The Bazaar was unlike anything from the Upper City. Booths and shops were set up in a haphazard manner along the street and in the road itself. Geraldo had to drive slowly, shouting and honking his horn at the people who refused to move out of his way or didn’t move as fast as he deemed necessary.

With a loud sigh, Geraldo finally stopped the car in front of an old food truck. “This is it. Best Pho in town.”

The truck was old. It was the kind that had been used in the forties. Gabriela opened the door and stepped out of the car. The sound of the Bazaar washed over her, bringing with it the smell of food, causing her stomach to gurgle angrily.

Each booth in the Bazaar was as unique as the wares peddled from them, and the noise was almost overwhelming. Each vendor called out to passersby, promising everyone a steal of a deal or guaranteeing that you couldn’t find something anywhere else in New Madrid.

The closest thing that she could compare it to was the corporate malls. Still, those were clean and organized. Typically, the only noise was from a crying child or a giggling pack of teenagers—nothing like this.

“I’m buying,” Geraldo announced as he took a seat at the side of the truck.

“Is the truck converted to electricity, or does it still run on petrol?” Gabriela asked as she took a seat next to him and stared at the simple menu.

“Petrol.”

“Where do they get the gas?”

“They don’t,” Geraldo chuckled. “Thing probably hasn’t moved since the City was built. Lower City was the first part of the City. Owning food trucks was a lucrative gig during the forties and fifties. New Madrid was just a small town next to the Aldeadávila Dam. The construction workers needed a hot lunch, so.” Geraldo finished with a shrug.

“Good old capitalism.”

“The best thing to happen since Jesus Christ, or at least that’s what my parents always said.”

“You know a lot about New Madrid’s history.” Gabriela pointed out.

“My grandparents owned one of these before I was born. It’s how my parents met. So I heard a lot of stories about this City as I grew up.”

“Never took you for a local.”

“Oh yeah. Grew up in the City before there was an Upper City. I just figured you were a local.”

“No, I was born in Brussels. Moved around a lot when I was young.”

“What are you having?” A young kid asked. Gabriela could just barely see him peeking over the counter of the truck. He wore an old baseball cap turned backward, and his augmented eyes made it look like he was wearing some retro shades from the ’20s.

“What’s good here?” Gabriela leaned in and whispered to Geraldo.

“Everything.” He whispered back. “Just remember that nothing listed as meat is meat.”

“Pho bo, please?,” she asked with a smile.

“And you?” The boy pointed at Geraldo.

“And I’ll have the same. Make it a large, extra noodles, Sir.” He turned to Gabriela. “Have you ever had Lower City street food?”

Gabriela shook her head. “Never really been down to the Lower City. Spend most of my time up there. The food they serve is a little different. Clients treat us to more,” she hesitated as she thought of the best word to use, “classy restaurants.”

The kid handed their food over to them. Geraldo paid him for the bowls before sliding Gabriela’s to her. Her stomach roared and grumbled once more when she inhaled the rich fragrance of the broth.

“Clients,” Geraldo said before he slurped up some noodles, “that’s a funny way to put it.”

Gabriela pushed the meatballs, are whatever they were, under her noodles before she spooned hot pepper paste into her bowl, “We are employed by the City. Everyone is a client.”

“Well, the ‘clients’ I have worked for never treat me to a classy meal.” He chuckled. “Have you never done a beat walk down here?

“No.” Gabriela plucked a meatball from under her noodles and popped it into her mouth. Geraldo was right. It wasn’t meat, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t bad. The meatball was juicy and full of flavor.

“I did my beats up above.” She mumbled past the food in her mouth.

“How did you manage that?” Geraldo asked past a mouthful of his own food. “Most officers spend time in Lower City. It’s where all the real crime is.”

Gabriela hesitated as she pulled the remaining meatballs from under the noodles, “My mother.” That was all she could manage. “I hate admitting that.”

“Why?”

“Nepotism.” Gabriela took a small sip of the broth. It tasted better than it smelled.

Geraldo laughed. “Your mother pulled strings to get you into Taurus? Seems like a waste of influence.”

