The Quarantine Chronicles: Day 5

“London?” I heard the call but didn’t turn. Instead I stayed in my position, on the outer most scaffolding, at the highest floor, looking out; smoking. It was a habit that I rid myself of before this all happened. A habit that had resurfaced out of a need for some sort of outlet to ease the pressure. I held one of the last fully active sites. The other Senior Project Managers in the company had folded under the pressure and I was running their sites too, half-manned. Everyone thought that they wanted to be in charge, until they were. Until the decisions they made determined whether or not people could put food on their table. It was the guy in charge, who would have to live with knowing someone’s parents might die because I made the call to work when I could have easily made the call not to. I looked out at the empty streets below and wondered if we would ever go back to the simple things, like shaking hands and touching countertops. It was no longer a city they laid beneath me. It felt more like a museum and we were just walking among ruins. The city wasn't alive anymore than Colosseum in Rome, it was just somewhere were something horrible happened once. “London,” Matt, Mitch’s replacement, called again. “Someone at the front gate to see you.” “Ok, “ Hearing this, I immediately knew it was over. We were going to get shutdown. I flicked the cigarette butt off the top of the building and stood up. ‘I had a good run,’ I thought to myself. The rest of the city had been down for more than three months. I’d survived the first wave of shutdowns which took away the restaurants, bars, Broadway; basically all entertainment. I’d survived the second wave which took all the state and federal jobs. I’d even survived the third and worst wave, which took basically everything left except people like us; maybe I should be thankful. I was one of the last left standing. Most mornings I was the only guy on the street not wearing a uniform. There was a part of me; the part that looked for the path of least resistance, the selfish part of me that was relieved to be shut down, wanted the tension to be over. It was the same part of me where I hid the guilt from pushing these guys to work knowing that I was exposing them daily. The part of me that I thought I’d buried, so deep so long ago that it would never have a chance at resurfacing. Recently, however, I could feel that part struggling against his chains, wanting to be free again. I exhaled long and loud as I walked to the front gate. Trying to push that part of me back down. I geared up for a fight, it was the only way I could down and still look myself in the mirror. I’d expected to see one of fifty different people there to break the news but I had no idea who this person was standing before me. He looked up as soon as he saw me, like he recognized me, but he didn’t look familiar at all. I studied his face briefly, the scar above his right eye struck a familiar cord in my head. It hit me. “You were at the Hotel two nights ago?” “Yes, I was.” He said plainly My mind was lagging behind this encounter. “We were meant to talk then.” His accent came in delicately over his English. It was not heavy enough to be able to place. “How were we going to do that? I was heading to jail that night had I been caught.” He wore a smirk on his face. “You would’ve only made it to Rikers depending on how our conversation went.” I paused for a second. “I’m sorry, you are….?” “Hammel Bajraku.” My mind finally caught up. “You’re Lyn’s uncle.” He smiled but I barely noticed. Stories of Lyn’s veiled uncle flooded through my mind, one by one. They were sorted, cataloged and filed under the folder entitled ‘Do not open.’ Lyn’s family were like the Kennedy’s of her home country. Except for every Joseph Kennedy there was a small, dimly lit bridge to a Frank Costello. Hammel was that bridge. “Lyn tipped them off,” I finally concluded out loud, “And you were brought in to save me… in exchange for something.” Hammel lit a cigarette and gestured for me to follow him away from the site. I walked alongside him. “It was not how I wanted to do things, but it seems you have a knack for pissing off people that shouldn’t be pissed off.” “It’s a family talent,” I drawled. Hammel laughed as he reached his car and leaning against his hood. Last time I saw the car he and Lyn were driving away from the hotel. The wink she'd given me echoed loudly right now. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bajraku?” His smile slowly faded away. “My friends and I are very religious,” He started; clearly an outright lie, so I had no reason to believe anything that followed. “We would like a place where we can meet and pray, where we won’t be shut down or have Christians trampling into our place of worship.” Had this come from anyone else it may have seemed a reasonable request. “Working for Mr. Rennet, you have access to secure sites all over the city and I’m sure the manpower to make them presentable –“ I cut him off seeing where this was going. “Also closed loop video feeds, private security that we hire to watch the sites, no wifi to be compromised.” I had the perfect asset. In a fifty-story building, I could secure three floors with twenty floors of empty space between them. Air gaped from hackable technology, secured entry points, and being a site owned by Rennet and thus exempt from Executive order four-fifteen, no one would ever enter. No on listening due to no one knowing where the meeting was taking place because it wouldn’t exist until I built it. It was smart. Not to mention, him being Lyn’s Uncle, he knew everything about me that he needed for leverage. I'd done a bit of dirt in switching firms, naturally with Lyn's help. It wasn't enough to be charged formally but definitely enough to get Mr. Rennet to fire me. At any other time, with my resume, losing a job would be a minor inconvenience. But during these times the lost of a job... devastating. The cons of being the last man standing. His smile returned. “I knew I would like you,” he said throwing away his cigarette. “You can hear more than what’s said.” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to me. I felt the weight. I would like to say that I hesitated. Would prefer to believe that I thought of the consequences. That I debated the potential moral dilemma and battled with my conscious. The truth: I didn’t. Didn’t hesitate at all… and neither him, nor I, nor Lyn; our invisible participant in this conversation, was surprised. “We would need the place tonight,” Hammel said getting into his car, “the night of Lailat al’ bara’ah.” I put the envelope in my pocket. I walked back to my site slowly, in the middle of the street. I wasn't concerned. You could hear cars when there were no other sounds. Most traffic lights just flashed yellow and there were no little hands to tell the tourist when to walk and when to stop. Befitting, as there were no more tourist.

