Wrong Ways Down

by Stacia Kane

  Not that he ever did. He knew what he looked like.

  But just like always, having her in the car made him feel better. No matter who he was or how he looked, Chess was willing to ride around with him, be seen with him. Spend her time with him. That was pretty fucking cool.

  “Well,” she said after a second, “maybe what I found out today will help. I hope so, anyway.”

  “Aye? What you got?”

  She bobbed her head back and forth, an “eh” kind of movement. “I don’t know. Not a lot, but it’s interesting. I think it’s interesting.”

  He didn’t bother to say that if she thought it was interesting, he probably would, too. Instead he stayed silent while she pulled some sheets of paper from that big bag she carried. Printouts, looked like. “Thought you ain’t could get any reports on them from you Church.”

  Printouts, turned out to be. She angled them so he could glance over. “I looked at their website. What places like that put out in public can be as useful as the private stuff, you know?”

  “Aye,” he said, not really thinking, as he parked outside Dunk’s. Part of their protection deal was they gave him decent food, like real quality; well, lots of places made that same deal, but Dunk’s were his favorite, and close to Chess’s place. Besides, she seemed to like it, so even if he didn’t he’d take her there. “Everybody gots shit them hiding.”

  “Yeah. Well, what they’re hiding is a little Church trouble they had last year. See here, where it talks about a ‘revamped product line?’ And acts like it’s just part of their big quest to help people? That’s because they were using illegal power methods to charge their stuff, and some of their customers got hurt.”

  “Illegal power? Like with dead bodies or ghosts or whatany?”

  “This was illegal spells and sources, but yeah. Stuff they shouldn’t have done, that only Church employees are allowed to do.”

  “What you meaning, sources?” The whores ain’t said any got stolen from their purses, but maybe something—no. Whores never lost track of their shit. Had minds like bankers, them did.

  “Illegal energy raisings, or using forbidden materials.”

  Energy raisings. “Like what you say me before, on death curses, needs a killing to start it up?”

  She smiled at him, and ain’t even looked surprised that he remembered. “They weren’t killing people, but yeah, basically. You commit a crime, and feed that energy into the spell to start it. Illegal or immoral acts can raise a lot of energy.”

  Acts like rape. He examined the pages she’d handed him. A list of “products,” with pictures. A history of the company; he’d read that later. And a few pictures of the owners or bosses or whatany of the place, with them bullshit paragraphs next to each to tell people how smart they were and how they’d achieved everything they’d ever planned to do or whatever the fuck those things said.

  “Why come this one ain’t got a picture?” he asked, showing her the name he meant. Brian Tyler, Head of Product Development.

  Chess shrugged. “There wasn’t one on the site.”

  “You get any—”

  She was already shaking her head. “That’s stuff I’d have to ask an Elder for. Sorry. I did a regular internet search for him, too, to try to get a picture, but nothing came up, really. No images or any real information, except that he graduated from the University of Truth in Springfield six years ago. His name was listed as part of the graduating class.”

  He nodded, folded the papers, and got out of the car. New Year’s Eve weren’t much different from any other night in Downside; drunks stumbling around, people screeching and playing music, but it started earlier than usual. The noises were like an assault.

  When he opened her door for Chess she started talking again. “There’s nothing about any other employment, so I don’t know what he might have done between graduation and now.”

  “See what else I can find,” he said, as they started walking toward the diner. “Address and all that shit, dig.”

  “Where? I mean, I can’t—”

  He smiled at her. “Thinkin you the only Church worker we get knowledge from?”

  Her head tilted back, letting him know she got it. “Right.”

  “Only you the best one,” he said, ushering her into the diner ahead of him so she didn’t have a chance to react.

  After they’d sat and ordered he unfolded the pages; they sat at his usual booth, the last one on the right, so nobody were behind him or could see what he was doing. Not really much use, any of what she had. Well, no, it were useful—it gave him something, and since he ain’t had shit before that mattered—and he was grateful for it, but he’d hoped for more.

