So I preferred the roof of a deserted building between Canal and Broome Street that I only had to share with pigeons, rats, and insects.
Together with rats and cockroaches I became active at night—that matched the little street rat.
From my first real booty, I allowed myself a quick lunch at Fourth Street—of course not as Velvet. Instead, the combination of black, super-skimpy shorts, long boots and a loose-fit, not entirely opaque crimson-red top seemed appropriate for the area. The skull on my buckle became a crimson-red heart that could with little imagination be mistaken for open labia.
“Hey, who are you?” the young guy behind the fast-food counter asked.
“Venus.”
“Man, you look so hot—if I weren’t on duty—”
“You can’t afford it,” I disappointed him. “No less than one grand.”
“Oooh, darn.”
Venus gave me two advantages—first, she gave me a reason to walk better quarters, second, if the worst happened, I’d prefer to be grabbed as Venus than as Velvet. And finally, I couldn’t risk a brawl with the local racket every time just to have some food.
Well, this idea had yet to prove right.
Velvet loved sophisticated security mechanisms. Fingerprint sensor? Frostdragon electronic lock? No problem!
A primitive, contactless code-card lock took more effort to open. As I didn’t have a card to swipe across the lock, I either had to get one, or I had to get around the lock mechanism. I considered both rather cumbersome and inelegant.
Nevertheless, the first half of the night sufficed to relieve the already scouted quarters in uptown Manhattan of some ten-thousand dollars. That was good for Velvet’s war budget, and moreover, I had to think about the time after this mission. After all, I had to feed a Dragon, and I wouldn’t want to rely on raw fish alone all the time.
On my way home, I had to let police cars or red tracksuits pass several times. South of Eightieth Street, I made Venus disappear and became Jo again—pale tee shirt, black jeans, sneakers.
It was past midnight already, but the Fool was still playing. As before, I sat down at his feet cross-legged and simply waited until he had finished his piece. This time, it lasted a long time.
“Well?” he finally asked, and placed the guitar down.
I insinuated applause. “Wagner only with one guitar is a true challenge. From the Götterdämmerung?”
“You’re really smart. Amazing for a simple tramp who seems to have no job and no home.”
“I’ve seen happier times before.”
“Doubtlessly, as you’re old enough for that—sorry, you don’t talk about a woman’s age.”
“I’m above that. What’s new?”
“These are interesting times. Despite all the Syndicate’s efforts to brush this topic under the carpet, the people are talking about a Velvet who has taken on some Bloods knifers—successfully. Of course, the Bloods are mightily pissed and have placed a bounty of thousand dollars on her head.”
“A lot of dough. That would help me get along for a while.”
He scrutinized me. “That woman is supposed to be quite short, black-haired, very athletic and sexy—and in town for only a few days. I’d say, all women matching this description should worry.”
“I like it if someone shows the people in the city how to defend oneself.”
“Defend? That can cost one dearly in this city.”
“If they don’t stand up, they’ll be squeezed like a lemon and in the end simply butchered—currently once a month, and soon weekly?”
“These people aren’t used to fighting—how could they persist against the Syndicate machinery?”
“The same way the people of Denver or San Francisco already have done it?”
With a sudden jerk, he leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh damn, how can they lie to you like that? Is there no TV, no Internet?”
“Sure. All centrally controlled. Occasionally, something seeps through, but the counterpropaganda works.”
“Perhaps the Fool might have to report something different than what helps the counterpropaganda?”
“Talk is cheap. It’s not about your head.”
“No, of course not. I’m just an ordinary woman who’s got to make her living, without job or home. Who only doesn’t like being bullied.”
“You should join ranks with this Velvet. You’d get along well with each other. Only—how would you find a woman who doesn’t want to be found?”
“She wants to be found—only that she’ll determine time and place.”
“As long as the Syndicate allows.”
“What would they do? Look under every stone in the city?”
“They’ve applied the dragnet method once before, a few years back. Manhattan is an island. All bridges, tunnels, subway routes, and ferries are under surveillance, and then they start downtown and work their way north street by street. That works. If there’s a group of Bloods before every door and a few Black Suits at every corner, no mouse can slip through.”
“They can’t watch everywhere. After all, Velvet came to Manhattan unspotted, too.”
“Unspotted—exactly. But now they’re searching specifically.”
“So what? There are so many options.”
“For example?”
“You could climb under the Brooklyn Bridge. You needn’t walk across.”
“Watched, too.”
“You could swim.”
“They have patrols on the river. And with the current—that’s quite a distance.”
“That’s nothing.”
“Well, in that case, Velvet will probably soon appear in Brooklyn, won’t she? If she’s about to spur the New Yorkers on?”
“The music’s playing here in Manhattan,” I returned with a wink. “But it would be much more difficult for the Syndicate if they had to expand their dragnet to all boroughs.”
He cocked his head, smiling.
I smiled back. “Not to mention the signal—see, your checkpoints mean nothing, I can be everywhere.”
“You?”
