In a way, the surveillance was killing him more than the night work. Booker had sat at the same bench for two hours, waiting for this guy to exit his house a block away and go do something, anything. Stokehouse had insisted on two equally important points. Keeping the man alive, and keeping him ignorant of his own surveillance. The man was set to testify against some folk that seemed innocent enough, but the case was loosely tied to something bigger, and the man's safety was feared for. Booker was also to document his every move, but with every second that passed Booker remembered why he gave up this sort of work for the more unsavoury employment available in New York.
Because you were young and stupid. Now you're old and stupid. Now pay attention.
Tracking this guy was tedious. He couldn't help but imagine that Elizabeth was with him. He could imagine her furiously writing down notes all day, eyes darting from the mark to her notepad. It was the only thought that made him smile all morning. Then, remembering that he had her cooped up in the apartment all day again, his smile faded bitterly. He had taken to waving to Peters every morning when he stepped out of his building and saw the motorcar parked across the street. Quincy had been interested in his day work all right, asking for his share and Booker happily undercut him. Low rate investigators don't earn the good money, after all. After that, Quincy didn't seem to care what he did as long as he did his job.
No, Booker knew that Peters was waiting for Elizabeth to show again. It was his job to keep Booker afraid and he knew he did a terrible job of convincing them that she meant nothing to him. The best he could do was try and make it look like she was no longer around. Yes, boys, the floozy broke my sad old heart. She saw the folly in sharing a bed with me and she got the hell out of here. It's just me, now.
How long until that's true? One day you're gonna go home and she's gonna be gone. Walked right out of the door. He couldn't blame her at this point. He just hoped she walked out when Peters wasn't around to see her.
When the mark finally left his house, Booker followed. When he spent the morning at a cafe, reading a paper, Booker pretended to do the same. When he went to the store to buy tobacco, Booker stood across the road and idly inspected a news stand. When he walked to his office, Booker waited across the street and took note of how long he was in there. When he went back home again with moderately priced bottle of rum, Booker followed at a distance keeping an eye out. Watch him from his house, to around town, and back to his house. That's it. Daylight hours, the man rarely goes out at night, and the folks who might be after him prefer to keep their distance. He should be safe in his own house. For now.
Booker collected his notes as he walked from the man's house and further back into the city. Back to his home. Back to Elizabeth. Back to his daughter. Quincy didn't need him tonight, which was a relief considering how last night went. The old mobster enjoyed having the White Injun in his crew to scare the locals, but since Booker came back from Columbia he found he was losing the stomach for mindless violence. After having someone to protect, he found himself empathising with the victims. Last night a man begged and said he had a daughter at home that depended on him. Booker's heart went out to him, but he still did what he had to do to keep Quincy off his back.
I wouldn't hold it against you if you tortured me to keep her safe, he had thought. But it didn't make his job any easier.
It can't be much longer until he worked off his debt and he could become the man Elizabeth needed. Not much longer now. Then with the mob off their backs, she can go outside and meet some people her own age. She can have friends, maybe even go and study or get a job or something. Then she can meet a boy and leave her sick, sad father to rot in his office again. He ran a hand through his hair at the thought. The feeling of abandonment he got when he imagined her leaving was absurd. Of all the feelings he had started to reconnect with, this aching, vulnerable feeling was the worst. Is this how she felt when you handed her to Lutece? Did she know, even as an infant, that her father was giving her away?
He shook off that trail of thought and started taking another route home. He hadn't gone this way in a while, and he knew he should have come back here sooner, for a few reasons. He crossed the street and made his way down the alley, hearing that loud familiar voice yelling out the back of a large, open building. It got hotter the closer he got, and eventually the voice stopped yelling just before he got to the entrance. The humid, soggy smell got him right in the face like it always did and Ruth was standing exactly where he saw her last.
"Hello stranger." He growled, giving her a slight smirk when she turned to him.
