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  Shaun looked down at Byron then. He suddenly felt sorry for it. Him. It. He pushed that thought away as best he could allowing himself one last curious look at the eyes-wide face as he did so. Byron was the same but different; never alive and yet now dead. Freaky.

  ‘Get two units down here,’ Alex barked. ‘Instruct them to take the body to skip number two and dispose of it in there. That one takes electricals.’

  Then, sighting the bulges in Byron’s side pockets he added, ‘And get them to salvage any tools he’s carrying too. Shouldn’t let those go to waste.’ He walked off with a brisk, commanding step.

  ‘The skip at the edge of the site?’ asked Shaun after him, wanting to make sure he understood his next instruction correctly. ‘Smart learner,’ said Alex, smiling with only his mouth but not his eyes.

  Two units built almost like bodybuilders (much like Byron or Tasley) drag-hauled Byron’s body to the already almost-full skip. With a careful maneuver and keeping their backs straight for balance and strength they lifted him face up and head first over the lowest edge of the skip. Once in, with feet rocking a dangle, they used a rope run beneath his armpits and across his chest to pull on either side of the skip – sliding his body fully in to the top of the heap inside.

  As the sun set on the day, all was motionless where Byron lay. Nobody mourned. It was a death without any drama – or it would have been if Byron had ever lived. Momentarily, a sparrow fluttered down and perched on the rim of the skip; such a small thing to be so full of life. It hopped over to stand on Byron’s chest and play with his shirt buttons before flying away.

  Floodlights had come on and then finally off as the site closed down for the night and suits and units alike left for wherever they called home.

  It was dark, and the place was eerie quiet. One flood light near the office cabin remained on. It was casting a faint artificial warm-white glow over the rim of the skip. Every now and then it shorted, but the glow gave away the unusual trash within; playing across the thread pattern on the dusty fabric outfit of a man: a man with wide-open eyes looking up at the stars whilst resting on a bed of cables, broken power tools, plastic casings and all manner of other items just like him – appliances that were more convenient to dispose than repair.

  Jared

  In a world full of apps for everything, it sometimes surprised Jared that gay venues still existed. But apps couldn’t give you beer, atmosphere, or a place to be yourself with friends and without judgment. Some nights at Scrinton’s only gay club (heck, one of only two bars worth patronage) Jared would spend hours sipping beer and eyeing up what talent he could find with hungry lust. Other nights there was no talent. Yet others, it wasn’t lust driving him but the need for something else - companionship perhaps. Even love. Some people used holographic vector displays and dating apps to dial up their object of desire. In that sense Jared was old-fashioned; he looked for love and not sex – and he preferred to do that the old way; live and in person.

  If his best girlfriend, Yana, was accompanying him it usually meant that either he wasn’t on the pull, or he was but she wanted to come and he couldn’t say no. Of course, luck would have it that the nights he wasn’t on the pull were the nights he’d get attention but was too preoccupied with his friend to return it – even with an extra long glance. The nights that she came and he was on the pull he’d get no attention and simply just increasingly more frustrated that Yana was there at all.

  Tonight she was there, and the last thing on his mind was “a man”. So, instead, they were propping up the bar and coming up with names for Yana’s type of friendship and the glances he was getting were mainly ones he didn’t see.

  ‘Fag hag’, said Yana.

  ‘Well, that’s the obvious one.’ Jared smiled, licked his lips and pressed them up against his dangling beer bottle. Sticking an index finger out from the hand holding the bottle and taking a swig, he raised his eyebrows and said, ‘You could have “queer dear”?!’

  Yana laughed. “I like that. Yes. What about “rainbow rancher”?’

  Jared let out a guffaw, almost splurting his beer. “No! That sounds like a retreat for gay cowboys.” He paused, thinking. “The boy’s bitch?”

  “No!” Yana screamed. “There is no way in any kind of hell that I am your bitch, Jared! Friend, yes. Counsel, sometimes. Bitch never.”

