by C. L. Stone
One Greedy Fool
AS OREN
1
I stand from my desk, and raise my arms over my head for a long back stretch and a gratifying sigh. Slow paperwork shifts at Mologan’s always take it out of me, and the pay-- well it’s not worth all the lower back breaking I do for it. I’m lucky if I get two square meals a day with what I make. A place to live is out of the question. At least for now--in twenty-six months it will all be worth it. I can take the test to become an official P.I. when I’m twenty-five in the state of New York, but since I don’t have decades as a cop, I need to intern under Mologan for three years as well. I’ve already been at it for a year now. He doesn’t need to pay me at all, but I’m glad he does, or I wouldn’t eat. I couch surf as it is. Motels, as slimy as most of them are, aren’t worth the twenty bucks a night to sleep in a roach-infested room. I have better luck taking someone’s floor for free, or even a good tunnel on a bad night. My lower back cracks as I bend down to pick up my backpack and jacket off the floor. “M, I’m headed out. See you in the morning!” My voice echoes in the tiny office, hopefully reaching Mologan behind his door with the classic pane of frosted glass—Mologan Private Investigator painted in black on it. “Hang on, girly!” His grunts come through the door before he opens it. I sigh. “But I finished all the filing, and I mailed out those letters to catch that girl’s father. The answering machine has been set with the message if we get a call.”
His beer belly pushes against the confines of his striped buttoned-down shirt and jeans. He reaches into his back-pocket and pulls out his worn brown wallet with the frayed edges. “I know, I know. You’re a good intern, Hope.” He takes out a twenty and shoves it into my hands. "I know it ain't much, but hopefully it can get you something to eat on the way home, or help pay for a cab." Mologan doesn't know I'm homeless. I'm sure if he did he would try to offer me more money, but he's a small-time P.I. catching people having affairs, and parents for orphans that want to know where they come from. He doesn't get the type of high-end clients that make thousands of dollars a week just for breathing, never having to lift a finger to do actual work in their lives. Because of all of that, I showed up at his door and asked him to be my mentor. Maybe through him I'll learn how to find my parents one day, and then I won't feel like there's a part of me missing, an important part that could show me the side of the world I only know a little bit about, the supernatural side. I shove the twenty into my pocket. At least I can buy a sandwich and a soda from the gas station later, probably tomorrow. I already ate once today. I need to make my money last longer. "Thanks, M, you're too good to me. But I do think I'll need to get a night job soon. You know how rent is in this town. I can't keep having my parents pay for it."
He nods, and glances to the ground. "Yeah, I'll keep an eye out for you, both in the supernatural world and here. We should be able to find you something with a graveyard shift."
My eyes widen. "Do you really think I would be able to have a job doing something in the supernatural world? I don't know much about it all. I've visited some of the shops you told me about, but I don't know anything, I don't even know who to turn to for guidance."
He slaps me on the shoulder as I look up into his watery-green eyes. "Of course you could. You're a Fae, aren't you?"
I shrug. "I don't even know what that means. I mean, I had a person in my past tell me something about it, but my parents have never said anything." A foster parent of mine once told me I was a Fae because my skin sparkled with a pink when I was laughing and having fun in the sun. He frowns, but nods. "Sometimes, when Norm genetics pollute the gene pool too much, things like Faes get washed out, and the bloodline forgets who they actually are and where they came from. You'll figure it out. I promise, you just have to get more into the supernatural world. Meet another Fae that can teach you things. It shouldn't be too hard to find someone. Faes are all over the place. New York's a mecca for all things supernatural."
I nod. "I know. What are you again?"
He grins and puffs out his broad chest. "I am a bear shifter. Not to be confused with the werebears, who shift against their will during the winter months. Poor bastards are cursed. I come from the pure bloodline." I have no idea what he's talking about. "Okay. Well, I should go if I want to catch my train."