"Well I'll be." She smiled. Ruth had gotten on in years, although she was barely older than him, but her smile still managed to suck in most men. She was tall, nearly as tall as him, with long dirty blonde hair that curled into a lazy braid. The crows feet around her eyes turned up when she smiled. The story of how he met Ruth, or rather how he befriended her was one of his many shames. He once knew her as the woman with the nice rack who washed his laundry. She would drink with him while she worked and he would cop a look as often as he could. But when the three perfect storms of alcoholism, loneliness and desperation collided as they so often did, Booker found himself at the local brothel. The madam set him up with one of their new girls, and when Booker went into the room he found Ruth, as nervous as he had ever seen a woman. Her nerves frayed even further when she recognised him, and Booker at first drunkenly attempted to pretend he didn't recognise her. The situation became so absurd they both ended up laughing. He stayed with her that night, drinking, talking. She talked about how she came to New York with a husband who beat her and how she had been trying to make it on her own since she left him. He told her about his crippling debt problem and the mobsters that had taken an interest in him. In his drunken haze, he found himself entertaining fantasies of maybe taking care of her. Making an honest woman out of this friend he had found. But that fantasy was short lived when she let him fuck her later in the evening. He had been with women who had lost interest, but this was something else. As cool as she was when they were talking, Ruth couldn't even pretend to not be disgusted with his touch. He didn't even get his pants off, instead making some excuse about being too drunk and going straight back for another drink anyway.
It was a few days later, when he saw her locked in a passionate embrace with another woman behind one of the bars in the area that he realised she was a lesbian. He found her later that night, all alone and nearly passed out drunk. In her drunken ramblings he managed to make out that she had been rejected by the other woman and it didn't sound like an easy let down. He helped her make it back to her house, held her hair back when she vomited and they had been friends ever since. Well, as close to friends as he would go. Mostly it was just Booker getting drunk with her when she washed his clothes, but occasionally they would get together for a drink. She was good enough company. Great for a laugh and she never pried into things she had no business knowing.
"Don't have your sack with you?" She joked, referring to the duffel bag he always brought his laundry down in. "You have got to be overdue by now."
"Yeah, just had to make sure you had your schedule cleared."
She threw down the paddle into the tub of water and approached Booker with a smile, wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug. "Where you been? I was getting worried for you."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"That good, huh? C'mon. I'll take a break." Ruth wiped her hands on her apron and led Booker further into the alley, pulling out a hip flask from under her skirts that Booker had counted on her having.
"Still having trouble with those mob boys?" She asked before taking a swig.
"Trouble...yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Well, you said it to me. It's just a job. Don't matter what you gotta do, just take you pay and go home."
"That's not it though, something else has happened."
"Watcha done, Booker?" She asked, offering him a drink.
"I...got a daughter." He admitted, taking swig from her flask.
Her head tilted from side to side, but the look on her face wasn't the least bit surprised. "Well congratulations. Who's the lucky woman who gets to call herself Mrs White Injun?"
"A woman who died near twenty years ago. My daughter is an grown woman. I...met her last week when I was...away for work."
"Well, that is something. Shit, you never told me you had a daughter?"
"Yeah it's not a story I like to tell. Her mother died giving birth to her...I was a shitty father. I gave her up when she was a baby. It's not something you ever want to discuss."
"Well shit, I guess I see why you never brought that up...was she happy to meet you or was she mad?"
"Both, I guess. It's been a rough couple of weeks. We're both still getting used to it."
"Shit. So you're keeping in touch?"
"Yeah. She's in my apartment. She's staying with me."
"She's staying with you? Your daughter? In that shitty little place?"
"Yeah. It wasn't planned. I didn't have time to go apartment huntin', I have to do what I can with what little I've got. It'll have to do for now."
"And how's that going for you?"
"It's been hard on her. She's new to the city and I can't let her out on her own, not without worrying about her. Shit, she can be standing right in front of me and I would still be worrying about her."
"Well, that's a good thing."
"How is that good?"
"It means you give a shit now."
