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Getting a gun for Worick was easier said than done. Nic suggested that they knock over some low level thug.
“Who do you know that carries that isn’t Yang?” Worick asked. They were perched on the rooftop’s edge, which looked down on small piazza. A broken, marble fountain stood in the center. It was rumored that the figure in the shallow pool had once had both arms and wasn’t spattered with every color of paint. Most recently, someone had spray-painted red circles around the figure’s naked breasts and helpfully labeled them, ‘Boobies.’
Nic had bought them wax-paper wrapped sandwiches from a street vendor, but neither of them had opened them yet. A lot of Monroe’s guys have guns.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go after one of Monroe’s?” Worick said, unpeeling his sandwich to take a bite.
Nic could smell the tuna; its scent hit him like a wave, pungent and strong. It was his Celebre-hyped metabolism, maybe, but the overwhelming smells sometimes threatened to make his stomach rebel. It was part of why he preferred to eat alone.
The other was that he never quite had gotten the hang of proper eating etiquette. He’d grown up shoveling into his mouth whatever was given to him, with his fingers, out of a bowl. But, it turned out, that outside of the mercenary troop, people used utensils, and there was an unnerving array... of rules. You could eat chicken with your hands when it was fried, but not when it was served almost any other way--except when it was on a stick like shish kabob or yakitori. Sometimes. Except when it wasn’t.
At least sandwiches, Nic knew, were always eaten with your hands.
Carefully unwrapping his own, Nic shrugged. He set it down to answer: There’s some of Monroe’s guys I’d like to punch, is all.
Worick let out a little laugh. Or, at least, he opened his mouth in a way that made Nic assume he’d laughed. Since there was no smile, only a corresponding grimace, it could have been a grunt or snort. “If you’ve got personal business, that’s fair, I guess. I just don’t like the idea of borrowing trouble right now, particularly from Monroe.”
Nic could understand the point. They had money. They could afford to buy legitimately. The problem was, neither of them knew where a person got their hands on a weapon legitimately.
He’d have to think of something.
Normally, this was the sort of thing Nic left to Worick. But, Worick clearly wasn’t up to it. Not right now. He was too freaked out at the prospect of being on the street again, away from the not-insubstantial protection of an organized cathouse like Big Mama’s.
Nic had a hard time understanding the difference--in fact, it would have seemed to him a much worse deal to be under someone’s thumb, trapped in a tightly controlled environment like ‘Pussy.’
Apparently, ‘tight control’ had its advantages in sex work. Nic’s memories of their early days, when Worick first turned to hustling, were blurred by the pain and fog of low-dosage. He’d been pretty wrecked and useless, but he had a sense of Worick’s bruises, tears… shame, and of the ugly horrible people that demanded ugly horrible things.
And how Worick had always kept Nic out of it. Even when those people would have paid more than double to hurt them both.
Nic had to protect Worick this time around. It was up to him to find a way up and out.
Tugging Worick’s sleeve to get his attention, Nic signed, I’ll ask.
“Ask? Ask who? Ask them what?” Worick licked the last of the mayo from his fingers. He greedily eyed the untouched sandwich in Nic’s lap.
Handing over the sandwich, Nic replied, I’ll ask Yang where he got his gun.
“The answer is going to be Monroe.”
Then I’ll ask Monroe.
#
Luckily, it turned out Nic didn’t have to go that far. Leaving Worick in charge of finding them a place to sleep, Nic picked up Yang and Delico’s trail. He followed from the rooftops, watching, as the two of them engaged in the brutish, thuggish life of being Monroe’s favorite baby-lapdogs. They went from shop to shop, shaking people down, demanding protection money, or enforcing whatever racket Monroe was involved in.
Nic was just trying to decide when to interrupt their routine, when they went into a rickety shack of a shop called “Connie’s.” They were in a part of town Nic didn’t know very well, and they went in with a kind of grim determination, as if whatever business they had here was serious. Nothing they’d done previously had concerned Nic overly much, but something about this job had him gripping the edge of the rooftop so hard it crumbled.
A little girl with short-cut, mousy-brown hair played outside in the street, bouncing a ball against an alley wall. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. She had a bit of a tomboy air about her that Nic liked. Seeing Yang and Delico go inside the shop, she rushed to the window to peer in, looking anxious.
Nic dropped down beside her.
She reacted immediately. Turning, she aimed a punch at Nic’s stomach. He dodged deftly, catching her wrist in his fingers, mindful not to put too much pressure on fragile bones. “i’M nOT wItH thEM.”
The girl gave Nic the look he often got after he tried speaking, her nose crinkled in confusion or disgust, but she seemed to understand him. When he let her wrist go, she assessed him. Her eyes lingered on his katana, and she said, “Are you with a rival gang? Are you going to kill them? Because, I know a great way to sneak in, if you are. I’ll totally help you kill them.”
