Want You

by Jen Frederick

  I shrug. Women seem like they’re a lot of money and hassle. Even if Mary wasn’t Beefer’s girl, I wouldn’t touch her. Something’s off about her. That said, who the fuck cares? What she and Beefer do is none of my business. My only concern is the little girl lying on the bed.

  I take an inventory of the shit Mary brought. There’s another bottle of drugs. Three cans of soup and a box of crackers. Under the cracker box is a receipt. The total is $23.99. I curse under my breath. I gave Mary two hundred bucks. That bitch fleeced me. Oh well. Live and learn.

  I go and heat up another can of soup and then go sit beside Bitsy.

  “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, so you’re going to have to help me out.” I grab her tablet and start typing stuff in. Since I can’t spell for shit, it’s a good thing the words are magically correcting themselves. At least, I assume that’s what’s going on. I manage to read some of the stuff on the internet. After I conclude that all the diagnoses lead to death, I toss the tablet aside. “Mary didn’t think much of our place, Bitsy. Think we should move? I’m making good money. These jobs I’ve been doing for Beefer pay real well. Besides the rent here, we’re not spending much.” I nudge her lightly. “You don’t eat more than a bird. And you never ask for sh—stuff.”

  I lace my fingers behind my head. “I could get you a real bed. Like a princess thing. Would you like that? It’d be white with flowers. Or hell, we could get you a race car bed. I saw one of those once. I was boosting a car out in the burbs—I did that for a while before Beefer found me—and when I was driving it away, I saw a set of headlights coming out of a bedroom window. Inside, the bed was a fucking car. Like it had real tires on the sides and a chrome bumper. This thing was tricked out.” I lapse into silence, remembering how long I watched and how I almost got caught by the cops, drooling like a dumbass over some burb kid’s furniture. “We should buy you a bed like that. A car or a castle or whatever. You’re never gonna be the girl who’s on the outside looking in. Not while I’m around.”

  She shifts on the bed. I reach over and touch her forehead. Is it still hot? I can’t tell. I grab the thermometer and study it a bit. There’s a blob in the middle. That must be what tells me how hot her mouth is. Seems like a stupid-ass way to tell if someone’s sick, but it’s a helluva lot better than using the back of my hand. I stick the glass rod in her mouth and hold her jaw shut. She moves a little, like a normal person would in response to something weird being shoved in between their lips while they’re sleeping.

  While I wait, I keep talking. “I don’t think I wanna be on the outside looking in, either. If I’m going to be doing this shit for Beefer then I might as well live right. Not that I think we should have steaks every night, but we don’t need to sleep on the floor, eh?”

  She doesn’t answer. I pull out the thermometer and squint. These things are hard as hell to read. I tap the camera flashlight app and hold it over the instrument. It reads a hundred and two. That seems good. Temp’s going down. I get up and check the medicine box again and am disappointed to see I’m not supposed to give her any more meds for a couple more hours.

  My knowledge of little kids is so shallow it wouldn’t fit the medicine cup. I shouldn’t keep her. I know this, but she’s mine now and I can’t seem to give her up. I’m going to keep her for as long as I can.

  I stretch out on the floor and reach up to tuck her hand in mine. She likes holding my hand, and maybe I imagine it, but it seems like her fingers curl up inside my palm, like she knows I’m with her.

  13

  Leka

  Two days later, I’m back to work. Bit’s fever broke after the first day, but I couldn’t leave her. We watched videos, lots and lots of videos about Dora and the puff girls and bunnies. Bitsy really likes bunnies.

  After the videos were done, she asked me to read her a story. I looked up a couple on the internet, but I had the same problem with the words as I always did. They were jumbled around and I couldn’t make sense of the letters. I felt embarrassed that I couldn’t do the one thing she asked of me, but in the end, Bitsy was thrilled that she got to read to me. I actually fell asleep, listening to her soft, sing-song voice tell me about the friendship of a frog and a toad.

