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part 1 of the story

The Eye

Eric Burbridge

    The scanner dropped from the dingy grey ceiling level with my eyes. Several more popped out of the wall completely covered with snakes in an eerie green light. “State your name inmate.”
    “Milo Bipp, #234715.” My eyes popped open, drenched in sweat my heart raced. I hate nightmares. I laid there and let the ceiling fans steady stream of warm air dry me. Why in the hell was I dreaming about my probation implant? Spicy food equals weird dreams. Back in the day the system had ankle bracelets, but now the system got invasive. The eye was born, a contact lens surgically implanted and if tampered with rendered you blind in that eye, and rumor had it, perhaps both. They oozed with pride; they created a monster to invade convicts’ privacy.
    “Too much privacy breeds crime and immorality.”
    Being a non-violent offender, I was eligible to get the eye for my short probation period. Lucky me. I got put in that new category of criminal subversive in that grey area between proof and suspicion. Hearsay became the new systems new best friend next to its all-time favorite; guilty by association. My group of friends were like everybody else’s, some law abiding, some not, but the bad guys got all the attention from the females. I was the smart guy in the crowd not the criminal, but I talked about it. Ideas can be dangerous and my ideas, I talked about them after too many drinks, turned into conspiracies. “Let’s knock off a couple of armored cars and banks simultaneously.” Talk is cheap, but when examples of fictious schedules and routes hit paper that’s all the fed’s needed. I was a highly potential criminal mastermind, so the system said.
    I got the latest version of the eye, it wasn’t opaque and bulgy but one color, brown. At six, every morning you had to insert your earpiece so your probation officer could contact you, whether they did or not was at their discretion. What you see the eye sees. The law said your P.O. could activate it for thirty minutes a day. Similar to a face to face, but under the old system nobody saw their PO daily. The eye sent a text to your phone and rang when it was activated. My PO was an idiot who never answered a question without a snappy answer. He envied my IQ test scores they gave all inmates. “How does it feel to be a genius, Milo Bipp?”
    “The same as a PO, empowered.”
    ?“You’re a real smart ass, Bipp, I can’t wait to violate you.”
    “Well sir, you don’t mind me calling you that, do you?”
    “Call me, PO, get to the point.”
    “I don’t want any trouble PO and my record shows I follow the rules.” I said while putting in a fresh roll of toilet tissue staring into the toilet should tell him what I think of him.
    “I’ll be in touch, Bip-Bop,” The com went dead. It had been a while since I heard that name. My mom was a golden gloves champion and the old man spared with MMA fighters. They taught me a few moves, but I’m exceptionally strong for my size; five eleven and a muscular one hundred seventy pounds. If I hit you once will not bother me again. One solid punch will result in internal bleeding or a broken bone or both. My first day in jail word got out around and I made the right friends that are needed for survival whether you’re in for two years, like me, or twenty plus. I also have the gift or curse of being handsome, flawless skin and I wore my jet-black hair in a small pony tail and no piercings. I’m straight, period and I don’t judge others. PO will be a problem and I’m good at solving them, obey the rules. Achieving expungement is my main priority. My freedom was young and the short introduction to my PO left me without a good read of him, but time will tell.
    I finished the hygiene ritual and stepped out on the balcony while the coffee pot percolated. The air stunk as usual, but the sunshine lifted my spirits from the encounter with my PO. I count my blessings daily. Only a few parolees were granted access to housing outside a halfway house complex, but with my conviction in question that made me eligible. My parent’s success in international finance provided me access to a corporate apartment. When we talked earlier my mom said they sent a package from India with souvenirs and a few surprises. “Let us know when you get them.” I opened the week-old paper and thumbed through the sales pages; time to get a new wardrobe.

