I shook my head and decided not to think about it.
* * *
A few weeks passed. Life for me turned as ordinary as it could. I spent most of my days shopping, watching TV, or going to the gym, which was a new hobby I acquired in fear of gaining weight from all the five-star food. Of course, shooting up street dust every few days kept me pretty thin, too. But, I was trying to cut back a little on that. I figured that, without the usual anxieties of paying rent and putting up with sleazy customers, quitting drugs could be slightly easier than it might have been in the past. It wouldn’t be possible to quit entirely, though. Not when I had such an endless supply to keep me happy and high for long periods of time.
Ezekiel was home more often, which was both good and bad. Good because I didn’t have to worry about what I could or couldn’t do when he was gone. Bad because with him here, my services were required more often than not. Not that it was really bad, as Ezekiel continued to be pretty vanilla in his sexual preferences. It would always beat having sex with a few strangers every night, half of whom couldn’t bathe and tried to haggle me out of my usual price, sometimes with a gun. There had even been a few times I was close to enjoying the sex, which was an entirely new concept for me.
Physically, I was attracted to Ezekiel. He could have been cut from marble, and personal grooming was one of his highest priorities. I’d never catch him with more than a day’s worth of beard shag, and every morning his clothes were pressed and ironed for him. He told me first impressions were paramount, and he firmly believed a well-groomed man in a designer suit would strike fear in the hearts of Metro scum faster than any amount of tattoos and chains. That was probably true. Metro scum feared what they didn’t understand.
I’d often go shopping with my new bodyguard, Victor, which felt surreal. I’d asked for his name at the very beginning, because I didn’t want him dying before I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t stay long—the bodyguards never did—but I needed to learn at least a few things about him. Apparently, he was married with two kids. It made me wonder about Noah, and if there was some poor widow out there with children. Victor was significantly older than me and not easily confused as my possible boyfriend.
That was probably why a stranger of substantial wealth hit on me for the first time since becoming Ezekiel’s mistress. He was about Ezekiel’s age, but he looked like the sort who inherited his money. He was rumpled and probably hungover—not the sort of personality that got you a job as a high-earning stockbroker. Almost everyone in the bistro was wearing some form of suit, and there were only three women, all of who were twice my age. It was no wonder he went for me.
“I’ve never seen a classy lady like you order a white-bread bagel,” he blurted, and for a second, I thought he was talking into his phone. I glanced at him, and his big smile shocked me. I was not used to men in fancy suits grinning at me.
“Um, what?”
“Usually it’s that hoighty-toighty healthy stuff.” He motioned to the twenty kinds of bagels on display. “Buckwheat or multi-grain or whatever.”
My bodyguard glanced at him, then rolled his eyes. Apparently, Victor did not see this guy as a threat. I almost laughed, because this man, like Ace, was shameless.
“Nothing wrong with healthy.”
“Oh, of course not. But thin, young girls don’t need to worry. Live it up while you can, right?”
“Wheat is too gritty for me,” I told him.
“I’m Oscar. Never seen you in here before.”
“I don’t work around here,” I said. “I just came in for a snack.”
“Huh. Well, what do you do?”
I shrugged. “Secretary work.”
“This guy your boss?” Oscar puffed himself up as he faced Victor. Victor lifted an eyebrow, clearly not impressed.
“No, he’s just a friend.”
“What’s your name again?”
“You’re sweet.” I took the bagel the woman across the counter offered, throwing him a smile. “But it’s not happening.”
Victor gave me a look when we left. “Real winner.”
I laughed. “He was cute. Like you’ve never flirted with a woman in a bagel line.”
Victor snorted. “If anything, the women flirt with me.”
I elbowed him. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
I ate my bagel in Tipperton Square, one of the hundred parks that littered Zinya City’s landscape. It was tiny, but at its entrance sat a very iconic bronze fountain, with an angel on top, arms spread wide, smiling down at the pigeons collected at her feet. The sound of water splashing mingled with gentle conversation, pigeons cooing, and distant traffic.
