by Rob Thurman
Those were the breaks.
And least that's what I thought until I saw Venus come dashing out from behind some pallets, all dirty white fur, flying feet, and yapping bark. Niko touched his shoulder to mine and murmured, "Well, who would've thought?"
Not me, that's for damn sure. While the geezer and Venus exchanged wet, sloppy kisses, the little girl had come over to Nik and me. Tiny, so tiny, she looked to be all of twelve. Later we discovered that she was actually fifteen, and about fifteen lifetimes wiser than I was. She had stood in front of us with her red hair pulled into braids and said solemnly, "There aren't any jobs here right now. You should check back next week. They'll need a night watchman then." And then she'd smiled, innocent and curious. "Caliban. That's a funny name."
And that had been George.
Jars don't shatter too well when the glass is glued together with peanut butter. It's not so much a satisfying explosion as a disappointingly muddy crunch. I was on my knees cleaning up the mess when the thought hit me. Maybe George had done what she'd thought to be the kindest thing. She could've seen our future set in stone. Could've seen that no matter what we did, Niko and I didn't survive. It could be that whether we stayed or left, our ass was grass either way. And while she delivered hard truths, maybe that was one even George couldn't see a silver lining in.
God knew I wasn't one for self-deception. I'd gotten out of that practice early on, but right at this moment in time I was about to change my tune. I was going to deliver the bad news to Niko, we'd pack our bags to get the hell out of Dodge, and the entire time I was going to firmly hold to the belief that George had her reasons, good ones. And yeah, it was probably utter bullshit, but since we'd be long gone from her and the city, hopefully it'd be harmless bullshit. I would put away the fairy tales and impossible hopes the second we passed out of the city limits and go back to full-time cynicism. And next time I saw a little-girl psychic tracking down a yappy ankle biter, I'd run the other way, fast. It wasn't a great plan; in fact, it was right up there with "Let's wait for one more song from the Titanic's house band before we hit the lifeboats." But crappy or not, it was the only plan I had. Like they say, you either play the hand you're dealt or walk away from the game.
Permanently.
Chapter Four
Niko had been my protector all my life. He'd been at my back when I'd needed encouragement. He'd stood in front of me when I'd needed a buffer between Sophia and me. Hell, between the world and me. He was always on my side, always my unfailing support.
Right now he seemed to want to support my ass right over the moon with his foot.
"I said I was sorry," I grumbled, sliding down on the couch and throwing him a half-repentant, half-petulant glance.
"When?" Niko demanded bluntly. Standing in front of me, he folded his arms and fixed me with a look of laser-sharp annoyance. "Because I don't remember any apology. Was I in the bathroom? Or perhaps this was something you only imagined in what passes for the thought processes of your tiny mind?"
"Or maybe it was buried in smart-ass sarcasm and died an ugly death." I scratched my calf with a sock-covered toe. "You think?"
"No, Cal, I do not think. What I do think is that you did something stupid and don't want to admit it, much less apologize for it."
This little conversation didn't seem to be in danger of winding down anytime soon. "Not that this isn't fun," I exhaled with a grimace, and tapped my watch. "But I gotta be at work in twenty." Bending over, I scrounged with a hand under the couch for my sneakers.
A fast hand efficiently snatched the retrieved shoes from my hands and slammed them down on the coffee table. "My best guess is that you'll be late."
My best guess was that being late was the least of my problems. "Jesus, Nik, what would you have done if I had told you then, huh? She'd already lied to us once. She probably would've just lied again. It's not like you can Hong Kong Phooey the truth out of a seventeen-year-old girl."
"Obviously," Niko said impassively. "But I'm not as quick as you to believe that talking with her would've been futile. Georgina is our friend, Cal, and she's special, gifted. We should have at least tried to find out what was going through her mind. We may have found out her crying had nothing to do with us at all."
It could be that we should've talked to her; maybe I'd made a mistake there. But on one thing I'd made no mistake. Her tears had been about us, maybe even for us. But in some ways my brother was as stubborn as I was. It was something he'd have to see for himself to believe.
