Last one! I submitted an updated and expanded version of "Armand" for my final. I don't think the story is finished, but it is further along than I expected.
"Armand"
Fix had instructions to meet the contact on the boardwalk. Not very specific, since the boardwalk ran for at least a mile along the greater part of the Dorsett coast. All the pressure of getting to this little coastal speck without being seen and, more importantly, with all the cargo was getting to him. He was running on fumes at best, and vowed to himself to take the next job offer from Johns and tell him to shove it. Probably a bad idea, but it felt good to think about.
Dorsett itself was miles from the next accessible coast and surrounded on the north and south by sharp coastline and even sharper submerged rocks. Fix thought of it as if a bay had been flooded. The town felt empty; he'd only seen a few locals who gave him strange looks, and when he asked for a hotel they were nearly hostile. Fix guessed they weren't used to out-of-towners. The one hotel, Somnorum, was poorly kept and run single-handedly by an unfriendly old woman with no hair by the name of King. Funny name for a place too, Somnorum; sounded like bastardized Latin, but he was no scholar. When he first arrived Fix wondered briefly how King managed to stay in business but was really too tired to give it serious thought.
The breakfast special ham and eggs at Hamdollars, an oceanfront restaurant, was amazing. Somehow all the little nowhere towns got the good food and big cities had terrible stuff. Airport cities were the worst. Fix took his backpack and checked his watch. Ten minutes to seven, the contact time. Maybe he'd find him early.
Walking out of the dark restaurant into the bright soup of fog hurt Fix's eyes. Not a soul in sight, though that didn't mean much when he could only see maybe fifteen feet. He walked for a few minutes along the boardwalk until he got to what he thought was the center of town. At least it was the only parking lot in Dorsett that was next to the beach, so there was that. Fix sat on a bench facing the sand. It was five past seven. Maybe the contact wasn't showing? He'd give him ten more minutes before heading back to Somnorum and calling Johns.
The sand stretched into the fog and he could hear the ocean not forty feet away. Fix imagined that in front of him, from here to Europe, was all sand. If he just got up and walked he'd reach London. Maybe if he just walked along the boardwalk he'd hit Miami or Halifax.
Right as he was about to get up he heard some footsteps from behind. Was this the contact? He'd just stay put until they went away. Long seconds went by, and Fix was taut with anticipation. Maybe his pursuers had got word of something. Maybe he was a few seconds to a poke in the back of the head and then nothing.
A woman sat next to him. Fix only gave a glance, expecting this to be another local. She had on a thick tweed overcoat and a long black dress below. Her hair was fluffy and white, but it didn't match her ruddy cheeks and sunburnt forehead.
“You're new to Dorsett. I know everyone here and I've never seen you,” she said.
Well great, that didn't give Fix any idea about who she was. “Yeah. Needed a break from... from everything, I guess.” He wasn't lying, either.
“Don't we all?”
“Don't we all.”
“Armand,” she said and offered her hand.
Fix took it. “People call me Fix.”
She asked Fix about what he did for a living. He said he was a courier. She talked about how the postal system was a giant rip and how it was easier to hire on a contract basis. Fix countered that he was part of a company that was contracted by the post when things got hectic after the war. Armand complained that it was the war, it was always the war. How could one ever get sleep with all that racket going on inland? She was happy enough that it never touched Dorsett, but somehow it was slowly becoming a ghost town. People moving on, moving out. It left a lot of things around for the people to find, but most of the town folk were kind enough to leave them as they were.
“So that's why Dorsett's so empty. I guess I can understand wanting to move around. Part of why I became a courier,” said Fix.
“So who are you delivering to?” asked Armand.
Fix paused for a moment and smirked. “You.”
“Mhm. Tell Johns hello from me.” She took the package Fix handed her.
“No. I think I'm staying,” declared Fix.
“That's what I thought,” Armand said. She stood up and headed off into the fog.
Fix wondered idly what Armand's first name was and he headed after her.
---
A foggy week had past, and Fix found a small abandoned apartment in the center of Dorsett, a block inland from Hamdollars. The room was damp and probably had some mold problems, though he couldn't find anything. He figured it'd be better not to look. It upset the Dorsett locals that he'd moved in, but Armand seemed to be the defacto leader of the group of fifty or so locals. She got Fix his room, as well as a job as a general handyman. He didn't think he was all that handy. Could be the name.
Fix enjoyed that week. It was quiet and he met nice people. He never learned Armand's first name, but he also met Henrietta King from Somnorum, who turned out to be much nicer than she first appeared, and Thom Filliburn, the owner and cook at Hamdollars. Fix supposed that he spent most of his days between Somnorum and Hamdollars, fixing this heating unit or that hot plate; he rarely got calls from the other locals.