*

    A text and ring tone interrupted a good dream. I reached for my phone but knocked over a half a can of beer. Let it ring! Not wise even though it would ring ten times and after that the system would redial, if no answer, you better be dead or in the OR. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat.
    “Bip, wake up.”
    “Ok.” That weird voice of his made my skin crawl and I headed for the bathroom. I wondered whose idea it was to mirror all the walls. Ideal for young honeymooners, I guess. I sat on the throne and wait for PO to callback later, but I guess he wanted to watch. “PO, are you there?” Silence. I adjusted the earpiece and heard what sounded like a dish or something hit the floor. I didn’t know the audio was both ways and maybe he didn’t either. “PO!?”
    “What Bip?”
    “I can’t hear you or background noise.”
    “I’m here and all you hear is me, got it?”
    “Got it, PO.” That idiot didn’t know the tech and I wasn’t going to tell him. Good. I hope I can use it against him.
    “You finished, Bip or what?”
    “Yes.” Helluva question, he had to see me get up. Did the eye have limitations?
    “I didn’t ask the other day, but walk around your apartment, townhouse or whatever I need to see it for the record.”
    Try not to hate me. “Okay PO.” I looked into the swirling water of the flushed toilet. How’s that for breakfast, PO? I stepped into the hallway and decided I’d start at my bed. “This is where I sleep, as you can see, I have the sun in my face when the blinds are open.”
    “Contemporary furniture and a large 3D.”
    “No, it’s just 2D. Do you approve, PO?”
    “Smart ass, keep going...I don’t have all day, Bip.”
    “Understood, so I won’t look in the closets, but before I forget it was suggested I notify my PO if and when I planned on going into the city. Not that I have to, but as a gesture of good faith and cooperation.” Whatever that meant he or she could disagree, but they could not stop a parolee.
    “That’s true, Bip and make sure you do something stupid. I’ll be in touch.”
    I hung up my bathrobe and flexed my muscle in the mirror forgetting just that quick he saw what I did. We were still connected. Don’t forget that in every room in the place had at least one mirrored wall. I couldn’t shake the feeling PO still watching. Finally, the com went dead.

*

    I stopped in the middle of the bridge that crosses the south branch of the Chicago River; I stared down at the debris floating in the pale green water. The plan to clean it up failed. “You’ll be able to fish in it when we’re finished,” said the Army Corps of Engineers. And now besides the garbage, Asian carp jumped everywhere while commercial barges, yachts and smaller boats maneuvered through the narrow waterway. On the eastern bank of that putrid waterway was the Dragon Strip. Some called it a shanty town; others called it a prosperous open-air mall for the homeless. Regardless, it had it all for the economically compromised, the poor. From this half mile long stretch of once condemned industrial park became the origin of the more celebrated jazz musicians in Illiana Province. Strange as it may seem the sight of the strip inspired my most creative moments. Rusty grey corrugated sheet metal protected the gatherings places for the musicians and singers down on their luck and those pretenders with delusions of grandeur. I heard a piano for a second, but could not pinpoint its location. I love good piano, but that and a good jazz singer was divine. I started down the rickety wood stairs that lead to the river walk when I saw Nate Potts.
    That’s the last person I needed to see!
    I said a silent prayer. Don’t let PO ring me, if the system sees him and checks the data base he will be flagged as a criminal associate. I’m screwed and violated. I stopped, turned and trotted back up the stairs to the bridge. “Hey Bipp, wait a minute!” I ignored him. There was a bus waiting at the light. I waved and shouted. Somebody told the driver to wait, thank God he did. I paid and sat down, Nate stopped at the top of the stairs. I felt his eyes all over me and his bewilderment.
    The 15A bus sped down Pershing Road like an express route, surprising for this time of the day. I noticed this section of Pershing had the typical brick bungalow homes. Every other lawn was maintained to perfection. Grandparents sat on the porches watching little ones play sidewalk games designed with various colors of chalk. Electric scooters bobbed and weaved in between pedestrians regardless what city ordinances said. It was good to see this again. You never know how much you miss something until its gone. The big boring typical mall was at the end of the line which they had not completed when I went away. To my surprise it was now a beautiful open air shopping center with real trees, flower beds and grass. They promised to bring back many more with government financing. My stomach growled as I walked past a sculpture laden fountain that birds played in uninterrupted. Where was the food court it had to be nearby? The aroma of food put a hook in my nose and pulled my down an aisle lined with specialty boutiques specializing in unisex clothing. Nowadays too often I had to do a double take on who I was talking to. I’ll never forget that fine woman that after drinks and some heavy petting, I grabbed on to something I didn’t want. That lead to my first felony assault charge that was later dropped. I’m older and wiser, so I ask first; are you, or aren’t you?
    The Food Court was covered with a gigantic tinted canopy with several huge fans circulating air. All the best major chains occupied the front locations, but the best aromas came from the back where the little guys opened up shop. Several places that were predominantly Asian and Mexican were still under construction but open. My mouth watered for chicken fried rice so I headed for a small vendor that just opened. The lunch portion was just right. I hated to waste food and finishing this would not be a problem. “Waste not...want not.” I prayed PO wouldn’t call. No sooner then I opened a packet of soy sauce that phone rang. I put in my earpiece.
    “Milo Bipp, what can I do for you, PO?”
    “Where you at, Bipp?”
    Like he didn’t know. I looked around. “See.”
    ?“Ah, you’re at the mall.”
    I wish there was a used Porta-Potty to look in. “That’s brilliant observation, PO.”
    “Good bye, smart guy, I’ll be in touch.”
    Fuck you too! “Okay PO.” Since it was early, I had a table to myself. Plenty of noise came from a place two doors down. What could that be? Another restaurant obviously, but I had the feeling it was going to be something unique. Mostly Asian guys came in and out of the plywood doors. The place had a matte black painted façade with frames for eight-foot opaque thermoformed glass panel windows. Only one more needed installing. A worker came out and posted on the temporary entrance: Ju Chen’s coming soon.
    Ju Chen’s!
    That was great. She made the best Chinese Barbeque ribs in the world. I finished my food and headed for Chinatown. It was a gamble, I didn’t want PO to call and see me there, but I figured I wouldn’t see him until the morning.

