by Stacia Kane
“Still can kick all them asses easy,” she said. “Bein all big an strong an all.”
She looked like she wanted to be kissed, so he kissed her, even though he ain’t really felt like it. At least it ended the discussion.
Amy’s hands slid over his back; she kissed him harder and slipped her leg over his so she were halfway in his lap. Made her dress ride up almost all the way, too. He ran his hand over the exposed skin, soft and warm, as her mouth moved to his neck. The TV commentators kept talking in the background, excited voices, the cheers of the crowd still loud and eager; he wanted to turn the volume down but couldn’t recall where the remote was. And he sure as fuck weren’t gonna hunt for it, not when he fingers discovered she weren’t wearing anything under that dress.
She bit his neck. “Oops. Looking like I forget me some clothes.”
“Looking so.”
“You like?”
As if he wouldn’t. “Aye.” His free hand tugged at her dress, a cute polka-dot thing with a round collar and red buttons down the front. He started opening them. “Chess got a coat like this, got big buttons—”
Fuck.
He ain’t even could cover it up or try ignoring it; she’d heard him, aye, and she pulled away from him so fast she woulda fallen if he ain’t had good reflexes to catch her. “What?”
“Nothin, just, were sayin dig you dress—”
“Nay, you wasn’t. Were sayin how you like it causen the Churchwitch got she a coat with buttons on it.” Her voice started getting louder. “Were thinkin on the Churchwitch while you was opening my buttons.”
“Naw, just, you dress … ” He stopped. What was the fucking point? “Ain’t meant any by it, aye? Weren’t thinkin on she afore, just you buttons gave me a reminder.”
But she was already up, grabbing her shoes and slipping em back on. Her voice were shrill and unhappy. “Wanting go home. You take me on home now, aye? An … thinking we done here. Ain’t can do this no more, dig. Long as you fuckin the Churchwitch you ain’t oughta call me no more.”
“I ain’t—”
“In you head you is.” Her eyes were so intense he had to look away, but he could still feel her watching him. “Isn’t you?”
He didn’t reply. Causen he couldn’t. Behind him he heard the voices from the TV, the commentators talking about the champ still ain’t were awake and they was bringing the doctors up in the ring, how this were serious news. A big dramatic title fight, and somebody lost it hard. Somebody always had to lose.
“Fine on keeping it all casual,” Amy said. “True thing, I were. Never thinking we had us more than that, aye? But always felt afore like you was with me when you was with me, an I ain’t been feeling that way the last months, and that ain’t fair.”
She slipped on her coat. “You got aught to say? You gimme the tell, Terrible, if I wrong. You look me in the fuckin eyes and say I got it wrong.”
He cleared his throat. Not much point, since he couldn’t think of shit to say.
But he tried anyway, after a painful minute. Tried saying the only thing he could. “Sorry. True thing, Amy. Ain’t meant to … sorry.”
“Aye. Me, too.” Her heels clicked on the cement as she headed for the door. “Thinkin you oughta take me home now. Aye? Thinkin time for me to go.”
He couldn’t argue. He drove her home in silence—drove back past Chuck’s, aye, but it felt like it’d be one more way of disrespecting Amy to go looking for Chess so he kept driving—and came home to watch the new year start, alone in he empty apartment.
He ain’t stayed home alone all night, though. Four in the morning he phone rang, and he knew before he even picked it up and saw Berta’s number that it were bad news. Real bad news.
So he was back at Berta’s, walking up the stairs again to see another one of Bump’s girls. Another one. A second one. He could practically feel the blood boiling in his veins, his muscles itching with the desire to pound somebody. Or something. He ain’t really gave a fuck what.
One time were an accident; well, no, one time were something that shouldn’t ever happen, and one time infuriated him, but one time could be an accident, some fucker getting lucky. Twice was somebody targeting them, for real. Twice was somebody out there having heself some fucking fun at everybody’s expense. Twice was somebody planning this shit, taking advantage of the fact that the streets was crazy from people celebrating.
He walked into the room—same room, same bed, same heap of covers pulled up to a different bruised face—not even knowing what to say, tryna keep his face calm and not certain he were succeeding. “Hey, Essie. Got any you can give me?”
