Ribbons

by Evans, J R

  Amber closed the door as she eyed the armload of fast-food. “Your eyes might be bigger than your stomach.”

  “I sure hope so,” said Christy. “If I eat one of these things, I’ll just want to sit on the couch all night and binge-watch teen dramedies.” She offered the bag to Amber. “Can you help me out and eat a handful of fries?”

  Amber took the bag and looked inside. “Of course.”

  Christy rearranged the drinks in her arms to improve the odds that they might all survive the trip to the break room. “I’m sure Adam’s starving. Things went a bit late with Erica.”

  Between fries, Amber asked, “How is she? Is she coming in?”

  “I don’t think so. Not tonight. Is it busy?”

  “Not too bad. No requests for latex yet. Are you working?”

  “Yeah,” said Christy, “in just a bit. I need to make sure Adam eats at least one of these burgers. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Amber handed the bag back and licked the salt off her fingers. “Okay, I’ll let the girls know. Thanks for the lard.”

  Christy continued her balancing act down the hallway. She felt a little self-conscious as she passed by the open doorway to the parlor. Smuggling in that many calories might ruin the illusion of a sophisticated house of ill repute. As promised, it wasn’t too crowded and nobody saw her sneak by. When she got to the break room, she pushed down on the handle with her elbow and then bumped the door open with her hip.

  Instead of finding Adam pretending to do homework in front of the TV, she found Matt’s new partner. Actually, they had never been properly introduced. Matt just referred to him as Thug Guy. Right now, Thug Guy had a magnifying glass held up to one eye that made it look freakishly huge. He was using it to look at the tip of a hot-glue gun.

  Christy started to back out the door again, hoping he hadn’t noticed her.

  He did notice her. “You are not looking for me, I guess?”

  Christy stopped backing out and put on a fake smile. “No. Have you seen Matt? I’m running a bit late.”

  Thug Guy looked over the rim of his magnifying glass at her. “Late for dinner?”

  “I’m covering for Erica,” Christy said. “She’s out . . . sick.”

  A bead of glue was starting to form at the tip of the glue gun. “I’m sure she is out sick a lot,” said Thug Guy. “Have not seen him. Maybe is hiding in playhouse again.”

  “He was looking in on Adam for me.”

  “Like good pimp.”

  Thug Guy brought the tip of the glue gun down to something on the table. Something covered in black feathers.

  “He’s trying to take care of us, so we can do our jobs,” said Christy. That’s when she realized what the thing on the table was. The body of a large black bird lay on its side. Thug Guy was placing a drop of glue in its empty eye socket. Christy’s fake smile melted into disgust. “What are you doing?”

  Thug Guy answered without looking up. “Arts and crafts.” He carefully pressed a black glass ball into the glue. He lifted the bird a little so she could see its new eye. “The eyes give it life.”

  “You didn’t have to kill it in the first place,” she said.

  “No,” said Thug Guy. “But now it is . . . uh . . . immortal?”

  “We eat in here, you know. And Adam does his homework at that table. Your hobby isn’t exactly kid-friendly.”

  Thug Guy turned the body over and angled his glue gun down at the other eye socket.

  “My father taught me when I was boy,” he said. “We spent summers in cabin. We would hunt and collect mushrooms. It remind me of him.”

  “Oh,” said Christy. “Where is he now?”

  “He is buried behind cabin,” said Thug Guy. He tapped in the other glass eye and stood the bird up to look at it. He gave a slight nod and turned the bird toward her. “Is not creepy. His heart gave up. He would want to rest there.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was the smell of the glue or the smell of the bird, but she was quickly losing her appetite.

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, if you see Matt, tell him I’m looking for him.”

  Thug Guy put down his glue gun as Christy backed out into the hallway. Adam was probably still out in his clubhouse, so she figured she would check there first. If Matt wasn’t there, she would head up to his office.

  She made it as far as the VIP room before she felt a hand on her shoulder. She could tell by the meaty grip that it was Thug Guy’s.