  “People buy this shit?” he asked, scanning the list of products. “Spells to make kids obey? Spells to make worries better?”

  “Pretty sleazy, huh?” Her smile, the way her dark red lips curved, made him feel like he was in on some secret with her. Like they were the smart ones. “Those places will sell anything.”

  “It ain’t work, aye?”

  “Nope.” She lifted her right arm and curled it behind her head, curled her fingers, to gather up her hair and pull it off her neck. Her head tilted to the right as she did it, so her throat was a long pale line rising from the collar of the blue shirt she wore over a black long-sleeve t-shirt. He knew he shouldn’t stare, he should look away fast before she noticed. But he couldn’t help it. It was so … she weren’t even aware of it, how pretty the movement was, how graceful it was, how it made his breath stop.

  Then he saw the mark. The bite mark, down low, more on her shoulder than her neck. But definitely a bite mark. No mistaking that one.

  Seeing it felt like being punched. Now he knew why she were in such a good mood. That hadn’t been there that morning, neither, and she didn’t seem to realize it were there, like it were brand new. So now he knew—probably—why she’d got home later than usual.

  He wondered who the guy was. If she even knew his name. He hated himself for wondering. Weren’t his business. Hated, too, the way before he could stop it he imagined his own teeth sinking into that soft pale skin, remembered the taste of it and her hands in his hair, imagined her gasping under him—

  Fuck. He looked away, fast, feeling heat creep up his neck and below his belt. The papers in his hand shook; with effort he stilled them, stared at em like they held the secrets of the fucking world, cleared his throat. He couldn’t look at her.

  Not even when she spoke. “What’s up? Something on there I missed?”

  It took him a second to come up with an answer. “Naw, naw, just … wonderin about this place, is all.”

  The food arrived. How much would Chess eat? Not his place to say on it, but he still watched, carefully avoiding looking at her throat again. She was too thin—well, no, she was perfect, but he worried maybe she ain’t ate enough for health.

  Not a subject he could really talk on with her, though. Best he could do was keep asking her to come eat, and hope iffen he put food in front of her she would. Usually she did. Not as much as he’d like, but she did.

  She grabbed a few fries. He relaxed a little.

  “Yeah, well.” She swallowed, glanced around to see was anybody listening. “I wonder about it, too. Some of the stuff they’re selling isn’t technically unethical, but it’s right on the border.”

  “Wonder if Slobag gots people there.” He’d meant it only to change the subject—to get back into the subject, actually, stead of sitting there sweating causen his imagination were revving so hard—but as he said it he really did wonder. The rape thing were still a sticking point for him, but the way Slobag were taking advantage of the whole thing …

  “Slobag have a witch?” Chess asked. Real casual, but he wondered if there weren’t some tension in her voice, on her face as she sipped her Coke. Made sense, though. She weren’t dumb. She had to know that next time Bump needed magic she’d be up top on he go-to list.

  “Not what I got,” he said. “Ain’t heari
ng any like that.”

  “Well, that’s good, anyway. I’m sure you’d hear about it if it was happening.” She took a bite of her burger. Even better; fries weren’t enough, he ain’t thought. Needed she something more substantial. “So I was thinking, we could go take a look at that place. The Peace Factory. It’s in Cross Town.”

  “Aye, thought on that,” he said. “Went over once afore, only ain’t can really do it more’n that myself, dig, causen—”

  “They’ll recognize your car,” she finished. “You might as well hang up a big blinking sign over it that says ‘Terrible’s watching you.’”

  Felt good to laugh. Felt good hearing that tone in her voice, that teasing one. Most dames didn’t joke with him, like they figured he ain’t had a sense of humor.

  “Is that the idea? I mean, so people know you’re around?”

  He shrugged. “Ain’t want em forgetting, aye?”

