15. No Sweet Spot
Zemma had been enjoying her morning of shopping with Jack, up until a policeman grabbed her from behind, and Jack disappeared into the crowd…
The past two weeks had been long and stressful for Jack. Not that Zemma saw her very much, stuck in the captain's cabin with Riddick's reader, struggling to memorize words in an unfamiliar alphabet.
"You're using your hands again." Riddick would warn her over and over again as she would spell out words on her fingers, rather than read them from the screen, and Zemma would ball up her fists and try again. She felt incredibly slow and stupid.
When she would get too frustrated he would pull the reader from her grip, and kiss and taunt her back into a good mood.
"Does it turn you on that I can't do this?" She asked him, only half teasing, after one of their breaks.
"Is that what you think?" He asked slowly, as if offended, and tipped his head sideways.
She smacked his shoulder with one fist. "Sometimes... That you like it that I…need you."
He twisted around, pinning her under him again. "Do you?" He kissed each nipple and she shivered. When she didn't answer he asked again, kissing lower, tickling her ribs with his lips. "Do you?"
"Stop that," she told him, not quite wanting him to, but too stubborn to answer him; she'd already said it.
He stopped, hovering over her, looking down at her. She tried to sit up enough to bite him somewhere, causing him to laugh.
"Would you still like me if I could throw you off this bed?" She asked.
"You wouldn't be in it if you could throw me off it." He told her.
But while Zemma was merely frustrated, Jack seemed… somehow different, to Zemma. More reticent, drawn inward, and less the savage smart-ass that Zemma was actually coming to like. Sometimes she would hear Jack and Riddick talking in the galley as she approached the galley. She would stop, not to listen (she would tell herself) but to let them have their privacy.
"Relax, kid. We don't know how the chips fall yet. No sense getting hysterical."
"Whadda ya mean? And, damn it Riddick, don't call me 'kid'."
"All right, Jack… it's just, won't be no sweet spot for you; you'll never feel it. But I won't sell you out."
"Never had a doubt."
"Quit pissing Don off though. He'd probably sell you to the lowest bidder."
Zemma had withheld a chortle at that. Jack had been none to pleased to see their little family had grown by one bad-tempered uncle. She'd been downright cordial to Zemma, seemed to be holding her tongue for Riddick… but it all came out with Don. It was as if power, routed away from the main boards, was over firing on the secondaries.
But Jack only laughed. She wasn't afraid of Don, as she probably should be.
'Now, see, I got no problem killing this girl. But the Lord Marshal Riddick might not like it. Or maybe he'd just get over it?' Don had said it, and Zemma had believed it had been about her, had believed he was capable of it. She thought Jack would be better served keeping it - and the accompanying bruises Don had put on Jack's throat - in mind.
Another time, Zemma heard them talking about their destination:
"Where we goin', anyway, Riddick?"
Zemma was a little curious too, not that the information would really enlighten her.
"Little moon port I know. Earth protectorate, but no military."
"Moon, huh? Too bad yer already hooked up; I hear the whores on those moon bases work some different tricks for light gravity…"
Riddick had laughed.
Zemma, still standing quietly down the hall in the dark, had frowned. When footsteps behind her warned Don was also heading for the galley, Zemma had to move or get caught snooping. She calmed her face and walked in her natural gait. But something caught Riddick's damnably perceptive eyes, and he frowned as he looked at her.
He knows you're snooping!
No. But he might have guessed I heard that anyway.
Jack's frown was expected. But she didn't say anything nasty until Don got there. Then once again Riddick and Don stared each other down over the smirking girl before Riddick escorted Jack out, hand clamped just above her elbow…
Don never said a word. He never did. But Zemma worried what might happen if he caught the young woman in the dark of a corridor when Riddick wasn't there.
---
Riddick said the moon base was huge by comparison to some, but Zemma felt perfectly comfortable walking around in it, knowing steel walls and ceilings surrounded her. Riddick had given the girls enough creds to buy some clothes for Zemma, and any trinket that might catch Jack's eye. It was an advance on some of the cargo in their holds.
Zemma was glad to get out of the bedroom and away from the dreaded reader. Jack seemed to be glad to get away too; she actually smiled.
