Rules
For the one person who bothered to review, Serendipity's tears, I thank you. Like you asked, here is the second chapter. Enjoy.
-N
He woke up to the sound of heels clicking. Slowly, his mind pushed through the fog, and he realized where he was. He, Nikolas Hartigan, former U.S. Army staff sergeant, was currently sleeping on the floor of a crappy apartment in the middle of Old Town. Fan-fucking-tastic. Rising, he listened to the creaks his body made, and dragged himself with his still damp bag into the bathroom. In the light he took the time to examine it, a beaten sink, a shower without the curtain, and a stained toilet in the corner. "Only the best in Old Town."
Shaking the thought from his head, he pulled the clothes down from the shower bar, only somewhat grateful that they had gone from soaked to slightly moist. Turning to the sink, he was relieved that the water from the sink was hot. Looking around, he found several small bars of soap tucked up on a shelf near the porcelain. He recognized the wrappings, motel soaps, but anything was better than nothing. Hell, he knew why they were there; he was just grateful he found something to use that wasn't pre-loved. The soap made a decent paste for his shave, granted, anything was better than dry shaving, but still; being enlisted, he learned to enjoy the little things.
The rasp of the straight razor against his skin was deafening in the quiet room, but it didn't bother him, after all the phantom noises, hidden scents, and lurking blades from the night before, true quiet was something he was thankful for having. Finished, he dug for the cleanest fatigues he had; and after pulling them on, gathered his things and walked to the door. That was when he saw it.
It was a simple thing, a manila envelope sitting just in front of the door. He quickly scanned the room and breathed deep. No one was there, no psychotic women with swords, or guns for that matter. It was just him, and whatever the envelope was. Opening it, he tilted it down into his hands, and several papers dumped out. Walking to the shattered window, he read what they were, and was shocked by it. She had obviously taken the time to write this, and the writing seemed like her, elegant and to the point.
If you want to live in Old Town, follow the rules. Rule one, this is an apartment building, that holds women and now sadly, you. He ignored the jab, but continued. These are my girls and friends, if I find out you treated them poorly, I will kill you personally. Rule two, everyone works. Get a job and pay your rent, or you will be gone. 'You will be gone.' He figured that the ultimatum ended the same way as rule one. No money, no life. Finally, if we tell you to do something, do it. We are in charge here, not you. Violate the rules at your own peril. Rent is due at the beginning of each month. He flipped through the papers, passing over a contract, he settled on a smaller, again hand written note. You have twenty four hours to start making some cash or you're out. P.S. you owe me a window.
She didn't need to sign it for him to know who sent it. It reeked of cheap cigarettes. "Wendy." Nodding, he gathered them and tossed them into center of the room. Looking at the empty space and broken window, he realized sadly that it was all he had; now if he wanted to stay, to keep it, he needed work. As an afterthought, he threw his bag to join the papers. If he didn't find anything today, he hoped she would have the decency to just place his stuff on the curb, and not in the dumpster. Going into the hall, he saw a woman waiting for the elevator. Again he thought he recognized her. Light brown skin, short black hair, petite. He might have known her, but all the girls here looked alike, desirable and deadly, in whatever order you choose.
As he moved, he made sure that his steps known, the last thing he needed was a bullet to the head. When he was behind her, he caught a scent he hadn't experienced in a while. He knew the stink of Sobranie smokes anywhere. He had picked up a few dozen packs as a gift for Marv when he was in Stalingrad. Figured the guy could use a little variety in his life, unlike the crappers that he always seemed to be smoking.
When the bell dinged, she walked forward, and stuck a hand out to keep the doors open. He didn't panic at her actions; panicking was something he just didn't do. He was only apprehensive. While he wouldn't have to wait for it to come back up, sharing the ride with this woman just didn't feel right. "You coming or what?" He heard the question and, after again weighing the options, entered behind her. At this point, he just wanted out of the building and to find a job, to live the American dream, he figured that wasn't asking too much. When he turned around, he watched the doors close, and felt her stare on his skin. Staring at the imperfections in the metal in front of him, he refused to look towards her, at this point even acknowledge her. "You know men aren't allowed to stay overnight, right?" He kept his gaze on the door, and would have preferred that she just kept quiet, but then he remembered the blonde's goddamned rules. He knew he was being rude; he didn't need some broad to remind him how to act around people. So dumbass, for the sake of your worthless hide, make small-talk.
"I guess then that that makes me the exception." He turned to face her, and those eyes were thinking. Like Wendy, she was calculating weaknesses, but unlike Wendy, he knew she was packing. Even through her tight leather jacket, he could make out the grip of at least one handgun, and he only had the clothes on his back, a pocket full of references, and a can of dried out chew. Perfect.