  Again that look in her eyes, like she thought he was smart. He braced himself for her to say something on it again, for he neck to get warm again when she did. One day maybe he’d be better when she said that stuff, like able to handle it more. As it was he knew she could see it, just as clear as he could see them teeth-marks on her. Who was he? Had to be somebody she knew, causen it ain’t seemed like she’d have had time to pick up somebody new.

  But she didn’t see em again, them she took home. He’d never seen her even talking to em again. Hell, he’d seen her deliberately move to the other end of the room to avoid em. So who?

  What fucking difference it made? It weren’t him, and that were all that mattered.

  He ain’t even knew for sure she’d left work at three-thirty like usual on Holy Day. She maybe just printed them pages for he right after the service ended, then left. It were New Year’s Eve, weren’t like a regular day. She coulda spent the whole afternoon finding somebody to celebrate with.

  “We could take my car,” she said. “Drive by there tonight, maybe. I bet nobody will be there, we could look around. We could go after that fight ends.”

  He hadn’t expected that one at all, and shoved some food into his mouth to give him a second to think. He wanted to say aye. Not just cause it was Chess, but—well, aye, cause it was Chess, but the thing was, working with her was fun. It was fun, having her there and talking to her on it, causen she had good ideas and she seemed to think his ideas were good, too. Talking to her made him feel smarter. He were pretty sure talking to her made him actually be smarter.

  But … Fuck. He couldn’t. Well, he guessed he could, but seeing as how he was probably gonna be late picking Amy up, he weren’t certain leaving her early so he could go see Chess were such a great plan.

  She musta seen it on his face. “What? Tonight’s no good?”

  “Maybe … maybe day after be better, aye? Time to plan an all.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Not watching the fight alone?”

  He shrugged. The shrug might as well have been him saying aye. He hated having to tell her about the other dames he spent time with. He weren’t sure why; they all knew about each other, Amy and Sela and Evie, and sometimes Vannie when she ain’t had a boyfriend. Ain’t bothered them. They even talked to each other—which he hated, but weren’t like he could do any about it.

  But it felt different with Chess.

  “So you’ll be busy all night, huh,” she said. Her slim fingers fiddled with the straw in her Coke, her eyes focused on it. She never looked at him when the dames he saw came up in chatter. He didn’t let himself wonder on why.

  Then she gave a short cough, sounded kinda forced. “Well,” she said. “Cool. Have fun, you know?”

  He nodded. Shit. He ain’t knew what to say, and he felt like an asshole. “Hey. This night’s right up for me, dig, I can—”

  But she weren’t gonna let him finish that. He knew it as soon as he opened he mouth and she turned to check the clock on the wall. Twenty past seven. “What time are you picking her up? Amy, right? What time are you supposed to get her?”

  Lie. He should lie. Say ten, or eleven. Anything to stop her saying what he knew she’d say after he answered.

  But he also knew she could find out easy what time the fight started, and she’d know he weren’t gonna leave his place in the middle of it to get Amy. If he told her ten and she seen the fight started at nine, how would that look? “Eight.” Then, real fast, “Only I can be late, she already got that I—”

  “No, no.” She were already slipping her coat back on, the cute one with them big buttons in the front. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t, I mean … ”

  “Naw, naw, Chess, ain’t worry on—”

  She grinned at him, a grin that ain’t quite reached her eyes. “Shame on you, letting her wait like that. Come on. I’m done eating, anyway.”

  She ain’t even ate half her food. “Whyn’t you have a little more, aye, or take it—”

  “I’ll get something later.” She’d finished fastening the buttons and started putting on she gloves. “Besides, you should be worrying about what Amy’s going to say, not about me.”

  Her tone were teasing and light, but he saw shadows in her eyes and her smile ain’t looked strong like it had before. Fuck. She was upset now—she looked hurt now—and he saw it despite the way she were tryna smile and joke, despite the fact that he weren’t even certain she knew it herself. Was fairly certain she ain’t knew at all, actually, and that if he asked she’d be confused. And it was his fault.