  Jared started speaking, but as he did so he noticed a huge bear of a guy staring him down in the far corner past the dance floor. His eyes slightly diverted toward the bear, he continued, ‘But you know that the term ‘boy’ for gay men is slightly, well, y’know, derogatory. We’re allowed to be male – but not men.’

  Speaking of which, that dude was hot. ‘…We can be boys. Boys together even; like we somehow didn’t grow up and ever “get” the “girl thing”. But we can’t be real men. So calling you a bitch is only fair!’

  ‘No. Calling a woman a bitch in any context is never fair, sweetie. We can only call ourselves that.’ She licked her lips. ‘We do need a new name for ‘gay’.’

  ‘Yeah! “Gay” as in “happy” meaning “insincere” or “a joke”.’

  ‘Maybe?’ Yana looked pensive. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just… out of date. Old fashioned.’

  Yana leaned over the bar and asked the owner, Christopher, for another drink. She wasn’t sure what to have this late in the evening, so she ordered a scotch like the good girl she was. Jared loved her will to live. Taking the liquor to her crimson painted lips she still wasn’t sure about her drink choice, but pulling back her long auburn hair she sipped and changed the subject.

  ‘I miss Steven, you know’. (Yana was referring to Jared’s ex.)

  ‘I miss him too’, said Jared, letting out a breath. ‘But it was like living with a cartoon. He was great fun. He made me laugh. But he was impossible to live with. Not grown up.’

  Reflecting, he continued, ‘You know what was the saddest thing?’ looking up at Yana to catch her green eyes. ‘He didn’t take himself seriously. And I couldn’t live with that.’

  ‘But…’ Yana started; then thought better of it.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You take yourself too seriously. I mean, like really. You’re the ultimate career girl. You have fun out with me; but I want to see you happy. Okay, Steven wasn’t the one. But that was over a year ago. And when we get together these days you’re mostly talking with me at the bar about Adaptic Tech Co., or you’re on the phone to me from work talking about work and how you have to work. You’ve buried yourself in your codeland. I hardly see you for fun any more. At least Steven made you laugh.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Jared pondered. ‘And what about you? You’ve not had a boyfriend since, well, fiancée number two.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’ Yana tried.

  ‘It is fair and you know it.’

  ‘I’m… consolidating.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Jared put his beer dregs down on the polished bar top wood. ‘You know what I’m doing? I’m doing pavement pizza unless I stop drinking soon. Wanna grab some fast food and get out of here? It’s getting on for 2am already.’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s go. Mr Right isn’t going to find me here anyways.’

  Yana placed her whisky down on the bar top in front of her, taking one last gulp for the road and turned to Jared taking his shoulder as they upped from the bar stools and headed out into a balmy late summer night.

  ‘You can kip at mine.’

  ‘Always do after the Palm Tree Bar sweetie. Always do.’

  Sunday was of course a right off; and then it was Monday all too soon.

  --

  After quite a dull day of coding in his booth, but thankfully no meetings, Jared was itching to get home and take his Golden Retriever, Artemis (‘Artie’, or ‘RT”), out for a walk. It was turning into another beautiful evening. Out the window he could see no breeze in the trees, and that late summer sun was starting to do that special golden thing too precious to miss stuck in an office. 4.30pm was no time to start lifting another
heavy tranch of client code so instead Jared started flicking between unread emails, social media, and texting his buddy Jason down the hall.

  ‘You still so look drunk today.’ – Jason

  ‘Do not.’ – Jared

  ‘Do too. Bet PT Bar was involved on Saturday. And a hot man.’ – Jason

  ‘PT yes. HM no.’ – Jared

  ‘HM as in hmmm you’re lying.’

  ‘So not lying MF. My life is boring. And I can’t do late nights like we used to.’

  ‘You’re Jared. You’re hot. You’re hung. You’re young. You’re muscly. You’re not allowed to get jaded.’

  ‘Flattery will get you everywhere except nowhere. If you must know I was out with Yana until 2am Sunday morning.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Read. Weep. NYway since wn did you get off on my sordid life you weirdo.’

  ‘Since you hooked up with Steven. Like, only the guy I was rooting for forever.’

  ‘You were wasting your time my friend.’