"How so?" Those eyes never left his, and he answered calmly. If training taught him one thing, it was how to act under pressure.
"Wendy gave me a room for the night. Hell, I might even be moving in." She laughed then, no, more like cackled. He figured he knew what it was about. A man in Old Town for more than a few hours, if he was anyone else, he'd be laughing too. Eventually, she stopped, and kept analyzing him with those damn eyes. "Miss, I don't mean to be rude," she smirked, lovely. "But I just want to get out and find a job." He raised his hand to the buttons in what was now feeling like a prison cell to him. "Which floor are you heading for?" With that same damn smirk on her face, she slapped his hand away and pressed the 'ground' button.
As they descended, she remained quiet. It was bothersome, considering she seemed like she wanted to keep laughing at him, but she didn't. No more small-talk, no questions, just quiet. When they arrived, he could have sworn that he smelled that scent. The scent of a killer, he rolled his neck, and sure enough, he caught the edge of blue fabric, slipping behind a closed door. His companion caught what he was staring at, and again, cackled. "You don't want Miho. She'd be the last thing you ever did." With a grin and a nod, he pulled the can from his pocket, and slapped it against his hand.
"I have no doubt about that." When he was satisfied, he popped the can open. He then took a moment to breathe in the scent of wintergreen, and watching the woman beside him, slid the tobacco into his lip. Slowly, she pursed her lips together, and he watched the disgust fill her eyes. He knew he could relax then, he was no longer a threat to her, just disgusting; it felt nice.
"You know that shit will give you cancer, right?" Slowly, he smiled.
"Yeah, but it tastes good." She watched, half-amazed and disgusted, as he held it in his lip, no desire to spit on his face. "And speaking on cancer, you shouldn't talk too loud. Sobranies have about three times the cancer causing agents in them that my chew does." Her eyes widened then, and slowly, she smiled. Not a, 'I'm gonna kick your ass,' or a 'kiss my ass' smile; no, this one said, 'yeah good point, but I'm not gonna quit, so you might as well shut up about it.' "I don't suppose you know any place that's hiring?" He felt her eyes on him again, but this time, it felt good. He always felt he was the best looking in the family. Hell, being built like Marv, and having John's eyes, he got the best traits out of the three of them. Broke his mom's heart when he said he wasn't ever gonna get married.
"You a fighter or a flirt?"
"Depends on whose asking?" Again with that cackle. Part of him was wishing he had met her back in the service; she seemed like the kind of gal who could give as good as she got in a fight. You don't like her. You just need info.
"Well, The Amigo is hiring, but you have to audition. The only other place around is a bar, Kadies, I heard they need a new doorman. Did you serve in the Navy?"
"Army, why?"
"Then you would enjoy the atmosphere at Kadies more than The Amigo, trust me." Katies, god its been a while. Wonder if I can still get free drinks there? He gave her a nod of thanks, and she watched him start to walk away. "You know where you're going?" Her only answer was a wave, and she watched as he disappeared around a corner.
Turning back to the building, Gail slammed her way through the front door and stomped her way to the elevator. She was pissed, not only does some fucking john give her crap about her smokes; he has the balls to say that Wendy was going to let him move into the building. "Bullshit." After what seemed like hours, she was pounding a hole through Wendy's door, and burning her way through her second smoke.
Eventually, Wendy had dragged herself to the door, and with a smoke clenched in her hand, found herself staring down her closest friend and best enforcer. "Gail, its eight in the morning, someone better have been shot."
"We need to talk." Hanging her head, she stepped back, allowing the woman to enter. When Gail sat down on the beaten furniture, she saw the duster was draped over Wendy's couch. Judging by how it was half on the floor, she figured that the girl had slept with it again. She watched as Wendy came back into the room; and almost like she was half-asleep, she pulled the jacket over her shoulders, and reached for the lighter on the table beside her. It was sad really, she was looking at the most powerful woman in Old town, acting like a girl her first night working the streets. "You were dreaming about him again, weren't you?"
Gail watched as Wendy nodded, and after lighting the smoke, took a long drag. "It doesn't matter," slowly, her face changed so that the predator was in control, not the broken woman. "Now, why did you feel the need to wake me up so fucking early?"
Flicking her cigarette bud into the ashtray, Gail rose and started to pace the room's floor. "I ran into a guy this morning, he had stayed overnight." She watched the blonde, but saw no change in her face. "Guy was built like him," she raised a hand to the jacket Wendy was wrapping around herself. "Almost seven feet tall, but didn't have the guy's looks. He said that you were gonna let him live here? Any truth to that?"