Their first stop had been a dress shop. But Jack had no interest, and had been no help. Looking like an insolent young man, she sprawled in a chair and counted ceiling tiles with a scowl on her face.
The help hadn't been much help either, for that matter. With cutting glances to Jack and irritation with Zemma, who didn't know the front of a dress from it's back, they'd barely held their arrogance in check for the backwards off-worlder. Still, Zemma found one she liked, and dumped creds on the counter for the clerk, who rolled her eyes, to pick out the right amount. Zemma smiled the whole time. She didn't care. It was her very first purchase, ever.
Then, bag in hand, the women cruised the main concourse, looking into each shop and stall. Zemma felt excited by even the noise of commerce, talking, laughing and conducting business; the sheer press of people.
So when two people came close up behind her, Zemma didn't panic. She was curious why Jack, who had been carrying Zemma's bag, dropped it and vanished quickly into the throng.
"Come with me, please," one said firmly in Zemma's ear as he took her arm high up above the elbow. The other took off after Jack.
Zemma's reaction was not what Jack's, and Riddick's, might have been. She hadn't experienced the school of hard knocks. So fight, or flight, wasn't drilled into her nature. She did, still, have her own effective means of dealing with a threat. She became the picture of helplessness.
She became Min once again.
"Hi!" She chirped to the grim faced man clamped onto her elbow. That got her barely a glance, and no change in the pressure being applied to her arm.
"My name's Min," she went on gamely. She couldn't play the delusional child that had driven the Mongers to distraction; she'd been seen too long walking the market without such theatrics. But, she had been grinning absently and eagerly as they shopped. It would have to be enough.
The little girl's voice caught the man's attention this time. He did a double take at Min's face. She didn't yet know who these two men were, but Jack's sudden reaction, and self opined reputation, allowed Zemma to guess they were some kind of law enforcement. She kept a blank smile on her face, and wished Jack luck getting back to Riddick.
"My name's Min."
"Oh geeze," the man rolled his eyes and looked into the crowd for his partner.
Min didn't struggle; Min had no clue she might be in trouble. "What's your name?" The soft, almost childish, voice seemed eager for a new friend (one that wouldn't hold her arm so tightly.)
"Be quiet," the man didn't yell, as if instinctively knowing his prisoner was apt to cry and make a scene.
Min's face contorted briefly as if seriously considering this order, then tried again to make a new friend. "My name's Min," she stage whispered, hardly less loud than her juvenile tone. "What's your name?"
The nature of his prisoner seemed to hit home, his hand loosened just slightly, perhaps just to re-adjust his grip, but was not so painfully tight. Zemma grinned inwardly. Min, however, continued to look vacant and contented.
"What's your…"
"Officer Deak," the man cut off her repetitive whisper, guessing it would only go on until an answer was given.
"My name's Min." The childish face seemed very pleased. "I bought a dress!" Min whispered this as if she was delighted to share a splendid secret.
The officer peered into the crowd for his partner. Min turned to peer too, before turning back a face bare of concern, and smiled again. "I bought a dress," she said smugly.
"That's nice." The man's demeanor unfocused on her, he was merely responding politely. His grip loosened a little more.
The partner returned sans Jack, and inwardly, Zemma was relieved. Outwardly, Min turned a blank look to the newcomer.
"Son of a bitch got away," the huffing, older man began.
Min frowned. "Don't say that bad word," she admonished quietly but seriously.
"Shut the fuck up," the second officer rounded on her.
Min's face distorted into fear and sadness, before quickly becoming blank again as she looked at the ground. Her entire bearing shrunk back away from the newcomer, and seemingly by accident, she turned away from him and nearly into the shoulder of the younger Officer Deak, as if seeking security there.
"Leave off," Deak said, impatiently. "She's just a feeb."
"She's a suspect in a string of shoplifting reports today." The older man picked up and opened Zemma's bag. From the corner of her eye, Zemma could see not just her dress, but a small assortment of bric-a-brac she didn't remember buying.
Jack! I am so going to…
Min turned slowly to look in the bag with wide eyes. "Oooh!" She smiled brightly. "Are those for me?" She whispered in awe.