He moves out of my way. "See you in the morning, Hope." I smile before leaving . The cold air of dusk hits me in the face as I exit the little building he rents out for his business that’s shared with a quickie-mart and a nail salon. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my contacts. I try not to stay at one place more than twice a month. I never ask for food, just a place to sleep, but I don't want any of my friends to ever feel like they need to let me stay with them. Ziggy. I haven't talked to him in a while. I'm sure he'd let me stay at his place in exchange for some work, delivering some weed to someone, or something. We met in a foster home, one of those families that takes kids in just for the money from the government and treat the kids like a mini sweat-shop. We learned to look out for each other, for a while we were both dealing in the drug scene, but I got out soon after I learned what a P.I. was and that I couldn't have a record if I wanted to be one. Ziggy stayed in. He makes good money, enough to pay for a three-bedroom apartment that runs him a couple grand per month. I hold the phone to my ear. "Sin! What up, baby girl? It's been a while." Ziggy's voice booms in my ear. I hold the phone away from me. Rap music plays in the background, as people talk. "Yeah, I know. I've missed you. I've been busy with this internship thing. Lots of paperwork to do. Hey, I was wondering if I could come crash on your floor for the night. I'll do an errand for you, or something, in return."
His voice gets farther away as he talks to someone else. I inch the phone closer to my ear. "Yeah, of course, Sin. You know I've always got your back! C'mon over. I'm sure I could find something for you to do. My floor ain't that expensive."
I grin. "Thanks, Zigs. I'll be there in an hour. Just have to catch the train."
"Sure." He hangs up. I sigh and grab my headphones. I shove them into my ears and play Smile by Nat King Cole on my phone. People won't try to talk to me if they think I can't hear them. The walk to the subway chills my face to the bone, but at least I have a jacket this year that I can plunge my hands into. I descend the stairs into the subway and swipe my card to get through the turnstile. At least the line I need to catch isn't too far away. My fingers tighten around the straps of my backpack. It's needed if I don't want anyone to grab it while I'm standing here. I just wish I had gloves to cover my hands from the cold. The train I need comes to a stop in front of me, and I step on. People crowd everywhere, of course, it's rush hour. Everyone's either getting off work for the night, or getting ready to go party with their friends. I find a place away from the door. I'm too short to reach the bracers, and I'm not going to ask someone to move from their seat so I don't fall down. Men and women tower over me, but I've gotten used to being shorter than average. Four-foot eleven isn't so bad, I just need to get creative in order to reach some things. With a sigh I change my music over to some lighter piano songs and pull my backpack around to rest in front of my body with my arms around it. I don't need some joker trying to sneak into my bag and steal something while he thinks I'm not paying attention. I sway with the rhythm of the songs and keep my eyes trained on the door. I can't people watch, one of them might think I want to talk and try to spark up a conversation. Usually, those people are either transplants from another state or country, or they have lost their marbles long ago, and just want to tell anyone who will listen that they think God is talking to them. Three stops later, and I can get off. I take a deep breath in. The scent of stale urine and garbage fills my lungs, but it doesn’t faze me much anymore. I've been riding the train since I was seven, but I still haven't gotten over the slight claustrophobic sensation I get in my chest with every ride. I quicken my steps toward the stairs out of the subway. Ziggy doesn't live in the most welcoming place in the city. It's ripe with gang activity, and men who would wan
t to snatch a girl like me up to do tricks for him while he feeds me heroin or coke. No thank you. I've worked hard all my life to stay out of that ring of hell. It wasn't easy at times. There were a few foster parents that tried it with me, but I'd always run away, and stay gone until the system would find me again, and I would be given a new case worker. Streetlights flicker as I cross underneath them. People crowd the sidewalks, some panhandlers, some prostitutes. Others gang members with the butt of a gun sticking out of their underwear as their jeans sag underneath their ass. I never saw how showing the world their boxers could be seen as intimidating and thug-like. I always thought the old mobsters and gangs seventy years ago were scarier with their suits, and well-dressed demeanour. Hell, even the guys below them wore better clothes--simple shirts, and suspenders. What's happened to the dignity in America?
I reach Ziggy's apartment building and ring the buzzer for him to let me in. Several of the guys he runs with stand around the stoop. They watch me, giving me leering smiles. They know better than to try and mess with me. Ziggy made it clear to all his guys that I'm off limits.