  “You leave so quick,” he said. “Let me help carry things.”

  His accent made it hard to tell whether he was actually concerned or just looking for an excuse to touch her. She turned to look at him, and it became pretty clear it was the latter.

  “That’s all right. I got it,” said Christy.

  He didn’t move his hand. “So you only need Matt’s help?”

  She shrugged out of his grip and took a step back. “I can manage on my own.”

  That made him mad, and he stopped pretending to be helpful. He shot out an arm and grabbed her wrist. One of the drinks fell to the ground, and the lid popped off. There was a slosh of thick white liquid as vanilla shake pooled on the floor.

  “To me, it seems you should take all help you can get,” said Thug Guy.

  Her bag dropped as she tried to pull away. It didn’t work. “Let go!”

  He leaned in close until he was almost nose to nose with her. Now he looked more amused than angry. “You know, me and Matt, we like partners. This make me your boss, too.”

  Christy met his gaze. She was sure she looked angry. “He never said that.”

  “I am saying that.” He cocked his head slightly.

  Christy stopped trying to pull his wrist away. Instead, she let her hand drop down by her purse. She kept staring at him while she reached inside and felt around for her can of pepper spray.

  “That’s not the way it works,” she said.

  The last two drinks hit the floor as he pushed her up against the VIP room door. He pressed his body against her, pinning her in place. When she felt a bulge grind up against her hip, she pulled out the spray.

  Thug Guy glanced down toward his crotch and then back up at her. “I can feel it working—”

  Suddenly she was falling backward. Thug Guy fell with her and seemed just as surprised as she was. They landed on the VIP room floor. She probably would have been fine if there hadn’t been a big pile of thug on top of her. As it was, she landed hard, and her breath was knocked out of her. Thug Guy recovered more quickly and was up on one knee before Christy could see straight again.

  The door closed them in the room. Thug Guy stood up, and Christy took the opportunity to scoot away from him. Somehow, she managed to keep hold of the pepper spray. The lights were on but they were dim, casting the corners of the room in shadows, which is how most clients liked it. She didn’t see any clients or any of the other girls in here, though. Instead, she saw Adam. He was standing by the closed door, and he had a blade to his throat. Panic rushed through her in a sickening pulse.

  “Hi,” said a voice. “Is this yours?”

  Behind Adam was a man that Christy thought she must know. He seemed so familiar.

  Adam swallowed hard. “Mom. It’s him. That guy they’re looking for.”

  Christy’s stomach roiled. This was the nightmare that crept into parents’ minds when they watched their children sleeping: What if my child was in an accident? What if he was abducted? What if his life was threatened? What would I do?

  The fear flooding through her body wouldn’t let her think of any answers.

  The man looked at Christy. “We heard you two bickering out in the hallway. Adam, here, said you were his mother.”

  Thug Guy straightened himself up and stared at the man. “Who is this?”

  “His name’s Foster,” said Adam. “He’s—”

  Foster tightened his grip on Adam and held the box cutter up to his nose. “Shh.”

  “Okay,” said Thug Guy. “Foster, is it? You are makin
g mistake. My name is—”

  Foster cut him off, too. “You aren’t needed here.”

  Thug Guy’s hands turned into fists. “Oh? Is this true?” He tipped his head from one side to the other, his neck making popping sounds. He looked like a boxer about to step into the ring. Before Christy could tell him not to, Thug Guy moved forward.

  “Yes,” said Foster. The simple word was punctuated by his hand slashing out with the box cutter.

  At first Christy thought he’d missed. Thug Guy stopped moving and looked confused. She didn’t see the cut until he tried to turn his head. Then a gush of blood sprayed up at an angle into the air. Thug Guy watched it with fascination. A second gush shot out before Thug Guy thought to cover his neck with his hands. Christy watched as blood flooded out between his fingers. He took a step back. Then a step forward. He tried to say something, but that just made bubbles come out of his neck. His hat fell off as he collapsed to the floor. The pale bird skull attached to it stared up at Christy.