Essie bit her lip. She looked so small under them covers. One of the younger girls, she was, and she looked real fucking scared. Sounded scared, too, her voice barely a whisper. “I getting in trouble?”
“What?” Should he touch her? He wanted to, like to reassure her, but … maybe touching her weren’t the best idea, with what happened. He left his hands on his knees. “Naw, naw, little one, no worryin on that. You ain’t in trouble, aye? Just give me what happened.”
“I weren’t s’posed to be there,” Essie mumbled. “My fault, see, I got—got told stay onna street, go back after my last one, only car pulled up and he ask me was I workin, had he some money so I get in.”
“What he look like, what car he in?”
“Be a black car. Big, old one. Long car, you digging me? Big long seats in it. An looked clean. Shined up, it were.”
A BT sedan, he guessed she meant. “Old like had big tailfins? Or not so old?”
“Not so old. Brown inside, leather. Only, only when I get me inside—causen he waved me some real lashers, see, a lot of em, saying he wanted the whole night. He were celebrating, see? What he saying. So I getting me in, telling he gotta drive me up around so’s he can give Marky Bill the look-in.” Her voice started getting higher, faster, like panic. “Just like you saying we gotta now, aye? Were tryna do right, I were, I were tryna do—”
“No worryin, aye?” He glanced at Berta; when she nodded he did reach out, touched the blanket-lump he thought were Essie’s leg. Only for a second, but he felt better having done it, and she calmed down a little. “Nobody mad at you, Essie. You ain’t in trouble. Swearing you ain’t.”
She looked at him, at Berta. Double-checking. In the second of silence he became aware of sounds from the hall, low sing-songy chanting. They were doing magic, he guessed, whatany magic it were they did. Sex magic, usually, to make them jobs easier. Almost all of em carried some in their purses; well, he’d never met one who ain’t.
But their whole world was a mystery to him, for all that he worked with em. All women-only; whores had secrets they never told men. Made sense to him. Only it made him uncomfortable there, feeling that tickling feeling, knowing what happened to Essie. Were the last thing he wanted to be feeling just then.
Essie gave a big sigh, calming herself. “Only when I getting in him car I seeing it stolen. No keys, aye? Broken open the, the part where the keys s’posed to go. All broken. So I knowing he steals the car an I thinking why he do that, and guess maybe why, an—an … I ain’t recalling any else. Ain’t recalling till I’m onna ground and Sandbag be standing over me.”
He nodded. She’d been knocked out, then. Fucker must have seen she knew what was gonna happen to her, and knocked her out fast afore she could open the door.
It was getting hard to think, the kind of hard always happened when he started getting mad. Like he barely had control over he body, like something swelling in his chest threatening to choke him. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath like Essie’d done. Later. He had a list, a few people had some owes, and when he left here he’d go find one of em. At least one of em. Lee Poke had some heavy owes, and had for a long time; he’d lied and hidden and ain’t kept promises so was due a couple of broken bones, and Terrible couldn’t think of much he’d rather do at that moment than give him them.
But he couldn’t do it yet. He had
to listen Essie out, and get what he could. “What he looking like? Sound like, he got an accent or whatany like that?”
She shrugged, a little shift of the blanket over her shoulders. Her face still seemed like it floated there above it, a pale spot against the dark wall. “Light hair. Real thick, an kinda longish, dig, like big. Big hair.”
“Curly?”
“Naw, no curls, just … ain’t slicked down. Fluffy like a dog, you digging? An big-ass glasses he have on.”
Fuck. Were a wig, he bet. A wig and big glasses, keep Essie from seeing his face real. Terrible looked down and saw he were clenching he fist so tight his fingers were white. “What he sounding like, when he talkin?”
“Like any else.”
“From here, aye?”
She nodded.
What he’d expected. And really, were a good thing, too, causen in Downside he had a good chance on catching the fucker. Iffen it were just somebody came from another part of town thinking be fun to rape hookers, he’d have more a problem. “Got any else? Any at all, Essie, all being a help.”
“Ain’t … ain’t can think on any. Oh! Smelled, he done. He smell.”
Terrible glanced at Berta. That were no help at all. Plenty in Downside ain’t spent too much time showering. “Like him weren’t clean, meaning?”
