Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Yeah, all of it. Gore everywhere. It was like everyone who ever ate at Marjory’s barfed it all up in one place.”
“Nice.”
The parsley and other herbs go into the walk-in cooler. In here, Gerry’s blather is muted. I can barely make out the sounds—just that he’s talking.
“—He was staring straight up to the sky. It was freaky, man. You ever see a dead person?”
Last night. I make a sound in the back of my throat. It’s enough to set my co-worker off again.
“Right. Anyway, whoever shot him was long gone, so we did a field strip. Took his belt, shoes, glasses. I sold those glasses on the street for 10 bucks. Pretty great, eh?”
“Like you found a lottery ticket,” I say. It occurs to me that if anyone would know about where the girl came from, it’d be Gerry.
“You hear anything about a runaway? A kid?” I ask him, helping him finish with the flour and sugar.
His brows beetle together. “Like a new recruit for Beefer?”
“No. Like a…street kid.”
Gerry continues to appear puzzled. “Don’t know of anyone new. There are some funny talkers”—that’s what Gerry calls foreigners—“but they’re always in and out.”
Is that what she is? A refugee? A foreigner? Nah, she doesn’t talk with any kind of accent. And she understands me just fine.
“You see something?”
I place the last of the lemons into the bin and then bend down to gather up the empty cardboard boxes. I gesture for Gerry to open the door for me.
“Did you?” he presses.
“I thought I saw someone the other day who I didn’t recognize, but when I went back the kid was gone.”
“Where was it?”
“Over on M.”
“By the Stop and Shop?”
“Yup,” I lie.
“Probably some rat from the subway. There’re kids who live down there. They got the weird eyes and everything.” He shudders. “They freak me out. So you going to do wet work from now on?”
“Does it look like it?” I ask, punching the boxes flat.
Gerry picks up a rock and chucks it down the alley. “I guess not. If I was doing wet work, I wouldn’t be hauling trash at Marjory’s. I’d be sitting in the front of the house, eating linguini and getting prime pussy.”
“Ger, you wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy if it came up and sat itself on your mouth.” I dust my hands off on my jeans. If Gerry has been within sniffing distance of a real live girl’s snatch, I’ll eat the boxes I just tossed into the recycler.
He flushes “Fuck you, Monkey. Like you’ve punched that V-card. I’ve had plenty of pussy. I’m getting pussy every weekend. I have to beat the bitches off.”
I shrug and walk away. Where Ger sticks his dick doesn’t interest me.
I’ve been gone for three hours. The girl was sleeping when I left, but I placed a bowl of cereal on the floor with a note that there was milk in the refrigerator. I figure if she can clean herself, she can pour milk into a bowl. I was doing it at five, wasn’t I? Still, I need to get back to her.
Keeping her safe is becoming important to me. More important than most things.
I don’t know why, but I’m not sure the why matters.
4
Leka
“Speaking of prime pussy, look who's coming our way,” Ger exclaims.
I glance up to see Mary Shaughnessy saunter into the stockroom with a half-full pitcher of coffee in one hand and a carry out container in the other. Mary, tall and curvy, is one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen in real life. According to the other birds, all those pretty things are courtesy of Beefer’s wallet. Her nose, chest, lips and ass have all been under the needle or knife. Whatever. It looks good.
“Hey, sweetheart, Carl wanted me to give this to you.” She flashes me a smile as she hands me the white styrofoam container. She’s also one of the few that call Beefer by his first name.
“What is it?” Ger asks, crowding over my shoulder.
She bends down to tap Ger on the nose. He flushes the same red shade as her lipstick. “Now, if Carl wanted you to know, he wouldn’t have put it in a box, would he?”
Ger’s eyes fall to the ground. “Guess not.”
“Carl needs a coffee refill. Could you do that for me?” She hands him the coffee pot.
He dawdles for a moment, clearly not wanting to leave and miss out on whatever Mary wants to tell me without Ger hearing.
“Ger,” I say tersely. You don’t keep Beefer waiting for anything. The last time one of us rats made him wait, Beefer beat the shit out of the kid. The kid, Loose-lipped Lou, couldn’t see straight for a week after.
Ger gives me the stink-eye but takes the pot and skedaddles out front.
“That was nice and commanding of you,” Mary coos. She doesn’t need to bend down to tap me on the nose. I realize I’m almost as tall as she is. Too bad. I kinda liked it when I was boob high.