  “Mary says you live in a shithole,” Beefer mentions. He rests his shoulder against the delivery van door, a toothpick hanging out of the corner of his mouth, watching me do an inventory of a gun shipment we’re shepherding through the territory.

  “Mary’s got a big mouth,” I say. There’s enough ammunition here to blow up a city block. I don’t know who’s buying this shit or why, but, then, it’s not my place to ask.

  “That’s why I like her,” Beefer jokes. “Big mouth, big tits, tight pussy.”

  I nod, like I understand what he’s talking about, but I wouldn’t stick my dick in Mary for all the money that the dozen crates of guns and ammo represent. There’s something off about her. I don’t share this with Beefer, though. If he wanted my opinion about her, he’d ask. Until that time came, my mouth was shut.

  “You got a babysitter for your sister?” he asks. “Who takes care of her when you’re doing shit like this?”

  I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. Leaving Bitsy alone scares the shit out of me, but I don’t like letting a stranger into our place. I give him a non-answer. “It’s safe.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not good, kid. Not good at all.”

  I grind my back teeth together. I don’t have many choices. Besides, being alone in our apartment is better than where she was when I found her. I make the last tick mark on the notepad and hand it over to Beefer. “Looks like it all matches up.”

  He straightens up, becoming all business. His eyes run down the marks I made on the sheet, and then he leans forward to do a quick tally of my calculations. When it comes to his work, he’s real careful, so why he keeps plowing Mary when there are other big mouths, big tits and tight pussies out there, I don’t know.

  Done counting, he clicks the talk button on his comm device. “We’re good to go here. The money all there?”

  “Roger. The money checks out.” That’s Cotton’s voice. He’s in another location. That’s how we run these deals. Money and goods are never in the same place. It’s harder for people to get ripped off that way.

  Beefer jerks his head. I jump down and palm my piece. I don’t sense any trouble here, but there’s no harm in being prepared.

  The enforcer raises his hand, first to the dark car to the left and then to the dark car on the right. Every criminal in the city drives a black car. You’d think they’d mix it up now and then to keep the coppers and feds on their toes.

  From the car on the right, a guy steps out of the passenger side. He’s about six inches shorter than Beefer. Both hands of his are jammed into his coat’s pockets. One or both of those pockets have guns in them. At least, that’s how I’d do it.

  His boots crunch heavily on the gravel as he makes his way toward the van.

  “Money exchange is happening,” Cotton announces over the radio.

  “Product exchange is happening,” Beefer responds.

  “All there?” the man says, both hands still concealed. I clench my piece tighter, the metal reassuringly heavy in my grip.

  “You heard the man on the comm, it’s all here.” Beefer steps away. “Feel free to see for yourself.”

  “Nah, we trust you.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I slide my finger into the trigger.

  Beefer tosses the keys to the guy. When the buyer doesn’t pull his hand out of his pocket, I know. Beefer does, too, but he’s closer to the buyer. I jump, shooting as I do, my body flying in front of Beefer’s.

  The buyer falls back. I pull the trigger twice more. The buyer’s body jerks and falls back. My shoulder hits the ground first and then my hip. Motherfucker.

  “You hit, Leka?” Beefer yells.

  “No.” I have no idea if I am. “You?”

  “Nope.”

  Adrenal
ine’s got me by the balls. I duck around the side of the van, using the wheel well as protection. Beefer’s inside the van. He tosses an AK on the ground like a gift. The wheels of a car squeal, and I jerk my head around to see the sellers’ car backing up.

  The buyers are shooting at us. And so are the sellers.

  Dust flies up as bullets hit the ground near the van. I army crawl and grab the gun.

  “Take out the buyers’ first,” Beefer commands.

  “Got it.” I mean both the gun and the order and use the dead buyer’s body as cover. I rest the rifle’s barrel on the guy’s stomach and set the butt against my shoulder.

  I pull the trigger. Nothing.

  “How the fuck does this work?” I yell.

