by H. M. Jones
*
They walked down a few winding streets before Red Street was upon them. It wasn’t the best of places, though it was tough to discern what a “good” place was in Monochrome. There wasn’t as much garbage here as there was in the merchant center by the gates, but it was middling grimy and housed more brothels than other parts.
She looked down the road and noticed a shop with a wood sign above the door, “Steamtown Supplies.” Above the sign were six open windows, each with scantily-clad women of varying ages sitting or standing at the sill.
She lifted her eyes from them and noticed a small plaque above the middle window. It read “Red Street Brothel: Good Memories are Made Here.” She grimaced. So are bad memories, I’m sure. And what about the good memories lost here?
Ishmael nudged her. “Let’s go see John.” Abigail noticed he saw the women above the shop, but, to his credit, averted his eyes. She knew he did so for her benefit, and she appreciated he was trying, at least, to be more respectful of women, even if it was just to appease her.
A small bell above the door sounded a dull clang when they walked into the supply shop. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she hadn’t been prepared for the massive quantity of supplies greeting them as they stepped into the store. The building was long, tall and crowded with floor to wall shelves. The shelves all sported signs hanging between each aisle, to indicate which supplies they contained.
She read signs for baking goods, bedding, alcohol, candles and matches, pots and pans, cooking supplies, and much more. She realized this shop must be the center for goods in Monochrome, and it was so packed they were forced to walk single file to a small desk at the back of the store. Each shelf was shuttered with sturdy wood shutters and locked, in order to bar theft.
Sitting behind a small stack of manila folders and a large leather bound book was a tall, balding man of about forty years. He didn’t look up as he said, “Buying in bulk today?”
Ishmael raised his voice, “Hello, John.”
The man stood, abandoning his paperwork. “I’m sorry. I get a lot of customers. I musta’ forgot your name.”
Ishmael appeared bemused. “I may look different than the last time you saw me.”
Abigail followed him to the small desk, but stayed behind him in order to better study John without being studied herself. The man took off a pair of silver framed reading glasses and studied Ishmael.
A frown crossed his eyes before the man’s eyes widened. “Ishmael?”
“The one and only.”
John rose from his chair, the nervous smile stuck to his face. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been at least a year.”
Ishmael walked to the desk and shook his hand. “You seem alright. The position treating you well?”
“I do better than most. Thanks to you. I get a lot of traffic, and get paid well for it. You look good. Except the weird hair.” An astonished look came over John’s face. “Your eyes…they’re almost normal.”
Ishmael pulled at his torn shirt. “Laying low.”
“And you need a place to stay.”
Ishmael ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah. We need to stay the night, but I’m going to be honest with you. Some people are after us, the boss’ people. He wouldn’t take to you helping us.”
“The boss? Shit, Ishmael, that’s serious. Were you followed?”
Ishmael shook his head. “No, but they know we’re coming this way. We’re headed to the border and there’s no way around.”
John nodded grimly. “I see. This one,” he acknowledged Abigail for the first time “wants to try to get home?”
Ishmael stared at her with a gleam in his eyes. “She will make it home.”
John’s eyes were full of doubt, and, Abigail was interested to see, guilt. It reminded her, very much, of how Ishmael looked before and after testing her. Her senses stood to attention. Ishmael didn’t seem to notice, but John saw her studying him, and turned his face away.
“It’s good to see you again. I mean, as good as it is to see anyone in this place. We’ll pay you for your trouble, John. I know you’ll be fair.”
The large man forced a congenial expression on his face. “You done me a solid with this job. There’s no charge. You two can stay in the back. There’s a couple cots back there. It’s none too warm, but I have access to blankets.”
Ishmael inclined his head. “You have access to about everything. That’s why I figured this should be our stop. And I remember you being more stable than most people I led.”
John flushed at the compliment. “I don’t know as anyone is real stable who lives here.”
Ishmael shrugged the comment away and John motioned for the two of them to follow him. “What’s your friend’s name?”
She answered for herself. “Abigail. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to this. We won’t be around long. Just long enough to stay out of the dark.”
He waved her comment away. “Stay as long as you need. The night of Monochrome is passable only by the Roamers. Even Nightmares don’t bother with the soulless.” She shivered at the thought of losing all her good memories, left to drift alone, forever, in this awful place.
John showed them to the back room, which, he explained, was also a guest room he rented to Merchants waiting out the night before taking their supplies back to wherever they were headed. It was small and sparse; a side table, a washstand and two cots were all that occupied the dimly-lit room.
“You two are hungry, I suppose?” John asked.
Ishmael answered. “We’re both hungry and thirsty. I mean it when I say I’ll pay, John. I know you have to pay for the food and drinks you get, and I don’t like charity.”
John shook his head. “It ain’t charity. Like I said, you done me a solid.”
Ishmael shrugged. “I don’t like my job, as you know. I was happy to help, since I don’t often get a chance to do so.”
John seemed to be miles away when he answered, “We all gotta do what we gotta do. I’ll go get you some leftovers and beer.” He shut the door and left the room.
Abigail couldn’t put her finger on why, but John’s demeanor bothered her. She waited until his footsteps faded until voicing her concern. “I don’t like this, Ishmael. He’s acting strange.”