At the entrance of the site I was almost knocked over by a rushing Juan. “Mr. Rossi I have to go, I apologize. There’s some agency at my mother’s house telling her the building is evacuated and needs to be cleared immediately. Her entire floor is empty.” “Sure, take off. I’m sorry to hear that.” Juan hurriedly put all of his gear into his bag and headed to the street. I turned back to him. “Where does you mom live?” The question jumped out of my mouth unannounced. It surprised even me. “LSE projects,” he answered and hurried down the street. I stood there for a few beats, looking at nothing in particular. His answer circulating in my head. I wanted to help him or at least advise him to some extent. It was too late, he was gone and I had another problem. I took some cash out of the envelope I was given and went to find my labor foremen, Roberto. We had an event space to build.

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I sat in the dark cursing my own stupidity and my father’s inherited curiosity. My mother probably would have been able to go home and leave well enough alone. My mother was notoriously good at minding her own business. A practical woman. My father on the other hand was always interested in the way things worked. It wasn’t good enough to flip the switch and the light goes on, he needed to know why. What was carrying the electricity to the bulb and how it was harnessed? He needed to be able to replicate the system. It was my father’s side that kept me here once Mr. Bajraku’s friends arrived. It was his genes that kept me wondering; what religious celebration was so secretive that it needed be done with a twenty-story buffer above and below? A thought occupied my mind for the briefest of moments: Perhaps this was a meeting for extremists. However, brief the unjustified and unproven theory was, I was ashamed and disgusted at myself for its inception. Racism was for the simple-minded and the ignorant. To prove a point to my senseless nature, I stayed behind. At least that’s what I told myself. What else was I to say, that my base childish nature wanted to see what the adults were doing? It didn’t matter what I said now. I sat a floor above them; near a thirty-six by twenty-four inch rectangular hole in the concrete floor slab, which would eventually hold a ducted exhaust for the Make Up Air Unit on the roof. I sat by the opening trying to listen. Only then did the obvious stupidity of my plan reveal itself in its full glory. They weren’t speaking English. I wanted to laugh at myself. I sat back and smiled. It wasn’t Arabic either, I had an ex that talked to me in Arabic in moments of extreme emotion. They all sat around in suits as expensive if not more than Hammel’s. Hammel was the obvious leader of this meeting, but it wasn’t religious in nature. At least I could prove to myself that they weren't extremists. It seemed more of a business meeting. I thought I recognized one of the gentlemen; couldn’t place from where. But I knew I’d seen him before somewhere. It was on the tip of my tongue. I think I would have figured it out had I not heard the unmistakable sound of a gun’s slide being pulled back behind my ear as a round was chambered.