  Beefer sticks a barrel out from behind the van’s door, pointing it toward the sellers’ car. He doesn’t want them to get away. More bullets rain down near us.

  “Pull the rod back.”

  I do as he says and hear the first bullet slide into the chamber. I press down on the trigger and the bullets start flying out. They spray the ground halfway between us and the buyers.

  “Aim higher!” Beefer screams.

  I shift the barrel up and fire again, this time I hear the ping ping ping as my bullets hit metal. I keep shooting, the sound of the gunpowder igniting exploding in my ears. It’s why I can’t hear Beefer get out of the van or his shouting to tell me to stop shooting. It’s why I keep my finger on the trigger until all is left is empty clicks.

  I jerk upright at the tap on my shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me,” I say.

  Beefer mouths something back to me. I can’t make it out. I clap a hand to my ear a couple of times. Guess the noise from the AK has made me temporarily deaf.

  He points to the car and then slices his fingers in front of his neck. I nod in understanding. No more shooting. He’s going to check out to see if anyone is still alive. He hands me another magazine. I figure out how to release the empty one and install the full one.

  And, then, like a good soldier, I walk forward with the barrel up and scan for signs of life. There are none. We killed them all.

  Beefer drags the bodies out and lays them—all five of them—in a row. He takes out his Glock and fires a bullet into the forehead of each one. Then we loot the car. We find cash, some small jewels and more guns. There are also IDs, cell phones, two tablets and some comm equipment. We load it into the van and head for Marjory’s.

  My hearing is clearing up, so I catch part of Beefer’s conversation over the radio. “We’re heading out. No casualties here.”

  A different man’s voice comes on. I don’t recognize him and I can’t make out all the words, but the feeling is obvious. It’s grief. “Cotton…make it. Wife…tell her.”

  “The boss will do it,” Beefer says abruptly and then cuts the comms off. He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Cotton, can you believe that?”

  I shake my head because that’s the response Beefer wants, but, in truth, yeah, I do believe it. The fact we’re still alive is more incredible than that Cotton got plugged.

  “The one goddamned good thing about this business is that ninety-five percent of these goons can’t shoot worth shit. They spend zero time with their pieces, thinking that pointing is the only aim they need,” Beefer rants. He makes a hard right. I hang on to the granny handle so I don’t end up in the enforcer’s lap. “You practice with your piece, kid, or you’ll end up like Cotton and then who the hell is going to watch after your sister?”

  I freeze. In the firefight, I hadn’t thought of Bitsy at all, or my own death.

  “Didn’t think of that, didya? Next time, don’t throw yourself in front of me. I had a gun, you dumbshit.” But he takes any sting out of it by reaching over and rubbing a hand through my hair.

  “What’s going to happen to Cotton’s family?” He just had his first kid. They’d closed Marjory’s in celebration. I picked up baby shower crap for two days afterward.

  “The boss will take care of them,” Beefer says. And for a slim moment, I give the boss props for decency, but Beefer goes and ruins it. “It’s not good for business for someone like Cotton’s old lady and kid to be dangling out there. Someone who’s not happy with the boss can shake her down for info. Not that she should have much because Cotton shouldn’t be talking about the boss’s business to anyone, not even the wife.” He slides a glance in my direction.

  It’s a warning, to keep my mouth shut around Bitsy. Like I want her to know what I do. Like I want her to know that the same hand she thinks is so safe holds a gun half the time. But I want her to be taken care of when I bite it. Because running around with Beefer isn’t going to get less dangerous over time.

  “My money goes to Bitsy. Whatever I have, you’ll make sure she gets it, right?” I tack on the last word so it doesn’t sound like a command.

  Beefer tosses me an amused look. “You don’t got much in there. It might seem like a lot, but it’s a drop in the bucket of what you’re going to need if you want her out of this life.”

  I remain silent.

  He continues, “Which I know is what you want because you’ve hid the girl from us. She must’ve been an infant when you started running errands for me. I’m kind of pissed you didn’t tell me before, but impressed you kept her alive.”

