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Something woke Nic.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. Yet, somehow, he and Worick ended up passed out and tangled up in each others’ arms on the four-poster bed in Big Mama’s.
There was enough ambient light coming in from the neon outside the window that Nic could scan the room easily. Everything was just as they left it, even the ugly, ironic hearts on the overhead bed curtains. It must have been vibrations around them that had woken him. Nic waited, alert, holding his breath, but if more was happening in the rooms beyond, he couldn’t sense it.
One of Worick’s arms was under Nic’s head, like a pillow. The other flopped casually around Nic’s waist. It was disconcerting to Nic how neatly he fit inside Worick’s embrace. He rarely thought of himself as so much smaller, but here he was--all tucked in under chin and pressed close, like a favorite doll.
It would be irritating, if Worick wasn’t so warm.
Nic still didn’t know what had set off Worick’s crying jag last night, but it’d been a long, hard one. Regardless of the specifics, it was clear they had to get Worick out of this place as much as they had to get himself out from under Monroe. Nic couldn’t stand seeing Worick like this. He never could abide Worick’s tears. He’d killed the last person to cause them.
It was tempting to do the same here, especially if Big Mama was slipping TB into Worick’s system.
If drugs controlled both of them, they were deep under. There’d be no breaking free, ever. Nic cared less for his own life, which was destined from the start to be miserable and short, but he refused to let it happen to Worick. The whole point of everything was to get Worick away from all the pain and bullshit.
They hadn’t gotten very far.
And it was all his fault.
Worick could have made a clean break, but Nic could never go further than the next dose of Celebret.
So they were stuck.
Something shook the walls again. Nic’s instincts told him it was nothing but bad music, but checking it out was a good excuse to empty his bladder and pick up the katana from the bathroom before someone spotted it. Carefully rolling out from under Worick, Nic untangled himself. He sat up and watched Worick for signs of wakefulness.
The eyepatch had come off at some point and Nic could clearly see the scarred eye. Worick’s golden hair fell loosely around him, like an angel’s halo.
My broken angel, Nic signed. You saved me. Now I’m going to save you. The right way, this time. Somehow.
Standing up, he made his way to the door. Checking to make sure his tags were still hidden under his shirt, he slowly turned the knob and peered out into the hall. He knew it was risky to leave their room, but he couldn’t let the sword fall into the wrong hands. It was all he had left from his mother… a mother he remembered nothing else of. His father had called her a whore, but Nic didn’t put a lot of stock in that opinion. All he knew about her for certain was that she must have been Asian, a Tag, and had left him a relic from a bygone era with a blade as sharp as sin.
Nic had some hope of getting to the toilet and back again unobserved. It must be the very wee hours of the morning, because even the bouncers were half-snoozing at their posts. Only a few of the girls seemed to be up and about, but they had the look of someone turning in, off duty. As he padded, stocking foot down the hall, not one of them even spared Nic a second glance or tried to work up a flirt.
It didn’t take long to find the bathroom. He had his hand on the door when it opened inward to reveal that same big woman who’d been behind Worick earlier: Big Mama.
She held his katana in her fist. Someone must have spotted it and alerted her. Nic wondered how long she’d been waiting in that shithole in order to spring her trap. He smiled to think of her stuck there all night, waiting on him; it was kind of fitting. He hoped she’d spent hours crouched in the stink and filth.
“Well, if it isn’t Prince Charming,” she said. “What were you planning to do with this? You think you can save your prize from the dragon?”
Dragonlady, more like.
Nic had nothing to say. She wouldn’t understand sign, and he wasn’t going to waste his voice to tell her she could go fuck herself.
“Strong silent type, eh? I can see why you’re a good match with Worick. I can’t get him to shut his trap,” she sneered. “But you’d better start talking or you’ll never get this back.”
That’s when two big bouncers stepped up from either side of the hallway. They must have been hiding in wait, too. Nic had to give Big Mama one thing; she did put on a good show, high drama. But it would take three seconds, two pressure points, and one spin kick to take out the bouncers and the katana would in his hands before the bodies hit the floor.
But he had to think about Worick.
If he used force against Big Mama right now, Worick would be out on the streets again. That might seem like a better option, but they’d been there. And this time, Nic wouldn’t be able to protect Worick, not while working for Monroe. Worick needed to leave Big Mama, but he needed to do it on his own terms, in his own time.
So, Nic made a show of raising his hands. With a shrug, he said: “NoT plaNNinG tO Rob yOU. juST heRe fOr A gOOd tiME.”