  “That was . . . easy,” said Foster.

  “What did you do?” asked Christy.

  Foster looked at her. He gestured with his knife as he talked. “He didn’t matter. You. You matter.”

  Adam was staring wide-eyed at the body on the ground. There was a line of blood splatter across his cheek.

  Christy held out her hands in front of her. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

  Foster pointed his box cutter at one of her hands. “Well, you can start by dropping that. It looks dangerous.”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but then she realized he was pointing to the pepper spray she was holding in a trembling hand. It seemed like a toy now. She dropped it, and it rolled away into the shadows.

  Foster nodded toward the black leather bench in front of the St. Andrew’s Cross. “Is that a bed?”

  “Kind of,” said Christy.

  “Please have a seat,” said Foster.

  The pool of blood around Thug Guy was starting to spread out across the floor. Foster shuffled Adam a couple of steps to the side to avoid getting it on their shoes.

  Christy stood up on shaking legs. It took her a second to get her balance before she made her way to the bench. “Look, you can have anything you want. Just let him go.”

  Foster returned the blade to the soft spot under Adam’s chin. “I think the only way I’m going to get what I want is by keeping him here. Now take off your clothes.”

  “Please,” said Christy. “Not with him here.”

  “It will be worse if I have to cut them off you.”

  Christy forced herself to look at Adam and tried to sound reassuring. “Don’t look, honey.”

  Adam’s eyes drifted across the room like he was taking it in for the first time. “He’s not alone.”

  “Shh. Honey, don’t make him mad.”

  Foster looked down at Adam. He didn’t seem mad. He seemed curious. “No. It’s all right. Who do you see?”

  “That woman,” said Adam. “Your mother. Only . . .”

  Adam didn’t finish. His eyes started to flutter like they did before one of his episodes. Christy felt a tear sting her cheek. Not now! But then she thought, Maybe it’s for the best.

  Foster took away the knife and turned Adam’s chin to look at him. “Only what?”

  Adam’s eyes stopped fluttering. They snapped wide open. “She doesn’t look at you the way my mom looks at me.”

  “How does she look at me?”

  “The same way men do when they see the women here. She looks hungry.”

  34

  Matt watched Amber as she stripped off her bra for one of the customers. He wasn’t trying to be a perv; he was just looking for a chance to ask her a question. Her customer was an older man who had those cool white streaks in his hair along his temples. That and the goatee made him look like he could be a Bond villain, especially if he had a cool accent. Matt hadn’t heard him speak yet, though.

  The man was sitting in an armchair in the parlor. He had Amber all to himself. The only other customers were being served shots by a naughty cheerleader at the bar. The man held up a twenty-dollar bill and raised an eyebrow. Amber raised an eyebrow of her own and leaned toward him. She used her hands to squeeze her breasts together around the bill. Then she straddled his lap and pressed herself against him while she made a little moan into his ear. Matt took that opportunity to come up behind the chair and ask his question.

  He tried to just mouth the words, exaggerating each one and using vague hand gestures. Have you seen Christy?

  That seemed to work because she straightened up and said, “Yeah, she was looking for you, actually. She’s probably in the break room with Adam.” She used her regular speaking voice, which made Matt feel like he was being a dork.

  “Okay, thanks,” said Matt. The gentleman underneath Amber turned his head to look at him. Matt took a step back. “Oh, sorry.”

  “This is Sam,” said Amber. “He’s been around awhile.”

  “Don’t mind me,” said Sam. “I’m just here for the show.”

  Matt was a little disappointed that he didn’t have a British accent, or at least a German one.

  Amber swung a leg around so that she was sitting in Sam’s lap instead of straddling it. “She brought you a burger. And a shake.”

  Apparently, this was turning into a conversation.

  “That was nice of her,” said Matt.

  Amber traced one finger along Sam’s shirt collar. “You know what that means don’t you?”

  “She’s trying to give me diabetes?” asked Matt.

  “It means she was thinking about you,” said Amber.

  Matt waved it off. “It’s just a shake.”

