But the stranger came and poisoned the place. I know we weren’t supposed to be there. My heart beat super fast, like when I got caught under Mommy’s bed that one time. I was playing there with my toy. One stranger gave Mommy a pair of bunny slippers. I stole one and made a nest for it under the bed.
When Mommy had strangers over, I’d slide under the bed frame and hug my bunny. The squeaky springs above me weren’t a bother. The noise told me Mommy was home. It was always better when she was around, even when her eyes were all black after she sniffed the white stuff that the strangers brought.
Then she started to leave me with strangers. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it at all. I dig my face into the side of Leka’s legs. Those are bad memories.
“How much do you need to overlook the ID issue?”
“Four hundred,” the lady says. She’s not happy either. I can tell because her lips disappear when she frowns. That’s not a face of a happy person. A happy person looks like my bunny slipper—both sides of the mouth curve up and the eyes smile.
“Four hun—” Leka cuts himself off. “Fine.” He flings something at her. “One night. One key. Second floor”
The lady hums to herself as she does something behind the desk. “Room 212. Be quiet and no pets.” She leans over the counter as if to double-check that I’m not a dog.
I scuttle close to the desk, trying to make myself invisible.
“Thanks,” Leka mutters. He peels my hand away from his leg and curves his fingers around mine. I squeeze him back as best I can.
The lady stares at my savior’s back as we walk away. I don’t think she trusts us, but I wait until we’re up on the second floor before I tell him that.
“She shouldn’t trust us,” he says as he fits a plastic thing into the door. I hear a click and then a tiny dot of light above the door handle turns from red to green. “I’m supposed to give her an ID card, but I don’t have one.”
I don’t know what that is, so I keep my mouth shut.
The room is smelly, and the little dust clouds poof around my shoes as I walk on the carpet, but as soon as the door closes, I feel safe again. I stare up at Leka in amazement. It’s not the room or the place that makes me feel safe. It’s him.
He pulls the backpack off his shoulders and drops all the stuff onto the bed. “This place is a shithole, but it’s got a lock. This is a keychain. I’ll put a chair by the door so you can reach it after I leave.” I tremble at the thought of being alone but try to hide it. I can’t be a nuisance to Leka. I don’t want him to send me away. He doesn’t seem to notice and continues, “If you put it on, not even the creepy lady downstairs can get in.”
I watch carefully as he slides a metal button into a dull metal channel attached to the door. When he twists the knob, the chain prevents the door from opening all the way.
“Got it? Don’t take that chain off for any reason, okay?”
“What about you?” If no one can get in, then does that mean he’s locked out? I twist my fingers together. That sounds terrible.
“I’m not going to use the door.” He shuts it and then drags a chair over. He jams it up against the doorknob. “That should keep anyone out.”
He crouches down so we’re eye level. “I need to go get shit. I mean, stuff. I need to get stuff. I need to get us some food and I need some paperwork so that I can find us a better place to live.”
My heart is beating fast again. I think he means him and me, but I have to ask. “Us?”
The side of his mouth quirks up. Not a full smile like the bunny, but a half one. I’ll take it. “Yeah, both of us. We’re a team now.” He holds out his hand, palm up.
I lay my own hand on his and he closes his big fingers around me. It’s like a hug for my hand. I love it. I love him. I throw myself at him, remembering how safe and good and warm it felt when he held me last night. He catches me, this time not even rocking backward an inch—like he expects me to hug him, like he wants me to.
He drags his chin over the top of my head. I love that pressure. I close my eyes and inhale. This is where I want to be forever. I let myself sit for a minute before wriggling off his lap. He needs to go and get us shit, err, stuff. I don’t want to be a hassle.
My mommy called me a clingy brat. I think that’s why she left me alone with the strangers. I won’t be clingy with Leka. Or a noosance.
“We need to decide on names for the ID. You got a favorite name?”
He doesn’t like noosance. It must be bad. I thought it might be. Mommy’s boyfriends made a funny face whenever she called me that. But a new name? I don’t know what.
“How about Bitsy? Because you’re a little thing?”
I nod because I don’t care what Leka calls me. He could call me a brat and I’d be happy.
“No. That’s not a good name if you get a job.” He taps his fingers against his knee and then snaps. “Elizabeth. How do you like that?”
I nod again, but this time I really do like it. It sounds important. Powerful. I saw an old lady with the same name on television once with a crown and big robes and everyone was kneeling in front of her. It’s a perfect name.
He straightens and then digs around in his backpack. I didn’t look in it once when he was gone even though I wanted to. He hands me a rectangle, the plastic wrapping making a crinkling sound. “Here’s a candy bar. It’s a crappy meal, but I’m going to get you a better one. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but it might be a while. Do you know how to use this?” He waves a black oblong-shaped thing with buttons.
“It’s the remote.” I know how to use this.
“Weemote, huh?” This brings a bigger smile. “You’re cute.”
His words warm me like a beam of sunshine. No bunny slipper ever made me feel this good. I show him that I know how to use it. The red button is off and the green button is on. He gives me another half-smile and then walks to the window.