She cringed the whole time he talked as if his voice physically assaulted her. “Shit, the boy at the door wasn’t bullshitting. You sound like crap.” She glanced over Nic’s body, her eyes lighting on all the scars on exposed forearms. “You an ex-merc? You get your throat slit or something? Someone try to take your tongue?”
He just stared at her. Was this really germane to the subject at hand?
She smiled for some reason, then. “Right, I get it. None of my business. But, Worick’s ass is. You say you ain’t here to rob me, but what am I supposed to think when I find this,” she jabbed the katana in his direction, as if taunting him with it, “in my powder room?”
Nic lifted his shoulder again. He didn’t really want to have to go to the effort to say all he needed out loud, but he had no choice. “pAiD foR woRiCK. gOoD MoNEy. THaT iS aN HeIRloOm i CaN’t LeAVe beHInD.”
She seemed to find that funny. “Do you think I’m stupid? You could have just left your weapon at home.”
Nic sighed. Talking this much was exhausting. He’d almost rather opt to fuck things up for them both rather than have to continue this conversation a moment longer. But then he thought about how patient Worick had always been with him. Nic was pretty sure his exasperation was clear on his face as he said: “dO i lOOk LikE I haVe A HOme?”
Unexpectedly, Big Mama… melted. “Oh, my poor dear,” she fawned. “A strapping boy like you? You could work for me! In fact, that’s the perfect solution to our little problem. You work security a few nights and we can forget this whole thing happened. I have a big party coming up and I need a few extra men. Especially ones not interested in the ladies, if you know what I mean.”
He caught her implication, and didn’t correct it. It was going to be a tad complicated getting away from Monroe, but what the fuck, he was planning on slipping the leash, anyway. A little moonlighting seemed like a good start. Maybe he could use the time to scope out the best way to get Worick out of here for good.
Nic held out his hand for the katana.
“We have a deal?” she asked.
When she gave him the blade, he nodded.
#
Worick couldn’t believe how soundly he’d slept. Normally, the constant, pounding bass made it impossible.
Nic was gone.
It wasn’t a surprise, but it made Worick’s head ache dully. He pressed his face into the sheets trying to catch a hint of the remains of Nic’s smell. Normally, Worick hated it when people talked about the scent of Twilight blood, but there was some truth in it. Maybe it was all the Celebret in Nic’s system, but he did have a distinct, unusual odor. Something kind of spicy or metallic, like gun oil and cinnamon.
Ah, there it was.
Christ, how he missed that smell. It had been stupid of them to separate. Worick blamed that damn Guild. When the two of them first came to the District, they’d thought the Guild might be an ally, a way to get Nic what he needed. It was the first time Worick had let Nic go, alone, confident that when he came out, they’d be set. But, Nic had gone through their tests and come out...
... a C/3.
The Guild didn’t give a shit for anyone that low.
Just like that, they were dumped out with no support. Just a bottle of Celebret and a ‘don’t let the door hit you on the ass.’
And, that fucking ‘C/3’ that Nic had to carry around his neck like an albatross had made them a target. Worick had already started to turn tricks to stay afloat, and, before Nic figured out how to overdose his way to a higher level, they got zero respect. The street had nearly killed them both, and they still had no fucking decent line to Celebret. It was probably just as well the cops had busted them that time they’d tried a heist on the supply train and sent Nic back to the Guild. This time when Nic finally came out on top, or nearly so, Monroe had been right there--making an offer neither of them could refuse.
They had been fucked ever since.
And apart.
The time alone was doing him in. It was starting to feel too permanent, too un-fixable. He was clearly losing it, getting all lovey-dovey on Nic, and Nic was reverting back to an animal thanks to the fact that Monroe used him like a goddamn blunt instrument.
Worick rubbed his face and wondered if it was too early for a stiff drink. The dawn peeked in through the dust-smeared window, over the tiled rooftops. Of course the bar was still open downstairs. In fact, now was what the girls called ‘happy hour’--the time in-between when the last john had been shown the door and everyone headed to sleep for the day--when the drinks were cheap and there was always some dumbass movie on the TV or a low-stakes card game going in the back. With a yawn that popped muscles, Worick hunted around for his eyepatch and his shirt, intending to drink himself into oblivion and go back to his own rack to sleep it off. And try to forget.
Ha. As if he could.
Worick was just buttoning the last button when the door opened and Nic walked in, holding his katana. “Heya,” Worick smiled, surprised by how his heart lifted at the sight of that ugly mug. He wasn’t even that bummed to be missing out on a chance to blur the ‘Storage’ files a little.
You’re awake, Nic signed. He set the katana against the wall. What’s this party Big Mama is throwing?