Nic nodded, because even though he wasn’t planning on killing either Yang or Delico, sneaking into the shop and interrupting whatever bad business they were up to, seemed like a fine idea.
As she lead him behind the building, the girl talked fast, looking every which way as she did, and so Nic only caught half of what she said. “...my dad’s place, named after me… past few months… deep debt… with mom gone and everything. He can be so stupid. I love him to bits, but I’m so mad at him for.…”
When they stepped over the darkened threshold into the shop’s backroom, Nic could hardly believe his luck. A gun shop. Connie’s place was a gun shop.
The girl--Connie, Nic imagined--crept up beside a curtain-draped doorway. She winced and put her hand over her mouth without even pulling aside the cloth, which made Nic figure that the beat-down was already in progress. Good. It meant they’d be distracted.
Without hesitation, Nic stepped through into the main room. A boring scene, really, and far too expected. Delico had a big, blond guy in a strangle hold, while Yang worked him over with the butt of his gun.
Delico spotted Nic immediately. He shouted a warning, but that only meant that Yang turned to look and thus set himself up perfectly for a kick in the face. Taking advantage of his hyped-speed, Nic used the sheathed katana as a baton to knock the gun from Yang’s hand as he fell.
Dropping his hold on the big blond, Delico rushed to stand, protectively over Yang. “What are you doing, Nicholas?”
Nic didn’t really know, so he said the first thing that came to his mind: “a fAvOR fOR a FrIEnd. gET ouT.”
Delico looked uncertain about what to do. Yang pulled himself up from the floor, wiping the blood from his split lip. “You’re not going to get away with this, Nikky.”
In his peripheral vision, Nic sensed the big blond stepping up beside him. He held a shotgun in both hands and made the cocking motion. Nic didn’t dare shift his attention to see what was said, but it was obvious at any rate from Yang’s sour expression and Delico’s corresponding grimace and the way they both backed slowly out the front door.
“wAIt.” Nic said, when they were on the porch. Yang and Delico stopped, confused, and watched as Nic bent to pick up Yang’s gun.
“Aw, Jesus, Nikky….” Yang was saying with a nervous shake of his head as Nic stepped over in front of him, gun in his hand. He shivered as Nic grabbed the lapel of his jacket, but let out a sigh of relief when Nic slid the gun back in its holster.
Nic looked at Delico. “tHiS pLAce iS unDER mY proTECtion nOw.”
Delico shook his head, like he couldn’t quite believe the crazy coming out of Nic’s mouth, but said, “We’ll tell the boss.”
‘I’m sure you will,’ Nic thought but didn’t bother saying. Instead, he just nodded and closed the door in their faces.
Well, Nic signed to himself, That was monumentally stupid.
A meaty hand came down on Nic’s shoulder. Turning, Nic found himself wrapped in a crushing bear hug. The big blond smelled of homey things: wood smoke, miso, and soap. After several long, increasingly awkward seconds, Nic was forcibly ejected from the hug. Before he could even react to this strange shift in events, the cold steel barrel of the shotgun poked his chest. He glanced up to see the blond man saying, “...that I’m not grateful, but if you think I’m just transferring what I owe to you, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Connie came bursting into the room, saying, “Dad! He’s my friend.”
“You know this guy, Connie?”
Connie shot Nic a helpless look, and then shrugged. “Sort of? I mean, maybe we just met, but he helped us, didn’t he?”
“Did he? Or is he muscling in on Monroe’s territory?”
“just WAnt A gUN,” Nic said. “i cAN pAy.”
Connie’s dad gave Nic an incredulous look. The gun barrel dipped towards the floor. “You’re a paying customer?” When Nic nodded, his tags must have caught the light or jangled because Connie’s dad seemed to notice them for the first time. “I can’t… I mean, I ain’t supposed to sell to stray Tags. Anyway, you seem pretty handy with that sword of yours.”
“Dad,” Connie rolled her eyes in exaggeration, “Are you stupid or blind or both? Can’t you see what’s written? Nicolas is an A/0. Unless the Guild is moronic, he’s got a contract holder.”
The gun dipped even lower as Connie’s dad looked back and forth between them. “That true?”
Nic nodded.
The gun came up fast and was now pointed at his face. “Right, so who is it? Can’t be Corsica… so it must be Christiano.”
Nic shook his head. He was getting tired of the gun in his face and considered knocking it out of Connie’s dad’s hands. Instead, he sighed and said, “wORicK aRCanGeLO.”
“I don’t know that name,” Connie’s dad’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Connie, do you know any Archangels?”