  Sam tilted his head and looked at him like he was a child. “It’s never just a shake.”

  “Sorry?” asked Matt.

  “A burger? Maybe that’s just a kind gesture,” said Sam. “Picking up dinner for the boss to put him in a good mood. But she bought you a shake. A shake. She had to think about what kind of man you are. Vanilla? Chocolate? Strawberry? That choice says a lot about your character. And a lot about what she thinks of you.”

  Matt gave Amber a sideways glace. “Does it?”

  Amber nodded like it was obvious.

  Sam continued his lecture. “Hell yeah, it does. What’s your favorite?”

  “I don’t know,” said Matt. “Vanilla?”

  “Is that a question?” asked Sam.

  “I mean, I guess it’s vanilla,” said Matt. “I’ve never really thought much about it. I don’t think I ever get strawberry.”

  “That’s sad,” said Sam. “That tells me you’ve lost touch with your childhood.”

  Amber nodded again. “I like strawberry,” she said.

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. I do goof off a lot. People say I’m childish.”

  “Being a child’s not about goofing off,” said Sam. “It’s about exploring new things. Being a teenager is about goofing off.”

  “Oh,” said Matt. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t drink that shit,” said Sam. “They don’t even use real ice cream anymore.”

  “They don’t?” asked Matt.

  “You just pay attention to what kind of shake she got you,” said Sam. “Is it the same as hers? Does she think you’re alike? Maybe she got you chocolate. She might think there’s a little mystery to you. Just watch out if she got you Neapolitan.”

  Amber was trying to be helpful. “That’s when they put all three together.”

  Sam continued. “Then she doesn’t know what to think of you. She’s hedging her bets.”

  This guy knew a little too much about fast-food and the human psyche. Maybe he was a supervillain.

  Matt suddenly felt a rush of paranoia. “You’re not a ventriloquist, are you?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Good.”

  Matt left them to their armchair romance. Amber went back to work, this time spinnin
g around and teasing the waistband of her panties. Matt thought it was a little bit creepy that Sam kept watching him instead of Amber as he left the parlor.

  Christy wasn’t in the break room. There was a new crow staring at him from the table, though. Maybe she saw that and decided to eat out in the clubhouse. Matt wouldn’t want to eat in here, either. He wondered where Thug Guy was.

  Matt turned down the hallway toward the back door. The lights in the hallway were dim and the red light above the VIP room door seemed to drain the color out of everything. Even so, he could see a bunch of trash scattered around on the floor below the red bulb. When he was a few steps away, he realized what it was.

  He tapped on the door to the VIP room with one knuckle. “Hello?”

  Christy answered. Her voice was faint like she was busy doing something. “I’m . . . I’m with somebody.”

  “Are you okay?” asked Matt. “It looks like the Burger King just threw up all over the floor out here.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Wasn’t me. I’m just covering for Erica. One of her regulars stopped by. Let Dwayne know I’ll have to reschedule his session.”

  Wait. What? None of that made any sense. She was the one picking up burgers today. She never covered for Erica. Nobody covered for Erica, because Erica wouldn’t let them. And Christy would never have a session with Dwayne. This was crazy talk.

  Then he noticed another pool of liquid starting to seep out under the door. This pool didn’t look like milkshake. It was dark and syrupy. It also didn’t come from any of the paper cups lying on the ground. Matt bent down and touched his finger to it. He held it up to his nose. It didn’t smell sweet. It smelled metallic. He knew that smell.

  He cleared his throat to try to keep the shaking out of his voice. “Okay. I’ll let Dwayne know.”

  His mind raced in a hundred different directions. Adrenaline mixed with sweat as the questions started clamoring in his head. Whose blood was that? Who was in there with her? Why didn’t she ask for help? Could this be a joke? Could this be a dream? What the hell should he do? Then his feet seemed to move on autopilot. They walked calmly and deliberately down the hall, then up the stairs, and into the office. When he sat down behind the desk he had to concentrate on breathing for a few seconds before he could do anything else.