They stopped halfway down the alley, at Ruth's usual break spot. Booker leaned back onto the wall and let the words sink in. He did give a shit now. He cared. There was something there now that tethered him to the rest of world, a world he was more than willing to give up on. That's why he had a hard time cutting that man up last night. It's why he hadn't looked into who was after his mark, so he couldn't be tempted to put a bullet into him himself if there was a standing reward. For so long he had no connection to the shared human experience that everyone else seemed to have. He had no connection to anyone and that mean he had no reason to justify or change his bad behaviour. But now he did. He gave a shit about what Elizabeth thought of him. He cared about what she was doing, how she was feeling. Even knowing that she was sitting alone, at their home, bored out of her powerful mind weighed on him.
"Actually, I need to ask you a favour."
"Yeah?"
"I want you to come and meet her."
"What? Why?"
"She's a bit...sheltered. She's smart, she's funny and she's the best girl you'll meet, but the folks who had her kept her isolated. She needs some friends."
"You want your old prostitute to befriend your daughter?"
"No, I want my old friend to spend some time with her. You'll love her, trust me. She's a fuckin gem, and I mean that. It's just that spending all her time around me ain't good for her. And if anything, you're my washerwoman."
"Well prostitute makes me sound fancier. Will I be much better, anyway?"
"I just need someone I trust to keep an eye on her, is all. Look, just come over for dinner maybe. A few drinks? I have the evening free, Whaddya say? You workin tonight?"
"Ok, DeWitt. Sure. I'll meet your daughter. You've gone and made me feel all special."
"Appreciated. Come by at around seven?"
"I'll be there. Make sure you clean that shit heap of an apartment."
When he arrived home, Elizabeth was in a strange mood. She sat on the bed, sewing. She looked up at him briefly and mentioned how she had redone his notes before lowering her head and going back to her work. She didn't ask how his day was. She didn't talk about what she had done around the house, she didn't start badgering him about when she could go out again. She was completely silent.
She's bored, asshole. She needs to get out of the house.
"So, we're having company for dinner."
"Yeah? Sounds good."
She didn't ask who was coming. She didn't ask what they were gonna eat. She didn't ask anything. She didn't even look up at him again.
"You ok?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You wanna know who's coming over?"
"Sure."
"An old friend. I've known her for years. You'll like her."
"Sound's good."
He found his half empty bottle of whiskey from last night and poured himself a glass. He looked over to the little makeshift kitchen that Elizabeth had almost made into a genuine room all on it's own. There was enough there to make a solid dinner for three people, but they would have to buy some more food soon. His heart broke when he realised he couldn't take Elizabeth out shopping with him. Not while Peters watched them. Not when that squirrelly little fucker was just dying for another glimpse of her.
He sorted out some dinner while he waited for Ruth. Elizabeth's mood didn't improve, but he couldn't blame her. He could only hope that some more company would bring her back out of her shell. A female friend. A woman to relate to.
Booker heard Bill Bob yelling at 'that damned whore in his building again' signalling Ruth's arrival. When they were introduced, Booker saw that Elizabeth's spirits did lift a bit. Her eyes first regarded this new person as a threat though, he didn't miss that. A quick, silent glare as she worked out who this person was. But soon enough, she was all smiles. The sweet girl he had promised Ruth was here all right.
They ate dinner around his desk, with Booker sitting on the edge of the bed, offering his only two seats to the women. Ruth told Elizabeth about what there was to do around New York, and kept the dirty jokes to a minimum. Elizabeth talked about books, mostly. Booker realised that it was sadly the only subject Elizabeth could broach without leading to more questions neither of them could answer.
Elizabeth hardly spoke to him all night. She spoke politely when she did, and she hid any bad feelings she might have had towards him in front of company. He reminded himself that this was really the first time there was a third person to share her with. She had always been his alone. She's just being social. She's got a new person to talk to, that's why Ruth is here. Let her experience a new person. Let her forget you for a bit.
Ruth had put away a bottle of whiskey on her own before she got up to leave. She hugged Elizabeth farewell and promised she would come over in the morning to have breakfast with her and pick up their laundry. She gestured for Booker to follow her as she left, and he saw Elizabeth climb into bed as he shut the door behind him.
"Holy shit, Booker. Do you see that?" She lowered her voice to a drunken whisper as they descended the stairs.
"See what?"
"No no, I ain't sayin. Tell me you see it?"
"Yeah, she's mad at me. She's been in that place for a few weeks now, I know it ain't right..."
"No, well yeah, that ain't right, but there's something else. Tell me you see it, please."
"Shit, Ruth, see what."
She pushed open the door to the building and walked outside. Booker followed her into the chilly air. Ruth stood under the lamp post and lit a cigarette. Even as drunk as she was, Booker saw a sober fear in her eyes he had never seen before.
"Holy shit, I can't believe I'm gonna say this..."
"Spit it out, woman..."
"You don't work in a brothel for this long without learning a few things, Booker...that girl...shit, I think she wants to fuck you. Shit...are you pissed at me?"
Booker didn't say anything. The look on Ruth's face was deadly serious. Her eyes alone had a depth of fear in them that he hadn't even seen when he first saw her working in the brothel.
"Fuck...I'm an asshole. I'm wrong. I'm drunk. I'm sorry. Feel free to shove this up my ass later. That was a fuckin stupid thing to say. Shit..."
"You gonna be ok getting home?" He asked. Let it go. She didn't see anything between you and Elizabeth. There's nothing there but the sad remnants of a big mistake made in another world.
"Yeah, sure. You still ok with me seeing her tomorrow?" She asked sheepishly.
"Sure. Look...don't take her out. Alright?"
"Do I want to know?"
"No. You don't."
"Ok...you pissed at me?"
"If I got pissed at you every time you ran your damn mouth like an idiot, we'd never even be friends."
"Yeah, sure." She smiled, making her way down the street. "I'm gonna regret sayin that shit, Booker. Think of how bad I'm gonna feel tomorrow when you get up to go to work."
Booker watched her walk down the street for a bit before heading back up to his apartment. He quietly opened the door and went about turning off the lights as Elizabeth slept. He drank the rest of his whiskey straight from the bottle, staring at Elizabeth's sleeping form in the darkness. It bothered him that she had not said a dozen words to him all night. And Ruth still saw what she saw? She thought she saw a girl who wanted to fuck him? How could she even see that?
But doesn't that make you happy? She wants to fuck you. She doesn't want to let go of when you touched her on the First Lady. Now she wants more. She's a woman, all right. People always talked about how women were not sexual beings. They just endured the act for the sake of their men. Booker knew it was bullshit. There was a filthy, moaning animal sleeping inside even the shyest woman, he had awakened a few himself. He had accidentally stirred the beast sleeping inside Elizabeth, and now it was waking up.
The only thing is, Booker, are you gonna let another man take it, or are you gonna do it yourself?
The thought of another man touching her almost made him shake with anger. But he was her father. That was normal, wasn't it? He wants only the best for her. He has to chase off all the men that aren't good enough for her. That's all.
He collapsed onto the floor and into his makeshift bed. His argument was as weak as it could have been. He didn't want any man to touch her. Any man at all. He climbed the damn tower in Monument Island to get to her. He rode the skylines to take her to safety. He took how many bullets to get her out of there. He made her. He worked for her. He fought for her. He deserved her. He knew there wasn't another person alive who would fight for her the way he did.
No. You can't have her. Not like that. Ignore it. Ignore it all. Ignore how your heart stopped when Ruth said Elizabeth wanted to fuck you. Ignore how you think of her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. You can't have her.
Booker eventually drifted off still fully clothed, cradling a bottle of whiskey. He awoke a few hours later and of course Elizabeth had joined him on the floor. Even with her mad at him, feeling his body pressed against hers felt too right to ignore. He knew the dirty truth, he had known it all along. Of course he wanted her. From the second he started seeing her as a woman back on the first lady, he had no way of stopping. That door was open now and there was no closing it. What do you do now, huh? How do you handle this mess? All Booker could do was let his head heavily hit the floor with a thud and drift back to sleep.
"Fuck."