The door buzzes in return, and I open it with haste, getting away from the men as fast as I can. I ascend the open, concrete stairs to the fifth level and bang on the door for apartment 520. A woman opens the door. She towers over me like some kind of amazon. Her eyes survey me as I do the same to her: black hair styled in a trimmed afro, neon green bra, black mini skirt, and six-inch leopard print stilettos. She must be one of Ziggy's working girls. She pops her gum. "Yeah?"
I lift an eyebrow. She must not know who I am. I push past her and into the apartment. "Watch it, midget bitch!"
I go into his living room. Ziggy sits at his long, black leather couch watching some nature documentary. Several guys sit around the room, along with a couple more scantily clad women. A couple kilos of pot rests in a pile on the coffee table in front of him. The men work to weigh and bag it. Weed isn't the only thing he deals in. I'm actually surprised it's not blow. It’s some dank shit this time, too. I’m shocked I couldn’t smell it in the hall walking up here. Been around it too long, my nose doesn’t even register it anymore. He sees me and stands. "Sin!" He comes to me and picks me up for a hug. "Good to see you!"
"Zig! That cunt pushed me out of the way!" The woman from the door’s whining voice rides over the screaming baboons from the TV. He puts me down and goes to her; the back of his hand strikes her across the face. "You will show Sin the same respect you show me, bitch!" She stumbles back on her heels and holds her face. Her brown eyes glare at me. I just turn away. I don't feel too bad. She shouldn't have gone and run her mouth. "Sin is like a little sister to me. We've been family since we were kids, got that? She'll always be above you."
Regardless of his speech, that doesn't mean he hasn't tried to turn me into one of his working girls. I could make lots of money with the men who have a short fetish. I decked him when he suggested it. Gave him a nice, plump shiner. Normally, that would get one of his people killed, but he just smiled, and never tried to turn me into a street walker for him again. "Sit, Sin." He snaps his fingers at one of the other girls. "Diamond, go and get her one of the leftover burgers from the fridge."
I shake my head. "No, that's okay, Ziggs, I ate before I came here. Mologan gave me some cash for dinner."
He grins at me and shakes his head. "Shut up, girl. Even without that puffy, black thing hiding your body, I can tell you haven't eaten regularly for a while. You should just crash here all the time. I'd feed you and keep you safe, you know that." I shake my head. "I'm good. You know I don't like to impose. I get food every day. I should be getting a night job soon, then I'll be able to pay for a room somewhere. No need to worry about me."
He flops onto the couch. "Sin, you could never, what’s that word you used, impose? You could never do that to me."
The white, skinny assed girl comes back with the burger. I take it. If I turn him down again, he'll get mad and I need a place to sleep tonight. He slaps the girl on her ass. "Get her somethin' to drink, Diamond. Didn't your mama ever teach you manners? She likes the strawberry Fanta, remember that."
She jumps, but smiles sheepishly at me. Holes sit where several of her front teeth should be, and the rest appear yellow or blackened. Must've been into smoking meth for a while now. I can't even tell how old she's supposed to be. In a flash she hands me a glass bottle of Fanta. "Here ya go, sorry about forgettin' it, Sin."
"Thanks, and call me Hope. Most people do."
Ziggy shakes his head. "I don't know why you don't let people call you by your real name."
I scrunch my nose up at him as I unwrap the burger. "Sincerity? No thank you. I much rather go by Hope. You're the only one that's allowed to call me Sin anymore."
He lifts an eyebrow. "What? Kiefer doesn't call you Sin still?"
I shake my head. "Not since he became a cop. He tried to call me Sincerity after he got out of the academy. I decked him. So now he calls me Hope, along with everyone else."
He laughs and rubs at his cheek. "I remember how your punches feel. I don't blame him. Good for nothing loser. "
I don't think Keifer and Ziggy will ever be friends again. Not with one of them trying to become a drug lord while the other works homicide as a cop. They're basically mortal enemies now, when we used to be the three musketeers of Queens. I take several bites of my burger, watching the TV as four lionesses take down a zebra and the narrator explains that this will be the pride’s first big meal in five days.
