Birth of a Monster (19 page)

Chapter 34

That same evening, Tats and Rose shed
the confines of the bar—he preferred that term over “whorehouse
that serves alcohol”—and set off for the finest hotel in Sodorf
City. It was a new building and still had significant additions
underway.

Tats asked for the finest
room and almost paid for all three weeks upfront, but his gut
instinct insisted that, even for a man with money to burn, it might
be best to start with a week and see if after that he and Rose
still felt their special connection—or, more aptly put,
whether
he
did—or
if harsh words, misinterpreted tone, or just plain boredom would
bring a crushing reality down upon them that she was nothing but a
whore and he was nothing but a john.

“One week, ma’am,” Tats said, glad Rose
was at least seemingly out of hearing distance admiring a fine
painting on the wall.

Tats handed over $10,000 falons and was
given a key in exchange.

A smiling bellhop appeared, asking to
carry their luggage, and Tats reluctantly handed him his saddle,
which still contained about $900,000. Tats watched him warily as he
led him and Rose to their room, ready to pounce on him and
pulverize him with his fists if he tried to act like a horse and
run off with the saddle.

“Economy’s doing mighty well thanks to
that gold mine!” the bellhop said good-naturedly.

Tats smiled politely but said
nothing.

Rose felt she was living a kind of
fairy tale. She felt she had the upper hand. Regardless of what
happened with this man, she had already earned—well, already
received—payments nearly equal to a third of her annual salary, and
she knew enough about male physiology to know satisfying one client
over a period of three weeks was a walk in the park compared to her
usual five clients a night.

But far more importantly, no client had
ever offered to take her to some place nice like this, so for a
moment she decided there was nothing wrong with imagining she was a
respectable lady there with her wealthy husband with whom she was
madly in love.

Why not indulge your
imagination a little if this is the closest taste you’ll ever get
of “the good life”?

She had certainly outdone her mother,
who had worn her fingers to the bone working as a housemaid for
decades, always telling Rose when she was younger, “It’s
respectable,” as if suspecting what line of work her then cute
little girl might be drawn into when she was a woman armed with
beauty but little education, and hoping to somehow prevent nature
from taking its course.

But what had made far more of an
impression on Rose as a child were the tiny meals, the tiny room
they stayed in in the back of the employers’ home, the fawning
deference her mother always used when speaking with the husband and
wife who owned the home (and even with their bratty children, even
though she had changed their diapers), and her mother being thrown
out onto the street when her knees, fingers, and elbows could no
longer withstand the constant scrubbing and dusting.

By that time, Rose’s body was mature,
and she soon became the breadwinner, putting her mother into the
apartment that Rose paid for with her own money and, later, into
the small house that Rose bought with her own money.

Her mother never asked any questions,
much less remonstrated her. Perhaps, as she saw her daughter work
thirty hours a week and provide a life far better than she had been
able to working nearly a hundred hours a week, she decided that
perhaps “respectable” is measured in currency units rather than
whether you can get paid without taking off your
clothes.

But, privately, she worried constantly
for her daughter and hoped she would use her earnings to get out of
the dirty business before she ended up pregnant with some creep’s
child, infected with a venereal disease, or raped and killed by a
maniac client.

Rose, whether because she was her
mother’s daughter or because she had her eyes open wide enough to
know these were real dangers, also shared these concerns . . .
privately. The two had a mildly amiable relationship. They spoke
each day and rarely argued. But Rose felt some sense of shame for
her profession, and her mother felt a sense of guilt for having
failed to show Rose there was a better way.

But tonight, none of that mattered, and
for the next three weeks none of that mattered, because Rose had
already decided that regardless of what happened during these three
weeks she was not going to set foot back into Warm Touch, as it was
usually called for short, since it seemed the clients were far more
interested in that than the Cold Drinks.

Maybe this was a singular opportunity
from heaven—an opportunity to slow down for a moment and reflect on
whether she did not already have enough money to seek a different
line of work. Perhaps she could start up a small business. Perhaps
she could pay for a private tutor or even go to college.
Perhaps—

They were at the door to their room and
entering. It was time to get back to her role, and she felt a surge
of happiness as she realized there were far worse men she could be
spending this time with.

To her surprise, David—which she
preferred over “Tats”—simply grabbed her hand, went to the bed, and
lay down next to her. Before they knew it, both were sound
asleep.

Chapter 35

Though Rose might never have guessed
it, when they awoke the next day Tats felt a strong dose of the
insecurity she felt, albeit of a different sort.

Would she deign to look in
my direction if I didn’t drop cash as casually as a used
newspaper?
he wondered, but quickly strove
to banish the insecurity from his mind.

A few days ago, you were in
a dark prison cell. Today, you have a beautiful woman next to you.
Tomorrow, maybe you’ll be dead. Don’t complicate your present good
fortune.

But then he wondered whether perhaps
Rose’s feelings were not the real reason for his current
angst.

How is Mr. Brass?

He usually didn’t worry about Mr.
Brass’s well-being, as doing so would have made him feel as foolish
as a private worrying about his general—notwithstanding the fact
Tats’ rank was more analogous to colonel—but no sooner had he asked
himself about Mr. Brass than he realized he was
concerned.