The two officers turned to Min between them, the body language of the younger one seemed to be saying, 'See? Wha'd I tell you?' But the older one was staring hard at Min, trying to see beyond the bright smile and innocent eyes. Min looked up at him and whispered, "I bought a dress…"
"Shuddap." The older man barked in Min's face. Zemma suspected he was trying to see behind the mask. Min only blinked, a frown warred with her naïve smile. She looked away, turning sad, confused eyes to Officer Deak.
"I wanna go home," she said in a tiny voice, and leaned nearer to the younger man.
"Get your suspect under control, or I'll handcuff her." The older officer's voice was still angry, but Zemma saw his posture change slightly. He was starting to accept what his eyes were telling him. Bag in hand, he turned and lead the way through the crowd.
"Come with me," Officer Deak spoke quietly to Min.
"Are we going home?" Min sounded hopeful.
"Not yet."
"I bought a dress," she chirped, her happy smile returned.
"Jensen," Officer Deak called ahead to his partner. The older man turned with a glare. "Look at the bag, she bought that dress over at Tamily's."
"If she bought it." Jensen accented the 'if'.
"She got the bag there. Let's just stop by." Deak sounded reasonable.
Jensen nodded briefly and turned their course. Zemma, hiding deeply behind the happy and carefree Min, felt a twinge of concern. She hadn't played Min in the store. She would have to be very careful now.
Fortunately, Deak held her back by the front doors while Jensen questioned the haughty sales clerks about her time there. Zemma could hear the conversation clearly, but Min simply looked around at the abundance of bright clothing nearest her.
"Did this woman purchase a dress from you this morning?"
One of the women sniffed disdainfully. "If you mean did she try on dresses backwards and couldn't manage to count her own creds, then yes."
Zemma sighed inwardly. Min seemed engrossed in the window display.
"Was she here alone?"
"Some boy came in with her." The clerk's tone left no doubt about her opinion of that 'boy'. "She called him 'Jack'."
Zemma wondered what name Jack had chosen on the passports Don had created. Zemma had had no reason not to use her real name, which, of course, did not include Min and might cause her trouble later. Well, no more trouble than Jack had caused.
Riddick had chosen to use most of his real name; 'Richard' had become 'Dick', and he had grinned at some private joke about his chosen last name: Cooper. Dick Bennet Cooper. 'Call me D.B.' he'd said with some mischievous glint in his eye. Zemma had only mentally shrugged and smiled back.
"Did she have a lot of creds?" Jensen asked next.
"Plenty enough to buy more than one dress here." The clerk didn't sound impressed, but a quick sideways (and seemingly random) glace told Zemma the Officer had been. Apparently this store was known to be expensive.
"Thank you, Rachel," he concluded politely.
"What'd she do, anyway?" Again, the clerk's tone seemed to imply she expected something truly outrageous.
"Nothing, apparently. But if you see that kid, Jack, again, call us."
Zemma had to smile inwardly, but Min was already smiling at the hats on the wall.
Zemma wasn't sure if she was relieved they thought they were looking for a boy. Not that Jack getting caught now would improve the situation at all. What the hell was that girl thinking?
---
Jack's heart rate had gone up when she spotted the cops coming their way. It was time! She hadn't been very subtle about the pinching, but damn it took them long enough! Now, pure, sweet lil Zemma would just have to wait for her Hero to rescue her.
While Jack sold the real loot she'd snagged, and got the hell off this dump.
She'd seen the signs all morning. Bribes were as commonplace as gratuities here. There was no shortage of shops that would pretend not to know where expensive jewelry came from, even if it was just down the street. The right passport and ID could be forged, the right passage bought out-system…
It had been a last minute plan, but she wanted to get away from Riddick's sudden fatherly attention, and Don's none to subtle hate.
She felt a little bad about Zemma… she was starting to like her.
Jack pushed the thought away. Zemma would be fine. She didn't have a record, the crime paltry enough, all Riddick would have to do is bail her out.
Riddick's gonna be pissed again. But that beat his recent patronizing examination of her well-being, and his intrusion into her past. He always shut up a minute or two before Zemma or Don showed up, like he knew they were comin'.
He always knows shit before it happens.
Bet he didn't see this.
Jack smirked as she took her jacket off. It was reversible, a completely different color inside without looking inside out. She dumped the cap she'd been wearing. She slowed her walk and applied a lipstick she's snagged with the other loot.
She tried not to think about Zemma.