Chance moved down the street on his bike, deftly weaving through the traffic with skill. His courier bag was slung snugly across his back, the strap tight against his shoulder. He was to deliver a tube to one of the local corp conglomerates. The size of the tube was indicative of floor plans, or architectural drawings, something along those lines. Not that he really cared. It just broke the monotony of the bike ride to think about what he might be delivering and to whom.
Most of his jobs were in the downtown high rises looming over the waterfront. Concrete, steel and glass monstrosities which hummed with energy generated from the grid of Secur-tech Incantations’ handiwork that provided protections of the ethereal sort. Highly trained ex-special forces security guards were great for physical assaults on the building or the occasional terrorist threat. But when someone hired one of the aelfadl attentater to infiltrate and sputch a CEO, or summoned an urban elemental to wreck havoc on the area, you wanted something a bit more, well, esoteric.
It was a brave new world, Chance thought sardonically.
“Chance, yo, waddup?” came a voice squawking in his ear.
“Joel, buddy, what’s the word” Chance responded through the headset lodged behind his ear. A virtual display appeared in front of him, forward and left for his field of vision. The sharp lines of the display gave stats on the caller, his friend Joel. Joel was calling from one of the local coffee-net houses in the downtown area.
“Chillin’ with a cuppa java and seeing what the word is on the wire,” Joel said. “You on a job?”
“Yeah, getting ready to slot some doc-tube into one of the corp compounds in the downtown area. You gonna be down at the coffee house long?”
“Sho, nuff, baby. You swingin’ by after your drop?” Chance said and grinned his best cheshire grin.
Chance chuckled.
“Sure, why not? It’s kinda slow today and I’m on-call. They need me, they can holler. Later, buddy.”
“10-4, my man,” said Joel and punched out.
The heads up display faded out, melting into the scenery around him as if it were never there. Which technically it wasn’t. It still amazed him how much the new DaemonWare display unit emulated the more traditional digital display units out there. The graphical user interface presented by the techno-pagan run company’s patented digital emulation spell was incredible. The integration of the tech world and the esoteric realm fascinated him to no end.
He sidled up to a light, and planted his feet on the ground, waiting for it to change. He leaned his head back and quickly rocked it back and forth, feeling the muffled pop at the base of his skull. All of his tension went to his neck and shoulders. He was wound tighter than a high tension coil-spring lately. All he wanted was to get this job done and melt away into a corner booth somewhere quiet, jack into a net feed and work on his blog or somethi…
A car horn blared behind him, startling him from his mini daydream.
“Hey! Cycle jockey! Get moving!” a young lady’s voice came sharply from behind him.
He turned abashedly and stammered an apology.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said, looking at her as she leaned out her window.
She paused a moment, looking him full in the face, and her features immediately softened. The look of annoyance melted away and was replaced by a curious fascination. She arched an eyebrown slightly, and her lips drew back into a slight smile. He sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, that’s no problem… what’s your n…” she started to say but he hastily looked forward and pushed on.
He shook his head, and mumbled “Gods, why me?”
He heard the woman’s voice faintly as he managed to push ahead of the SUV in front of him, then quickly cut across to the right and slid past another two cars. He could see the major intersection in the distance which would take him several blocks up to the office building where his drop would be. Finally. The end was near.
All his life he’d suffered from an affliction of always attracting more attention to himself than he ever wanted. Things came easily to him by virtue of his appearance it would seem. He wasn’t too shabby to look at, he knew. Thick dark hair. Intense green eyes. Athletic build with well defined muscle tone. Full, pouting lips. “The body of a Degas with the face of a Botticelli”, a line from a movie he once saw some time ago. Whatever.
He looked back to see if his latest admirer was behind him, and that’s when he ran into the blind girl.
“Hey, watch it, miste…” yelled the girl, the warning cut off by the mountain bike clipping her.
