The torn, beaten up Craven of the hippies was going North East and Marlow had his eyes set for West. So with a happy smile and a sleep deprived wave, he jumped out of the vehicle and stood for a brief minute on the cusp of Vigil Woods.

He was someone else when the exotic scented caravan stopped to give him a ride. It was near 10 in the next morning, and the first day of March was not still driving the cold away in any sense. He had enough money for a bus but not a stop was in sight. So the caravan was nothing short of a lifesaver as he hopped onto it with a grand wide grin and told his story.

Marlow was a sweetheart of a gal called Marrie Lou, a fine, brass haired woman waiting for him in Dixie, with her body prepared to comfort him in all and every way. He was embarrassed to say the tale out loud, even though it was false. He never knew a woman called Marrie Lou and he had never been to Dixie before. But he was flustered with his cheeks turning slight red when he told the lie.

It is necessary and of utmost importance to believe every word of the lie you are trying to sell. So the authenticity of it never slips away and everyone stays as the fool that you want them to be.

In this case, there was no urgency to lie as there was no benefit to earn from misleading. But he did it all the same. He felt like a vixen, a cheat and a deceit. He didn't know the sheer cause of the joy of it but it was a pleasure in the crooked corners of his mind.

To lie.

The frustration quickly set into his bones as he walked the Fayhearth highway. The road was drier than midnight as not a single soul, let alone a car was to be seen. He came to discover the forest when the dislocated mind, bored and dull and already tired, spotted the wood or more importantly, the elk behind the tree.

The elk stood unwavering and he stopped pulling at the tip of his jacket with concentration on the animal. It was beautiful and perhaps the most beautiful creature in the wild he had seen. The hair on the body was smooth like a fur carpet, the horns the branched out with reach and the hooves that drummed as it trotted around on the moss, hitting the rocks, breaking a few loose wood here and there.

He had finally noticed the gravity of the woods and the forest itself. It stood. Like a palace and stood there with a high arrogance in itself. Like it was a disconnected universe, hidden in the world, a world itself. The tall trees that ended kissing the sky erected like columns, the leaves branched out into a dorm. No snicker of sound, no lazy accent of any soul, not a constant hum of a vehicle anywhere. Just the bottomless orchestra that played through the afternoon, slowly, accompanied by the beats of the elk that strayed away into the deep. And soon disappeared into the vastness of it.

The trees were golden in the yellow sun and the ones in the shades emitted the bronze impression, the leaves went from shine to a dark glaze, the earthy smell, the scent of the leaves, the odor of it whole, charmed him. Corrupted by the aura, he stood there and promised himself to be back. With a heavy smile of aching anticipation.

But the beginning of the entrance to Dixie was abominable.

He jumped a bus and the bus was at Dixie but according to the clock it was not even 3 AM. For the reasons and also the fear of being lost, he stayed in the bus station and slept with his travel bag.

But the rotten leather, with the repaired sides bag that he had bought in Colombia was gone when he woke up. Vanished. Quite possibly stolen.

If his wardrobe of grubby clothes and exhausted books were missing, he would not mind and maybe not be angry at all.

But the loss of the 318 dollar that he saved like a miser from the start of this year was in the bag and that's the reason of the shouting, the yelling and the verbal battle he engaged with the bus stop manager.

" For the last time, listen here and listen good, I did not take none of your luggage and if you spend any more second here, yelling I will have to throw you out. "
" Do you think this is the first time I stayed in the bus stop? But I didn't lose my shit when I did."
" Listen here, smart guy. You ain't supposed to stay in a bus shade in the foirst place. What do ya fucking think? This a motel to you, fella? "
" But it was so late. I didn't......

" You didn't what? Now, you are upsetting the people here, alright. Look the lady's already half scared ta death. Don't even get me started how the baby feels. "

" I aint' going nowhere without my bag. "
" And who says you can? You see this? Union rules, son. Your potty mouth won't scratch me any of your fuckin idiocy. "

..........................

" Now, off ! "

The manager didn't shove but his words, showered with the spits was enough to take a sign as the man with a heavy rough snarl stepped out of the large booth and onto the cold sidewalk on the groggy hours of the morning. He shrugged and in his mind, lipped a bit of curse loudly as he punted the tipped over garbage.

The shoeshine boy was crossing the street and hearing a chortle of the rising flimsy commotion, he stopped to see the holdup and saw the frustrated sad man walk out furiously. The boy instantly knew what happened. He scrubbed the cement dirt on the back of his hand as he performed a sulked tone with his tongue.

The bus station manager was Dove, in the street everyone called him Duv. In his past life, he was a hustler in New Orleans and also a thief when no one was looking. But the bad habit stuck and it grew along the time when he came to the outskirts of Dixie and landed the job of the manager post. With a seat in the Union.