*

    If I was going to walk to Chinatown, I needed different shoes and Nike town was at the end of the mall. I approached a smaller shoe store, when a tall female with curves and perfectly round clean-shaven head and piercing hazel eyes waved me over. Whoever did her brows was a master. “Come in here and let me replace those shoes, if they don’t hurt you now, they will soon.” She said with a calm soothing voice. I liked her immediately...that was a red flag, for me anyway. But I still needed shoes.
    “Okay.” I sat close to the front window by the display of real leather shoes and sneakers well worth the high price tag. “I need something durable, but not hike like if you know what I mean.” I looked at all the sections. “Like those over there.” I was shocked when she helped put them on. Who does that anymore?
    “I’m Lindsay Pharr, as you can see, I’m the manager. She pointed to the label on her blouse. “I like pretty guys like you.” She laced up the boots. “You like girls, sometimes, all the time or never?”
    I cleared my throat as quiet as possible. “All the time, I’m straight and it hasn’t been easy. You are a real woman, right?”
    She frowned. I hoped I didn’t blow it. “There’s only one way to find out. Walk around a minute.” I did.
    “Their fine and I’ll wear them, will you trash those for me?” She nodded.
    Several customers came in at once. “Hello people, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Lindsay said. Those beautifully manicured fingers punched in the codes and the register produced my receipt. “Here’s my number if you’re interested. Have a good day and be careful.” A couple of employees came from the back and they went to work servicing the people.