“Velvet, of course.”
“Of course.” Thoughtfully, he plucked his strings. “This woman must be lunatic. All alone against the organized crime—that has never worked out well.”
“Lunatic? Who says what’s normal? Isn’t it lunatic—no, insane—what’s happening in this city?”
“Yes, it’s insane, there you’re right. And the government remains silent.”
“This puppet on a string remains silent. He doesn’t count.”
“That’s the only government we have.”
“That’s not correct, either. You still have the last elected President.”
“Who disappeared. Probably taken out.”
“The Syndicate wants you to believe that.”
“What do you know?”
That I’ve talked with Nicholas only a few days ago? That it’s only a question of time—and of my preparations—before he’ll clean up in New York?
“I’d like to tell that to a larger audience some time.” I rose. “See you again.”
“See you again. Time will tell, who of us is the fool, won’t it?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
A white woman daring to go to Harlem alone at night had to be a fool. On the other hand, I wasn’t foolish enough to follow a stranger’s proposal and go to Brooklyn, tonight of all nights.
Instead, I stayed in the shadows and observed.
Harlem had always been a black neighborhood and obviously still was. I wouldn’t want to judge the reasons for this separation, but I was aware that any crisis fostering competition instead of collaboration also amplified exclusion tendencies.
I didn’t have to wait long to find the first local gangster members—what the red Bloods did farther south was done here by small groups of young men in white trousers and white bomber jackets. I followed a group of four walking from bar to bar and collecting a bundle of notes from t
he respective owner. I was only puzzled by the mostly rather friendly goodbye—or did I misinterpret something?
At the fourth bar, I dared to approach close enough to eavesdrop.
“Hello, Mick,” the innkeeper welcomed the white-clad racketeer. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Marcus, how are you? What are the children doing?”
“Oh, you know how young girls are. Nothing but nonsense on their minds. If I didn’t watch out, they’d be out all night.”
“Well, they’d better not cross my way.”
“They might profit from the terror. Here’s your money.” A small bundle changed its owner. “Have a beer?”
“No alcohol on duty, you know that, Marcus. My regards to the little ones.”
That wasn’t quite what I had expected. But the next encounters went like meetings of old friends, too. So it was all sunshine and roses here?
Until the four men came across a young black who was just threatening two young girls with a knife. It was clear what he was up to, as they had already dropped their tops and were just fumbling at their tight pants’ side zippers.
Mick cleared his throat.
The girls squealed and tried to cover their breasts with hands.
The boy with the knife turned around with widened eyes and stammered, “Get lost—I’ll stab you—you can’t—piss off” and further sentence fragments that bounced off the four white-clad.
Mick nodded at one of his mates. This one pulled a nunchaku out of his jacket, let one stick circle at its chain until the hard wood struck down on the knife hand—the knife dropped to the ground and the boy screamed.
Mick approached the girls. “You shouldn’t be on the street at this time. Down with your clothes!”
I contemplated the order in which I’d take out the five men. The girls were suddenly in a hurry to undress. Stark naked and barefoot, they expected their fate.
“Now see that you get home!” Mick barked at them. “Leave that here!” he commanded, when one girl attempted to pick up her stuff.
Laughing, he watched them disappear down the street with their bare buttocks. “That’ll teach them to stray around, what, guys?”
His mates laughed with him, only the knife boy held his hurting hand and looked for a gap to escape through. But the group was too alert.
“So, boy,” Mick turned back to him. “Don’t you know how to behave toward young girls? With a knife, tut-tut. Seems we have to realign you. Chuck, Elias, please.”
The men took the boy by both arms and held him firmly tight, facing the wall. With a sad face, Mick received the nunchaku from the fourth man, who then pulled the convict’s pants down.
I counted twenty-nine strikes executed with full force, before they simply left the boy lying there, unconscious and with bleeding, burst butt. I didn’t feel compassion, nevertheless, I moved the knifer into recovery position before I followed the group on.
All four entered the next bar together.
“You again,” the innkeeper welcomed them. “I only paid you last week.”
“It’s a bad world, Ezekiel,” Mick explained. “Outside, drunken young men run around molesting our girls.”
“That’s bad, Michael, but what do I care?”
“We all care. Someone’s selling the hotheads more alcohol than they can stand and then lets them roam the streets with their knives. What would Father think if we’d allow such things? That we can’t control our quarter? And how does that look externally? The cops could come up with the idea to increase their patrols. And what do you think the cops will do if they find some of our girls on the street at night?”
I moved inside through the bar entrance. The few guests didn’t notice me, as they were attentively following the discussion. As it seemed, Ezekiel could imagine the course of such an event, and he didn’t like it, either.
“You see, we all don’t want that to happen,” Mick told him. “And that’s why you should pay more attention to when your guests have enough. Or call us before something happens outside that we all don’t want.”
Mick held the bloodstained stick of his nunchaku under the innkeeper’s nose. “Put your hands on the counter. Now.”
“No, Mick! Please!”