Yes, there was the Union in Dixie. And every business holder was a part of it. You could cut a deal with the Union at the initiation or the start of what you do to earn your bread. A simple deal of 10% of your sweat and tears. In exchange, the Union protects what you have. From everyone and themselves. It was the choice some were wise to take on the first offer, the others, well, it's safe to say, they learned it the hard way.

After all, extortion is a hard word.

There was a man who was enjoying the worst coffee of his life as he sat in the driver seat of a second hand Chevy. He looked at Marlow who was still wallowing in the bad hand of lady luck, kicking the pole every few seconds.

The guy in the Chevy felt bad in a switch of the moment as Marlow stopped the childish delicacy of anger and quickly counted the dollars in his wallet. Nothing more than 26 dollars with a change and a few discount cards of diners which were out of Dixie and the cards become of no use.

In the scenery of his persona, the flatbed jacket which he bought most recently in Frisco was large in size. The travelers beard grew like weed on his face as his departure from the Levi house was untimely. The man who was alright in the traits of a deserter, had become nothing more than a character of a lazy youth.

He had seen everything from behind the window shield of the Chevy. The empathy in his was really a matter of something as the Chevy coughed and turned the sidewalk to meet the man.

He was counting something in his mind, a calculation of course, for the handle of the near future. The past 7 months of work, con and whatever he did to earn the dough all went away, vanished like a magic trick on one lousy, shivering March morning.

" Lost your shit, eh slick? " He threw the comment as he rolled down the window, taking away the morning sun's image from the glass.

It was an older man who's age had been swept away from the constant breaks of wind on his face. But Marlow knew him to be old since the silver hair around his long head were sitting out in the open.

" More like stolen. " He coughed a large one and sucked a spitball between his lips.

" That candyass handed my shit. I know it. " Then looked away into the strong stature of the city which didn't seem intimidating to him in the soft darkness of the early dawn, when he was still rich. But his pockets were as empty as it was, when he, John Rubar, walked around in the crowded sidewalks, sleazy motels, dirty to hell alleys.

" Well, maybe he did or maybe he didn't. " The Chevy man spoke once again. The certain tone in his voice changed in an unusual manner, as if he was wanting to say something but held himself back.

" What are ya gonna do about it? You can't do anything. "

" I can think of a lot of things really. " He crafted the evil grin and threw another spit down on to the grey pavement. His thought of violence and something juvenile was portraying on his face.

" Haha. Well, then the Union will bury you if the cops don't do that first. " He laughed away hard and loudly enough to catch a concerned look from the shoeshine boy who still stuck around to see the end of the drama.

The silent moment grew for a slither of second.

" How much was in there? " The Levy man asked.

" Around 4. " He answered as he brushed his face with all the curbing in the world.

" That much huh? "

" Not a dime less. What a fuckin barf I......... " He continued the display and the act was so accurate in the line of his worry that it didn't seem like an act to him either. That's the nonchalant charge of deception.

" You got any papers, son? "

" What kind? "

" IDs. Names, driving license, anything that got a proof of you. " He said with an impatient voice as the discomfort grew.

" What for? " He said, peering into the car for a closer look.

The black Chevy seemed new to him even though it was a clear cut second hand deal out of someone else in the Union that the man got his hands on.

" To work. For what else? " He pushed the door with a hurried thump.

" What's the offer? What type? " He inquired, raising a brow in question. And the Chevy man's discomfort produced more as he stuttered to talk.

" Well, I got a bar........ something closer to a bar in the city. And........I just need some hands on to get that place cleaned up straight. "

" What's my tick? "

" Um.......for now.... I just need bits of this and that and..........everything. " He answered with a wave in the air, maybe to make it sound more important.

Marlow stood there, hunched over the car window and shot a concerned look out to the back. The Fayhearth highway stood stretched out. There wouldn't be anyone on the road now or for that matter, at any part of the day.

" Listen, Slick, If you want the dimes and the scents, hop in. Otherwise rot in Duv's frontyard. "

He didn't feel the weight or taken the time to stop at a decision and the decision was yes.

It was a rather pathetic one, seemed hopeless and dull. The same routine of the world. Sweating to earn a few money only to waste in some silly charade or epiphany. Or just to be stolen by some bare ass ape, stuck to the Union.

He felt like Forlan Levi, the philosophy of his life, the endless crusade of survival that was nothing but a lie. Forlan understood it when there was no time and no zeal and nothing of value.

Marlow who was not called Marlow in this time, but Enmanuel. He had been properly introduced to the Chevy man, who was Remy Relington.

Remy looked over his papers and grunted badly, stuttered and spitted to say his name. So both of them agreed on the nickname of Broker. Remy frowned because all of the papers were out of date, completely useless, he nodded in disappointment.

But he chose the easy way of slipping Broker the money, under the table. The traditional way. So the Union didn't have to know who worked and who didn't. But the work would be done.