"He said he was Marv's cousin, I believe him." Gail let out a groan. This woman can't seem to shake off the memory of that man. She would never deny that Marv was a good man, hell, probably the best man ever, but the only reason that Roark hadn't come after them was because they acted like they were glad he was dead. Marv died a hero, and they could only admit that in secret. Still though…
"Okay, but what do we do when other guys want to get a room? If people find out a guy is living in Old Town, they'll come back." Wendy didn't need to her to explain who 'they' were. She remembered the gangs and the pimps; back then, the girls considered it a good night if all they got was a chipped tooth or a black eye.
"If he doesn't get a job by tonight, he's out."
"That's not good enough."
"Miho is watching him." Gail was silent at that. If Miho was following the guy, he would be dead before he could do anything to harm the girls. But then again…
"Miho can't watch him all the time, what happens if she misses something? What if he does something she can't stop?"
"Then, you can make an example of him," Wendy saw that the woman wasn't expecting that answer, but she still nodded her head in acceptance. "Anything else?" Gail just shook her head, and walked to the door. She had no problems with killing, if fact, she enjoyed it. But this guy, hell, he had talked to her like she was a person, not a whore. She wouldn't blink when she pulled the trigger, but that didn't mean she wouldn't feel bad afterwards.
He heard the sound of steel guitars when he first turned down the alleyway. It made him glad that some things didn't change. When he got to the door, he raised his fist, and pounded. It surprised him when the door swung forward. "We're not open." In the dim light, he watched what he thought was a woman walk over to him. He recognized her alright.
"Kadie, it's been way too long." She, or maybe it was he, still hadn't changed. Overweight with too much makeup; Kadie looked after Marv and him when either was out of cash. Kadie was a good person to them, and always had a stool and cold beer waiting for them when they needed it. The old transsexual even treated John right, even though he was a cop. Him and Marv though, she/he spoiled them; mostly though, he figured the kindness was out of guilt. They did favors for him/her, and he was hopeful that she/he would still be in that kind of charitable mood.
"Nik honey, that you?" He only laughed as he saw her dump a clean bucket on the beaten bar. Gazing around, he noticed that most of the windows had been replaced.
"Yeah, how've you been Kadie?" She/he did something then he wasn't expecting, he was grabbed and pulled into a hug he expected from a short guy, not a large woman.
"I am so sorry," she/he stepped back then, and he could see the tears in her/his eyes. Kadie turned, facing the bar, and he followed his/her gaze. Above the bar, he could see two beaten frames, one holding a mug shot of Marv, and the other with John. He could see that someone had taken a black marker and wrote on the wall above them, 'We'll Never Forget.'
"Don't be, I don't need it." He watched as Kadie walked around behind the bar, and pulled out the booze, and two shot glasses. Wordlessly, she/he poured and slid him one. Granted, it was only nine thirty in the morning, but he wasn't one to complain. After the burn had passed, he spoke. "Kadie, I need a favor."
"Done, what is it?"
"You don't even want to know?"
"Nik, you and Marv helped me out; you both were like my boys. I owe you and want to help, so, what do you need?"
"A job. I heard that you needed a new doorman."
"I guess you could say that, last guy lost his nerve and walked out last night. Left me hanging," he/she poured them each another shot. "But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
He laughed then, Kadie truly was his mother; when she/he needed something, she/he broke out the guilt. "Course not, so, is there a job?" Kadie just nodded and walked away. He was used to these types of answers, but needed to know if he was having a roof over his head tonight meant more than normal. "Is that a yes or no?"
He/she stopped then, giving him a strange look. "Yes, of course, you hungry?" He nodded and watched as he/she walked back into the kitchen. "Nik, you start tonight at sundown, probably be done around three. Your 'how to' rules for tonight around over the bar, under the boys." Great, more rules. He looked, and sure enough, he could make out a scrap of white paper among the bottles. '1. No fighting. 2. No dancing on the tables.' He noticed then, two extra lines. The first one looked like it was written by a woman's hand, elegant and legible. '3. Tip you cheap bastards.' But the one that stuck out was the last line. He knew that scribble anywhere, bold and sloppy like a five year old had written it. '4. Hands off the girls AND Nancy.'
Marv, he turned to the photos again, and raised his shot glass to his clan on the wall. Don't worry guys, I'll get the Asshole. Looking around, he saw a paper on the bar, grabbing it, he didn't stop the growl in his throat. A huge photograph of Senator Roark in the Basin City Cemetery, laying flowers on the graves of his psychotic brother, and pedophile son; it even had an article that went into great detail about how he continued to grieve because of losing them, and how he wished he could ask their killers why they did what they did. Throwing the paper away, he pulled the can from his pocket and loaded his lip. Don't worry Roark, you'll see them real soon.