Ishmael ran his hands through his hair. “He’s a man of few words.”
“That’s not it. He seems antsy.”
Ishmael sighed in defeat. “I agree, but think of it from his position. If he’s caught helping us, he can lose a very comfortable job. He knows the boss is searching for me. I wanted to make sure he knew it because it’s something I wouldn’t feel right about lying about. He might lose everything. I’d be nervous too.”
“But why won’t he take payment? I mean, giving us free food, lodging, and drinks? Seems off to me. Am I wrong?”
“We don’t have much choice. I don’t know where else to go. Steamtown could be crawling with spies. This is as good as it’s going to get, and I have to trust John is who he was when I led him—a genuinely nice guy.”
She dropped the subject, even though she wanted to point out it seemed genuinely nice people became selfish very quickly in Monochrome, but, of course, he already knew that.
CHAPTER 13:
Cognition Manor
JOHN BROUGHT THEM two cold ham sandwiches, two dark beers and two sleeping bags. Abigail thanked him. Not meeting her gaze, John nodded once and excused himself. “Need to get back to the desk. This job never sleeps. Don’t be surprised if I get customers real late or real early.”
Ishmael thanked John, too, and the large man walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. After finishing their food, they both spread their sleeping bags out on their cots. Ishmael didn’t seem in the mood for talk (he rarely was), but she wanted to settle plans before he fell asleep.
“I think we should leave first thing in the morning,” she intoned.
He groaned from his cot. “Yes, I know you’re eager to get home.
”
“It’s not just that. I think we need to spend as little time here as possible.”
Ishmael was silent for a moment then said, “I think we’re fine, but if it turns out we’re not, just remember your promise.” He shifted on his cot, to better see her. “I get caught, you don’t come searching for me. Head to the border and don’t look back.”
Abigail folded her arms over her chest and stared at the ceiling. “Let’s just try not to get caught. Leaving early might help.”
Ishmael pulled his hat out of the back of his jeans, where he’d been stashing it while going incognito. He put the hat over his face and mumbled, “Good night, Abby.”
Her tension wouldn’t sleep. She jumped at every noise from outside the door of their room. She heard a few customers come and go, and held her breath, straining to hear their conversation, but time passed and danger seemed less imminent.
The shop was growing quieter and quieter, until all she heard was the steady sound of Ishmael breathing and John shuffling papers at his desk. She wondered if the man ever slept or if, tonight, something special kept him awake. Finally, her weariness overtook her watchfulness and the sleep of the overwrought stole her.
*
Abigail woke to the dull clang of the shop door. Ishmael was sleeping too soundly to be bothered by the ring. She got up from her cot and opened the door a crack to see what kind of visitors John welcomed at such an early hour. The visitors were both tall, but other defining characteristics eluded her thanks to the dim lights of the shop.
Her intuition told her she needed to see the two visitors better. She slipped out of the room, leaving the door open a crack behind her. She made her way soundlessly through rows of shelves until she was behind the shelf nearest the counter where John sat.
The visitors were speaking in whispers, which made her hair rise on the nape of her neck. Who were they keeping their conversation from? She strained to hear the exchange and silently gasped when she recognized the voice of one of the tall visitors. She put her hand to her mouth in astonishment.
“You’ll get your payment when I’m sure you got them both.” Eric. His sticky-sweet voice hit her like a punch in the gut.
John raised his voice to answer. “You won’t hurt them, though, right? I done what the boss said. I done my part, even though I don’t like it. Just let me go get ‘em. There ain’t nowhere they can run, so let’s do this calm.”
Abigail sensed the sneer in Eric’s voice as he answered, “What happens to them isn’t your business. You’re lucky the boss don’t take a gold from you for waiting so long to tell us you had them.”
John’s answer was gruff. “Ishmael was good to me. I wanted him to have a good sleep. It ain’t right what I did, but I need the payment the boss promised. I want my wife back.”
She peeked around the bookshelf, wondering how she was going to alert Ishmael. She needed to find a way out of here. What she saw stopped her in her tracks, though.
Eric lifted a jar from inside his long trench coat. “I’ve got your memories here.”
John’s eyes grew wide. “Darla.” He eagerly reached for the jar.
Eric snatched it back from him and the large man clenched his teeth in anger. Eric waved a finger at him. “Nuh uh. Not until I have the convicts.”
John’s whole body drooped, his black eyes shone with defeat. “This way.”
Abigail realized she was beyond warning Ishmael. She’d waited too long. The best she could do was hide somewhere and devise a way to help him. She kicked herself for not listening to her instincts last night. John and the two men, Eric and, she cursed to herself, the man from the gate, made their way to where Ishmael lay sleeping. He must’ve suspected them, after all.
She tiptoed to a staircase at the far end of the store. The front door was the most familiar escape, but she’d be too visible. She bit back angry tears, listening to the commotion of Ishmael being aroused from his sleep. Not wanting to hear anymore, she raced up the stairs and into an empty hallway. The noise from below was picking up in volume. She heard a pained grunt and Eric’s voice asking after her angrily.