“He said ‘Arcangelo,’ you giant moron.” Connie seemed as exasperated as Nic felt. She walked over and put her hand on the shotgun and lowered the barrel all the way to the floor. “Could you stop this posturing for five fucking minutes, Dad? It’s shit like this that got you in trouble with Monroe in the first place. Let the man pay for his gun, and then maybe you should make him dinner to apologize.”
Dad was clearly wrapped around his daughter’s finger, because he gestured helplessly at Nic and said, “You know I’d love to, honey, but he’s a Tag. I could lose my license…”
Connie put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. “You owe him, Dad!”
Nic thought of a compromise: “i’LL bRinG wORicK fOr diNNeR.”
#
“Wait, explain this one more time,” Worick said. “You did what?”
Nic stood in the doorway of the bedsit Worick had found them. The room was small, barely large enough for a unfolded futon, but there were several large windows along the wall that let in the the waning orange light from the setting sun. The wooden floorboards gleamed, smelling of fresh polish. The walls were grayed with age and use, but otherwise in decent shape. Nic could tell this place was going to cost them an arm and a leg, but at least there were no junkie roommates.
I kicked Yang in the face. Nic said, Delico could tell I wasn’t playing for keeps or he’d have gone for me. Look, I already said it was stupid. Just roll with it, okay? This is what happens when you’re not around and I have to make the hard decisions.
“Oh my god, I’m never leaving your side again,” Worick said with an exaggerated expression of despair. But, then his face turned hard and serious. “Goddamn it. What did I say about not fucking things up with Monroe? Jesus fuck, Nic. Did I have to make that an order?”
Nic shook his head warningly. It was one thing when Worick talked ‘orders’ in front of other people, like the Guild or other contract holders. When it happened in private moments like this, it stabbed Nic hard in the gut like a knife--a deep betrayal of everything they ever said they were to one another. Don’t, okay? Don’t even fucking joke.
“This isn’t a joke, Nic.”
Nic turned his face away, but signed, Put on your nicest jacket, fucktard. Dinner is in twenty minutes.
#
Worick was very baffled by the people Nic introduced him to. The little girl ran to hug Nic like they’d known each other for years, and… was that an actual smile from Nic? He ruffled her hair playfully, too. What the actual fuck?
The big guy introduced himself as “Anthony, Connie’s dad, people call me Big Tony,” and gave Worick’s hand a bone-crushing shake. “So, you’re some kind of new Made Man on the block, eh?”
“Uh… no,” Worick said with a crooked smile. He made a show of flexing his hand after that powerful greeting, “I’m just the contract holder of a raging idiot.”
“Oh? How’d something like that happen?” Big Tony asked as he led them through the back of the gun shop to a set of stairs. “I mean, a regular guy getting his hands on… uh, I mean, that’d be expensive, wouldn’t it?”
Connie smacked her dad’s arm. “Jesus, Dad! Nicholas is standing right here, he can hear you!”
“Actually, he can’t,” Worick said reflexively. When they both turned to give Worick a curious look, he explained, “I mean, unless you’re looking at him. Nic is deaf as a post.”
They turned their attention to Nic, who’d been checking the exit, like he always did when they went into hard to defend places. He glanced at them, noted their expressions, and then turned to Worick for an explanation as to why everyone was staring at him. Worick signed, I just told them you can’t hear what they’re saying.
Nic nodded, pointed to his ear, and shrugged.
“It’s a… what do you call it?” Big Tony said as he continued up the narrow staircase to an apartment, “Exchange… no, uh, Compensation?”
Worick nodded.
Connie tugged her dad’s arm. “I don’t understand, what’s a Compensation?”
“It’s a Tag thing,” Big Tony said, though not with any of the kind of bigotry Worick usually heard in people’s tone when they talked about Twilights. He just sounded patient, a father matter-of-factly explaining the ways of the world to his child. “I guess for all that power, it’s a price they pay. You know how Delico has the two different colored eyes? His is a small thing, this one… well, his is bigger, and probably it means his mother was a Tag like him.”
Connie glanced at Nic. They’d been talking with their backs to Nic as they’d made their way up the stairs, but Nic was smart enough to know when he was being discussed. He waved. She blushed, but then broke into a big smile. “I bet you’re starving! I called Grannie and had her come and make a special hot pot!”
Just then, the old woman from the smoke shop stepped into the narrow hallway. “I knew you two were good boys,” she smiled at them. “Come eat.”
#
Worick hadn’t thought people like this existed in Ergastulum. Hell, he wasn’t sure he would have believed people like this existed anywhere in the world.
Happy families.