“Naw. Like him were too clean. Like soap way too strong. Too clean. Making my nose itch, thinking, but ain’t really had me time to give it much notice, dig, causen I weren’t in the car much long … ”
She started crying then, really crying hard, and Terrible stood up. Time to go, he figured. Leave the dames handle it with themselves; he were an intrusion. “Ain’t yon fault,” he said again. “True thing, Essie.”
And it weren’t her fault. It was his. His causen he ain’t caught the dude already, his causen obviously the plan he set up to keep the whores safe ain’t worked. Well, he guessed that one weren’t all on him, since it were Bump and Berta’s plan, too, but still. It had failed, and he ain’t found the dude yet, so this was his fault.
He checked his watch. Just past four. Streets was still busy, too. Time to go hunt some people down, clear his head a little so maybe, maybe, he could actually think instead of just wanting to kill somebody. He weren’t certain it’d work, but it was worth a try.
Bump ain’t got up til after three, on the usual, which were fine with Terrible causen he were tired heself. After breaking Lee Poke’s arm and giving a couple cutpurses a hard lesson on how the Market weren’t the place for them to be working, he’d gone home and slept. Not a lot; he’d calmed down some, but not enough, especially when Amy’s face came into he head again and he remembered how that were over, and over causen he’d treated her wrong.
But he’d slept, anyroad. And he’d heard from a couple of he snitches, and he’d gotten a call from one of Bump’s brain-men, so when he hit Bump’s place around five he had some knowledge to share.
Good thing, too, causen Bump were furious. His gold toe-ring flashed like a distress signal, he were pacing so fast, and he eyes and lips were narrow as Terrible had ever seen.
He’d been cleaning his guns. They sat in a deadly row on the table, cold and ready. Every once in a while Bump stretched a hand toward em, a reflex action. Like how little kids reached out to make sure them blankies were still there.
Terrible flipped open he notebook, once Bump finished cussing at him. He ain’t paid much attention to the cussing. Weren’t him Bump were so mad at, he were just letting off steam. “Got some knowledge on that dude Archie, the one I tell you on. Works for a place makes bullshit magic. Place got busted last year for illegal power an shit. Got—”
“Where you getting that from?”
He weren’t gonna give an apology on that one. He weren’t owing an apology on that one. “Chess. Gave she the ask on—”
Bump sighed. “Just ain’t could fuckin stay off, yay? Be like—”
Terrible straightened his back and gave Bump that look, the one meant he better quit on it. “She ain’t knowing why. Just gave she the ask, causen be shit she got knowledge on.”
A second or two, then Bump looked down, sniffled hard, and nodded. “Yay. Yay, dig it, I do, be right asking.”
Aye, he better fucking say that. “So he working someplace does some dirty magic, dig, an got me a call today from Sleepy Dan, sayin he knows him a dame went home with Archie a couple weeks back. Said him weren’t right in him head. Said were real violent. In bed, dig.”
Bump looked doubtful, and Terrible knew why. He’d had the same thinking at first, til Sleepy Dan explained better. He added, fast, “Like hitting she an all, dig? Punching. Ain’t could get it up lessin she were cryin, Sleepy Dan say.”
“Yay, seein you fuckin meaning now.” Bump lit a smoke, kept pacing. “Thinkin be he, then? He the fuckin piece of shit gonna die?”
“Thinkin he got knowledge on it, aye. Only had Rat an Blue Bill watch the place since yesterday morning, he ain’t come in or out. Ain’t there, thinkin. Guessing him fuckin took off after I left, dig.” He hated saying that, hated admitting it. He knew he shoulda fucking given Archie the beat-down when he were there.
He pulled the papers the brain-men gave him and handed em over. “Got more here on them run that place, addresses and all. No pictures, though, still. Archie name ain’t on there. Wonderin he using a fake name, dig, only he landlord say he seen papers on Archie, be him for real.”
Bump scanned the papers. “What on Slobag? What he gave the fuckin try-on with Roley, yay, tryin poach he or whatany the fuck. An still them ghost rumors, yay, still fuckin hearing on that shit, got a few giving it me.”
Terrible shrugged. “Othersides Roley ain’t hearing on he tryin poach any. An putting out word ain’t a ghost, but ain’t can fuckin make em stop chattering theyselves, aye? Ain’t can give all of em the tell.”
