Sometimes things take much longer than expected and this project was one of those. This is my longest short story yet, at around 7000 words, which didn’t make it any easier. As I am foremost a novel writer, I suppose this is certainly something I must watch out for. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this one.
APRIL 2024
Escape with a Billionaire
By Elo Süzemar
I’ve been shot, stabbed and held for ransom, so when I saw Michael Harrow’s getaway car move, undetected through the crowd, I took a chance.
Billionaire and infamous mind behind, ‘The Harrows Project,’ spent the last four years going from public humiliation to public humiliation. The housing project, in conjunction with the government, was to revolutionise lives. Overcrowded cities and housing problems were a thing of the past. Harrow, a proposed town little over an hour from the capitol would house up to a hundred thousand.
I would go on, but you know all that. “Michael Harrow scammed his own country.” “Billionaire, Harrow, facing jail time after housing scandal.” The headlines go on, every story a rehashing of the last. That is why, I knew I needed to get close, more intimate…
*
Cameras flash, lenses brush my face and the constant click of shutters fill my ears. My lens is focused on the billionaire, my camera a thick notebook stuffed in the back pocket of my jeans. Where it should be. I’ve seen nothing yet that every newspaper in the country won’t be covering, no, I need something more.
Michael Harrow is in a world of his own. As takeaway coffee cups roll around the man and his lawyers, his only remaining bodyguards, he just stands there looking into space. The crowd is likely holding up his escort so he stands among the jeers and shouts longer.
A commotion to my right distracts me. A taxi, parked up on the kerb amidst the protesters inches forward. I squint, there should be no cars on the entire street today. Battered and rusting, it’s a wonder that anyone would even get in the thing.
My lips tug suddenly upwards. I elbow my way through heavyset men and women to stumble down the wide steps, two at a time. I vault the fence at the bottom, landing straight in the crowd.
My grin widens as I see the rear window, taped up with plastic. Finally, there is nobody between me and the car. It makes slow headway, and yet, the police are preoccupied, barely able to protect themselves from flying junk.
I move alongside, peering in through the grimy window. I let out a laugh at my sheer luck. This isn’t just any taxi driver, but Liam Harrow, brother to the infamous billionaire. Without preparation, I wouldn’t recognise the tattooed, bare-armed beast that clutches the wheel. I glance back at the police, barely three layers of people away. This is my chance, my resurrection.
Mother’s warnings about strangers play in my head as I yank open the back door and bundle myself inside. I reach over and slam the door, shutting out the protests of the crowd.
The burly Harrow brother looks over his shoulder, forehead creased from concentration. “Get out! I’m not on duty. You won’t like where I’m going.”
“I’m exactly where I am meant to be.” I position myself in the centre seat and strap in. If he is about to do what I think he is, I better be prepared.
His hand moves towards the glove box and then stops as we pass through the last line of people. “Fine, but you asked for it.”
The car jumps forward with a roar. There is a light thud as the police not quick enough to move are shoved out of the way. This might just be it, the last interview with Michael Harrow before his half-century in jail.
I clutch the two front seats as we screech to a half in the centre of the steps, just as police run towards us from all sides, the crowd following.
Liam reaches over to shove open the door passenger door. “This is your last time to go.”
I don’t move as Michael Harrow tumbles in, coat flapping. We’re already moving by the time the door slams shut. My heart races as the crowd approaches rapidly. My knuckles turn white as I grip harder.
“The Airport,” Michael says, pulling out his phone and starting to type.
I should be asking questions, and writing notes, but as the car speeds up, I realise he’s going to hit the people. Had I not held on for dear life, I might have slapped myself. Mother was right, sometimes it was best to just accept defeat.
“Watch out guys,” Liam says as the police break their line and in a wave that moves only just fast enough, the crowd parts.
A nail-biting moment later, we’re roaring down an open street, weaving between cars. Sirens start in the distance as we screech to a near-halt and thunder down the next.
The first flashing blue light passes in the wrong direction. The second, I just glimpse and the third swings onto the road behind us, weaving between panicked cars.
Michael doesn’t look up once as we turn onto the highway, his fingers tapping on the screen. The sweat running down Liam’s bald head is the only sign of distress between the two.