He talked to Armand a lot during that week. Fix said that Johns would probably wonder what happened to him. Armand thought that Johns wouldn't because he loses his couriers so often; it's why he's always recruiting. That made Fix feel better, but he was still worried. Armand promised to hide him in Dorsett if Johns' enforcers came for him.
After the day was done and his body exhausted, Fix allowed his mind to wander, something he rarely ever did. Did Johns wonder if Fix was killed? Would he send out enforcers to find Fix? Johns was not a particularly patient man, but he was generous. Hell, he had to be to get things around after the war. Fix wasn't even labeled a profiteer by association anymore. He made a mental note to thank Armand for leaving out his previous occupation. The label wasn't even that bad. He was just happy to sit down and not worry about being followed.
The next day was the first clear one Fix had seen at Dorsett. He had finished repairing the second grill at Hamdollars the night before, so he slept in to ten. The day was cold, but the sun was uncomfortably warm for his puffy jacket. It was the first time he'd seen the ocean since he was six. Fix walked down to the beach and waved at Thom as he passed Hamdollars. Thom's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he looked towards town. Fix didn't pay much attention to it; Thom had an intense face.
The sand was damp and it felt good between Fix's toes. He sat on the edge of the boardwalk and looked out at sea. The earlier feeling of endless sand was still there, in the back of his mind. Just walk out into the water...
There was the faint rumble of an engine. Not someone from Dorsett. Everyone walked here; the town wasn't big enough to warrant a car. Fix rode in on a motorcycle he stashed two miles out of town. Cars were luxury items with gas so expensive. He knew who that was. It had to be Johns' men. He sat utterly still. Maybe if he just stayed where he was, the men wouldn't find him. Yeah, right.
Fix thought over his last week. It was a good week. He'd made a friend in Armand. Sure, it was a quick friendship, but those happen without realizing it. Just, bam, you're friends. However, Dorsett didn't really like him. Henrietta and Thom were the only people aside from Armand who'd really talked to him, and that was out of necessity. Still, it opened their shells. Fix was sure all the residents weren't all bitter and suspicious, given time. He liked it here. Maybe it'd be best just to go with Johns' men and avoid a confrontation.
Fix got up and headed toward the rumble, just as it stopped. It was by the parking lot where he met Armand. No one lived around there, only Jim and Terri. He made no effort to hide himself as he walked towards the beat up grimy olive green panel van.
“Short guy, sandy blonde hair? Yeah, that's Fix. He's still in Dorsett.” Armand's voice.
“Johns wants him back,” said a voice that belonged to a man that probably had been smoking his whole life, low and phlemy.
“You'll have to talk to him about that. You're his keeper, not me,” said Armand.
“And I'd find him, yeah. You're gonna help, Emily. Or whatever your name is,” said Smoker.
After a pause, Armand said, “Sure. Double shipment, next time. Tell him that. I think Fix will be at the beach.” Another pause. “First day he hasn't had work right away. Sunny too. I hate the sun here.” A third pause. “Well what are you waiting for? Get on it! Fix won't catch himself.”
Smoker grumbled, and then said, “Whatever.”
Fix stopped dead in his tracks. Armand had promised him. Promised. He felt a fool for trusting her. Had he made a mistake? It's true he thought it was a little too good to be true at first, but it had been so long since someone was kind, to trust him without motive—scratch that, she had a motive. He didn't know what and right now he didn't much care either. Maybe there was some genuine kindness in there for him. He doubted it, though. There wasn't kindness anymore. Not in Armand, not in Dorsett, not in himself.
Strangely, though, Fix didn't feel angry, just disappointed. Fix sat down on the bench where he met Armand. He didn't say anything. He heard Armand's footsteps behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry, Fix. I knew you were back there,” said Armand.
She paused for a full minute. Her grip was comforting, but Fix felt sick for feeling comforted by it. “You're a good courier, you know? The last two packages that came here were followed, usually within hours. They didn't even wait until the courier was gone, the savages. No one came with you.”
Fix grunted in response. He didn't know what it meant. Maybe it was there to fill the silence. Fix didn't care anymore. The enforcers came behind him and started to pick him up, but Armand waved them off, said that he'd go under his own power. Fix thought that was a blatant lie until he found himself walking to the panel van. Fix thought he would never see Dorsett or Armand again, and that didn't much bother him. Maybe he will tell Johns to take the next job and shove it. Yeah, that's a good idea.