*

    The city was still in the process of removing rusted out bridges and warehouses along the river. Amazing what the politicians can do when they want to. The route to Chinatown was intersected with large parks, mini-forest preserves and boulevards created for nature lovers by several EF-4 tornadoes that aided in the design. An elderly couple resumed jogging and that left an open bench next to a water fountain. Ideal to adjust my socks and do a few stretches. I threatened a squirrel, it was my turn for water when an emergency news flash came on the area billboard. I hated those things; they were an eye sore and the thunderous sound and flashing lights could wake the dead. Everybody seemed mentally paralyzed turning their heads in that direction. I agreed with the young people who flipped it the bird. I cupped my hands and splashed water on my face. I rinsed out my mouth and looked up at that fifty-foot monstrosity sitting on an antiquated rusty metal base. An attractive Asian female with a beautiful pearly white tooth said, “Citizens beware of four masked suspects who used, authorities say, a high energy laser to cut open an ATM, then used it again to cut open a huge armored car at the same location. They are driving a non-electric white panel truck that could be in the area. Call 911 if you spot it.” The screen went blank. That reminded me of a heist I outlined for a short story; the laser idea wasn’t new, but my criminals were ten years old and discussing ideas like that is what got me in trouble. The last thing I wanted or needed was to think about the past. Not today. Seeing Nate didn’t help. Should I go get my manuscript? Did Ju Chen let someone see it? I shook that thought. Ju Chen wouldn’t betray my trust. The stories were the only accomplishment of my life; everything else was provided by my rich parents. I didn’t consider myself a spoiled rich kid, but punching a clock, whether it was my business or not, was not my thing. So, I stayed in school. My goal of being a scholar or academic worked well. The family paid well for doing its legal research, but my secret was love of the heist. I’m allergic to cages, so my criminal fantasies were restricted to paper and conversation. Unfortunately, that fun and games ended up in conspiracy charges. I was a regular guy; I wasn’t bougie, but my diction did raise eyebrows. Nate Potts had the most problem with that and after I bopped him, we got along just fine. But I still don’t trust him. One thing about him, so he said, he kept a case; breaking and entering, drug possession, but he never went to jail.
    How does somebody stay on probation?
    Thinking about old times dredged up my desire to visit The Club, but I knew that was an instant violation. Everybody in our group agreed the place was unique. It was a combination strip club, live jazz and dance club, but if there was the slightest whiff of violence all the parties involved would get the beating of their lives. If you can’t hold your liquor, don’t come there. Don’t cry cop, you were on your own. Any problems, settle them before you enter and your privacy was respected. I was a half hour jog from Chinatown. I brought a bottle of water from a somewhat intoxicated street vendor tipped him a couple of bucks and resumed my journey.

*

    Nate Potts got an earlier, as promised to himself, than usual start and headed out of his apartment in his cousin’s halfway house court way building. He called his apartment the “Penthouse” with its extra insulation and sound proofing that assured his privacy. His sexual partners, of which there were many, enjoyed the contemporary design and the latest electronics and appliances. The atmosphere loosened their inhabitations. Only a hand full of residents were awoke that limited his “good mornings.” He didn’t want to be bothered with the majority of them anyway. But he was grateful for the virtually rent-free roof over his head. Why his cousin didn’t get out of the addiction business puzzled him. They made enough money in other real estate endeavors. “It’s our calling,” they said with a defiant, if you don’t like it, you can leave tone. So, he let it alone. Nate considered himself a pretty good player, if he set his eyes on a desirable person or persons, he usually got them. He wasn’t a handsome guy with his bucked teeth with the gap, but his wit and vocabulary offset that negative. His physique was well toned with broad shoulders and the women loved his baby soft hands caressing their bodies. His sexual prowess was just what they wanted; clean and at attention in moment’s notice. He wasn’t LGBTQ and those other letters, but he liked to say, “Variety is the spice of life.” He dressed like he stepped out a fashion magazine. His secret, he shopped at a good, on the other side of town, second hand store. A former lover kept him abreast of the latest inventory. His frugalness freed up a lot of cash that allowed him to shop at upscale food markets. Prime beef, poultry and fish were a must have.
    There was a bit of irony in his living situation living in a halfway house and selling and manufacturing a controlled substance, opioids. Nate was not a street pharmacist, but a licensed pharmacy technician. No need to be on the street. Nobody in the building knew what he did; he could not do that to the family. He learned from watching others.
    Greed will get you killed! Being a federal confidential informant will too!
    But Special Agent Donna Neal had suggested his cooperation would be to his advantage when he accidentally got spotted transacting business by an under-cover fed. They told him bring them something to work with. He never thought they’d bust his friends for talking shit about story plots. But before that mishap discretion was imperative, there were rats everywhere, but he did his business with a select few. Nate was not a fool. Don’t kill the people and with all the bad synthetic opioids around he made sure he manufactured the right combinations. He was smart; he didn’t steal or use the hospital’s resources. It paid well and he only made a couple of grand extra a month on his side hustle. Today was his five-year anniversary as a dealer and even with designated areas for drug users to get high and have immediate care in the event of an overdose, garbage was still prevalent. His main customers were older homeless people who preferred their life style for whatever reason. Most were talented people; musicians, artists and former professionals who withdrew from traditional society. The Dragon Strip had all their needs.
    Small bands were preferred by the city that kept the traffic in and out of the area moving. But one thing the city required was a peddler’s license. A small price to pay annually for a moderate amount of autonomy with little police interference. Nate made his deliveries and headed down to the riverside. Several groups of Congo players started to warm and so did the temperature. The smell of bar-b-q filled the air. A brisket sandwich and fries would hit the spot and then he’d head to Chinatown to replenish his supply of chemicals. This early in the day buying an order of anything it should be fresh. No leftovers, people had nowhere to store it. Cook what you can, make your money and call it a day. Made sense, and customers lined up for the freshness, but the sandwich was not as good as usual. Disappointed, he tossed it and started toward the stairs that lead up the embankment to the street. Should he walk or rent one of the new rickshaws the city experimented with? They cost like hell, but they were cleaner. No...walk instead. He paused when he thought he saw Milo Bipp or somebody that looked like him on the bridge.
    It was Bipp!
    Nate waved frantically, but he started running. He must be trying to catch the bus. He knew he had to see him. He scaled the raggedy worn wooden stairs as fast as possible, but he was too late. The bus pulled off. Dammit. He stood there trying to catch his breath as the bus sped further away. When did he get out? Was he pissed at him; did he think he was the rat? How’d he get out so early? He forgot he only got a year for each misdemeanor, but he wished he’d gotten more. He was still jealous of that pretty son of a bitch. Everybody wanted to fuck him, more men than women. He had a gift, females virtually peeled off their clothes when they met him. Did he secrete some kind of pheromone or what? No, but they acted like it. Bipp didn’t care, he was not phased one way or another and that really triggered the female’s curiosity. Was he gay or what, nowadays it didn’t matter, women accepted the fact that quite a few men around went both ways? Nate and everybody else in the group had to work to get some tail. For a second, he mourned the loss of Brian, they said the stress killed him being in a cell, when he and George got caught up in the conspiracy charges. But he had no choice, especially when self-preservation kicked in...he was not jail material. Period.

