch from the East Side? I couldn't even—”

“Felicia Passage.”

Andy nearly dropped his water, then grew embarrassed over his reaction. “Shut up.”

“I'm serious. Peters has a huge thing for her. Every time she pops up, he's right there at the forefront. Byrons said it's pretty bad.”

Andy had to laugh, picturing the spoiled heiress to Alien billions. “You are lying to me.”

“Sam, you're not drinking anything you're not supposed to, are you?”

“No,” Sam said, a touch impatiently as he looked up. He grew embarrassed once he saw Adam frowning down at him.

Adam looked from one to the other, then furrowed his brow. “Are you two related?”

“Half brothers,” Sam answered, gesturing at Andy. “Andy Murphy.”

“From 43?” Adam asked, shaking the extended hand. “Neilson mentioned something about one of Powers' minions being in here.”

Sam flushed, watching the bigger man rummage for water from one of the coolers. He wondered if he'd heard him talking about them, and fiddled with his empty root beer bottle. “Um, how was the outing?”

“It was good to get out,” Adam replied, grabbing a couple of slices of pizza. “We went to some circus in the center of West 98th? Some guy cracked his neck on some motorcycle stunt. Some elephants got loose. Cops were everywhere trying to bust some gang-members selling to the kids in the crowds.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not really. But I had to laugh when one of the clowns created these boobs from balloons in front of all these kids. He was highly intoxicated. One of the cops got to him, and there was resistance. It was hilarious. You don't see cops tasing clowns everyday. Oh, how the kids cried.”

Andy chuckled at the droll, almost monotonous way Adam spoke of his day. It was as if the man's face didn't change, lips shifting in such a way that words escaped.

“So you didn't mention having a brother,” Adam then said, chewing on a piece of pizza. Andy found his eyebrows distracting, studying them for a few moments before looking at Sam to see if he'd answer.

“We're half,” he said when Sam looked flustered. “He walked into one of my classes and it surprised me. Here, after we got to talking, we found out we have the same father.”

“Weird. But you seem to get along okay.”

“We get along pretty well. I'm glad to have someone to talk to.”

“He just studies all the time,” Sam interjected. “He's always in the med building. I thought I'd drag him out for a while. I hope nobody minds.”

“The more we have in here, the more Edwards and Peters will have to clean. So, was that activity at the docks cleaned up?”

“I…don't want to talk about it,” Andy said quickly, looking for Bridgette.

“It was that bad?”

“Edwards said there was to be no discussing of work here,” Sam explained. “And he'd sic Neilson on someone that talked about it.”

Adam glanced around himself. “Well. Never mind.”

“Who are you betting on, Byrons?”

“Darun.”

“Darun doesn't have a chance,” Andy spoke up, giving him a skeptic look. “Judging by his previous fights, he doesn't have half the stamina or viciousness that Mortimer has. He'll be TKO'd by the second round.”

Adam gave him a stony stare. “Funny. Someone else said the very same thing. But I'll put money on it. Darun will prove everybody wrong.”

“If you're willing to lose so badly.”