  “She already got that I might be late,” he said. Probably sounded a little desperate but shit, he didn’t feel right getting up and taking her home when she seemed unhappy. Seemed like he oughta stick with her for a while, try getting her cheered up again.

  Or she’d just cheer herself up. Fuck. She were already digging in her bag; he heard the clasp on that heavy silver pillbox she carried snap open. “It’s fine,” she said. He caught a glimpse of her palm—two, or three? He couldn’t tell for certain—before she flipped the pills into her mouth and washed them down. “Come on. You don’t want to keep Amy waiting.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE SHOULDA CANCELLED after all.

  He sat on the couch with Amy’s hand on he leg, tryna get into the fight, tryna have a couple beers and relax, but it ain’t felt right. He kept seeing the look on Chess’s face when she looked at the clock. Kept seeing that bite mark on her neck and wondering where it came from; it ate at him. Which was bullshit. Chess didn’t belong to him. She could fuck whoever she wanted to. And she did, and so what? Who the fuck didn’t?

  Weren’t like he didn’t know she did, neither. Never usually bothered him so much—well, it did, but he ain’t usually thought on it so much. Just … something about it wouldn’t leave him alone.

  The fight weren’t distracting him, neither, the way they usually did. Aye, there were always a moment where he saw himself in that ring, holding up a belt at the end. Always a moment when he thought how different his life might be, iffen he’d ever had a real chance.

  But true thing, like he’d said to Chess, when it came down to it he figured what he did suited him better. No rules to follow. No stopping when they went down, when they bled, when they screamed. No bells ringing or handshaking. No padded gloves. Boxing in a ring was a game for gentlemen, and he weren’t one and never had been.

  But this night for whatany reason, it were depressing him. Making him think. Making him wonder if he were a ring fighter would he have got an education, would he be more than a thug … would he have been the kinda man a dame like Chess would want. The kind she deserved.

  Amy touched his cheek. “What troubles you got? Ain’t seem like you having much fun, you ain’t.”

  “Sorry.” He tried smiling at her, but he didn’t think it worked. “Just got shit in my head, dig. All this happening.”

  “Any I can do?” Her hand on his leg moved higher. “Make you feel better.”

  He raised his eyebrows; his smile started feeling more natural. “Betting I can think of someth
ing.”

  He glanced back at the TV in time to see the contender land one hard punch straight in the champ’s face, so fast and clean Terrible bet neither dude even felt it. The champ crumpled. Amy gave a little squeal. “It over?”

  “Aye, thinking so.” Almost definitely. The champ were out cold; he ain’t would be stumbling back to he feet at the six-count or whatany. “Were a good hit.”

  “You oughta try doin it. Be all rich an famous an all. Fun, aye?”

  He shrugged, tried to make it casual. “Ain’t for me.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Ain’t gotta work no more, be on TV and all. Be taking me on vacations. Ain’t you like that?”

  How was he supposed to answer that? Iffen he said no she’d think he meant he ain’t wanted to go on vacation with her, but iffen he said aye she’d keep talking on it. And he ain’t wanted to keep talking on it. “Ain’t for me,” he repeated.

  “You just ain’t thinking on it. No more fighting inna street, aye, no more having to hunt em down an all. Be like a real clean job, you digging me?”

  “Too old.”

  “Ain’t seeing why you ain’t just give it the try. Why you gotta say no to everything? An you ain’t even knowing how old you is.”

  “Knowing I older’n twenty.” He wanted to shift away from her. He wanted to stop chattering on this. Were clear from Amy’s smile and the way her fingers tangled in his hair that she were tryna be sweet to him. Wasn’t her fault this weren’t a subject he wanted to talk on, that all she were doing was reminding him how he’d wanted something and failed, reminding him of all the things he ain’t done and never would, and that he job were a dirty one and he were dirty enough to be cool with that fact.