Easter City (6 page)

  After that, there
were more witty remarks shot back and forth, but I wasn’t really
paying attention. I was thinking about the Devil kid and Sky,
wondering how the universe decided what life you’d be born into and
how it’d all pan out.
Maybe I was a bad
person in my past life…

 
I just stood there for a while, thinking about my dream and
what would happen when the show began. Then my bladder gave a
squeeze.

  I figured Joq would be fine having the
car loaded. I need to piss and I didn’t want to be all jittery when
Julia shoved her sword in my face.

CHAPTER 6

I wandered until I found the
bathroom; though the usher uniform blended me with the crowd, I
wasn’t comfortable asking Wealthy Devils directions—or, for that
matter,
any
adult.
I crossed the lobby a bunch of times, climbing staircases and
poking my head through any door that would open.

  A man bent over two escorts. “The fuck
man?” He cursed at me some more and threw a pillow. It hit the
frame and exploded in a feathery cloud. I jammed the door shut.

  Back down the hall, down the stairs,
up again. At the end of the lavish sheep-hair-carpeted corridor was
a small door with no window. A bunch of people were coughing behind
it. I cracked it, and caught a face full of smoke. I staggered
back, echoing the smokers, and turned.

  Another flight of
stairs, another corridor, another door—this one bigger than the
last two—with heavy grunting guttural groaning behind it.
Someone’s shitting their brain out.
I grinned, turned the knob and found myself
standing in a huge room with drapery and Egyptian-looking patterns
in gold leafing on the walls. Again, someone was bent over the bed
but, when my eyes adjusted to the candlelight, I saw that it was a
man. Another, bald, man who looked like a baby with glasses was
making himself welcomed in his partner’s crapper. The guy with the
glasses was so into his business, he didn’t notice me. His partner
spotted me after sustaining a particularly violent, head-jerking
thrust. His voice was muffled and he had to wriggle a little to get
the man-baby’s attention. The glasses guy turned, saw me, smiled
and spread his arms. “Here you are! We called room service an hour
ago. Get over here! Quick, kid, I still have some left—”

I slammed the door and bolted back to the
staircase. I went down a few more corridors and up a few more
flights, listening intently before I opened each door. Soon, I
found myself on the top floor. There were a lot of two-doored rooms
and some really expensive-looking furniture against the wall, and
abstract paintings that looked like the work of a blind artist with
Parkinson’s. At the end of the hall there was a window with a
cityscape view. Main Street glowed like a tar pit set ablaze under
rolling clouds. It was beautiful in a ‘the world is your ignoble
oyster’ way and I would have been captivated, but my groin was
aching.  

  I tried a promising chrome door and
found myself in a lounge with four chairs and a poker propped up
against the hearth of a crackling fire. The chairs were occupied by
four men with the same girth as Cranston’s movie director buddy and
there was an escort kneeling on a leopard skin rug at the center.
They were all fully dressed and didn’t notice me when I came in so
I opened the bathroom door, which was to my immediate right I
rushed in.

  I don’t remember taking a better piss.
All the edge—the fear of what lay in my future swirled down the
gold-rimmed bowl. I didn’t bother washing my hands. I stood there,
staring at my better half in the spotless mirror, until I heard the
men in the lounge shouting about something.

  There was a muffled scream.

  “Julia is my sister, you know. I will
have her inform Mr. El of your willfulness. You know him, I’m sure.
The gentleman with the handlebar mustache. He owns La Rouge.”

  I cracked the door,
thankful that it was one of the fancy ones with air-cushioned
hinges. When I stepped into the lounge I saw that the men were
hunched over. It looked like they were clawing at the
carpet.
What a bunch of weird
geezers
. I thought.

  One of the men flung a ripped dress
over his shoulder and the others followed suit. A pair of frilly
underwear—stockings—stilettoes; obviously, the escort wasn’t
wearing much. Usually I’d chalk up the behavior as an aggressive
fetish but like I said, these men were grossly huge and they were
all huddled on, suffocating her. And she was screaming.