He rubbed at the corner of his eye under the patch. Watching them made his socket ache. Yet, it was undeniable that Nic was… well, he wasn’t exactly comfortable. He was still very wary, like a wild animal that had somehow had gotten trapped indoors. But, at the same time, he seemed anxious in a whole new way, as well---as if maybe it mattered to him that these people liked him. It was how Nic used to be when they’d first met, at the estate. Curious. Open. Vulnerable.
Worick would be jealous, if these people weren’t utterly doomed. As dessert was being passed around, Worick casually said, “I take it you used to pay Monroe to keep people from busting this place up and stealing your guns.”
“What? No,” Big Tony said. “I’m freelance.”
Worick frowned. “Freelance?” That was a thing in this town? “I don’t understand. Why were Delico and Yang after you?”
The big guy blushed and rubbed the back of his neck like a schoolboy. “Debt. It’s a classic story, I guess. I really thought I could pay Monroe back, even with the insane interest.”
Worick really wanted a cigarette, but got the sense they’d disapprove. Normally, that wouldn’t stop him, but Nic cared about these people and what they thought. And, for some asinine reason, he cared about Nic. “How does a guy who sells guns in a town like this not make enough money?”
Tony stared at his piece of pie morosely. Grandma and the girl both looked sad, too, like they knew the story that was coming. “Idiocy, I guess,” Big Tony said after letting out a long breath. “My wife was killed. It was stupid, tragic. She wasn’t even defending the place, just out for groceries, you know, like you do. Stray bullet. Randomly caught in the crossfire. Happens all the time around here. But, see, I wanted a decent burial. I wanted her to finally get of of this town, even if it was just in a casket. She always wanted to see another country, you see….”
And so he paid to have her body shipped and buried somewhere overseas? Maybe, even taking the whole family for the funeral? Yeah, that’d clean out the savings account really quickly. Especially given the bribes you’d have to pay to get past the gates of Ergastulum alone. “Wow,” was all Worick could say.
“My son-in-law is a romantic,” Granny sighed.
“A big-hearted fool,” Connie agreed, but she was smiling at her dad.
“I don’t regret it, not really. It’s what you do for family, right?,” Big Tony asked, looking at them both in turn, as if hoping for approval from Nic or Worick.
Worick couldn’t give it to him. “I wouldn’t know.”
“i wOUldN’T hAVe cOme BaCK.”
Nic made a good point. “Yeah, seriously, you got out? You should have stayed out.”
Big Tony nodded. “We actually tried. But an Ergastulum visa is for shit. Nobody wants our lot to hang around. We were pretty much given an armed escort out, and right back in.”
And they paid through the nose for the pleasure. This guy really was an idiot. “So, now you owe Monroe a massive debt that’s getting bigger every day?” When Big Tony nodded miserably, Worick couldn’t take it any more. “You’re fucking sitting on top of gold mine! Why don’t you tell the bastard to take what he wants in guns and ammunition?”
“Because that would tip the balance!” Big Tony shouted right back. “Monroe’s got enough power in this town, I sure as fuck ain’t going to give him another huge advantage.”
“He’s going to just come in and take it soon enough,” Worick said, exasperated. “You could save yourself a few beatings if you just gave it up now.”
“It’s a matter of principle!” Big Tony’s fist crashed to the table making everyone jump, except Nic. “If he takes it, fine. I’ll fight him and lose, and that’ll be that. But I ain’t having this neighborhood know I gave in to save myself some pain or ‘cuz I made some kind of underhanded, dirty deal.”
Worick shook his head in disbelief. This idiot was also suicidally insane. Pulling the cigarettes from his inside pocket, Worick shook one out and stuck it in his lip. “Don’t you understand that crap like that gets you killed? Dead is a shit-all principle to stand on. Because dead men can’t fucking stand up to anyone, you got it?”
Big Tony nodded solemnly. “If I die, I’ll die free.”
Lighting up, Worick took in a long drag. He blew out a stream of smoke and looked down the table at where Nic sat. When their eyes met, Worick said, “I get why you like this guy. He sounds just like you.”
Nic grimaced. You couldn’t be more wrong; he’s nothing like me. For me, freedom means nothing left to lose. For him, it’s something much bigger, because he’s got everything: a family, a home. We need to protect him. Nic gestured to Big Tony, but his eyes were on little Connie. Looking at Granny, he added: We need to protect all of them.
“Oh my god, you’re insane, too,” Worick said, rubbing his face with his hand. But, stopping Nic when he was like this was impossible. So, Worick leaned back in his chair and savored his smoke. When it was down to the filter, he dropped it on the floor and ground the butt under his heel.
Letting out a long, determined breath, Worick put his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and said, “Right, okay, let’s get one thing straight: we’re for hire. I’m not running some kind of fucking A/0 charity. So if you want our protection, you got to pay something, anything--I don’t fucking care if it’s barter or what--but make us an offer, and we’ll tell you if it’s enough.”