Finally, we turn onto the highway, up the long ramp. The taxi rattles harder as we pick up speed, passing cars and lorries in a flash. I swallow hard but finally manage to loosen my iron grip, pulling the notebook from my pocket.
“Johnny,” Michael is saying, phone now to his ear, “I’ll be there in half an hour, have it ready to leave as soon as possible. Don’t move it until I phone again, I don’t want them to know that I want to leave... No, don’t, just us. The others will have to find a new job soon anyway… Yes, full, we’re going as far as possible.”
Michael drops the phone to the floor and runs his fingers through his hair.
“You’re not leaving,” Liam says, swerving to avoid a car.
“Only an idiot wouldn’t.”
“Face up to it for once!”
Michael snorts, “Don’t sell me your honourable bullshit.”
“Maybe if you took my advice for once, you wouldn’t end up as you are. Honestly, how could you be so stupid? I know little more than the street patterns and I have more sense than that.”
Michael slams his hands down on the dashboard and sits up, “You and your beaten-up taxi! If you want to live and earn dirt, then so be it. I doubt your children will thank you for it.”
“I don’t see anyone thanking you.”
The silence stretches and both men shift in their seats.
Finally, Michael glances at me, as if noticing me for the first time. I open my mouth but he raises a hand.
“Who’s this?”
Liam snorts, “A very keen journalist.”
Michael’s face sours, “You let one of his ilk in here? What do you want? My escape documented?”
I carefully slide the notebook under my thigh and meet his gaze. I’ve faced presidents and killers, sometimes the same person, I can deal with this. “Can you blame me?”
“You may have finally poked your nose into the fire,” Liam says.
Michael suddenly laughs, turning back to face the road, “Don’t worry brother, that’s that Elo Suze-something guy, remember? Oh yeah, you don’t have TV, well he’s the one who got fired for the piece on President Carlton.”
Micheal shakes his head, “I haven’t read a paper in years, let alone watched TV.”
*
I resist the urge to reply, lest the heat in my face taint my words. Professional, I have to stay professional. I uncover my notebook and begin to scribble.
The brothers couldn’t be any less alike. Liam with his tattooed shoulders, and unwavering demeanour is nothing like Michael. Even before the trial, the elder brother always had a feverish intensity to him. It was all or nothing, interest or boredom. As we sit in the car, and the conversation dwindles, he pulls his tie from his neck and, stretching his feet out on the dash, tightens it around his eyes. Within moments, he’s snoring.
I wonder, how could a man like this ever come to be the richest man in the country and, for a time, the nation’s favourite. The answer lies in the original pitch for ‘The Harrow Project.’
The Harrow brothers grew up in a small village north of the Capitol, called Millington, a run-down rot of a place. It was, back then, the poorest place in the country along with three other villages around it. As the need for timber dwindled, so did their economy. It became a place for misfits and those who wanted to evade the public eye.
When Michael Harrow, founder of Harrow Industries, a large tech company, focusing on business software, took his company public, he entered the race to become the richest man in the country’s history. That was when he delved into politics, which, if you ask some, was his downfall.
At first, he kept it small, but eventually, he gained his place as governor and, after providing a lot of his funding to improve the country’s long-lacking infrastructure, became the people’s man.
The Harrows Project was born. To be built in the poorest neighbourhood in the country, this new housing project would cover the entire area, north of the capitol as a new financial hub. Servicing both its workforce and the capitol, it would revolutionise housing.
Then, not four years after the first tree was felled, and all the residents were moved out into temporary housing, the project fell through.
*
Michael’s snores continue to amaze me as we speed through the trees. We left the motorway and blue lights an hour ago. He may make it to the plane. He may even have his runway.
My calm lasts only a few seconds longer when two police cars and a blockade block most of the road. As we approach, the policemen look up. We slow down but the police making no move to stop us. and we pass right by.
“They don’t care who goes in,” Liam explains, “But they make damn sure nobody is smuggling anything out.”
“What do you mean? Out of where?” I check my phone and swallow hard, the battery is already low.
Liam glances repeatedly at Michael but it appears he is sleeping, though I cannot work out how he could under such stress.
“How long until the airport?” I ask, sliding my notebook away.
Liam glances in the rear-view mirror and gives me a tight smile, “We’re not going to the airport.”
I don’t get a chance to respond when the trees fall away revealing something out of a dystopian movie.
