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of things. That's why I try to keep from talking. When I talk, fifty percent of what comes out of mouth will be stupid. Isn't that true?"
    The men smiled.
    "Okay, Punch. Everyone deserves another chance," one them answered.
    "Exactly. Now help me do something. I need the eyes and ears of the street. Do you know where Cruz is now?"
    "I thought you told the person on the mobile you weren't going to look for him."
    "I'm not. I'm using my connections to do it, but not for her. It's for me."
    The men looked at each other. "We haven't seen Cruz."
    "Me, neither."
    The other two men shook their heads too.
    "I saw him pull out the place early this morning in his ride, headed East, but that's it," one of them added.
    "He goes out. He has to come back," Punch Judy said. "We'll just wait for him."
    "Do you think we can get some money out that person on the mobile?" one of the men asked.
    She gave him an askance look. "Doubtful. His girl wants to know where he is."
    "Oh, China Doll."
    "We like her," said another man.
    "I hate her. I hate him."
    "That's no way to talk, Punch. Cruz is cool."
    "He is not cool."
    The men started to laugh.
    "Since it's for China Doll, we'll put the word out on the street to find him," one of them said. "Should we bring the 411 to you?"
    "No, I don't care."
    "We'll get it to China Doll then."
    "We like China Doll," another man said.
    "No, tell me too, then."
    "Why?"
    Punch Judy thought for a moment. "I don't know, but I want to know, too. I'll think of a reason later."
    "Okay."
    The four sidewalk johnnies scuttled away into the drizzling rain. She turned back to walk back up the mega-steps to her sitting spot.
    She hated that everyone liked Cruz. But she liked that someone else didn't like Cruz either--Cruz himself.

Part Three
     
    I'm Cruz. Whatcha Want?

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6: I, Cruz
     
     
    "I'm Cruz. Whatcha want?" That's how I greeted strangers. Though, I had to admit that it was somewhat of a rude and snarky response, but, hey, I didn't like strangers. I liked my friends, my frenemies, and even my enemies--all of them I knew, but strangers I had no regard for. My girlfriend frequently scolded me on my bad manners, saying that "a stranger is a friend you haven't met yet." I had a far less charitable definition of them. Social scientists predicted that the bigger a city gets, the higher the anti-sociability of its people. There was no bigger city than Metropolis and I was born and raised here, and most of my waking thoughts were about how to get out of here so I wouldn't die here.
    My name is Cruz. My first name is unimportant because no one ever calls me by it, not even my parents.
     
    Calling Metropolis a city was like calling me a molecule. True, but what exactly did that even mean? Demographers and assorted eggheads had semi-decided on its official classification--super-city, beating out less popular terms such as omni-city, over-city, and ultra-city. At least everyone agreed that mega-city was inadequate. That's what it was called when it was ten times smaller than it is today. Fifty million people living, breathing, and dying in a rainy super-city in a world of super-skyscrapers.
    Metropolis wasn't a bad place, but it wasn't a good one either.
    Here I sat in my vehicle with my face almost pressed against the driver's side window, looking out and up at the downpour and watching the rain roll down the glass. Astronomers said it rained diamonds on Jupiter and Saturn. Well, this wasn't there and even the ladies would tire of a constant diamond downpour; probably would cut every living and inanimate thing to shreds, too. This was Metropolis where it was always raining or about to rain. The only seasons were variations of the perpetual rain--light rain, heavy rain, or the storm season. There was one month of a break during the year, which would be fine if the year had only two months; but it had twelve.
    People said that the sky was black, but that wasn't true.