"Can we watch something else, boss? This nature shit is boring." One of his men, I think his street name is Sledge, complains as he weighs out the pot and hands it to another guy to bag.
Ziggy glares at him. "You don't like what I'm watchin' you can stand guard at the door outside, and send T-boy up here to do your job. Watch it, you might learn something. Nature is savage, just like life. The animals teach us how to rule the kingdom too."
Sledge shuts up. I peer at Ziggy from the corner of my eye. He has the same air around him that Mologan does. Could he be a shifter of some kind, too? He runs a hand over his cornrows and grins at me. "I know you like this nature stuff, too, Sin. You get it."
I nod. "I much rather watch this than some basketball game." I crumple up the burger wrapper and stand to take it to the kitchen. "So what do you want in exchange for me sleeping here tonight?" He shakes his head. "Nothing tonight. I may have you take some weed back with you tomorrow. I have a guy by your job that wants a quarter." I curl up on the couch. "No problem. I just can't get arrested, okay? So no hard stuff."
He nods. "I know, I know. You need a squeaky clean record to become a detective. Why do you want to be that again?"
I shrug. "I want to be able to find my parents. I don't have the money to pay a P.I. to do it for me, so I might as well learn how to do it myself. The plus side is that I can make a career out of it and help other people like us find out who gave birth to them. I have so many questions, and my parents are the only people that have the answers."
He sits forward and takes my Fanta. He drinks from it before handing it to me. "I don't know if I would ever want to see my parents again. I sorta remember them, and they were assholes. I'm glad I got put into the system. Probably be dead now if they raised me."
I take a sip from the drink. "Yeah, I can get that. But I don't remember anything before the age of five. If my parents had been taking care of me up until that point, wouldn't I remember at least something about them?"
The guy next to Sledge opens his mouth. "Maybe you don't remember them because they were fucked up bastards and you blocked it out. I had a counsellor once tell me I did that. Can't remember anything before I went to juvie at nine. Best year of my life."
Wow, his life must've been bad if juvie was the best year of his life. The intercom buzzes, someone wants in. "Uh, Boss, Marcus is here to see you." One of the guy’s voices from downstairs fills the room, but also far away, as if he's speaking through a long tunnel. "Shit! Fuck!" Ziggy stands from t
he couch. I reach for my bag. I already know what's coming. "Sin, you gotta get out of here, he doesn't need to know you're part of my crew, got it? Sorry. I'll make it up to you."
I shake my head. "It's okay. I get you. I'll call you in a few days."
Marcus, the current Kingpin for New York. Soon, he'll be known everywhere throughout the US as ruthless and the only man to go to for drugs. His name often has a list of people who've died at his hand for crossing him. I rather not have him know who I am. I set my bottle down on the table.
"I'll go down through the fire escape. Thanks for the food."
He nods. "Sure. Make sure to keep in touch, or I'll have my guys come kidnap you for a dinner date." I smile and shake my head, exiting through the living room window and onto the fire escape. I get down one flight before yelling comes from Ziggy's apartment. What did he do? He better keep his ass safe.
Once on the broken asphalt of the alleyway, I dig out my phone again. Keifer's working the graveyard shift, so he's out. Monica and Lauren will be at their dancer jobs. And the rest of my contacts I don't trust enough to sleep around. I check the time. "Nearly nine. Mologan should've locked up and headed off to the bar by now." Good thing I have a key to his place. I'll sleep under my desk and change clothes before he gets in. I jump as something lands on the ground next to me, just missing the dumpster to my right. Curiosity gets the better of me. I go to it, a paper, Super Daily. It's one of the papers for supernatural beings. Mologan reads it all the time. Norms just see it as a conspiracy gossip rag. At least, that's what he told me. I never saw it as anything else until he told me the truth. Picking it up, I walk to the streetlight on the corner so I can read it better. My breath comes out as foggy billows. The temp has dropped even more since I showed up at Ziggy's. The paper's turned to the business section. The headline reads: