Semblance of Eden 12 ~ The Searchers
"Oh wow! Oh wow!" Marlowe squirms in his seat, making the vinyl squeak so loud that even the bartender looks over. I swear, this is the last time I take him anywhere. He's spending the rest of the week handcuffed to the radiator with a pair of dirty underwear stuffed in his mouth.
"Cool it, Marlowe. Please?"
"This is the big time, isn't it Miss Dominique? This is like a real big job, huh?"
He goggles at me. It would actually be rather endearing, if it wasn't stomping all over my newest, fondest, most precious memories of Legato, which, if I had my way, I'd spend the next week or two playing over and over again my mind and never grow tired.
"Sure. Put it on your resume."
"Oh, Miss Dominique. Don't be silly. I don't know how to write."
"Of course."
"Do you? You must be, like, super smart. They should call you Dominique the Smart. Or Dominique the Giant Brain!"
I sigh. "First thing, a lady never talks about her book learning. Second thing, I'm not that smart at all. I just had a chance to spend a few years in school."
"School?!"
He blurts the word out so loudly that any of these roughnecks who weren't staring at us – perhaps on account of being both blind and deaf - are sure as shit looking at us now. Looking like they want to drag us behind their pickup truck, that is.
"In my hometown, there were only four kids who went to school," Marlowe says. "They said it was so they could have a better life, but they already had the best life ever. Their parents were rich and doctors and engineers and things like that. That's why they could send their kids to school in the first place!"
"I know. I guess you're going to tell me it's not fair, right?"
"Miss Dominique," he says. His voice is quiet, serious for the first time. When I look over at him, he's staring down into his glass. "Come on, now. Life's not fair, right?"
"You got that right."
A smile breaks across his face, and I'm not sure whether it's more like dawn over the mountains or a crevasse in the earth. He's beaming at me with the same look he's going to give the first girl who agrees to fuck him. And I can't say I like it very much, but at the same time, I feel a little flattered. It's almost like being loved; like the kind of look men would give you all the time if your tits were T-bone steaks and your cunt dripped fine brandy, or even just a decent whiskey rye.
"I don't really like this beer, Miss Dominique," he says. "It tastes pretty icky. You have it." He pushes it told me, lip prints around the rim and all. "I'm going to go take a shower now. I need to be careful, or else the badguys are going to be able to smell me coming."
"Sure, Kid," I tell him. "I'll be here if you need me."
I finish his beer, and I have another for good measure. But not enough to get me drunk. I'm the type who can hold her liquor, but I feel like I'm going to need every sense I've got and need them sharp. For what, though? That's the only thing I don't know yet.
I head upstairs after Marlowe.
It's too damn quiet by half, but when I look into our room, the kid's sprawled out on the bed with a pillow over his face. There's a moment right there at the beginning when I can feel panic start to squeeze my throat. But the first thing I notice is that Marlowe's chest is still rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep.
The second thing I notice is that he's taken the only bed.
I suppose it's what I deserve for rolling into town last, but you can bet your ass that Midvalley and the Preacher have a room with two beds, and maybe even a little kitchen with a hotplate. And Legato, he always gets the best room in the house. Period.
The hall's empty when I go back out. I have no idea what Legato's doing behind his closed door. I know exactly what Wolfwood and Midvalley are up to behind theirs though. They're like a couple of prairie dogs, or none-too-bright teenagers. I can't stand them walking around acting like they invented fucking and they're going to be millionaires just as soon as they can pull themselves away long enough to get to the patent office.
Looks like no one around here has any need for a little woman's intuition.
I leave. Through the bar and out onto the street. The sun's going down, and the sky's red as fire. The spire of the City Plant is red too; the sun is reflected in the flat, unshining metal like a bloody eye. And I try to remember which floor Marcus kept his offices on. It was near the top, like a mote, a spec of dust in the pit of that giant, staring eye.
"I'm coming for you."
I say it aloud, just to try it out. It doesn't sound bad, but it's not the revelation I was hoping for.
"I'm coming to you," I try instead, but it's not really an improvement. "I'm coming back."
If my luck holds out, maybe I won't have to do anything. Marcus' assassins must know Legato's here by now. Maybe he'll make the first move. Maybe Legato will. Maybe that trick where you ride the plummeting elevator all the way to the bottom, and then jump right before it hits the ground isn't a myth after all.
The problem is that it's too soon. It's been three years since I last saw Marcus. He's not even thirty yet. Not nearly long enough for his looks to start to go south. He's still that golden Greek god he was when I left him behind.
I don't remember anymore if it was Marcus I loved, or just the way he looked, the way he made me feel. It hardly matters though, does it? Either way, when I think of killing him I feel like a knight on Crusade smashing my way through priceless Eastern treasures.
I'll see him again before all this is over. But not tonight. No, tonight I'm going back into the Saloon and joining the first game of poker I see. I'm not going to cheat, unless I have to. I'm going to drink more then I should, and when I get upstairs, I'm not going to wake Marlowe at all. I'm going to make a pillow of my coat and sleep on the floor.
That kid would never be able to get any rest that way.