  A knot forms in my stomach. I didn’t do shit to keep her alive as a baby. She tumbled into my life and all I’ve done is give her a mattress on the floor and a few bottles of kid’s Tylenol.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” I inform him.

  “Sure you didn’t. Look, you want the deal that the boss is going to give Cotton’s family, you gotta bring the kid around. If you’d have died the other night, no one would’ve even known she existed. So bring her around and let us get to know her. We don’t got cooties, you know.”

  “Didn’t want to cause trouble,” I mumble. I didn’t realize that my motives would be so easy to see through. Beefer never seemed to be that insightful of a guy. I need to remember this for the future.

  “Family’s not trouble. Well, except for my old lady. She can be a pain in the ass, but she’s my pain in the ass,” he chuckles. “Woo-eee. That was some kind of fight.” He reaches for his phone. “I gotta burn some energy off in Mary’s pussy tonight.” He thumbs down the screen and presses a number. As it rings, he says, “Should I have her bring a girl over?”

  “Nah. I’m good. I’m going to go home and wash up.” I smell of gunpowder and blood, but, mostly, the only thing I need right now to feel good is to see Bitsy.

  Beefer’s disappointed. “See, if you bring your little girl to Marjory’s, we can help take care of her. That way, you can let loose. I’d even give you the family discount on one of the girls in the stable if you don’t want to spend the cash on your own.”

  “Thanks.” It all makes sense, but there’s something inside of me that rebels at sharing Bitsy with the world. Even having Mary over to help care for Bitsy while she was sick felt like a strange and uncomfortable invasion.

  Beefer pulls into the lot behind Marjory’s. I start to get out, but Beefer grabs me. His face is serious. “You think you can do this on your own and you’re going to fuck up. Better to ask for help now. No one’s going to think less of you. You’re a valuable asset. The boss is going to want to reward that. The reward extends to your family. There’s no reason to hide her from us. It makes me think you don’t trust us.”

  He doesn’t mean to threaten me, I don’t think, but I hear one anyway. I rub the back of my hand against my mouth, not enjoying the feeling of being cornered.

  “I’ll bring her over in the morning.”

  He breaks out in a smile. “Good call. We’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  14

  Bitsy

  The letters over the door are M-A-C-Y. I sound that out. “Maky.”

  “Macy’s,” Leka corrects.

  The circular door spits out another person. I eye it with suspicion. What’s wrong with the flat doors? This
round one looks like it’ll squash you if you aren’t fast enough.

  “Are you getting new shoes?” I ask, looking to see if there’s another way inside.

  “Not today. We’re buying you a new outfit.”

  “Bummer. What’s wrong with what I got on?”

  I’ve a Hello Kitty T-shirt on and black jeans. “This is my favorite shirt.” I pull it away from my chest so he can get a good look at Ms. Kitty. She’s cute.

  “Yup. Ms. Kitty’s the bomb, but you probably need a dress.”

  He picks me up and steps into the moving door before I can stop him. I open my mouth to complain but then realize the door moves by itself. It’s like a ride! I wriggle in his arms to let me go.

  He sets me down but not until we’re clear of the door. I dart around his leg, but my feet leave the ground before I can make it back into the circle doors.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Leka carries me, football like, into the store. “We have a meeting after this.”

  I perk up. “What’s a meeting?”

  This sounds important. Maybe I do need something new. “I think I should have new shoes for the meeting.”

  His side shakes a bit. He’s laughing! I clap excitedly. Leka never laughs. He’s always very serious.

  “You and your shoes.”

  New shoes are my favorite. I like white the best, but Leka doesn’t own white shoes. He has two pairs of black boots. They’re big, heavy things with zippers and laces. Mine have velcro. I like mine the best.

  He sets me down and snags the attention of a tall lady wearing shoes with really thin spikes. I look up, but it seems like her legs never end.

  “Hey, can you tell me where the kids’ department is?”