*

    My backpack rubbed me the wrong way, that itch I couldn’t scratch. I took it off and leaned on the light pole by the intersection of Cermak and Wentworth Ave near the Chinatown gate. People smiled when I used it as a back scratcher. What a relief. Gorgeous females of all races were in and out the entrance to a newly constructed court way and combination shopping area and apartments. Colorful flags and banners blew in the wind from previous celebrations of whatever holiday was coming or gone. The marque advertised a shoe store and that reminded me of Lindsay Pharr. Call her and see if she’s still game for a hook-up. She struck me as the serious type. Either by real or don’t start.
    No bullshit was my motto.
    I took out my tablet to make the call, I wanted to see her face full screen. “Hello.”
    “Hello, Lindsay, face time me I want to see your lovely face.”
    “Ok, Milo Bipp, pretty boy or should I say man?”
    Her face popped up with the store displays in the background. “Man is right and call me, Bipp.” Nobody calls me by my first name except my parents I didn’t mind, but I was used to, Bipp. “Surprise I was thinking about you.”
    “You in Chinatown?”
    “Yeah, I got to pick up a few things and then I’m headed home.” There was something about this woman that had me relaxed. I knew I was still tightly wound from prison, but I still had to be careful. Could she be trusted enough to have her over for dinner? “You want to go somewhere and get a little drunk?” I couldn’t help but grin.
    “No, I can’t get drunk you might take advantage of me.” She laughed. “Take advantage of me sober then we get drunk. You serious?”
    “Yes, I am and the perfect place to do that...my place.” Why did I say that even though it’s true? I’ll run a check on her later, but my gut said all clear.
    “Sounds good and let me guess where your place is. Not in the hood or city.”
    “Right, New Matteson. It shows that much, I don’t seem bougie do I?”
    “No, but you carry yourself like you’ve had good upbringing. I’ll fix dinner. How’s fried chicken and other stuff?”
    “Um, I don’t know. Let’s do it together because mine is probably better than yours.” I had a surprise for her, when I apply a dash of my grandmothers special seasoning she’ll be hooked. I mentioned it in several of my stories and I meant to get a formula for the ingredients, but I got side tracked every time. That will change one day soon.
    “Bet.”
    “Bet. What time do you close?”
    “Hopefully at six, it’s been slow.”
    “I’ll see you then.” I closed the tablet. My back stopped itching, time to get off this corner before I get a ticket for loitering. The conversation with Lindsay almost made me forget the task ahead, but once I take care of seeing, Ju Chen, and hopefully no call from PO, I’ll be in good shape.

*

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