  I edged toward the
fireplace heart pounding in my throat, and reached for the poker. I
looked at them. They were snorting
like
pigs slopping up a trough-full.

  The heat from the fire scorched my
back. The room got brighter, like I was looking at the sun through
a filter.

 
Now or not at all.

#

  I’d met an escort once. She’d been the
only kind person I’d met. She had brown hair and brown eyes and a
decently pretty face—nothing that set her apart from other escorts
in looks. She’d fed me one time and called me Nip, so I’d started
calling myself that.

  Now she was wavering over me in five
places at once. When her outlines coalesced I groaned, shook my
head and blinked at her.

“Hey.” It was a stupid thing to say, but
that’s what came to mind—at first. Then I remembered that I’d just
bludgeoned four men. There was none of that repressed memory
bullshit—no ‘Where am I? What happened?’ I remember beating those
guys to death, clear as day.

  I rolled on my side. The escort had
moved me near the bathroom but I could see across the lounge. The
piggish men were slumped over the leopard skin like bulging money
sacks. Their heads looked like bloody eggs—smooshed up on the tops,
with brain bits and rivulets of blood trickling down their cheeks.
I rolled back over and spewed.

  The escort massaged my shoulder and I
looked at her again.

She smiled. “Hey again,” she said. “How are
you, Nip?”

  I couldn’t take it. My stomach was
empty but I hurled again. My hands were numb and hot, at the same
time, from the blood on my fingertips. I felt drained, yet all I
wanted to do was run.

  I brushed aside her hand, stumbled to
my feet, and shot off. The door wouldn’t budge when I pulled, and
it took me a second to realize I had to push.

  My mind wasn’t in a blur or anything—I
knew that I was pelting through the corridor and that I was going
down a flight of stairs. The throbbing in my head faded with every
step and I started to feel empty, which wasn’t bad.

  When I got back to the staircase that
led into the lobby, I stopped, panting, and leaned over the
banister, hands clasped, eyes shut, like I was Hindu. I thought
about the escort. I’d wanted to get her name for some reason, when
I first met her. It felt right that I should know her name. I
should have stayed—talked to her. But I’d ran because I was trying
to escape the sight of fat death. The thought sent me reeling.

  I should have seen this coming and, in
a way, I had. I’d seen a bloody poker in my dream. Still, it could
have been a wine-dipped poker or me witnessing a murder.

  In any case I killed
them and when the show began, I would have to face Julia and leave
Joq to get away in the stolen car on his own. Maybe I didn’t
care
too
much about
what happened to Joq—I mean I’d been dreaming this night for the
past few days and I chose to come, out of curiosity, despite
knowing that I would leave Joq behind. But I’d had my fill of
surprises, and a hot meal and another solid night’s rest at the bar
was sounding pretty damn good when I thought about the chaos that
would inevitably ensue,
and
being spirited away by the man with the cane, to
who-knows-where.

  I still had a chance
to change the future.
Joq probably had the
car loaded.
I thought.
I’ll just go downstairs and we’ll get out of here before the
show. I can probably spot him from here—”
I
looked up from my hands. I tensed.

  In the lobby of La Rouge wine chuckled
in a fountain and its bonhomie taunted my ears. Frank Sinatra
serenaded a beggar kid on a lobby landing. I was frozen to the
banister. I opened my eyes. La Rouge lobby was an expanse of
unoccupied marble.

  I could hear applause, and the
resonance of a microphone in a nearby room. It was one of those
blank-brain moments where I was too shocked to be scared.

  I almost tripped
twice, dashing downstairs. When my feet
clapped off the last step, I spun around, trying to locate the
source of the sound, knowing it came from the auditorium. I
probably looked like one of those Main Street druggies,
slip-sliding around the lobby. Past the restaurant—back to the
other side to open a locked door. I was loud about it, so it was no
wonder that a few minutes later, there were footsteps on the stairs
and a man in a uniform hissing at me. “Usher! Where the hell have
you been?” He had a throaty accent.