Worick raised an eyebrow. “Christ, they tried to sell you on that, eh? I can tell you for nothing, it’s not your scene. Anyway, you know how Big Mama feels about Tags. I’m pretty sure you’re not invited.”
Which was just as well, because the ‘party’ was really kind of more like a ‘discount sale.’ Every so often, Big Mama flung open her doors with the intention of trying to find a higher class of clientele to lure in as regulars. They’d been handing out fliers in the nicer part of town for weeks. Worick wasn’t looking forward to it, since this party was ‘themed.’ It was bondage night. And, nothing sucked more than playing sub to some rich novice who had no clue how to respect a safeword.
I’m working the door, Nic signed matter-of-factly. Patting his buttoned up shirt, he added: I might have neglected to mention that I’m a Tag.
Well, that’d be all kinds of awkward. Though on the other hand, it’d be nice to have Nic as back-up again. From their time on the street, they had a slick system for dealing with dicks who didn’t understand ‘stop.’ “What’s Monroe going to think of this?”
Nic shrugged.
Worick found his pack of cigarettes on the table and shook one out. He was almost out again. Sticking it in his mouth, as he hunted for his lighter, he said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
You know I can’t understand you when you do that.
Finding the lighter, he pulled in his first drag and then. After blowing out a long stream of smoke, making sure the cigarette was out of his mouth, he repeated, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
If not, I’ll fake it. Nic said.
“Business as usual, then.” Worick said, putting his feet back up on the bed and leaning against the headboard.
Basically. Nic nodded. The plan is to scope out Big Mama’s operation. We’ve focused too much on my break. We need to work out yours.
“I’m fine here.”
At his easy lie, Nic gave him a look that could strip paint. Worick certainly felt peeled naked under it.
I’m not interested in your bullshit right now. Nic signed emphatically. The plan only works if we’re together.
It was all talk of plan, not affection or love, yet, somehow, Worick never felt better. His headache started to lift and he felt a real smile tugging at his lips. “Ready when you are, partner.”
#
It was still early morning when Nic made his way back to Monroe’s. He’d taken to the rooftops, intending to slip back inside unnoticed. As luck would have it, Daniel Monroe himself was waiting for him.
“Creeping in in the wee hours, Nic?” he smiled, disarmingly. Though on his craggy face, the effect was less than comforting. “It’s like I have a teenager. Should I be worried about where you were and what you were up to? Or should I just ask you: what’s her name?”
Nic stayed where he was, crouched in the window. He just settled a little, pressing his back against the frame. The hand holding katana stayed outside the window; his thumb rested on the crossguard, ready.
There were too many questions to answer easily, so Nic said nothing.
“I suppose even beasts have needs,” Monroe continued. “Did you find a whore that would let a Tag rape her?”
That was really not worth answering. Besides, this was typical Monroe ‘small talk.’ Eventually, he’d get to his point, why he was waiting here. Had he sat in that overstuffed chair in the dark, all night, just to bust him coming in late? No, Monroe wasn’t big on drama like Big Mama; one of the sentries must have spotted Nic, despite his carefulness.
“You really are just like a teenager: sullen and silent.”
Nic tried to figure what precipitated this visit. The last ‘disposal’ job had gone down as planned: no witnesses, no stragglers. Nic had doubled checked that dead was dead. So, it must be something new. He must have missed some important deal going down last night. “yOU sHoULd gET mE a PAger.”
Monroe pointed to his ear and laughed. “A pager would be wasted on you.”
Nic made the motion with his hand: Vibrate.
“Ah, yes, of course, you could set it to vibrate. Thing is, Nic, it’d still be wasted. A good dog stays at his master’s heel.”
Nic’s fist curled tighter around the katana.
“And bad dogs, who run off in the night to go rutting around,” Monroe said, pulling a bottle of Celebret from his pocket and shaking it, “Don’t get any treats.”
Monroe stood up, keeping his eyes trained on Nic. He knew as well as Nic did, that the distance between them wasn’t so great that Nic couldn’t have his throat in a minute. He knew it so well, in fact, that when he pushed the door without looking down at the knob or turning his head, two goons were standing there, guns drawn.
“Have a nice day, Nic,” Monroe smiled, as he made a deliberate show of putting the bottle back into his inside breast pocket. “And, think very hard about what we talked about.”
He still had a pill or two hidden, if he needed them, but it wouldn’t do to have Monroe know that, especially since Nic had no idea how long Monroe planned to hold out on him. So, he pulled himself out of the window to stand. He bowed deep and said, “yES, sIr.”
As soon as the door shut, he looked up and signed: Fuck you.