“Don’t watch anything bad,” he says.
I’m not sure what he thinks is bad, but I nod eagerly.
He shoves the window open and straddles the opening. I watch wide-eyed as he swings his legs out of the room and into the air. I jump off the bed and race to the window in time to see him slide down a metal pole all the way to the ground.
Leka is a magician. He can lift a cop’s radio, run up walls, and slide down poles. Most of all, he can save little girls.
There won’t be anyone I meet in my entire life that is better than him. Not even the old lady with the crown.
6
Leka
It takes me three days and half my stash to get a credit card and fake ID that says I’m nineteen. I was advised not to use the credit card as it was stolen and it’d only be good for using a couple of times before the credit card company would shut it down, which means I’m going to need a legit one at some point. I’ll deal with that issue later.
The guy who made my ID up said I could get a real one from the state if I could get my hands on a birth certificate. I don’t know where in the hell I’d get my hands on that.
I guess at some point, I’ll need to break into a hospital or wherever they store those things and get one for Bitsy—she’s too small now to be an Elizabeth—and myself. Maybe I’ll snatch a couple, just to be on the safe side. For now, though, I’ve got what I need. Except I’m rapidly running out of cash what with the way that the New Inn and Motel is robbing me. Every night, the bitch adds another hundred to my bill. I know she’s pocketing the money, but since I’ve got no alternatives, she has me over a barrel.
At least Bitsy is safe. That’s what matters.
I find a studio apartment on the fourth floor one metro stop away from Marjory’s. It’s a rundown neighborhood, but there are signs of improvement. There are dumpsters in front of a building down the street filled with old toilets and drywall—a sign that they’re gutting it for renos. The sidewalks are fairly clean, like someone’s spending time picking up the litter. The apartment building that I leased has working li
ghts at the front door and the back, but there’s no elevator. That’s why the five-story walk-up is cheap enough for me to afford.
“What do you think?” I ask Bitsy as I lead her into the apartment.
“It’s really nice.” She spins around, taking the small space in. Near the window, I have our two sleeping bags set close to each other. I bought us air mattresses, too, so that we’re not sleeping on the floor.
“This one is yours.” I point to the sleeping bag next to two pink crates. “And this is mine. We don’t have a TV, but I did get you this.” I pull out a computer tablet. The guy who sold me the fake IDs threw this in for fifty bucks. It’s got a crack on the upper right corner, but it works. I figured Bitsy wouldn’t care.
By the size of her big eyes as she cradles the tablet in her hands, I guessed right. A strange feeling of pride fills me, and I start showing off all the other sh—stuff I bought.
“I got you a pair of shoes, socks, other stuff.” The weird feeling I had picking out these little girl items in the thrift store leaves me as she excitedly digs through everything.
“This? All mine?” she asks, as she examines the contents of the crates.
“Yup.” I sit down on my air mattress.
She flings herself at me, as I expected. Tears wet my neck as she rubs her face against my shoulder. I’m assuming that she’s crying because she’s happy. This time when I pat her, it’s not so awkward. I’m getting used to her throwing herself into my arms. Her thin frame is starting to fill out. I’m going to have to start lifting more flour bags at Marjory’s if she gets much bigger.
Speaking of food, I push to my feet and carry her over to the refrigerator. Gently, I set her by my side. “Got some food, too.”
She shakes her head in wonder. “I won’t eat much.”
“Eat whatever you want. I bought it for both of us. Should we have a sandwich?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“Grab the bread.” I nod toward the loaf on the counter. “What do you want on your sandwich? Cheese? Mayo? Mustard?”
She taps her chin. “I like butter?” Her voice ends in a question, as if she’s not sure.
I unscrew the top of the mustard. “Stick your finger in.”
Tentatively, she does as I say and then dabs a tiny bit of the yellow stuff onto the tip of her tongue.
“Eww.” She screws up her face and makes little spitting noises.
I laugh my head off. “No mustard, then.”
In the end, she gets butter, ham and cheese. I layer mine with mustard, mayo, ham, cheese and butter. She watches me carefully, as if she thinks she’s going to be tested later on how one of these suckers gets made. I add extra ham for both of us. The sandwiches are so thick we can barely get our hands or mouths around them. After dinner, we wash the dishes, dry them, and stack them away. I show her how the locks work and then give her a phone.
“This is for you to contact me in case of an emergency. Press this button.” The device only has four buttons. I programmed all four to ring me.
“Okay.” She tucks it carefully by her pillow and picks up her tablet. “Will you watch a cartoon with me?”
I check the time. Beefer wants to see me at eight and it’s six now. “Sure. I’ve got some time.”
We lie on her mattress and watch The Powerpuff Girls on YouTube. Bitsy seems to love it. As for me…well, I don’t hate it. After three episodes, though, the alarm on my phone goes off.
“Time for me to go,” I tell her. “I’ve got to go to work. Can you tell me the safety rules?”
“No strangers. Don’t open the door. Stay away from the windows.” She ticks them off on her small fingers.
“Good. I’ll be gone until late. Don’t watch too much on the tablet. The internet is full of sh—stuff that’s bad for you.”