"Maybe you're right," I said, noncommittal. "Why don't you try talking to her while I'm at work? See what you can find out." I reached for a shoe and this time Niko made no move to stop me. Slipping it on my foot, I tied the laces in a sloppy double knot. Picking up the other one, I continued softly. "I am sorry, Nik. I should've told you. I just…" I shrugged as I let the words trail off and silently finished up with the other sneaker.
"You just didn't want to believe it," he filled in for me.
"Yeah." I put my hands on my knees and looked up at him ruefully. "Denial, not just a river in Greece." I managed a halfway sincere grin as Niko's eyes all but crossed on that one. "Take it easy, Cyrano. I'm just kidding. Damn, you'd have made a great junior high teacher. Prim, proper, and anal as hell."
Gray eyes narrowed. "Considering you seem permanently stuck at thirteen, a junior high teacher is just what you need." He held out a hand and heaved me up off the couch. "Be careful at work, Cal. Especially careful," he amended. "I'll meet you before closing, just to be on the safe side."
"You are your brother's keeper." I felt the smile slip from my face.
I was sorry about that too.
Work was work. Wall-to-wall soul-sucking boredom, at least until Meredith showed up sporting a new shirt. That is, if five sequins and a spiderweb of shiny threads could honestly be labeled as an article of clothing. Hey, I didn't know fashion, but I knew what I liked. And lots of silky bare skin was right up there on the list. Cherry red nails skimmed along my jaw and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Is the big guy already in, Cal? I think I'm a little late."
"A little late" in Meredithspeak translated to an hour and a half in the real world. I continued wiping down the sticky countertop from behind the bar and raised my eyebrows. "What do you think, Merry, Merry?"
She groaned and blew long red bangs out of her eyes. "He's pissed, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulled at her top, managing to reveal even more cleavage, and then fluffed her hair. "Time to kiss some withered old ass. Wish me luck."
"With double trouble there you don't need luck." I grinned.
She beamed with genuine pride at her double Ds. "They are brilliant, aren't they?" I'd seen women suffer through men's staring at their breasts countless times. Hell, I worked in a bar, after all. That was 99.9 percent of the men there. But Meredith was the first woman I'd seen stare at her own chest with a fascination equal to that of any random perv. With another subtle rearranging of the twins, she disappeared into the back to work her wiles on the owner, Mr. Talley. Or, as he was inevitably known, Tallywhacker. As mysterious and rarely seen as the Abominable Snowman or Bigfoot, he lurked in the back office counting his money and doing God knows what else. Once in a blue moon he'd pop out, leer with soulless eyes at some of the women, comb his five or six silvery strands of hair with nervous fingers, and then disappear again. He was a creepy guy who spent more money on porn mags and Kleenex than on beer for the bar.
Shrugging, I tossed the dirty rag into the sink. Everybody needed a hobby, even the freaks. If Meredith wanted to keep this job bad enough to shake her ass for the 'whacker, then that was her own lookout. And if I kept an ear out for a scream, then that just meant screams were bad for business. Bartenders lived off their tips, after all.
"Excuse me, buddy, could I get some help here?"
I turned my head, mentally kicking myself. Niko would not be happy with the thought that someone could waltz up right behind me while I was distracted. I k
new I wasn't too damn thrilled about it. A man stood on the other side of the counter waiting for my answer. He was a big black guy with hair razored short to his skull and a close-cut goatee. The red-and-black tattoo of a horse encircled his wrist, peering out from the sleeve of a black leather jacket. Patient brown eyes measured me as white teeth flashed in a friendly grin. "Catch you at a bad time?"
Reaching for a glass, I filled it up with soda and placed it in front of him on the bar. "Sorry, pal. What can I do for you?"
He curled his hand around the glass, a faint puzzled line between his brows. "Thanks." Taking a sip, he put the glass back down and gave me a rueful twitch of his mouth. "Glad you didn't give me a beer. I don't drink anymore."
I knew he didn't drink. Alcohol tended to linger in the scent a lot longer than in the blood. If he'd had a beer even a month ago, I would've smelled it. "Yeah, you look the sober and serious type. So," I repeated, "what can I do for you again?"
His smile faded a bit at my brusque words. "I'm with the band. I need to start setting our equipment up." He pushed the glass back toward me. "I need you to open up the doors in the alley."
