by Jim Heskett
He turned around until he saw a booth at one end of the room, with a glass cutout at eye-level. An elderly woman with spiky hair sat behind that booth, smoking a pipe and staring at Yorick with expectant eyes. The sign above the woman’s head read Zan’s Brothel.
And, a piece of paper tacked next to the sign read: help needed in the kitchen. Inquire here.
1 Puta: prostitute
Chapter Seven
The punch came hard and fast at Tenney's face. He was barely able to lean back out of the range of the big bruiser’s knuckles. They whiffed in front of his face, a whoosh of air that tickled the facial hair under Tenney’s nose.
He didn’t mind a punch to his face. He could take it. He was more concerned with keeping his midsection out of range. One punch to the area where Tenney had been shot, and he would probably sink to the ground. While he had been improving each day, his abdomen was certainly not ready to take a direct hit.
The man standing across from Tenney had his hands up, a grin spread across his thick face. Tenney was a big guy. This guy was bigger. The man was an adult, five or six years older than Tenney. He had sunburned skin all over his chest, shoulders, and shaved head. A sun worshiper.
He and Tenney were in a darkened room, lit only by a few skylights. Lining the outer walls of this room were a ring of twenty sun worshipers, waiting to learn the outcome of the fight. They cheered between mumbled chants. They cheered not for Tenney or his opponent, but for blood. Tenney got the feeling that fights like this were a regular occurrence in this dimly lit room.
He countered with a punch to the guy’s gut, which was a thin layer of flab over what Tenney discovered to be rock hard muscles. He worried he might have bruised his hand with that punch. But, it did the trick, and the guy leaned a little in that direction to compensate, causing his opposite hand to lower, exposing his chin. Tenney threw a right hook to the man's jaw. It connected full on, driving the man back a step.
Tenney pivoted his hips, preparing to follow up his right hook with a left jab to the nose. One good hit could make his eyes water, effectively ending the fight.
Then, the man did something unexpected. He spun and smacked Tenney with the back of his fist. The big guy was a blur of flesh and Tenney had no time to deflect.
His head jerked to the side, a trail of spit leaving his mouth. The crowd liked this sudden and violent turn. They paused their weird chanting to cheer.
Tenney knew he was vulnerable now. So, he acted to prevent the guy from taking advantage. He relaxed his legs and let his weight drag to the floor, stopping himself at a crouch. As expected, his attacker lobbed a punch above his head. He missed by only centimeters.
Tenney threw out a punch and connected his left fist with the man's crotch. Again, the bruiser dropped back a step. Tenney jumped up, ready to parry the next attack. All around him the crowd cheered and roared, like a perpetual machine of violence entertainment.
The attack did not come. "Enough!" said a booming voice from behind them.
The bruiser immediately dropped his hands to his sides. Tenney did the same. Panting, thoughts racing, body swirling with kinetic energy, Tenney had to concentrate to keep himself from swaying like a top.
"Sit," said the voice. The ring of onlookers around the edge of the room all dropped and sat with their legs crossed. The bruiser also complied, and then Tenney followed a second later. His heart thumped against his chest, and he could taste the tang of blood in his saliva when he swallowed.
The man stepped down from a platform in the corner of the room. The tall man with the voice as deep as a bear’s roar who wore round goggles over his eyes. This was the one Tenney had come to see about a job today. His name was Santiago, and he had ordered Tenney to partake in this trial by force, instead of an interview.
“My two fighters,” Santiago said, "you may stand."
They both stood, and Santiago nodded toward the big bruiser. "Good work. Go see to your injuries."
The bruiser sneered at Tenney, but he didn't take any further action. With clenched fists, he strolled out of the room, head high, acting as if he had won.
Now, Santiago waived Tenney over to him. In the darkness before, Tenney had not gotten a clear look at Santiago. But now, up close, he studied the man's blistered face. Instead of eyebrows, he had black tattoos marking the lines where eyebrows should have been. Deep wrinkles like carvings in his skin.
"What do you say?" Santiago said, turning an open palm out to the crowd. Everyone in the room opened their palms and pointed them at the ceiling. Tenney looked around, confused by this at first.
After a couple of seconds, a few of them turned their hands down, so the palms were facing the floor. But more than half left their palms facing up. Victory.
“They like you," Santiago said to Tenney.
"Does this mean I passed? I’m in?”
Santiago grinned. There was so much malice and deceit in that grin, Tenney didn't even know how to take it all in. Like the boss might be equally likely to shake his hand as try to bite him and drink his blood.
“You have passed, yes. But that does not mean you are one of us yet. There will be a probationary period. Comprende?”
“Yes, I understand.”
For a moment, Santiago said nothing. Tenney worried he was missing an opportunity to impress his new boss, but he didn’t know what to say. His head still thrummed with the adrenaline of the fight, his body sore from the big bruiser’s attacks.
“You will still stay here and enjoy the benefits of our society,” Santiago said. “You will come and go as you please, have room and board, and join us for all activities. Do you understand this, too?”
“I do.”
Santiago took a step closer. His breath smelled of something stale, but Tenney worked hard to keep his face even to show no reaction. Santiago bared his teeth in a half-smile, half-grimace. “At any time, for any reason, I can ask you to leave. If you upset me, we will return to this room, and you won’t face one of us. You’ll face all of us, and no one will stop the fight until I feel you’ve learned your lesson. Tell me you also understand that.”
“I do.”
Santiago extended a scarred hand. Tenney shook it.
Tenney knew three things for sure as he accepted the job offer to join this local crew of sun worshippers. First, that these people were dangerous and not to be trusted. Second, that they would feed and clothe and hide him from the king’s soldados. And third, that no matter how much danger Tenney was in now, he didn't know if he had the capacity to care anymore.
Chapter Eight
Unlike Tenney, who had been forced to punch his way into securing food, shelter, and employment, Yorick and Rosia had only to talk their way forward. Yorick and his girlfriend sat before Zan, a portly slug of a man. Zan had a mustache that curled down under his nose and a small square patch of fur between his chin and lower lip.
“Well,” Zan said, flashing his sparkling gray eyes at them, “is there anything else?”
“We appreciate the opportunity,” Yorick said.
Zan made an mmm sound as he looked Rosia up and down. “And you, little mariposa? You sure the kitchen is what you want? You could do a lot better in the floors above, not in the bowels of this building. Kitchen work is grueling and leaves one tired every day. You’d have a much easier time on your back, in a soft bed.” He added a little flick of his pointy tongue to wet his lips.
Yorick breathed, hoping Rosia would not lash out at the comment. Of course, he would expect such treatment from the proprietor of a brothel.
Fortunately, Rosia kept her distaste concealed. “No, thank you. We only want kitchen work, and we don’t mind hard labor at all. We’re used to it.”
“I see,” Zan said, grinning. “The stars have gifted me a keen eye for talent. I hope you won’t begrudge me the occasional opportunity to try to change your mind?”
“You can try,” Rosia said. The cracks in her politeness were starting to show, but she kept a smile on her face an
yway. And, she maintained eye contact with him, not backing down or showing any hint of weakness. That cold, hard stare was something Rosia had developed only in the last few weeks.
Zan soured a little when she didn’t relent. “As you wish. We are more than a brothel. We have one of the best restaurants in town, and exercise facilities, and banking. Not to mention the inn, as well as corporate and short-term housing.”
“Impressive,” Yorick said.
“As you can imagine, our location is critical to our success. This brothel is in a prime spot to service both members of King Nichol’s government, as well as many of the most prominent businesses in town. We have access to the wallets of some of the most prestigious and wealthiest citizens of this city. It’s not only a privilege but a responsibility I cherish.”
Zan paused, breathing as he tented his fingertips. “Where are the two of you from?”
Yorick balked, but only for a second. With no idea where Zan had traveled and what follow-up questions he might have, Yorick chose to be honest. “Wyoming. Pinedale.”
Well, not totally honest, but close enough.
Zan nodded. “I know little of Wyoming. I am from Texas, or, what used to be considered the great state of Texas. Have you ever been?”
Yorick and Rosia both shook their heads.
“At one time, Texas was its own country. You probably didn’t know that. The settlers there rebelled and fought a war to separate. This was all a long time ago, of course. But, had they known then what was to come, perhaps they would have stayed. When the Mexicans invaded after the currency crisis, they did not forget the prior bloody war.”
He leaned forward, venom in his eyes as he wallowed in memory. “I grew up in a land ravaged by this new war. There were more homeless than people who had four walls to call home. More often than not, I went to sleep with my belly grinding against itself, rather than a full stomach to carry me off to slumber.” He patted his ample belly and checked his watch. “As you can see, much has changed for me. I fought my way to success by always remembering where I came from and vowing to never return to daily hunger.”
Zan waved a hand at Yorick and Rosia’s clothes, which were starting to look as ragged and dirty as the homeless in the streets outside. “That is why I believe in giving all a chance. My struggles. But, it’s also why I am quick to abandon anyone who I feel lacks the same drive, ambition, and efficiency. Are you with me?”
Yorick nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“The girl outside can show you to your rooms. We will provide uniforms. They will be cleaned weekly, and you can leave them outside your door for service.” He paused to look again at his watch. “Your first shift begins early in the morning. Clean yourselves up before then. While you may not often interact with guests in your role, we do expect a level of quality from all staff. And above all, never be late. Time is everything to me. Anyone who does not respect time will find themselves out of my employ faster than you can blink.”
He flicked his fingers toward the door. Then, he picked up some papers from his desk and proceeded to ignore his new hires.
“Thank you,” Yorick said, and he stood from the chair. He hadn’t been told, but he could guess the meeting was over. Rosia followed him, and they backed out of Zan’s office. What a strange process, this job interview.
A teen girl, not much younger than they were, stood outside the door. She held a keycard. The girl placed the keycard in Yorick’s hand, then she turned away from them. “Follow me.”
With that, she strode away, and Yorick pursued her. The girl led them to the elevators, which were not at all like the elevators in the dorms at Wybert’s plantación. These were made of glass, and they surrounded the interior sunlit courtyard of the brothel, which was enormous. As the elevator rose, Yorick and Rosia stared down at the interior. The first few floors were a restaurant, pubs, and other spaces. There were rooms for exercise and meeting spaces, as well as several floors that looked like temporary and longer-term housing. This building was a lot more than a brothel, as Zan had said.
“Do people live here?” Rosia asked.
“Some,” the girl said. “We serve a high quality of clientele here at Zan’s. Each is accorded a great deal of privacy. It’s best if you don’t ask questions.”
For the remainder of the ride, Yorick didn’t. The girl let them off the elevator at the 11th floor and pointed down the hall. “Last door on the right. That’s you.”
Yorick thanked her, and they hurried down the hall. The girl’s narrowed eyes tracked them as they went. A video screen on the wall showed the king standing on a wooden platform. The camera panned back to show three people hanging from gallows. Hoods on their heads, and ropes around their necks. The king raised a hand, and, bursting with glee, dropped it. Trapdoors under the three people dropped open, and they sank down a meter. They all three jiggled on the ends of their ropes. The king turned to watch them die.
Then, Nichol looked directly at the camera, beaming. Haunting eyes full of pleasure.
Yorick averted his gaze from this horror. Was this happening live? He pressed the keycard against the door, and it beeped open. They swept inside, mouths agape at the size, and found a basket of bread and cheeses sitting on the made bed. Yorick was so ravenous, he had torn open a hunk of bread and stuffed his mouth before he had even bothered to shut the door behind him.