  I didn’t register what he was saying
until about the third yank. I whirled to face him. He was shouting
that he wasn’t paying me to screw around and how he’d be halving my
salary. I guess the guy was supposed to be my boss, but he was
wearing an outfit that looked just like mine. Maybe the handlebar
mustache gave him superior rank.

  Anyway, when I didn’t respond, he
accused me of being a ‘speed demon’—my eyes were probably wild and
red and big as bulbs—and grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged
me across the hallway to a set of doors under the staircase that I
had overlooked.

  He was about to open them but, just
then, there was a resounding knock on glass. We looked at the lobby
doors. It was dark outside and snowing heavy, but by the
streetlights, I saw a pair of squat redheads with their fathers. I
thought the kids looked a little battered—the fathers, a little
more than pissed.

  My boss looked
outside, squinted, frowned and pushed me toward the auditorium
door. “Allé!
Go
!”
he shouted, and sped off to let them in. I watched him before
sealing my fate in the auditorium. His pants were really tight and
his butt looked like an ‘escort’s’ and the way he was fast walking
made it look like a curtain pole was stuck up his ass. I chuckled
softly, suppressed the overwhelming urge to scream and drop to my
knees and sob, and opened the door.

  The auditorium was just how I dreamt
it: brocade curtains drawn back—Julia in her blood dress, her
assistant twirling her around the stage. The room was dark and
Julia had the audience’s attention so I slipped in, unnoticed.

  Someone flashed a dim light at me at
the back of the theater and I followed it blindly, picking up my
pace when I saw that it was Joq. He was seated off to a corner of
the room against the back wall. I waded through rows of Wealthy
Devils—most of whom pushed me and cursed at me to get out of the
way. When I broke through the aisles I hurried toward Joq.

  He stood but sat down again when I
took the seat next to him, and flash his light in my face.

  “‘ere ‘e ‘is! The axis o’ the world,
this one! Where’ve you been, Nipple? I loaded the car by meself,
an’ I’ve been stuck usherin’. Not that I mind helpin’ these
generous wealthy folk to their seats, but that frog-lookin’ manager
was all over me delicate ass when you didn’t show!” He patted his
bulging watch pocket. “A lot of tips, these people give. Show’s not
‘alf bad either! Cranston’s been trainin’ this one well, ‘e ‘as.”
He pointed the flashlight handle at Julia, who was getting into a
curtained rolling cart. “We might can stay to watch the rest, yeah?
Who knows when we’ll get to see the Mystical Julia again—”

  The light swept my hands. I saw Joq’s
pale lids for a moment, then he looked at me. He sounded choked up.
“‘ere, Nipple… What’s—er—what’s that? It’s not blood, is it? I felt
a tear slide down my cheek which was enough to make Joq click off
his light and sigh and rub a hand across his face. “You er—that
is—where ‘ave you been! What ‘ave…I mean! You know what this means,
Nip! You can’t kill a Wealthy Devil! It’s—”

  “Joq.” My voice was hoarse and my
hands were trembling like leaves in autumn. “Joq we’ve got to get
out of here.”

Go Joq shook his head and said, “You’re
right. We have to leave.” There was no trace of accent in his
quavering voice. “But we can’t make a scene, yeah? Okay, Nip?
Everything’ll be alright, yeah? We’ll just leave and go to the bar
and...”

  I shook my head. “It’s not, Joq…
Nothing’s going to be alright!”

  Julia was unsheathing her sword and
licking it doing this weird dance that earned her deafening
applause.

  Joq’s eyes focused and his mouth was a
hard line. “We’ll go now, Nip. We’ll walk out, and dodge the
manager. We’re friends. I’ll get you out of this.”

  And then the double doors banged open
and lobby light pierced the auditorium. The man with the handlebar
mustache and the bruised kids and their fathers were silhouetted in
the frame.
                                                              

  The music scratched off and there was
an uproar.

  Joq gasped. “It’s them. Nip, it’s the
snot nosed kids I wasted!”