Not Just Passing Time
Chapter Three: Borgenian Beginnings

It seemed incredible that this day, a day without warnings or omens, might be that of my implacable death.
Jorge Luis Borges -- "The Garden of Forking Paths"

Emmerson Reeve had never been on a train before. At least, not on the top of one. He'd slid nearly off the last car as the item sped past the bridge and the dark-haired Turk. The sudden, lurching stop did little to help him, exhausted, frightened and totally out of sorts, Emmerson fell to the ground on the opposite side of the loading platform.

The wind rushed from his lungs, and the intake of air was putrid and foul enough to make him sit up and gag. Head spinning, he fell to his back. It was strange that his first coherent thought was that there was no sky.

The train moved before Emerson sat back up. His dark eyes narrowed at the puddle of…he didn't really want to know- that made him retch in the first place. His head pounded too, feeling the side of his skull told of a large bump already forming. His tailbone also hurt. With a grunt he pulled his handgun from his pants. Well, he had a gun, a full clip and nothing else of value what-so-ever. "Wonderful." He muttered to no one, replacing the gun.

He wasn't left sitting for long, two lanky men in purple bandannas and worn clothing sauntered up to him. Looking down, Emmerson realized he was just about as worse for wear now, covered in train soot and sweat. "Ey…who doya tink ya are?" One sneered out from ugly teeth.

Emmerson closed his eyes, he'd known the slums would not be a nice welcome. What did that Turk tell him? Oh yeah…

Standing slowly, Emmerson's eyes narrowed at them both. "None of your damned business."

"Hoo boy… New Kid tinks he can show us lip?" They moved their hands to their pants.

Emmerson drew before they did, shocking himself with his lack of shaking. "You were saying?"

They both halted, one spit a large wad of chew from his mouth to splat into Emmerson's much reviled puddle. "Ya talk funny, punk. Yer new in town."

He bit back a retort that Emmerson was certain they wouldn't have gotten anyway. "Yeah." Was sadly lacking in wit, but all he could think of saying otherwise.

"I like 'em Max." The one without the chew said. His smile still lacked a few teeth. "You look'n fer anythin' ta do, kid?"

"Em—Reeve." He responded. "Name's Reeve and I'm not interested."

They shrugged. "Could ussa quick-pull like ya onna dese days." Chew said before dipping again. "Ya eva wanna look us up, ya'll find us."

They stared at each other a while then, Reeve- he was going to be Reeve now- lowered his gun and nodded before all three walked away at once, though unlike the thugs, Reeve risked glances over his shoulder far more often then he felt was needed. The hair on the back of his neck stuck up and everywhere he went to find a place to hide was riddled with people that had the same vicious predatory look as Araby.

Hours passed before he found an unoccupied corner, near a large building. It stuck out as fairly new, at least renovated. People walking down the alleys mentioned a Don of sorts. Resting his head against the brick wall, Reeve sighed.

"Hey, kiddo, how much?"

"Ey! I'm talkin ta you!"

Starting, Reeve blinked at a large-shouldered man with cropped hair and massive black tattoo that covered the right side of his face and from the look of his hand, that whole side of his body. It was almost a full minute before Reeve computed what the man was asking for. The back of his neck crawled a bit and he snapped, doing a good job of imitating the drawls he'd been hearing, "aint fer sale."

The man snorted in a knowing fashion. "I'll check later."

Reeve left that particular corner quickly after.

And went nowhere. There literally was nowhere to go, every corner looked the same, the people all looked the same, eyes downcast or scanning the crowd with a snarl. When a gunshot and scream went off a block away Reeve was the only one to even flinch. It earned a hardy bit of harassment from a local kid who walked away after having a gun pulled on him.

Reeve worried that he'd actually have to use it. Twice he'd pulled it now… could he fire it?

He'd located a bar, finally, and sat down across from it. No one paid much heed to him, all the action was at the bar. Reeve's feet hurt, his head hurt, slumped over with his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms, Reeve started to fall asleep.

Gunfire woke him. Reeve jumped to his feet just as four people rounded the corner, shooting behind them. Before he could dodge down an alley, Reeve was right in the middle of it. A bullet bit the wall behind him, he barked out in pain as something bounced back into his shoulder. There was nothing else to do, Reeve pulled his own gun and started shooting back.

It was frightening that he wasn't the only person with this response. Less than ten minutes later, Reeve was out of bullets and backpedaling while gun smoke and parts of the alley still were peppering the air. It was sheer luck that no one thought to chase him. How could he have used all his bullets like that? Where the hell were the cops?

Of course, he didn't want to see cops anymore than the rest of those idiots did.

When he slid to a halt later, panting, Reeve realized he was once again at that street corner. And once again the large tattooed man showed up with a smile. "How about now, kid?"

His first response was, of course the same as before. Then Reeve started wondering how much a safe place to sleep would be worth. Finally, choosing life before death, he nodded. "Let's talk about it."