  Pause.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s 4.30 and I still have a report to write.’

  ‘Then stop bugging me and get on with it.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. middle manager, sir.’

  ‘Not in my team. Just special friend. Anyway I’m feeling like a night alone tonight with RT.’

  ‘How she?’

  ‘She good. Grouchy. Playful. Two-year olds are still puppies sometimes. Love her. Love you. Get to work.’

  ‘On it.’

  ‘And…I didn’t know you thought I was hot.’

  ‘The lookers never know.’

  Jared put his direct messages down for a moment to consider that. Jason had always loved him as a friend, he thought. Did Jason want something more out of it? If he did, Jared would have to face disappointing him.

  ‘Do you …want me?’ He typed. Then deleted and changed it to:

  ‘Got a thing for me?’

  ‘No, dude. Never did. Always friend. But you are hot. And if you don’t know that then you’re crazy.’

  Phew. ‘TY’

  ‘Working now’

  ‘TTYL’

  ‘L :)’

  Jared was indeed, by all measures, cute. He had looks. Blue eyes. Fair, short hair. He was tall, and built. Coding hadn’t done that, but dog walks and gym trips had done their work. He’d never considered himself to be a looker; always judging himself by what he wasn’t: not a model, not a bodybuilder, more of an otter than a bear, no longer young enough to be a twink. His penchant for scruffy clothes probably didn’t help. De rigueur though his outfits were for code monkeys, they might not be right for his age any more. A man couldn’t get away with tees, cargo pants and trainers much beyond 35. But what else was there? Boring suits and rubbish paisley ties.

  By 5.00pm all pretense of looking like Jared was working on something meaningful had evaporated. It wasn’t usual for him to leave the office so early, but today felt different. His soul was yearning for something his code and colleagues couldn’t give him. He was coming to the end of a project so any mid-contract stress wasn’t there to occupy him until mid-evening. When that happened (often), his neighbor Alma would let herself in to his house and take RT out with her own pups to the park. He’d often get home to an exhausted RT who only wanted cuddles while he sat on the sofa, flicked through the Internet and mindlessly spooned unhealthy snacks into his mouth. Not tonight.

  Grabbing his jacket and ball cap Jared headed out to the street. The tang in the air let him know how hot it had been all day, and the other occupants of the side walk had a slowness about them that was both exhausted and happy about the season. Home was just a short bus ride away.

  When he got through the door and picked up the mail, RT was there in seconds; wagging her tail and showing she was ready for whatever treats were in store.

  ‘OK pooch,’ said Jared, rubbing RT’s cheeks, ears and jaw. ‘Wanna go walkies? Shall we go walkies? How about south side tonight, huh? Wanna go south side?’ He kissed her head. ‘Shall we go and walkie south side tonight? Yeah. That’s my girl.’

  Jared walked through the hallway and into the kitchen, RT following with wagged tail and expectant eyes. He looked around making sure the place still looked clean (which it was) and opened up the letter. ‘Local elections. Well that can wait.’

  Jared lived in a leafy part town; sort of central/western/southern. It was a two-story red brick with a small wooden porch bearing the Stars and Stripes. The house dated from the 1940’s and had belonged to his parents. Both had died by the time he was in his mid 30’s; his father died last, and when the property passed on to him he decided to move back in rather than sell. The neighbors were fine, the commute easy, and it was a part of town that was only going up in value today. Swapping his rental for the old place was a no brainer - even nice.

  Grabbing the lead from the kitchen counter, Jared snuggled it over RT’s head and ventured out – fresh air and a way to forget work putting a stride in his step. The two of them followed a usual route. Up to the end of his road, right down a main strip, through an under-pass and over to some blocks containing high-rise apartments and a few parks. Reaching the parks he could see some kids doing basketball and softball, which was all fine and dandy. But he could also see a bunch of teens causing a bit of trouble with each other. Not being in the mood for assertiveness skills, or really much in the mood for that particular park, he decided to keep walking. Besides, he’d promised RT south side and this was barely it.