“I won’t. I’ll be good.”
“I know you will.”
“Be safe, Leka,” she says as the door closes.
I wait outside, listening as she drags a folding chair over to the door, slips the chain lock into place. I knock twice, and she returns it, telling me I can leave.
I force my feet to move. As much as I’d like to spend the night in my new place, snug in my sleeping bag with Bitsy next to me, Beefer’s got a job for me. Those jobs are going to keep us fed and safe, so no matter what he asks of me, I’ll do them.
7
Leka
“You handling this shit okay, kid?” Beefer asks. I glance over my shoulder. He’s at a folding table behind me, counting out bills.
“Yup.” I turn back to the faucet and scrub under my nails again.
The big enforcer comes up behind me. “Your hands are clean. I think they were clean five minutes ago. Wash them again and you’re going to run out of skin.”
I eye the clear water that streams over my knuckles to spill down into the drain. “Just making sure.”
Beefer reaches around and turns the faucet off. I shake my hands briskly and accept the towel he’s holding out.
He leans a hip against the metal sink and taps his chin with a stack of bills.
“Whaddya need all this cash for? You doing drugs?”
“No. I don’t touch that stuff.” First thing Beefer ever said to me when he recruited me off the street was to stay away from the product. Using any of the product gets you killed and usually in a nasty way. Sometimes a finger gets cut off. Sometimes it’s the whole hand. Sometimes you get electrocuted until you piss and shit yourself and then you get chopped into a dozen pieces. I resist the urge to look over at the black garbage bag leaning against the stairs.
Instead, I focus on the scratch on Beefer’s cheek.
“Good, cuz otherwise, you’ll end up in the chair down here and that would seriously bum me out.”
“I’m saving up.” I decide to give him a tiny bit of truth so he gets off my back.
“For what?”
“Better digs.”
He huffs out a laugh and slaps the money against my palm. “You sound like my fucking wife. Always wanting some new place. You watching home and garden shit in your spare time?”
“Nah. Need a safe place to store all this.” I hold up the stack. It feels substantial. The cash I have is piling up, which is both good and bad. I’m getting worried about leaving both Bitsy and the cash in the apartment that’s got all of two locks on the door. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, though. I can’t go into a bank and deposit it. As for Bitsy, she’s safer in the apartment than on the street.
“You keeping that at home?” he says in astonishment. “Hope you’ve got a strongbox. Bolt that shit to the floor or someone will just carry out the safe.”
Shit. A safe. That’s what I should get. I wonder if the thrift store has those. I wonder how I’m supposed to “bolt the shit to the floor.” I didn’t read the papers that I was forced to sign before I could get the keys to the apartment, but I’m guessing one of the many clauses says no bolting anything to anything.
I’m too lost in my thoughts to catch Beefer’s expression change from cheerful to concerned, but I hear it in his voice when he says, “This type of work is rough.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You sure this is the path you want to go down?”
As if I have so many options. “You got other ideas?”
“There’s school,” he suggests.
“School?” I’m startled.
“Right. That thing with the pencils and chalkboards and books and shit?” He twists his wrist so his watch is face up. “The place you should be today.”
Holy fuck. Bitsy is probably missing school. I haven’t gone to classes regularly for years. I went in the past if I couldn’t escape the truant officer, but every minute you spend with your butt in a chair is a minute you’re not making money.
Beefer sighs. “Okay, I know I’m the last person to give anyone lectures, but this sort of shit can take the strongest of us down. If you’re going to do more of it, you need to find something to hang on to. Family, pussy, somethi
ng. You got anything like that?”
I zero in on the one thing that’s important in the mess of words he just spewed out. “You’ve got more of this kind of work for me?”
He sighs. “Did you hear a thing I said?”
“Yeah.” This is the longest and weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with Beefer. Do I have something to hang on to? I have myself. What more do I need?
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Come back tonight. I’ve got another job for you.”
Already? My stomach tightens. “All right.”
“It’s not like tonight. It’s a delivery, but since you know how to handle a piece, you can ride along.”
I try not to let my relief show, but I’m not ready for another one of these torture sessions. I check my fingernails again to make sure they really are clean. I don’t want to touch Bitsy with someone’s blood on them. “Great. I’ll be there.”
I walk toward the stairs, pausing at the garbage bag. I swallow down the acid that’s creeping up my throat. “You want me to take the trash out?”
Beefer nods and takes a seat back at the table, shoving the cash back into his green cashbox that he keeps in the basement refrigerator. He doesn’t have a strongbox bolted to the floor. Then again, who’s going willingly climb down into this claustrophobic concrete box and expect to leave Marjory’s with Beefer’s money? No one. That’s who. An idea pops into my head.
“Hey, Beefer, think I could store my cash here?”
He pushes out his bottom lip and considers it. “Yeah, I suppose. Why not? Bring your cashbox over the next time and we’ll store it underneath mine. A man’d have to have a death wish to come down here and steal from us. Ain’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
The side of his mouth curls up. “I like this idea. You’ll watch my back and I’ll watch yours.”
Want You Page 4