"Band?" I snorted. "You're kidding, right? Talley sprang for a band?"
He settled his weight on a stool and knocked on the surface of the bar once. "Hey, now, we'll bring class and prosperity to this hole-in-the-wall. Your boss recognizes an opportunity when he sees it."
"Funny. He never has before." I wiped off my hands, grabbed the keys off the hook on the wall, and came around the counter. "Hope you got your money up front."
"We're actually working for a cut of the take." He gave me a mildly sheepish look and held out a hand. "I'm Samuel, the guitarist."
"Cal." As hard as I'd stuck to my guns, Niko had still managed, years ago, to break me of my "Caliban" fixation. But labeled or not, I still knew where I came from.
I shook Samuel's hand, the calluses of a lifelong guitarist evident against my skin. "Well, Samuel the guitarist, I hope you can divide jack shit evenly between the band because that's what we usually pull in around here." Heading toward the back of the bar, I kept careful track of his footsteps behind me. No Grendel, but that didn't mean he wasn't here to rob the place. We'd had our share of robbers before. Pissed-off, disappointed robbers once they got a look at what was in the till. "I'll check it out with Talley, then unlock the back for you."
"No problem," he said evenly from behind me. "Maybe then you could help me unload the van. I'd pay you a couple of bucks."
"Yeah, sure." It wasn't like I had anything better to do. There wasn't customer one in the place yet except for a regular huddled in the corner watching the static-fragmented TV screen. Jerry wouldn't even notice I was gone until his bottle was empty, and he had at least an hour left on that.
While Tallywhacker confirmed he'd hired Samuel's band, Meredith made her escape from the office. The half-scornful, half-repulsed expression on her face melted to a brilliant smile she flashed Samuel's way. Merry's boyfriend didn't keep her from flirting shamelessly. Niko had learned that on more than one occasion. I was fairly sure Meredith's boyfriend would have been dropped in a hot second if Niko had given her the slightest bit of encouragement, but Niko liked his women more like himself. Intense and sharply real. Meredith was neither.
Out in the alley, I watched as Samuel unlocked his van. It was an older model, dark red with black gothic lettering painted on the side, spelling out the horde. I indicated the name and asked curiously, "As in the Mongols?"
He nodded and swung open the doors. "Our lead singer calls himself Genghis. How hokey is that?"
I wasn't exactly in the position to be throwing stones, but at least I hadn't voluntarily chosen my name. "Pretty hokey," I agreed. Within a half hour we had the van unloaded and I was back at the bar pouring Samuel another glass of bubbly and nonalcoholic. He gave a grateful nod and slid a ten and a five across the counter tome.
Shaking my head, I demurred, "Nah. Keep it. It's not like I was busy. Besides, it was entertaining." I gave him an amused grin. "A learning experience." Samuel was an easygoing guy, companionable, and had some stories that would curl hair. Bad-boy band antics, most of them, from drinking binges to the sexual escapades of the mighty Khan. The singer had apparently never met a groupie he didn't like or a booze he didn't love. Mixing both had led to the occasional arrest and a frequent-flyer card at the free clinic.
Samuel returned the grin and checked a heavy chrome watch. "You'll get to live the experience in about an hour. Just keep nine-one-one on speed dial. Last place we played, we had to call in the Jaws of Life to get Genghis out of his leather pants." Polishing off his soda, he retrieved the money and stuffed it in the tip jar. "You earned it. Thanks for the help, Cal. I've got the sound check to do. Catch you later." He gave an easy wave and moved across the bar, half disappearing in the gloom, a shade among the shadows.
"Mmmmm. Delish." Meredith appeared at my shoulder, her pointed tongue touching her upper lip. "All strong and confident. Smoldering. A big juicy stallion."
I snorted caustically. "Hell, Merry, you thought the UPS guy was a stallion too until you found out her name was Sherry."
"It was dark, okay?" Miffed at my lack of enthusiasm for her man watching, she flounced off to bus Jerry's empty bottle. While she was there she wiped up a lake of drool that was forming under Jerry's unconscious, slack-jawed face. There was nothing like a dedicated customer. I hoped he woke up in time for the band, because I was willing to bet he'd be the audience, the sole head-banging member. Leather-boy Genghis and his Horde were going to be some disappointed, not to mention destitute, rockers. Hey, wasn't like I hadn't warned Samuel.
