Labor Bar

The investigators find the Labor Bar easy enough: It is a big building, big enough for several hundred workers. The dayshift has just ended, and the hall is filling quickly with men in dusty and oily coveralls eager to slake their thirst. In one corner, shift bosses have put up tables and call out to the returning labourers: “Six days, three merits! Six days, three merits! Good work, happy work!” The group sticks out a bit, and the men seem at a loss, until Mal spots an old lady on a simple chair close to the main entrance. She sits straight, a slender woman of maybe fifty years in a simple, but sturdy dress. He watches her for a minute: She seems to be an uninvolved guest, but then he realizes that she is directing the barkeeps, the serving girls and the bouncers with simple hand gestures. He nods to the others “If anyone knows, it’s the old Betty at the door.” As he walks towards her, the woman spots him. A flick of the wrist, and, with a fluid movement, one of the huge, bald bouncers appears at her side, hand on a large bludgeon in his belt. She smiles at the scavvy in his sophisticated envisuit. Her teeth are perfect, and Mal can feel she is sizing him up, top to toes. “Well, hello there. My name is Leah Labor, and this is my bar. You will find no better place in the Gears to drown your sorrows and enjoy kind company. You seem to want to have a talk, sonny. Impressive armor, by the way. Now, tell me, how can I help you?” “Well, I am looking for an old friend of mine –“ “Old friend?” “Yes, very old friend, short black hair, blue eyes, lots of muscles, but not very tall.” Leah makes a show of looking over the churning crowd jostling at the bars “Well, that’s not very helpful, your old friend looks like thirty men in this bar alone. And another thing, sonny. You are not in the wastes any more. This is the city of the judges, and we do things the judges’ way. If you have trouble with someone, they handle it for you. I know it takes a bit to get used to it, but if your old friend wronged you, you should talk to a judge. Having a vendetta all by yourself makes them envious. It will land you a place in one of the farms. You might also end up dead.” She seems to be mildly offended by the whole exchange. Old friend indeed. “Yeah, I know, lady. I’ve spent some time here. Listen. It’s not quite easy.” He nods towards the back, where the others are looking on, among them the black form of Zed “The man is a killer. Very, very fast. Very, very dangerous. Quite able to kick a man’s head off. We would really appreciate your help, if you get my drift.” Leah thinks for a second, looks at Zed standing there, in her bar, then makes a decision. “I remember something. Two weeks ago, there was a fight at the Memphis Free Truckers’ garage, west of here. Not your usual brawl. Some of the mechanics wanted to teach a new guy a lesson, and he punched the stuffing out of them. Five burly grease monkeys against one guy. The fight seems to have lasted all of four seconds. Five men limped away with broken bones. That could be your man. That’s what I hear, anyway. See the long table over there? That’s where the MFT mechanics meet up after shift. I’m sure they know more.” Mal says his thanks and the men move to the table Leah pointed out. A large, middle-aged man with a preposterous red mustache seems to hold court here. His craggy face seems to have soaked up the garage’s black grease, every single wrinkle shows like a blackened line. To his left and right, oil-covered men put down their drinks and turn when Zed and the others appear at his table. Mustache grins mirthlessly at the group. “What’s up?” Again, Mal does the talking “I’ve been speaking to Leah Labor over there, and she told me that there was some kind of fight at your garage some days ago. I would like to hear more about it.” “What’s it to you? You with the judges? Ah well, yeah, there was a fight. New guy was ordered to help us in the garage. Showed up for two hours a day max, still got his merits. That’s just not acceptable, so a few of the boys tried to give him a nice n’tidy scrubdown in the oil pit. Well, he kicked their asses good. One of them had an open fracture. It’s a good thing the judges opened that hospital, Saint Brigid’s, in fancy quarter. And when you turn up with your arm hanging all wrong and the blood dripping down the bones glistening in the sunshine, you don't have to wait a minute. Turned five mechanics into bawling twats with their teeth all over the floor. Took him less then a minute. I thought we would never see him again, but it seems he was kept on nonetheless. And it worked out in the end.” “What do you mean?” “He shows up every day now, on the hour, regular as sunrise. Leaves with the whistle, but that’s his right. Pays attention to his work. And a smart fellow, too. Can readn’write n’all. I could use few more guys who can handle a notepad along with a spanner.” He eyes his company with slight reproach. “And the guy’s name is?” “Loft. He’s called Loft.” The investigators share a glance. They are closing in on Uziel, the false benefactor who calls himself Loft now.