“No,” she grumbled, “my mother did not use her influence to get me into Taurus. I don’t even think she used her influence to keep me off the streets. I just think everyone has looked at me and decided it’s best to keep me out of harm’s way. Don’t want to anger dear old mother.”

“That’s why Elis calls you Princess?”

“Brian? Yeah. Called me that day one of being his partner.”

“And Is that why you wanted to look into this? You wanted to see what the rest of us had to deal with?”

“No.”

“Sally was right,” Geraldo added as he lit a cigarette.

Gabriela narrowed her eyes as she slurped up her noodles. “Right about what?”

“You need to learn to lie a little better if you are going to make it down here.”

“It was partly because I wanted to see what it was like,” she admitted, “but it was also how Mary Andrews’ mother-”

“Kathryn.” Geraldo interrupted.

“Yes, Kathryn. It was the way Kathryn looked at me.”

Geraldo was quiet for a long moment as he smoked his cigarette; his strange eyes seemed to look through Gabriela, deep into her being.

“I can remember the first day I walked.” Geraldo took another drag of his cigarette; the orange glow illuminated his grizzled face. “I was six. They used a nerve bypass to bridge the gap in my spine. My mom told me it was the same thing they used to help soldiers walk again.”

That was neat to me. It made me feel like I was one of the heroes I heard about on the news vids. Sitting and listening is all you can do when you are a blind cripple.” Geraldo gently tapped the cigarette, the ash falling off in light clumps on the tray in front of him.

Gabriela shifted in her seat uneasily. She wasn’t sure where he was going with his story, and the thought of a blind, paralyzed kid sitting in the dark with the news playing made her uncomfortable.

“Anyways, I got my implant when I was six. It took two years before I could fully walk. Two long, hard years. Every damn day I would have to endure the pain of using legs that had never moved on their own.”

He was silent for a long time before he stamped out his cigarette and lifted the bowl of broth to his lips.

“I held in there, though.” He continued. “Worked through the pain, despite the lack of pain meds. We couldn’t afford a brain dock. The implant I had gotten was expensive, you see. My old man, he, and my mum worked hard to keep me alive. They were born before the phage, so they were able-bodied. They buried three kids; I was the only one who made it. I guess being blind helped during those times. Didn’t have to see the worry and hurt on their faces.”

They worked hard to make sure I got the treatment I needed. A new spine, and finally new eyes.” He tapped a finger to his temple, his augmented eye gleaming. “I thought learning to walk hurt, but not as bad as learning to see.”

He was deep in thought for a long moment before he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, nimbly selecting a new one and sticking it between his lips. “The good thing about being born with eyes, like you did, is you learn to ignore all the bad shit you see at a young age. But when you are twelve and see for the first time, you realize the world is full of shit. And there is always someone dumb enough to fucking step in it. And you, Gabriela, have stepped in the shit.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you should be happy with your cush job in the Upper City. That look, the one Kathryn gave you?” He took another long drag. “That’s the same look every mother and father is going to give you down here, you know why?”

Gabriela pushed the bowl away; her appetite had retreated with the mood. “No.”

“Because that look is the look of helplessness. It’s the look of a parent that knows their angel is dead but refuses to accept the truth, and they tell themselves this lie that you are the only one that can bring them back. And you want to know what the worst part of it all is?”

“What?” Gabriela swallowed, trying to work some moisture into her dry mouth.

“When you are an officer down here, you have to be the one to tell them the person that they had built their whole life around, the reason they go on day after day, is dead, and never coming back. That’s the shit you have chosen to step in by coming down here with me.”

“Someone needs to make a difference.”

“And that’s going to be you?” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “You going to change the world?”

Gabriela looked away and ground her teeth. She hated him then, not because what he was saying was untrue, but because it was true. “I’m going to change the world for Kathryn Andrews.” She finally added.

“And how are you going to do that?”

Gabriela turned back to him, looking defiantly into his dead eyes. “By finding the person who took her baby.”

He held her gaze before a wide smile split his face. “Then what are we doing sitting around, Detective Fohren?”