“Huh,” said Santiago thoughtfully. “Well, not anymore. Now it’s an armed fortress, thanks to the Governor.”
“Well what’s he ‘sposed to do?” demanded Lumler. “Goddamn gangs an’ deformos attacked us, you know! Ain’t like we went lookin’ for a fight.”
“No, I guess not. But did they have to tear up all the park benches and playground equipment? All the street signs, all those trees? And now the lamp posts?”
Lumler shrugged mountainously. “Gotta have a strong defense,” he said. “All the way ‘round. Whole perimeter. Them deformos are sneaky. You leave ‘em a way in, they’ll find it. An’ anyway, what good are things like benches and shit if yer overrun by freaks?”
“Yeah, guess you’re right,” said Santiago. He sipped. “You see that piece in the Patriot the other day about the attack on the South Sector?”
Lumler snorted. “Yeah. Sounded like a real clusterfuck.”
“Makes you wonder what they want.”
“Who, the deformos?” said Lumler. “Hell, that’s easy! They want what we got. What they ain’t got. What everyone wants.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Peace,” shrugged Lumler. “Order. You know, a society.”
“Peace, yeah,” nodded Santiago. “I guess the Governor has seen to that.”
“Had to,” Lumler said simply. “Ain’t nobody else gonna do it. Nobody else wanted to lead these people. But wait up. How come you only read about that attack? Yer a Medico. An’ there had to be casualties, so how come you weren’t down there?”
Santiago grinned. “Other duties, my friend,” he said. “Over at the 6th Street STD clinic. Thank God.”
“Huh,” grunted Lumler. “Yeah, lucky you. Well, like the Great Man says: We all have our part.”
“Yup,” said Santiago dolefully. “Just how things are in this brave new, post-apocalyptic world of ours, I guess. And don’t get me wrong: The Governor is a great man! Without him, well, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it. But don’t you… wonder sometimes?”
“About what?” asked Lumler darkly. He didn’t like this kind of talk.
“Well, take this new boss of yours, Knox,” Santiago said. “You yourself say he’s crazy! I mean, do you think it was a smart move, making a crazy man the Chief of Police? Hell, do you even know what this Knox guy was Before?”
“No,” scowled Lumler. “Nobody knows. Ask me, he was prob’ly some kinda mental patient.”
“See? Now I ask you again: Was that a smart move?”
Lumler frowned deeply and held his tongue. Even if no one could hear him, speaking ill of the Governor was about as smart as taking a picnic in the Rad Zone. Especially for a PF man. But he had to admit; Santiago was right. For the present, he allowed a shake of his wide head.
“I dunno,” he said bleakly. “I mean, hell, maybe I’m wrong about Knox. Who knows? Maybe he’s just, whatchacallit? Eccentric.”
“Uh huh,” said Santiago skeptically. “You just keep tellin’ yourself that.”
“Hey, get bent, OK?” Lumler growled. “Shit, it’s easy for you. Yer a Medico. Nobody’s gonna touch your precious ass! But me?” He looked around reflexively and lowered his voice. “Shit, you know as well as I do, if anybody heard me sayin’ somethin’ against the Governor I’d be on the front line so fast it’d make my fuckin’ head spin! An’ personally? Fightin’ deformo freaks—deformos with guns, even—well, friend, that just ain’t my idea of a good time!” He leaned back and glared across the table. “So you can just put a lid on that shit. Say what you want when yer around yer Medico buddies, but when yer around me?”
“OK, OK,” said Santiago, patting the air. “Take it easy! I was just gassin’ is all. We’ll just drop it, alright? No harm done?”
Lumler looked around again. There was no one who could have even possibly heard his outburst, aside from the decrepit old specimen at the counter (who was about three years older than God and probably deaf as a brick, if not asleep), and so he relaxed a little and sat back in the booth. He eyed his friend and then gave a short laugh.
“That’s what I like about you, man,” he said. “Always thinkin’. Where you from, anyway? Never got a chance to ask.”
“Tacoma,” said the other. “Born and bred. Lived there my whole life. Had a nice little practice, too. Specialized in large animals. Horses, mostly.”
“Family?”
“A wife and a daughter,” said Santiago. “Both died of the Sick.”
Lumler nodded. If this had been Before, he would have offered some sort of condolences to the man for his loss, but since everyone had lost someone dear to them in the Fall, making it a sort of shared pain, a commonplace occurrence, he didn’t bother.
“What about you?” asked Santiago, looking at Lumler over his mug. “I know you’re from around here, but what else? What did you do Before?”
“Not much,” said Lumler honestly. “Worked in a warehouse. Had an apartment.”
“Any family?”
“Just my mom,” said Lumler. “An’ she died oh, what? About a year before the Fall.”
“Missed all the fun, huh?” smiled Santiago grimly. “Well, good for her.”
They sipped the acrid brew and watched the work crew as they moved on to the next lamppost. Santiago took out a plastic baggie of shredded tobacco and some papers and deftly rolled himself a smoke. The smell of it, once lit, was like burning paper and dung.
“You heard of this character they call the Hunter?” asked Santiago, exhaling smoke. “Little guy, shaved head, like, heavily armed?”
“Only rumors,” said Lumler. “We’re supposed to leave him alone. The Police, that is. All I heard about him is he was some kinda big-shot bounty hunter before the Fall. But it don’t matter, anyhow. He won’t be around long.”
“No? Why’s that?”
“Some kinda job,” said Lumler, frowning in concentration. “The Governor gave him some kinda, I dunno, a mission or somethin’.”
“What mission?”
“Find somebody,” shrugged Lumler. “What he does, ain’t it? Like the name says: Hunter.”
“Yeah, but who? Is it somebody here, in New America?”
“Doubtful. If the Governor wanted to find somebody here, he’d use the PF to find ‘em. Naw, what I heard was, he’s supposed to find some kinda Medico. Or group of Medicos.”
“Doctors?’ said Santiago. “Out there, in the wasteland? That’s weird.”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Lumler. “But you doctor types are like pure gold these days. Maybe the Governor just wants more of ya.”
“Could be,” Santiago said, crushing out his smoke on the floor. “With the War and all, we sure as hell could use the help.”
Lumler grunted and nodded, about to summon the waitress for more brew, when suddenly his radio chirped and then the voice of a dispatcher—Janice, he thought—came on:
“Sergeant Lumler, please report.”
Taking the receiver from its Velcro holster, Lumler thumbed the send button.
“Lumler here.”
“Sergeant Lumler,” said the woman officiously, “report at once to Interrogation Center Two. Repeat: Report at once to IC number Two. Acknowledge, please.”
“Acknowledged,” said Lumler. “On my way.”
“Confirmed,” said the dispatcher. “Dispatch out.”
Lumler shrugged at his friend. “You heard the woman,” he sighed, “duty calls.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Santiago, getting up. “Got a whole slate of check-ups today, over at the Big Time.”
“The whorehouse?” scoffed Lumler, donning his cap and rising. “Nice. Shit, how do I get to be a Medico?”
“Well, there’s the problem, my friend,” said Santiago, holding the door. “No colleges, no med schools, no doctors. They just don’t make ‘em anymore.”