  This late in the season, the dusk didn’t last for long. But there was still a beautiful fresh warmth and tang, so Jared hardly noticed when the street lights had activated, apartment lights started to shine through windows, and he’d walked all the way to the eastern edge of the ‘south’ part of town.

  Finding a nice big park that RT had only visited a few times before, he made sure to be a suitable distance from the perimeter fence and let RT off her leash to go play. There didn’t seem to be any other hounds about and the pleasure walkers all seemed middle aged or older. He found a bench by an avenue of trees. Taking it, he glanced up occasionally to check on RT whilst mainly catching up with private mail and news on his wristband. He was also currently into vaping.

  After a while, and a little more strolling with RT back on the lead, Jared felt tired and hungry. He could walk back the rout he’d come, but that would mean another 40 to 50 minutes. A take-away from a vending van or restaurant would be clumsy with a retriever pup in tow and he had lots of fresh produce back home to cook up. So the only real option to stave off the hunger fast was to get a pod ride.

  You could order a town taxi-pod using a wristband app. The pods drove themselves and were relatively cheap. Brobotics had made them, but the City supplied and emblazoned them. Not knowing this end of town particularly well, Jared didn’t have a zip code or a street name to punch into the app. Neither did he have a GPS on his location for some reason only his wristband knew and wasn’t telling. The park name would be on a sign somewhere he couldn’t find, and he was darned if he could remember what it was called. No matter. Walking another block or two would sort things out. There was bound to be a landmark or a road sign that would dislodge something from his sleepy brain.

  He decided to cross the road from the park entrance and keep walking down that street. It was well lit and it looked like it had a bigger road the other end. When he reached the other end, however, what opened up before him was not so much a bright busy road as a wide and well-lit empty new road running past a construction site. Not only that, but looking up the new road back west all he could see was nondescript blocks of concrete buildings with no shops, landmarks or street signs to help.

  Curiosity got the better of him. RT wasn’t complaining, and he wasn’t aware that any construction was going on around here. A display board on the perimeter chicken wire of the site was all lit up cheerful-like by a single dim old-style LED. To read it, Jared would have to cross over yet again. W
ho knows? Perhaps the name would give him a location.

  “Dartonia Construction Co – Since 1992. 24/7 Surveillance. No entry without papers. Hard hats must be worn. Scan here for out of hours contact.”

  ‘Great! Helpful! Sorry, RT. Daddy’s gone and got us in a little pickle.’ RT just looked up at him with her huge dark eyes and made a quiet whine.

  ‘So what do I do now?’, Jared asked himself. He sucked his teeth. ‘I could go back the way I came, past the park entrance, up a few blocks, and wait for a pod there. Or we could just start walking up this new road, which must head back towards west anyway, find a spot and save ourselves some time. May even get my GPS back. Let’s do that, shall we Art’?’

  He walked on with the chicken wire fence to his left. Before the corner of the block where the perimeter fence gave way to a side road and the bland concrete buildings he’d seen, there was an opening to the site. Continuing on his way past the opening he started whistling and telling RT to slow down. Then he noticed out of the corner of his vision a skip, and inside the skip a pair of boots attached to some legs.

  It was the kind of thing that if you noticed it in a flash you would think to yourself that you couldn’t have seen it right. Pass it in a pod you probably wouldn’t give it further attention; brushing it off as the early onset of senility or possibly too many beers, maybe even too much weed. But Jared was walking. He stopped and looked down at RT. She was young. It’d take more than this to tire her out and she was just delighted to be with her daddy after a dull day. They doubled back.

  Reaching the skip, Jared could clearly see the shape of a man face up on the top of the heap. A far-off floodlight cast just enough of its beam over the lip of the bin to enable Jared to see the guy was fully clothed in construction worker gear. ‘Hey!’, said Jared,’ You okay?’

  Jared hitched RT’s lead onto a tie handle at the side of the skip; he didn’t want her wandering away through the site at night – or worse still triggering some kind of sensor or security camera. Thinking that over, he looked around for camera poles or security drones but if the warning sign had been telling any kind of truth about the security measures he couldn’t see them here. He turned back to the skip and its cargo.