Three hours later Samuel and his pals proved me wrong. I wouldn't say the place was wall-to-wall people, but it was as packed as I'd ever seen it. Niko said nearly the same when he drifted up beside me, phantom silent. "It appears someone has raised your bar from the dead. This may qualify as a miracle even in the eyes of the Vatican."
"Yeah," I said briefly as I leaned, arms folded on the table in one far corner. I gave the opposite chair a shove, pushing it into his hand. "All this time I thought this place would never amount to anything without some decent booze or basic hygiene. Turns out all we needed was a new band."
"Wouldn't you require an old band to qualify this one as a new one?" Not waiting for a smart-ass answer to an even more smart-ass rhetorical question, he flowed smoothly into the chair and promptly made the sign of the evil eye at my dinner. "Get thee behind me, Satan."
I ignored him and continued to give my heart a run for its money with the fried sampler platter from the restaurant next door. Fried cheese, fried peppers, fried potatoes, and the topper, fried potatoes with cheese and peppers. It was the lowest common denominator of all the food groups and I was enjoying every life-giving molecule of grease. "How went your chat with George?" I said around a mouthful. "No go, huh?" There was an unmistakable, to me anyway, tension around Niko's calm eyes. Luck sure didn't look to be a lady tonight, more like the bitch she always was.
"She wouldn't speak to me. Her mother wouldn't even open the door," he confirmed with a grim twist to his mouth.
"And you didn't kick it down? What the hell kind of ninja superhero are you anyway?" I waved to Meredith across the room and pointed to Niko. She nodded and headed for the juice in the fridge. Niko wasn't much on alcohol and considering our mom, that was understandable. About things like that, he'd always been smarter than I was.
"I suppose I'm the kind that doesn't terrify teenage girls and their mothers."
I curled up the corner of my mouth at his disgruntled tone. "Yeah, they'd take away your cape for that."
Meredith slithered up at that moment, probably saving me from retaliation in the form of either a brisk butt kicking or a more lackadaisical steel toe to the shin. She put a glass of cranberry juice in front of Niko and draped over his shoulder like a silicone-enhanced orange tabby. "Nikki," she purred, her breasts threatening to swallow his neck in a loving embrac
e. "I haven't seen you in weeks. I'll start to think you don't love and adore me."
My brother's eyes slid back toward her with all the resignation of a man on death row, then returned to me with a roiling wrath that would've dropped a charging boggle in its tracks. I took pity on him. "Hey, Mer, I'm almost done with my break. Watch the bar for me for a few more minutes?"
She gave a long-suffering sigh that had the mounds of her breasts rising to smothering proportions. Niko was a man caught in an erotic avalanche. Giving him a lingering kiss on his cheek, she disappeared into the milling crowd, calling out over her shoulder, "You owe me, Cal."
"Get in line," I murmured. Pursing my lips, I turned my attention back to Niko and gave a low whistle. "I almost lost you there, big brother. Nearly had to send in the Saint Bernards to dig you out."
"What I cannot fathom," he gritted between clenched teeth, "is why she doesn't feel the need to include you in her voracious affections."
"Probably senses my inner slimy monster," I grunted philosophically, wiping the grease from my supper on my bartender's apron.
"Senses your outer sarcastic imp is more likely." A knuckle knocked lightly on my forehead. "The only monster in there is laziness. It's more than voracious in its own right, however."
"Pick up your socks. It always comes back to that, doesn't it?" Scooping up the stained paper plate, I smothered a yawn. "Finish your juice, Grandpa. Then come help me at the bar. This is the first time I've had to actually work since I've had this job. It's killing me."
"And there's the monster," he said dryly, shaking his head.
For the next few hours he worked with me slinging booze and refilling the bowls with cheap, generic pretzels. He spent a lot of time dodging Meredith too, but I'd take that out of his tips. I was wrestling with a new keg when I heard a newly familiar voice. "The new help isn't quite as pretty as the redhead."