“Maybe give Roley the fuckin asking for more knowledge, yay. See iffen them fuckin come to he again.”
Bump weren’t gonna like what he said next. “Were thinkin … seem awful fuckin odd to me, dig, Roley be the only one them go to. Got the wonder iffen he telling stories.”
“Wanting be fuckin important, he do, yay.” Bump sat down, looking at he hands. “Got he the fuckin thinking he a big fuckin snowflake, him do, like him oughten be getting fuckin medals or whatany like that. But him still Lacey fuckin cousin, you dig?”
Aye. He dug. Meant Bump wanted to let Roley be an asshole so’s he could keep Lacey happy. Fuck. “Ain’t fuckin trusting he. Ain’t like he, neither.”
“Vole all fuckin stand-up, yay? An Vole fuckin gives the say Roley right. Sides, got the fuckin hearing on elseways gotta worry on, yay, hearing some shit all worth thinkin on. Dig this.” Bump leaned forward. “Got knowledge Slobag got he a fuckin new man, yay, one digging fuckin knives, be all good on with em. Be what hearing I fuckin got. Thinkin maybe what fuckin happened Slick, you fuckin dig, be why he more sliced up.”
Shit. “A strong-arm man?”
“Nay, nay, ain’t like that. Just some new fuckin weasel gets all on the fuckin excited side, he getting to kill.”
“Iffen he done Slick … ” Terrible lit another smoke. “Iffen he done Slick, means Slobag had knowledge no street man there for watching Clapper Sue, aye?”
“Yay, sure fuckin be the meaning I fuckin see.”
It still bugged him. “Marky ain’t killed on the last night.”
“Last night were fuckin busy on them fuckin streets, yay? No fuckin needing to kill he, too many fuckin people all around. Ain’t none fuckin see the dude got Essie.” Bump shook his head. “Poor little dame. What you fuckin doing for she?”
Aye, he’d already been on that one. “Finding some else she can do, iffen she’s wanting. Makin the offer for Sue, too, aye?”
“Yay, all fuckin cool then.” Bump stood up, clearly ready to move on with he day. “You keep fuckin lookin in, yay? Get we more fuckin knowledge. Wanting this one fuckin solved up soon, yay? Be a new fuckin year, wanting
start it up fuckin right.”
That night he were at Trickster’s, grabbing a beer and standing in the back. Ain’t especially wanted to be there; he wanted to be out finding Archie, but he’d fucking disappeared. Meant he were for certain involved, leastaways so Terrible figured, and he had people watching for Archie everywhere.
And he wanted to figure out who on the inside were helping Archie. He ain’t been able to find any connection between him and any of Bump’s men, but there had to fucking be one, because somebody had to have given Archie the tell that Slick were away the night Sue got attacked—iffen them ain’t killed Slick. Somebody had to give Archie the knowledge on the new security steps, too, so the dude got Essie knew to steal a car, wear a disguise, find a whore not on the corner so’s nobody’d see. Aye, he guessed that could all be shit them would just do, but it still seemed to him like somebody were playing pass-on.
Could it be one of the whores? Probably not. They were so tight up with each other, them own superstitions and rituals and all. He just ain’t could see them selling each other out like that. Ain’t could even see why they would.
But if he were right, and this were all being done to make some kinda magic for the Peace Factory … he guessed the money might be a reason, aye. And much as he hated thinking it, he knew a lot of dames did a lot of shitty things to please a man. Coursen, a lot of men would do a lot of shitty things to please a dame, too. Point was, he could see it.
He’d ask Berta on it in the morning; she was busy that night, working on something with the whores, some new protection or whatany like that. He’d ask Berta real fucking carefully, causen she wouldn’t like that question. Not one bit.
He sipped his beer, lit a smoke, scanned the crowd under the red lights. It were so hot in there the room was practically foggy, made him feel like he shirts were clinging to his skin. Made him want another shower; going home sounded good, actually. He weren’t much in the mood to be out.
But he weren’t much in the mood to be alone, neither, and Sela were busy with some friends she had and he ain’t seen any in the bar interested him so no forgetting that way neither. He was failing, and his voice in his own head kept reminding him of it. Leastaways the music and noise, the crowd around him, drowned it out a little. At home it’d be just him, and he’d be loud, and trapped with himself.