Whosoever would undertake some atrocious enterprise should act as if it were already accomplished, should impose upon himself a future as irrevocable as the past.
Jorge Luis Borges -- "The Garden of Forking Paths"

Scarlet tucked her payment into her bright red jacket after counting it. She tossed a baggy onto the table that was immediately pounced on. She watched her customer stride away and sipped her drink, taking the time to smile and wave at a pair of Don Corneo's girls who glared at her. They huffed and she felt smug.

So sue her, she didn't care for most of his whores. They weren't too bright, but there were very few privatized whores anymore, or so her clients lead her to believe. The door opened then, instead of another client, she saw someone she didn't quite know.

One thing Scarlet learned early in her life was the value of eaves dropping. She went through the act of counting her money again; knowing people would speak up if she wasn't paying attention to them.

"That's the one. He's good."

"Who the hell is that? I ain't seen that kid before."

"Reeve. I think, Reed or something like that."

The dark haired young man was definitely attractive for a whore, he lacked the dead look in his eyes and he smiled. She looked closer, smiling was a rare trait in the slums, she'd never seen an easy smile before. He turned and looked at her then, brown eyes smiled along with the rest of his face and he started over to talk to her.

Scarlet sucked in a breath and debated ducking her head. She was positively certain that the attractive whore was going to proposition her. She began to think up ways to repel whatever idiocy he'd use to pick her up with. Red Bombshell, she may have been named, but Scarlet was rather proud to be sixteen and still a virgin. She was a drug lord, they didn't need to get mixed in with emotional things like sex.

He flipped the chair around in a self-assured manner and smiled wider at her.

Before the whore could say anything, Scarlet put her money away. "The clouds methought would open and show riches/ Ready to drop upon me." She smiled herself preparing to watch his confused face while she lit her cigarette.

His smile didn't fade, "that when I waked/ I cried to dream again."

The cigarette holder and lighter snaked from Scarlet's grasp. She captured the holder, but her lighter bounced twice on the table before the whore snatched it. "You… read… Tempest?"

He flipped the lighter on and leaned over the table in an offering to light her cigarette for her. Still in shock, she lit two. They traded the lighter for the lit cigarette. He puffed out a cloud of smoke before blinking down at it as though he'd never seen one before. "These are good."

"Where the hell did you learn Shakespeare?" Scarlet continued, still flabbergasted.

The whore puffed contentedly on the cigarette a few moments before laughing at her. He… he laughed at her? "I could ask you the same thing, Bombshell."

"Don't call me that, whore." It was cruel of her to say, but he'd burst her bubble. She had been entertaining the notion that HIS head would be the sore one, but now Scarlet was the one who's brain felt a bit stressed.

He blinked at her and sat up a bit. "For someone counting a wad of cash you're pissy, drug dealer."

"I have a name, Scarlet." She responded, taking an extra long drag on her cigarette.

He arched an eyebrow at that. "Emmerson, but I usually respond to cat-calls, brown eyes, how much and Reeve."

"He left a Corsair's name to other times, Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes." Scarlet responded, making an effort not to laugh.

"Lord Byron now? Well, I should have brought the cliffs-notes… Will the whole conversation be other people's thoughts, or can I use my own?"

His smile was damned infectious. Scarlet gave in to the one tugging at her mouth. "Well, that all depends on if you are looking for a Jane or someone to talk to."

He stood, flipping the chair the proper way and leaned on the table. "You have any idea how long it's been since I've talked to someone that can spell their own name? Work can wait." He flicked the ash into the scratched ashtray. "So, what can I call ya? You don't strike me as a Letty."

"Scarlet. I've never had a use for a nickname…" She studied Emmerson Reeve for a moment before exhaling again. "But you look like an Em."

There is no intellectual exercise which is not ultimately useless.
Jorge Luis Borges-- "Pierre Menard, Author of Don Quixote"

Reeve blinked at the clock over the bar. "Shit." He muttered.

Scarlet, who had been splitting her last cigarette with him blinked. "What?"

He didn't really regret spending his night this way, but it was closing time and he had no where safe to sleep. "I didn't expect to spend all my night talking. I don't …" He sighed.

"Well, I don't live far from here. You can always crash on my couch if you don't feel like… you know." Scarlet seemed uneasy around the topic of sex, Reeve found that strange. She really was pretty, he'd admit to just hoping she'd be a Jane for the experience. However, she was much prettier when she talked about Lowell Barron or how much she really did hate TS Eliot (A point he hotly contested).

"I don't want to intrude." He stated, old manners coming out. Had it really only been six months down here? Sometimes he felt like he'd just imagined the sky.

Scarlet shrugged, snuffing out their last cigarette. "You have to sleep with Kara, but she's nice."

They both stood and Reeve blinked at her. "Who?"

"Kara. My cat." Scarlet laughed at him. "And 'my cat' is not code for anything."

Reeve laughed. "Well, lead the way then."