Panicked, Abigail scanned the room and saw two black doors on either side of her. She stood there, in panic, wondering which of the four doors in the wood-paneled hall she should choose. They were all painted with a bold, gold number, and looked fairly similar, but if she chose the wrong one it could mean her capture. Before she was able to decide, the first door on her right swung open.
A spiky-haired blonde women in her late forties saw her standing wide-eyed in the hall and motioned for her to come into the room. “In here, doll. Quick now!”
There was no time to wonder whether she was making a foolish move, trusting the woman. She ducked into the room, and the woman locked two bolts behind her.
“You came in last night,” The blonde woman with blue-black eyes whispered.
Abigail nodded. “Yes. I can’t explain it all, but there are men downstairs and they might come after me. They have my friend.”
The woman frowned. “Dear Ishmael, my sweet softy.”
She didn’t ask the woman how she knew Ishmael because she realized she was in the Red Street Brothel, and she knew his acquaintance with her might fall within the professional realm. Abigail was annoyed to feel jealousy creep up her back.
The woman was rummaging through a closet and tossed a few items her way—a skimpy black and red bustier and matching ruffled panties and garter. “Put those on, love.”
Abigail blushed as she undressed and put the, hopefully clean, garments on. The blonde woman rushed to the door, listening intently. “I think they’re coming up.”
She examined Abigail, took her old clothes and shoved them under her bed. “I wish we could do something about your hair and make-up, girl.”
Without thinking, Abigail closed her eyes tightly and brought to mind an incident she’d never forget—the time she let her sister, Gracie, bleach her hair. She pictured the way she looked when her sister handed her the mirror, laughing like a hyena.
Her make-up and piercings vanished as she remembered her shocked face that day. She opened her eyes to see the older woman gaping at her. “How…”
But Abigail didn’t have time to explain. Moments later, loud footfalls pounded outside the door to the woman’s room.
John’s voice sounded outside her door after a brief and firm knock. “Lily, I have some people here who need to check your room.” Lily motioned for her to face the window. She obeyed, hands shaking. She tried to act like the prostitutes she saw from below yesterday, enticingly leaning over the windowsill.
Lily shouted, “You got some nerve pounding on my door this time of day. You better have payin’ customers with you is all I’ve got to say.” She unbolted the door and stepped aside.
John walked in apologetically. “I’m sorry, Lil’, but these men need to search your women’s quarters. They’re searching for a convict, young lady with brown or red hair.”
Lily waved a casual hand at Abigail. “You know I’m not a morning person, John. It’s me and Viola. Like always. See for yourself.”
Abigail heard recognition in John’s voice, but was surprised by his answer. “Hey, Vi. You seen anyone roaming the halls up here?”
The lie in his voice wasn’t obvious, but it surprised her. She didn’t want to turn around, for fear her face might give her away. Instead she stuck out her rear in what she thought was an alluring manner, dropped her voice to what she hoped was a husky, sexy tone and, for some unfathomable reason, put on a New York accent. “I don’t have patience for nobody but customers right now.” She lifted her right hand and flipped him off without glancing back.
To his credit, John stayed in character. “Pleasant as always, Vi. Been sassy since she came here, ‘bout a month ago.” She heard John explain to Eric and the guard.
The guard laughed sickly. “I like ‘em sassy.”
Eric whistled. “If the front is as nice as the back, I might have to stay. As a
matter of fact, the boss likes me to be thorough. Why don’t you come over here, lovely?” His voice was sticky caramel. She heard him step forward and stop abruptly.
Lily dropped her voice to a hiss. “You and your friend can stay put, asshole. Even if you were paying we aren’t selling to the likes of you.”
She threw her next sentence over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Vi. Keep window duty. One woman at the window at all times. That’s the number one rule. Got it, hun?”
“Yeah, you told me already, Lil.”
Lily spun back towards the men, her voice stark. “That piece of shit isn’t allowed up here, John. I believe I told you that before. And you bring him to my room? He’s lucky he still has a dick.”
John cleared his throat. “Sorry, Lil. Not up to me.”
Lily harrumphed. “We’re done here. What you see is what you get. You’re not welcome here, slime, so we’re done with this exchange, now. The only person allowed to come any closer is the one you have in a gag.”
Eric snorted. “Sorry, but the boss has business with this one. If you or your ladies happen to see his friend…”
Eric raised his voice, making sure Abigail heard him. “Tell her we’re taking her boyfriend to the Manor. If she doesn’t come to collect the asshole before nightfall, the memories she owes will be taken from him.”
She wasn’t sure if Eric projected his voice because he knew who she was and expected her to follow, or because he thought Vi was less loyal than Lily. Either way, her skin crawled.
Eric threw his voice down the hall. “You search the other rooms?”
The guard must’ve nodded in the affirmative. “She probably went out the front door when we were distracted. She’d have to be an idiot to go this way, anyway. Nowhere to hide in the whore’s quarters.”
Eric grunted. “She’s as sharp as any woman, which isn’t saying much. She’ll come. She’s not smart enough to leave without dipshit here.”
John excused himself. “Thanks, ladies, we’ll let you get your beauty rest now.”