Towers of concrete and steel in every direction. Huge cranes in various states of disrepair cling to the sides like vines, broken cabels swinging in the wind. Liam breaks hard as the road turns to dirt, the car bouncing around as we pass half-built gas stations and abandoned diggers. For a while, I am completely lost for words, then I drag my notebook back out.
“You took us to…”
“The Harrows.”
I’d seen pictures in newspapers and videos in magazines but they always played the same clips of it, as workers left in their hundreds, leaving buildings and infrastructure half-finished.
Now stunted pines swallow the abandoned land and weeds sprout from every crack in the concrete and road.
Yet, what draws my eyes are the people—battered old trucks carrying passengers in the truck-bed.
“We are trying our best,” Liam says, reaching for the glovebox, “But times are rough.”
I hold my breath as he pulls a handgun and lays it on his lap. Unease settles over the cabin. “But… The police will eventually find us here.”
Liam glances over his shoulder again, “They will, but Michael must see this.”
I shake my head, frowning, as Liam shakes the billionaire by his shoulder.“Don’t hate me for this, brother, but you’ve gone too far.”
I glance at the handgun again and swallow. This could get nasty quickly.
“What?” Michael sits up, and curses. “You bloody idiot!” He looks at his brother with no softness in his eye. “The airport… You’ve ruined us both.”
Liam just raises an eyebrow, turning down a street that looks substantially more complete than the others. There should be shops here, but the glass is broken, and the signs are empty. Piles of rotting timber line the streets where sleeping bundles lie. Tarps and colourful material extend over the street and there is a bustle of grubby faces. We pass a sort of market, but my attention is diverted when Michael grabs Liam’s shoulder.
I replace my hold on the two front seats as he shakes him.
“You want me to live out my life in jail? Do you want that? Because that’s what’s going to happen. They’ll not stop searching. Once they realise we’ve come here, I’ll be found within the week.”
“One week to reconcile with yourself then,” Liam says, “First, however, I want you to meet all the people your stupid project has ruined.”
Michael swears again, louder this time and kicks open the door. Cool air rushes into the taxi, “Let me out here, I don’t want to see you again.”
“I’m going to take you back to where—”
“I’m getting out.” Michael snatches the handgun out of Liam’s lap as we round a corner and presses it directly to Liam’s scalp, breathing heavily.
I swallow hard, trying not to breathe.
Liam sighs and slows down to a stop.
Liam calmly slows to a stop at an intersection. Michael opens his mouth but finally kicks the door open and leaves, tucking the gun into his pocket. Liam just watches, a slight tinge of sadness tugging his lips down.
Realising that Liam isn’t going to pursue him, and my chance at getting close to Michael, I unbuckle and push my door open. A hand grabs my shoulder and I glance back to find Liam staring at me.
“Just you watch out, he’s unpredictable lately. Especially now.”
I nod my thanks and tap him on the shoulder, “Thanks for the ride.”
He just shakes his head and before the door closes properly, pulls away and rejoins the sparse traffic of cars, matching in their rust spots and dents.
A few moments later, I am hurrying down the street after Michael Harrow, the taxi already gone from view.
It’s the cold dampness that gets me first, making me wish I’d thought to bring a coat. We can’t be much further north from the courthouse, but it feels as if we are in the Arctic circle, the icy wind going straight through my thin coat.
I wonder why people would sleep, wrapped in blankets and pieces of polyethene. A moment later, I get my answer. Rats and other small creatures scurry away from the open entrance as I pass and the smell emanating is horrible. Some of the buildings, however, seem occupied with various bits of timber and fabrics covering the openings that should hold shopfronts.
Finally, I catch up to Michael as he stops and sinks to sit on his heels. I pause, Liam’s warning prickling the hairs on my back. This is a man who, once and maybe still, could pay for anything, even my death.
“When was the last time you were here?”
He begins to turn and then throws his head back. When he turns to me, his eyes bulge. “If you want to push me down further,” he spits, “You won’t have much luck.” He straightens, face darkening. “It’s you and your kind that destroy so much good in this world.”
I am used to this kind of statement, I get it a lot, whether questioning an elderly woman on her deathbed or a politician among their peers, but from him, it feels more personal. My formulated reply doesn’t leave my lips as he places his nose a few inches from mine.
“I saw your piece on Swinton, on Albertson, you don’t think I know you?”
I swallow, I am careful, always and my face never appeared in my publications.
“Oh, it’s not all bad being where I am, I talked with many of the once great, now downtrodden. It didn’t make it any easier, but they did warn me of types like you. It isn’t enough for you to take pictures every time I get in and out of a car, every time I visit a restaurant.”
I take a step back, steeling my face. This was one of the worst aspects of my job. I touch the scar on my forearm subconsciously and force a smile, genuine, it would have to be for Michael, he doesn’t seem the sort to fall for cheap tricks, likely why he got to where he was.
“Well, you got what you deserved last time. Can’t you learn your lesson? You’re not wanted.”
“Is this how they spoke to you in that courtroom?” I say, forcing my breathing to calm and steady.
He pauses and with a little hesitation steps back. He stares at me for a long time, then turns to cross the road. I follow still but keep my distance.
I wonder if he even knows where he is going, for we are now entering what seems to be the heart of the town. Here, the biggest buildings, some of which even have glass in the windows higher up, tower above us, the tops just bare steel and concrete.
I pass empty shops with fabric pinned over the openings, the smell of spicy cooking coming from within. Others smell of smoke and drugs. Some even seem to be selling whatever they are making. My stomach rumbles.
Several times I catch sight of a larger gun poking from a backpack. There are no police, so far as I can tell.
I almost bump into Michael’s back where he stands stopped in the street staring at a pair of grubby children.
Noticing me again, he moves on, muttering something under his breath. The children just watch him go and then go back to playing in the dirt. Who I assume is their mother, suddenly appears from behind a hanging screen, her face almost as dirty as her sons’. A gun is in her hand, the barrel pointed straight at my face.
My heart drops and for a moment I can’t breathe. Slowly I raise my hands and take a step back, “I…”
A shot echoes around the street and yelp as a puff of air blasts by my head. Something shatters behind me but I dare not take my eyes off her.
“You go,” she says in a heavy accent, “Or I kill you.”
I nod and back away until she’s hurried her children back inside and retreats herself. I stop, rubbing my leg where my only bullet wound is. When I was younger I was even more stupid with risk taking. People with guns are not to be messed with. That reminds me of Michael and I spin around. Gone. I curse under my breath and break into a run.
*
I reach an intersection and look in every direction but save for a few hunched shapes moving along on the other side of the road and the occasional battered vehicle, I am alone.
I spent several hours on those streets, and quickly got a feel for the people. The grubbier, dirtier I looked, the less they resented me, so by the time it was getting dark, I was offered the occasional bit of food.
What stood out the most, were the heart-breaking stories of the residents. One couple, thirty and thirty-five respectively, had been teachers at a small school before the project was initialised. Now, some five years later, they get by running food deliveries around the city on bikes to the various markets where it’s sold for next to nothing.
“One day we were held up in a hotel, quite luxurious, I must say, and the next… Well, like everyone else here, we took what we could find. At first, it was a nearly finished home on the edge of town. Now, we stay in a shopfront, as we have little wish to cycle so far every day.”
As is almost always the case, there are points of hope, for example, the Alwin Youth Group, a group of teenagers and young adults voluntarily repairing houses and maintaining whatever shelter these people have.
“When things get difficult,” one anonymous AYG member said, “Things get dangerous. Those who have guns take whatever they want, and break whatever they want. There has to be someone doing the opposite.”
Unsurprisingly, few people call the place, ‘The Harrows,’ anymore as almost nobody wants anything to do with Michael and his once-flagship project.
And yet, to my greatest surprise, the story that moved me the most was the story of the Harrow brothers themselves.
*
I shiver almost constantly now and wish that I’d stayed back at that last shop, where they’d offered me dinner. Whatever they were cooking in the large cook pot might even have sated my fussy stomach. Now, it rumbles every few moments.
An hour it’s been, the darkness rolling in with a cold wind and light spits of rain. An hour without seeing anyone at all, save for a few heavily armed individuals passing by.
The sound of an engine rouses me from my slouch and I look up. A dim taxi logo comes into view around the corner. It stops and then slowly turns towards me. My heart seems to stop for a moment until I recognise the pear-shaped vehicle.
A moment later it stops beside me, the window rolling down to reveal Liam Harrow, wrapped in a thick coat.
“Liam,” I chatter and pull the passenger door open, not waiting for an invitation. It’s only mildly warmer once inside, but I relish the comfy seat.
“Bloody lucky I found you,” he says, shaking his head, and looking around, “I was about to give up and head home.”
I nod thankfully as he speeds up. We sit in silence for a while, Liam muttering under his breath every few moments.
The tarmac only lasts a mile or so and then we are back to crawling along, the car bouncing and shaking over potholes and debris.
“I’m taking you back to mine,” he says finally, “And tomorrow I’ll take you as far as the police station on the edge of town, this isn’t a place for outsiders. You’re especially lucky that none of them know what you are.”
I stare out of the window at the glow coming from various kinds of shelters, some within crumbling buildings, others among scaffolding. This is just part of the job. I’ve been all over the world, in far more dangerous places and yet here, barely a two-hour drive from my home, I feel so disconnected from everything.
“The police stop you getting out?”
Liam shrugs, “They don’t care what we do, so long as we don’t bother them too much, but yes, it is difficult to drive out that way without permission. There are… other ways, however.”
We finally pull off the wide gravel road and onto a dirt track that snakes its way through piles of sand and gravel before stopping in front of one of the better dwellings in the place. Granted, its roof is nothing more than plastic sheeting, but it had walls and a warm glow peeking from behind heavy drapes.
The door opens as soon as the engine stops and a tall woman in jeans and a tank top slips out, gun sticking above her shoulder. Liam glances at me, “Welcome to my home.”
I swallow hard and step out of the vehicle a moment after Liam does, trying to work out how long it would take his wife to swing the barrel towards me. She kisses Liam on the cheek as he passes and gestures for me to approach. Summoning up my courage, I step into the light from the door.
Before I can get a half glance at her, she sweeps me into a hug. I awkwardly accept it, all too aware of the cold steel against my forearms. She pulls away and beams up at me, “I’m Jenny. We were worried about you. I told him he shouldn’t have left you out there with… Well, you’re safe now. Come on in!”
“I wasn’t in any danger,” I find myself saying, then adding, “Well, not any more than usual.”
She looks at me as my mother might, despite seeming barely ten years my senior. I wonder how much she knows about me as she pushes the door closed behind me and slides a dozen bolts across the frame. If anything, she isn’t showing it.
The smell of hearty cooking makes my stomach growl even more and she pats me on the shoulder before pulling me through another door into an open living space.
There may have been walls planned, but the concrete floor and roof are as far as the builders got. Two crude benches and a crate, laid with a tablecloth, serve as a table. Two young kids sit, forks halfway to their mouths, eyes darting from me to their father.
Several mattresses pushed together on a raised platform off to one side and a fire crackles in a new-looking stove.
“It’s not much,” Liam says, “But it’s ours.”
I nod absently, despite the cold floor and rustic sense, it feels several times more homely than my own. I’d rarely had anyone there, for it was more of a place to sleep than anything else.
Yet, as I look around, I can still tell that they live in the Harrows. The children’s clothes are several sizes too big and the pile of toys in the corner seems meagre at best.
“I like it,” I say finally.
“The stove was a gift,” Jenny says, “From Liam’s brother. Everything else is… second-hand.”
Why they would live like this when Michael’s wealth could afford them a mansion, I can’t work out, but I don’t ask. Hospitality goes stale quickly with the wrong questions and, with the warmth of the fire, I can be thankful for nothing else.
“This is Sam and Tilly,” Liam says, sitting down between his children, “I doubt they will talk much, strangers keep their tongues tied.”
I smile and perch on the bench as Jenny heaps a large portion of rice and thin stew onto my plate.
Liam finishes first and, kissing his wife on the cheek, encourages his kids over to the mattresses in the corner, drawing the drapes half around them and picking up the few books stacked carefully on the table.
We watch for a while, and then Jenny turns to me, the original softness absent.
“This will be in your story too, won’t it? Michael’s brother thrown into poverty, living in the dirt while he lounges in mansions?”
I swallow my food, coughing slightly, mind racing. “I haven’t decided what angle I’ll take on the story yet,” I lie.
She snorts, “Well, we only live like this because we chose not to take a penny from him,” she says, “Liam decided long ago that he would build himself back up on his own. I’m with him.”
“I do not judge you for it,” I find myself saying, “I don’t know that I would accept money like that either.”
She sits back, watching me carefully, as a bear might its next meal. I think back to the presidential interview that got me fired. He’d looked at me like that too, as if he’d known what he would do. The first part of that interview had gone well, but after his reaction to several carefully constructed questions, he’d assumed that pose. A week later, I was out of work.
“I see that you have a point to make,” I say cautiously. “I would consider it, for my piece, if it pleases you.”
“If it pleases me. Ha!” She looks away, though I can see her mind working. Give people a chance to get their voice heard and they’ll rarely avoid it.
“What if… this piece helped you, and the others here. Nobody knows about this place’s inhabitants, for good reason.”
She glances at me but keeps her lips pressed into a thin line.
Finally, as Liam draws the drapes closed and straightens to join us at the table, she speaks again. “He wants to interview us about Michael.”
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. Either way, as Liam’s gaze turns to me
I swallow as Liam’s gaze turns to me. If they cast me out tonight, I’ll be out there alone in the cold and dark and from what I’d already seen, finding another friendly face might be difficult.
Finally, he nods. “Give it your worst.”
I stifle a sigh of relief and pull out my notebook and pen, looking up at the couple.
“Did you notice anything distinctly different about your brother when you were a kid?”
Liam looks at his hands on the table for a while then nods. “He was full of crazy ideas, and he never had any fear. He would climb trees and fall out and climb them again. There was little that could stop him. My mum and dad tried. When he was eighteen he left home without contact. When he returned, he came in an old car. It doesn’t sound impressive, but we’d never had one. Our parents were thrilled. Then we didn’t hear from him for another year. Every time he came back there was something more. Then, just before my parents died he told them he’d bought them a house.”
“They must have been thankful.”
Liam shakes his head, “At the time, I couldn’t work it out, but they were disappointed, they wouldn’t take the keys and when he tried to offer them money to help with the bills. Mother told him to come back when he figured out what they wanted. She and Dad died soon afterwards. I don’t know if he ever forgave himself for not being there.”
“When I first met him,” Jenny says, “He already had everything he could ever want, but he didn’t care for it, he could have relaxed and found himself a family. Instead, he was always on the phone. The first time we got dinner together he spent half the time outside talking to some agent or another, the other half, his mind away some other place.”
I scribble down a few more notes.
“And have you seen much of him, these last few years?”
Both shake their heads but Liam speaks, “The truth is, I heard more of him from other people than from him.”
“And why do you think he was so driven to build this new town, to help solve the housing crisis? I think many put it down to money or power, but there is almost always something else under that.”
Liam glances away, “In a twisted way, he seemed to be trying to appease our parents’ spirit. What could he do that was more than a mansion for them? And here he was proposing a town to be built in our backyard.”
“It seemed great, whatever his motivation,” Jenny continues, “It was something productive, something that would solve a lot of problems. Our house was old and leaky and, frankly, unliveable. Or so we thought. We spent two years in a rented apartment in the city while we waited.”
“And then… the whole project fell apart?”
Liam shrugs, “You’ll have to ask him, but I think he lost whatever kept him at it to begin with. He tried to employ people to keep it on without him and a week later, all work stopped. Our rent stopped getting paid and we had no choice but to come back here, to our unfinished house.”
“What about the others here, are they from the villages before?”
They shake their heads, “Most are not. Anybody unable to pay or fit in elsewhere comes here, and the government don’t seem to care. I think they’re glad for them to be out of the way.”
I glance down at my notes and then up at their open faces. I almost always have my angle beforehand, carefully calculated to reach the widest audience. And here I am, at the dinner table with my subject’s family. Their house is cosy, even with insulation showing in the walls and the concrete floor. I wonder how everyone else lives around here. I can’t imagine it’s good.
“I want to find Michael again,” I say, “To get his take on it.”
Liam snorts, “Haven’t you learnt? Besides, the police will be here at first light, there is no use getting caught up in all that.”
“This is no longer about him, I see this story taking a different turn. What about the other people in this city?”
“I would love to help,” Liam says, but this city is…” He winces as Jenny elbows him in the ribs. Then, after a long exchange of glances, he stands up, grabbing his keys from the table. “Come on. If you’re crazy enough to come here in the first place, you can handle this.”
*
In truth, I suspect it was the hospitality of the Harrow family that finally shifted my mind. To continue probing for a juicy story, in their company, felt foolish. I knew, as they shared their hard-earned food, that I had to repay them.
In the past few months, reeling from my public humiliation, I felt resentment towards my audience, towards the publishers and everyone who led me down this path. But, there, at that dinner table, I could no longer wallow in whatever I’d been telling myself. But without Michael’s story, I knew the reach would be minimal.
*
We step into the cold. Still, the breeze has dropped and the moon is out, illuminating the odd landscape.
“Apologies for the lack of a heater,” Liam says, buttoning up his coat and starting the engine. He reaches into the back and passes me a coat, “You’ll probably be needing this.”
I nod my thanks and pull it on. What did I do to deserve Liam’s kindness? Even the memory of jumping in his taxi without asking seemed rude. In truth, I expected all of the Harrows to be arrogant and dismissive. Michael might fit that, so far, but the others… Well, wearing their coat with a stomach full of their food, I can hardly complain.
We trundle through the darkness, beams illuminating shelters built from timbers and scaffolds: makeshift walls, and roofs flapping in the wind.
“If I show people this,” I say, scribbling down a few words, “They’ll be horrified that their government can ignore a place like this.”
Liam just stares ahead as we turn onto the main road. I cling to my seat until the street evens out. We pass only three cars, all of them looking straight from the scrapyard. Liam may be one of the more wealthy people in the neighbourhood if the population was as much as he said.
A short journey later, we stop in one of the main streets. I recognise it as the place where the woman pointed a gun at me. I shiver, glad of Liam’s company.
“Where do I look?”
He gives me a tight smile, “Up there.”
I lean forward and crane my neck, looking up. In the darkness, I cannot see the top of the building but I can imagine it has to be one of the highest in the town.
Great. An unfinished, crumbling tower.
“I’ll be back at dawn,” Liam says, patting me on the shoulder, “Be careful, he’s not himself.” He passes me a torch and points towards a set of double doors, both missing their glass.
As soon as the car door clicks shut, the taxi jumps forward. I watch it disappear around the corner and shiver. I’m alone again in a city full of unpredictable people. Then there’s Michael, no doubt still with Liam’s gun.
I step through the doors carefully, shoes crunching on old glass. I keep the torch shaded with my hand as I pass several shapes lying on the carpeted floor, wrapped up in dirty blankets. I wrinkle my nose but push on.
Soon, however, my only company are whatever creatures stay just outside my beam of light, tiny feet skittering over the concrete.
I guess the place was meant to be a shopping centre, for it extends into the darkness, the beginnings of what might be counters and partitions lying in splinters. I shine my torch up and swallow. The staircase, bare concrete, the rebar still sticking out disappears further than my torch can reach.
I look around once more and begin to climb. After one floor the protective railing ends and even the gap between the landings is big enough for me to slip through. I cling to the torch. I have to find Michael before the police get here if he doesn’t shoot me first.
Four floors up and the steel girders reflect the torchlights between frames and panels. There’s a distinct damp smell here too, tickling my nose, though at least the smell is better.
I can now see the elevator shaft, running up between the floors to my left, the openings just dark holes.
On the seventh floor, the temperature drops again and a cold wind blasts right through, making the steel cladding flap as if it were to fall away. By the tenth floor, there is none at all, only steel and concrete cling to the building this high, the walls either not built or blown away.
I needn’t have worried about the building being unstable, judging by the thickness and frequency of supports, yet with nothing stopping me from walking right over the edge, it’s still unnerving.
Finally, my legs aching, I step out under the night sky, clutching a beam to steady myself in the wind. I switch off the torch and step out into the moonlight, the shadows of the continuing structure crisscrossing the concrete. The metal structure of the crane continues up, metal supports connecting it to the tower. Thankfully, the dark shape I seek is not up there, but sitting right on the edge.
Michael doesn’t shift as I approach and it takes me a few moments to confirm that he’s not sleeping.
“Go away,” he says.
I peer over the edge and wish I hadn’t. Far below, flickering lights and orange glows mark the incomplete town below. And yet, to sit anywhere close to him, I’ll have to go even closer.