“Hands on the counter.”
Trembling, the innkeeper placed his hands on the counter before him. Mick insinuated reaching out with the chain-stick—the move distracted his victim long enough to draw the knife in his other hand once across the back of one hand. Ezekiel screamed in pain.
“I don’t want to see such again,” Mick declared, turned to leave and froze.
Our gaze met.
The other guests as well as his three mates and the host followed his gaze. I smiled.
“Good evening,” I cheerfully greeted the assembled. “Can I have a beer here?”
“Strangers won’t be served here,” Ezekiel said, holding his injured hand. Mick’s group made grim faces.
“Okay. Then I’ll have to introduce myself first. I’m Velvet.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
If I’d suddenly dropped my clothes and danced on the table, the chins could’ve hardly dropped deeper—an option that I was still left with.
“You’ve already heard of me,” I concluded happily. “So, what about the beer?”
As Mick didn’t look like coming after me right away, I cheekily stepped to the counter. “Oh, that’s bad. I don’t want blood in my beer. Let me see.” Then I took the innkeeper’s hand. He was too startled to refuse.
My healing nano column had no trouble repairing the superficial, even cut. When I took my hand away, there was only a clear red stripe left—he’d keep the scar.
He gave me a questioning glance, and I nodded toward the tap.
Hesitatingly, he reached for a glass, held it under the tap and pulled the large lever.
“But—she’s white!” one of the guests in the background finally said. My Analogy provided me with the exact location and face.
I turned around and focused on the speaker who tried to sink into his chair. “I can assure you—that’s not contagious.”
My smile triggered the first restrained laughter. Mick and his mates relaxed a little.
“What do you want here?” Mick asked.
“Except for the beer, you mean? I want to learn about New York. All of New York, not just Times Square. Or should I say, all except for Times Square?”
Now Mick smiled a bit, too, but I didn’t like his smile. “As a tourist?”
I could smile like him, too, and he liked that even less. But first I took the glass of beer from Ezekiel’s hand, dropped five dollars on the counter, and took a long draft.
“Searching for worthwhile targets and interesting people.”
“How do you define that?”
“Worthwhile targets are those no one else can reach.”
“No, interesting people.”
“Those who have something to say—and who I can turn my back at.”
Thereby I turned my back at Mick and beamed at the innkeeper. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Well.” He raised his hand. “Thanks—but how?”
“I’m Velvet.” As if that would explain anything. “And watch out next time who you sell your beer to.”
Mick cleared his throat, and I turned my front and my attention back to him. “Yes?”
“Now that you’ve come to Harlem, you should visit our Father.”
“Naturally.” If I had a chance to talk to one of the local gangster bosses without starting a war, I just had to take it. “Do you grant me a few minutes to enjoy my beer?”
“Sure. I’ll call a car.”
I don’t know what I had expected. The dark backroom of a crowded pub? An empty, echoing church? A school hall?
The Father of the Bones, as Mick had called the gang, sat on the stand of a small, well-lit sports-hall with a boxing ring in the center and attentively watched the two boxers who were dancing around each other and testing each other with occasiona
l pokes against the other’s cover.
Four white-clad men with the build of Marines had assumed their posts around him. As opposed to their boss, they watched me very suspiciously—and these four carried guns in shoulder holsters.
Father himself wore a white double-breasted suit over a black shirt. His slightly grayed eyebrows were the only visible sign of age, as his head was entirely bald. I also noticed the total absence of jewelry.
I moved to approach him and introduce myself, but Mick held me back with a gesture. Well, then I’d wait.
“Who are you bringing to me, Mick?” Father finally asked.
“I’m Velvet,” I spoke up first, “and I can speak for myself.”
“Velvet,” he repeated, still without looking at me. “You’ve annoyed the Syndicate. There’s a bounty on your head.”
“Pocket money. I haven’t even started really annoying them. Give me a week, and they’ll add two zeroes.”
“This all will fall back on us.”
“Just the opposite. They’ll soon be so busy hunting me that you’ll have more freedom than ever before under their regime.”
“Many hounds soon catch the hare.”
“I’m no hare, I’m a human—the most dangerous predator on this planet.”
Now he looked at me and examined me in detail. “You have a pretty body, very appetizing.”
“Yes, and in your men’s trousers, I can see where the Bones have their name from.”
He smirked. His bodyguards had even more trouble suppressing laughter. “You’re unarmed, little huntress.”
“I’m the weapon. More, I don’t need.”
He nodded toward the boxing ring. “Each of my men could take you out with the first strike.”
For a long moment I returned his gaze. That had been a challenge—should I answer it? My eyes glanced at the ring and back. He nodded hardly noticeably.
My place near the door was three meters away from the elevated boxing ring, from where the two boxers alertly watched me.
One quick leap brought me close to the ring. I briefly bent my knees, pushed myself up, one hand reaching for the ropes—my leg jerked around in an arc and hit the protected temples with just the right strength.
Lioness’ Legacy IV—Torment Page 11