In his momentary distraction of looking to see if he was being followed, he’d missed the fact his light was red up ahead. A young blond girl carrying a bag of groceries under one arm and waving a cane out in front of her with the other stepped out into the crosswalk. She looked up suddenly as he approached, as if sensing someone or something was approaching her. She stopped up short, which is what prevented a full on collision and potentially more damage than a sore rump from being knocked backwards onto the pavement.
Chance yelped as he over-corrected sharply to the left, and then immediately back to the right so as to not end up being a hood ornament. He hit the curb as he swerved between two parked cars, expertly pulling up on the handle bars to skiip over it instead of taking a header into the concrete. He may have failed as a professional cyclist but he could handle a bike better than most people could. He skidded to a stop, blew out a sharp breath, and looked back towards the young woman. He expected to see her still sitting on the pavement where she fell.
Instead, he saw the blur that was her hand slapping him squarely across the face.
“You jerk! What in the hells to you think you were doing?” she screamed at him.
He rocked back from the impact of her slap, and felt the sting from it’s sharp contact. His face was hot from a combination of the slap’s impact and embarrassment. There was mild applause and some laughter from the group of onlookers that stopped to survey the scene. He looked over at the people gathered there, and the tittering stopped immediately. One of the men in the group awkwardly stepped forward, and picked up the grocery bag the young woman had dropped. He shyly approached them both, preparing to hand the items to her, giving him a side-ways glance. One of the women in the group looked with disdain and borderline hatred at the blind girl. He took the grocery bag from the onlooker, and muttered a thanks to him. He then turned towards the blind girl and smiled his best apologetic smile he could muster.
He felt like an ass.
I’m sorry, miss, I really am. Please, here, let me help you…” he started.
She whirled on him, then stopped suddenly as she “looked” at him full on. He smiled again, hoping for probably the only time in his life that his innate charm would work for him. He widened his eyes slightly and extended one arm to hers in order to guide her hand to the bag. He wanted to show her he was going to help her, that everything was okay, nothing to see here.
Her eyes widened when he approached her, and he could see a milky white film over them, right before she slapped him again.
“Asshole! I could’ve ended up in the hospital! I don’t like hospitals! I don’t… I…. gods dammit!” she burst out as a tear ran down her cheek.
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay? No, don’t cry. Hey, I’ll help you out” he said, surprised and shocked at her reaction.
Not surprised that she was upset. He totally got that. He’d be upset and a little pissed too if a someone plowed into him with a Trek mountain bike head on. He was surprised that she wasn’t immediately mollified by his presence, taken in by his charisma and charm. Not that he cared about any of that; he would rather be a nobody that no one paid attention to. But this was a first for him. Even after talking to her in soothing tones, trying to take her arm, tying to be charming, she was still pissed. She was still upset.
He was stunned.
“Um… hey. Sorry. I really am. Can I help you, please? I, uh… well… I just want to help. Okay?” he said sincerely.
She sniffled and drew the back of her hand clumsily across her cheek, her tear stained face reddened and wet. She reached out and took her bag of groceries from him, a bit roughly, but without as much malice in her face as a few moments before. She stepped sideways and started feeling on the ground with her foot for her cane. He reached down quickly and picked it up, taking her free hand gently to place the cane in it. She jerked back slightly at the contact, but caught herself and gripped the cane firmly. She looked into his face and he saw she was quite lovely, even with the blotchy I-was-cyring-cuz-some-asshole-ran-into-me-with-a-bike look. He took a respectful step backward as she tucked the groceries under her arm.
“What’s your name?” he asked softly.
“Mary” she said and cocked her head at him. “Who… who are you?
“Chance. My… my name’s Chance,” he said, caught off guard by the emphasis on ‘are’. “Let me help you. Where were you headed?”
“Across the street’s my building. I… I can manage,” she stammered.
“I’m sure you can, I have no doubt. I just want to make sure some other asshole on a bike doesn’t finish the job I started,” he said.
A smile tugged at her lips, but her face remained stern.
“Well, okay. I guess so. Follow me,” and she turned to cross the street.
So, Chance followed Mary, and upon reflection later on, it was probably the last most normal day he would ever have again.