My heart in my throat, my left hand clutching a girder, I slide my legs over the edge and bit by bit, shuffle myself close enough to speak.
“I said I didn’t…” He trails off glancing at me, “You’re not Liam.”
I shake my head and he snorts.
“Idiot, coming up here. Well, no wonder you’ve managed to make a career out of this, you’re nothing if not persistent.”
“Thank you, I just wanted to—“
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
I take a deep breath, “I want to help you.”
He laughs, the sound loud and clear, “It’s too late, far too late.” He turns to me, “You people don’t get it, work your way to the top over months and years just to lose it all in precious short weeks. A run of unfortunate situations and it’s all gone.”
“And you assume that you’re the only one to go through that?”
“I don’t want to hear it. All those people protesting were not there for the residents of this dump, they were there to see that I got a longer sentence. It’s all inside, the punishment, I mean.” His voice breaks slightly, “I’m not scared of going to jail, I’m scared of being inside my head. And in there, well what else is there to do?”
I swallow but there’s a lump in my throat and I don’t know why. This is a billionaire who, through negligence and selfishness pushed hundreds of people into poverty and squandered billions in public money.
“I can help,” I say quietly.
He snorts, wiping his eyes, “You have less influence than you think, people might read your stuff, but won’t stop me from going to jail. Hell, it might make them push harder for it.”
“You’re right, I can’t help with that, but, maybe, I can do something about the people here.”
He looks up at me.
The initial dislike towards him seems to fade. This wasn’t a man who only cared for his money, nor was he a man who would throw people from their houses.
“I admit I came here, like you said, to get a good story. I could have left after that, but I never stop halfway and I felt there was more to it. If people knew about those stuck here, those that are hidden from the news, there may be a way to help them.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want to hit it from a different perspective, hook them with your story and land them on the poor people of this place, stuck in poverty so close to a city of wealth.”
“Those protesters won’t change their minds about me that quickly.”
“They don’t have to, they’ll just shift their anger towards those that keep these people here.”
For a long while, he just sits there, looking down towards the many glows below. Then he looks back at me, his expression hidden. Then, “What do you need from me?”
The police come at dawn, just like Liam said. Trucks, cars and motorbikes roar through the half-built town below. Flashing lights weave their way through the city to stop below the tower. I don’t know how they know he’s up here but I have an inkling. Besides, there is no use in them searching the entire town for days.
“This is it,” Michael said, “You have everything you need?”
I nod. In the past few hours, I feel as if got to know the man better than most. I even feel a sense of kinship. His resentment and frustration almost mirror my own.
In my precious notebook, stowed between a join in the girders, is all the information I need for my piece.
Yet with my jacket all scuffed and torn, and by the unwashed look, I doubt they’d even look at me twice.
“Thank you,” Michael said, getting to his feet and moving to the centre of the concrete floor, “Maybe I won’t suffer in my head as much. Just… Just don’t twist this back against me.”
My back against a steel girder, I nod, not trusting my voice to be steady. I can only hope. Hope that this is enough for them to pick me up again, for them to look past their own opinions on Michael and, most importantly, turn their eyes to those who need it most in this mess.
The police arrive, big guns pointed at the both of us, fanning out. I raise my hands but they quickly disregard me, leaving a single barrel trained on me as Michael is thrown to the floor before being cuffed.
It all happens very quickly and in five minutes, they are retreating down the stairs, the billionaire trussed up like a dummy.
After that, it’s very quiet, the wind reducing to a steady breeze. Even the sun seems to be trying to burn off the clouds.
I return my notebook to its proper place in my pocket and begin to make my way down the tower. I hope that Liam is still ready to give me a lift back to the checkpoint, otherwise, I have a long walk ahead of me.
I hope this piece has given you a new perspective on Michael’s story. I don’t ask that you like him, or even change your mind about him, but I think it’s important to get help to those stuck in ‘The Harrows.’
Kind Regards
Elo Süzemar
I lean back, my computer chair squeaking as I study the finished email. Would this be enough? Would they even look at my piece without trashing it?
I’ll just have to keep trying. I run my finger over my new desk, fashioned out of an old crate, it was a gift from Liam before I left. I smile. It adds a bit of warmth to the place despite the rusty, bent-over nails and blue dye that seems to get on every piece of paper I leave on it.