“Did you see what happened on the vid screen?” Rosia asked.
“I did,” he said. “We should be careful what we say in this room.”
As he ate, he studied their surroundings. In many ways, it reminded him of a super-sized version of the dorm room he’d shared with Rosia at the plantación. Two beds, two dressers, cabinets, closets. Clean carpet underfoot and fresh paint on the walls. Lots of open space to roam.
He could see the same recognition on Rosia’s face as she strolled around the room, touching and examining things. One notable difference from their dorm was the video screen bolted to the wall. Yorick wondered if it automatically turned on whenever the king went on camera to make his weekly announcements. At least, it wasn’t currently showing the three dead people hanging from the gallows.
Rosia turned on the water in the sink to full blast and then stopped in front of the window, which looked down on the brothel’s interior courtyard. “This place feels like a dream. Everything is so nice.”
“You sound like you don’t trust it.”
She turned to face him. “You do?”
“No, of course not. But, if we leave and take our chances out there right now, we put ourselves right in the path of the soldados.”
“Think about what Zan said about their clientele. There could be soldados or government officials here on a daily basis.”
“Maybe,” Yorick said.
“Then what are we doing here?”
He patted the space on the bed next to him, and she came and sat. He ran a gentle hand through her hair. “Getting our bearings, for one. Keeping our heads down and not attracting attention or standing out in any way. Taking advantage of reliable food and a roof over our heads to get our strength back. Then, using the safety this place gives us to come up with a plan to sneak inside the capitol building.”
“Yorick,” she said, frowning. “It’s ludicrous.”
“Looda-what?”
“Ludicrous. Loco. This idea of yours to somehow free the slaves. Have you really stopped to think about it?”
He shook his head. “All I know is I don’t want what happened to us to happen to anyone else. Ever again. Whatever it takes to make that happen is what I’m willing to do. We have to try.”
She blinked away a tear as she looked deep in his eyes. “You’re brave, and I love that about you.”
“But?”
“But, going against the king is suicide, and you know it.”
Yorick sighed. He wanted to argue with her on that point, but he didn’t know if he could. And, it didn’t matter. Nothing would change his mind.
Chapter Nine
Two hours into his first shift working the kitchen at Zan’s brothel, he actually hadn’t done anything in the kitchen. Rosia had, because she had the real cooking experience. Yorick had been relegated to dishes, which meant cleaning tables and picking up dirty dishes leftover by the breakfast crowd.
Doing so meant he would have to expose his face to the brothel patrons, but he quickly learned that no one paid any attention at all to the help. He could have gone to collect dishes naked, and no one would have cared.
Each time, he had to ride the elevator from the basement to the fourth floor, where the restaurant was located. Each time he came back with the bucket of dishes and deposited them at the dirty dish area. So many dishes piled up. As Rosia cut vegetables to prep for the lunch meal, she frowned over at his dirty dish pit. It would take him hours to run all these dirty dishes through the machine.
Zan’s warnings about ambition and drive played on a loop in his head. Most of the other kitchen workers wore smiles plastered on their faces. Convincing enough that Yorick couldn’t tell if they were real or fake.
On his next trip to the restaurant, most of the breakfast crowd had cleared out. In the large and open room, silk tablecloths covered intimate two-person tables, as well as longer tables along the back edges of the room. The lights were low, the room mostly illuminated by the individual lamps at the tables. Another reason Yorick didn’t worry about anyone noticing him. There was a bar along one wall, with a uniformed bartender providing alcoholic drinks with tomato juice and cranberry juice to supplement breakfast.
Yorick didn’t know much about the specific people in the restaurant, but they all seemed rich. Maybe powerful. Not the sort of people Yorick had expected to see populating a brothel, if even only for a meal. Well-dressed, ordering expensive dishes and drinks and tipping both in large numbers of gold coins and Notes, the currency of the king.