Mr. Brass was the reason he was lying
next to a beautiful woman rather than being enveloped in bitter
darkness in an unforgiving dungeon, with the prospect of being held
like a caged animal for the remainder of his youth, if not the rest
of his life. And surely, the police, if not the military, response
was going to be swift and ferocious after what he and Mr. Brass had
done to the police station.

But Mr. Brass, had told, rather than
asked, him to spend a three-week vacation in Sodorf City, and thus,
if Mr. Brass needed his help in Sivingdel, wasn’t that Mr. Brass’s
own fault?

“Babe?” Tats said to Rose.

“Yes?” she said, having also been long
awake and lying there in a state of nervous apprehension, now
realizing that, while being with an exclusive client for three
weeks might involve fewer sexual acts, it was in some ways more
emotionally taxing.

“Mind if I go outside and stretch my
legs for about an hour? I’ve got a lot on my mind. After that,
maybe we can just relax for the afternoon but do something special
in the evening.”

“You’re the customer,” she said in a
friendly tone, rather relieved to have an hour to herself and
hoping he might take even longer before returning. She was itching
to shower, and if she wasn’t mistaken the bathroom came equipped
with running water, a luxury she certainly didn’t have at
home.

Tats got dressed and headed
outside.

Chapter 36

Tats had mentioned to Mr. Brass during
casual conversation the little adventure he had when he went
looking for his sister and had told him that if he ever needed a
place for a good smoke or a little female companionship he would be
unlikely to leave disappointed if he visited the place Tats
had.

Tats decided that if Mr. Brass had
changed his mind about his three-week vacation, or if he simply
decided he himself should partake, Tats’ best luck in finding him
would probably be at Warm Touch, so he took off in that direction
walking on foot.

Righty had sent konulans out looking
for Tats last night the moment he concluded Mr. Hoffmeyer had to be
dealt with and fast. Knowing both Tats’ scent and appearance, the
extra tidbit that he was a little likelier than not to be visiting
a business establishment in the northeastern part of the city
almost made it too easy.

They saw Tats leaving hand in hand with
a gorgeous young lady and followed him to the hotel. They reported
back to Righty, who decided he should let Tats enjoy this night,
especially since it might be his last.

Early this morning, however, Righty had
set off for Sodorf City and begun circling the skies above the
hotel while Harold’s razor-sharp eyes were kept peeled waiting for
Tats to emerge, and the konulans provided additional
support.

Righty was beginning to think he would
spend the whole day in vain circling the skies while Tats stayed in
his little love nest, and he wasn’t about to go barging in—or was
he?

He really needed him, and the longer
the morning dragged on, he was beginning to consider buying a room
just so that he could pace up and down the halls hoping to bump
into him. Or perhaps he would put a konulan in his pocket and see
if it could follow Tats’ scent.

Fortunately, these drastic measures
were obviated when Harold told him, “He just stepped
outside.”

Righty almost told Harold to set him
down right then and there but quickly regained his
sanity.

“Is there any spot nearby where you can
set me down with minimal exposure?”

Harold’s eyes devoured the surrounding
terrain looking for any area sufficiently inconspicuous for a large
bird to suddenly dive straight into without drawing a crowd of
gawkers. It was an overcast day, and it appeared that either rain
from last night or the prospect of rain today had dissuaded the
construction workers from showing up to continue the additions
being made to the hotel.

Harold sent a konulan down there to
investigate, ordering him gruffly with quick chirps that were
nonsensical to Righty’s ears but that quickly resulted in prompt
action on the part of the konulan.

A few minutes later, the konulan
returned, assuring them the area was empty.

“Hang on,” he told Righty, who
immediately gripped the leather straps on Harold’s back for dear
life.

Harold headed behind the hotel and with
no warning immediately plunged straight down behind the
construction area, flaring his wings out and lifting his back up
towards the sky to decelerate around thirty feet from the ground,
after which he immediately entered the gloomy confines of the
construction area.

Righty slipped off his back, fighting
nausea, and told him to wait there.

He then took off on foot, wishing he
could run, but forcing himself to walk no faster than what one can
without arousing the suspicion he is a thief fleeing
justice.

He saw no sign of Tats but wasn’t too
surprised, given that he was approaching from behind and Tats had a
sizable head start on him. Righty scanned every passerby quickly,
certain that Tats would be doubling back to the hotel at some
point.

When he saw Tats from behind about ten
minutes later, he realized Tats must be on a rather lazy stroll. He
almost tapped him on the shoulder but decided against it when he
realized that might prompt a counterattack from the most likely
paranoid Tats.

Nor was calling out his name a surefire
way to approach him without risking undue alarm. Perhaps he might
mistake him for a policeman and sprint like mad.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said once he was
around a foot behind and three feet to Tats’ right, hoping the
space would be wide enough to prevent any disasters if Tats
unsheathed his sword, but close enough for Tats to know he was the
object of the address without needing to hear his name.

Tats turned quickly to the side in a
startled fashion, his left hand hovering near his waist area, the
probable refuge of some weapon, which made Righty glad he had
exercised prudence in his approach.

Tats’ eyes quickly bulged before
retaining their normal size so quickly all but the most observant
would have missed it.