Dystopia Chapter 51: The Pitch

Seated in darkness, Susan found herself surrounded by memories. It was here, that fateful night, her world changed. This was the formation of her current reality. Her eyes fixated for the moment on Cord as he sat, speechless, waiting. It had been a while since she felt as if she could trust another. Wondering what made him tick. Did he indeed work as an agent for a corrupt government? The wanted poster and her sister claimed he was now a member of a rogue group engaged in lawlessness. A bounty hunter, thief. A creator of chaos. Life was hard and difficult as she made her way and, often angry, occasionally caught herself wondering about her dad. She tried to reach out once, leaving a note on a bulletin board. And now she wondered: was her past fabricated, a sham? No, it was real. Being used by men, treated as a lackey — that was painfully real. But had she placed her hatred on the wrong person?

“Why did Mr. Eldridge give me the cafe?” Susan pondered. Was he altruistic? He cared for her? She did not consider herself naive but thought that guilt motivated the gift. He knew fully what operation his son, Max, was running. Sure, a cattle ranch, but with a cathouse on the side for guests. She carried both physical wounds and emotional scars beneath the surface. She knew better.

Cord continued, “He knew his son, Max — knew Max’s capacity for evil. From what I understand, Mr. Eldridge cared for your mother. But in a bind, family first, he was also a lover of wealth and power, and to appease his conscience, gave you this opportunity. He also made sure that you and your sister were freed. I also think Sandra is receiving a ‘stipend’ to support her and her daughter. The details are fuzzy, but don’t for a moment think he is an honorable human.”

“Are you an honorable man?”

“I’m…working on that. But the stories being spread about Jesse and this crew were exaggerated.”

“Exaggerated?” Susan said.

Cord asked, “Why didn’t you pull the trigger the other day? I wonder, would Sandra have pulled the trigger?”

“I feel conflicted yet compelled to take a risk. Please do not cross me. Two weeks from today, I’ll meet with Sandra. Monthly, we meet at the cafe. Same time, same table. She always brings a bodyguard or two. Maybe more. But they usually wait outside while we catch up on current events, the granddaughter, Jesse, and plot how to entrap him, his gang, and the weather. The cafe is regularly empty. She will sit facing the room, where she can see the entrance. I sit with my back to the room. You and Jesse will arrive through the back at exactly 2:10, to talk.”

“Really?” replied Cord.

“Really!” Susan replied. “Do not bring your team. No weapons. I will warn her about what is about to happen before your entrance. That the two of you will arrive to talk. She will not be happy. She is always armed. I will intervene, stand in the middle. If someone dies, I will be the first.”

“You realize this sounds insane? What if this all goes sideways?”

Standing, she said, “Indeed. One final tidbit. You remember that house on the hill you all were recently seeking to annex, the one with twelve women?”

“I do,” Cord said.

“You were being set up.”

Cord pressed Susan. “This warning is a bit late. Scout Team 1 lost several good men and a woman. But why share this now?”

“I understood your crew was…”

“It felt like a trap. Kind of like what you are proposing.”

Susan said, “To answer your question, I don’t think Sandra would have pulled the trigger.”

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