At three thirty he finally finished clearing the barroom. The night had been quiet, he guessed. Only one fight, and that was taken care of by Kadie, who just poured the two guys a shot each, then they were buddies again. The girls though, he remembered being a kid and thankful that they learned his name, but now, he was thankful they were around. A bunch of girls in skimpy leather, ready to flirt, they knew how to make nine hours fly by. He even got a chance to watch Nancy on stage. He could see then why Marv put his warning on the stage. He didn't have to do much, the guys just knew he was behind them, and they stayed in their seats, hands in their pockets.
Nancy though, there was a girl who needed some help. She told him about John and Marv, what they had done for her. It didn't surprise him that she loved both of the guys. Didn't surprise him either that John never made a move; according to his letters, he would only see her as the skinny little eleven year old girl, not a twenty something bombshell ready and willing. As far as Marv, she was grateful for him being there, he was the combination guard dog and big brother she never had. He was more than happy to listen to her talk about his family, anything to be around something that good to look at. Still though, he was working, and when it came time to close up, he walked her to her piece of shit car, and waited until she was out of sight before heading back in.
Now, he was heading back to Old Town with three hundred bucks in his pocket. He tried to leave two at the bar, but Kadie started throwing empty bottles at him to take the cash and leave. It was then, that he smelt her again. He looked up, and sure enough, he caught the tail end of fabric pulling itself away from the roof edge. "I just can't get a break, can I?"
He was rounding the corner, when he could hear a moan from the random alleys, he didn't think too much of it, it was Old Town, until he heard the slap. Stopping, he turned, and entering the shadows, could make out a tall frame, pulling a revolver over a girl in some cowboy get up. Fucking animal. He moved quietly, taking care to wait until he was right behind the guy to make some noise. When the guy turned, he slammed his head into the wall, and tackled him into the pavement. Grabbing his head with his hands, he jerked it hard to the right. He remembered from the military, that it took sixty pounds of force to sever the cervical spine from the rest of the spinal column; it didn't bother him when he used two hundred and ten.
He stood up then, and walked out of the alley. He didn't stop when the phantom steps walked right behind him, he just kept moving. He reached for his can, and thankful there was enough for one last pinch, loaded his lip. "If you're gonna kill me just do it. If not, let me see you, you're making me paranoid." He felt her hand on his shoulder then, and he stopped. With a sigh, he turned around and looked the woman up and down. He figured she was about five two on a good day, and had perfect skin. She really did look like the cliché china doll; pale white skin, long dark hair, quiet. Perfect, except for the part where she can kill a guy with the sword at her hip.
"So, you're Miho huh?" A nod. "I take it you're not much of a talker?" Again, another nod. Turning his back to her, he headed back to the apartment building. "Nice talking to you."
When he arrived, he pulled the key out, and again, that woman was there. She was pulling his bag apart, and she already had his 1911 tucked into her belt. "Really?" He lifted her eyes from his things, and after pulling her damn sword, pointed to an area against the wall, where she could see him. He went slowly, and as an afterthought, ignoring her blade, collected the rent papers from a spot on the floor. He pulled then apart slowly, and after finding what he wanted, signed then and slipped all but fifty dollars into the envelope. "Want to do me a favor?" She stopped what she was doing, and cocked her head to the side. He threw the bundle to her feet, and rose. Again, ignoring her glare, made his way to the bathroom. "Give that to Wendy for me," he heard the sound of glass breaking and yelled. "Please use the door!"
He was pleased with himself as he heard the battered wood squeak open and close. Smiling, he made his way back to the main room, and was surprised to find his things were folded and in order on the floor. Placing them back into his bag, he wandered to the kitchen, and found the 1911 on the counter. Dropping the magazine, he was surprised that it was loaded. When he arrived, he only had three shots left. Now he had nine. "Dear Penthouse," he made his way back to his things, and proceeded to again build his nest. "You'll never believe what happened to me…"
"And he didn't do anything to Dallas then, he just killed the John and left? He just broke the guy's neck, never said anything, didn't take anything from the guy's pockets? He just killed him and walked away?" Again, Miho just nodded. "And he had nothing in his shit to show he was gang related, not a recruiter, or a pimp?" The woman just nodded, and she couldn't wrap her head around Nikolas. He was a talker, but he didn't act like an ass. He was smart, alomst too much so for his own good. The fact too that he killed a person and walked away like nothing happened didn't escape her either. "Keep an eye on him," her gaze fell on the rent papers and the beer soaked twenties on her end table. Something new is in Old Town, she stared at the door. Gotta keep an eye on it.
Sorry about the delay. Enjoy and remember, review/alerts mean more to come. Take it Easy, -N