Victor and I sat at one of the wrought iron tables around the fountain when I spotted a familiar bob of flame-red hair.
“Rika?” I muttered to myself.
“Huh?” Victor looked up from his wrap.
“Nothing. I just…I know that woman over there.” I pointed.
Victor glanced over his shoulder, and frowned. “Milford.”
“You know her?”
“No.” He pointed, too. “But I’ve heard enough about her brother.”
Rika was so obvious with her red hair and yellow windbreaker that I’d completely missed the man rolling alongside her in a wheelchair. Of course. Floyd Milford had been crippled in one of his encounters with the Yentis, none of who approved of his anti-terrorism efforts. He, unlike his sister, was dressed professionally in a suit just as expensive as Ezekiel’s. He was older than Rika, but he had the same smile. I could hear his laugh, even from where we sat.
“I should go say hi,” I muttered.
Victor gave me a blank look.
“What? Just because the Milfords aren’t Ezekiel’s biggest fans doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly with them. Rika seems to like me, at least.”
Victor snorted and took another bite from his wrap. “You can go talk to them if you want. I can watch you from here. I still have a whole cappuccino to work through.”
“You’re sure that’s okay?”
Victor nodded, moving his jacket slightly so I could see the gun harness underneath. “I can protect you at a distance, if I need to.”
“Thanks.” I stood, balling the bag my bagel had come in and shooting it into a trashcan. I headed in the direction of the Milford couple but almost stopped when they were joined by another figure, this one dressed in a conservative blouse and pencil skirt. Even at this distance, she was clearly Jahralian.
I didn’t let her sudden appearance hinder me. My heels clicked against the pavement as I crossed the distance between us.
Rika noticed me almost immediately.
“Oh, hey, Melissa!” Her grin was large. “Man, didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Hi.” I pulled my thin jacket tighter around me, pressing my naked knees together in the chilly wind. “Small world, right?”
There was a short silence, but Rika quickly jumped forward to introduce me. “Melissa, this is my brother, Fl—”
“Floyd Milford.” I extended my hand for him to shake. “Who hasn’t heard of you? Zinya City considers you its very own superhero.”
Floyd chuckled. He definitely had Rika’s smile and kind eyes. “I can’t do much ass kicking in this chair. I’m afraid my vigilante work is done behind a desk.”
“Floyd, this is Melissa. She’s a friend of Ace’s.”
“Ace has friends?” Floyd joked.
“And Melissa, this here is Mina, one of my best friends.” Rika gently held Mina’s arm, pulling her forward.
Mina was beautiful. She was a middle-aged woman, like Rika, but her eyes were gorgeous, almond-shaped. They sparkled a sharp violet in the weak sunlight. She was about as thin as I was, but much shorter, even though her heels gave her some height. She only nodded, clearly not one for conversation.
“How exactly do you know Ace?” Floyd asked me.
“We ran into each other at the Park once. And I suppose you could say he flirted a little… Okay, a lot.”
“Yeah, I’m from Metro. I just…” I glanced over my shoulder at Victor, who was sipping his drink, staring at the statue. “I have unusual circumstances.”
Floyd nodded, motioning toward a nearby table. “Would you like to sit with us? We’re still waiting on one more friend. She’s bringing our lunch.”
The friend showed up about five minutes later, dressed in a flaming pink dress, polka-dotted heels, and a multitude of silver bangles, her tight curls pulled in bun on the back of her head. It was hard to tell what was brighter—her outfit or her smile.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said in a high-pitched squeak, even though she looked Rika’s age. She was carrying a bona-fide wicker picnic basket, a few plastic bags, and a lacey purse clenched between her elbow and waist. “I just missed the train, and they were bugging me about this article…anyway, I’m here now.” She whipped around to face me. “Oh, hi!”
I blinked at her.
“Stefany, this is Melissa. Melissa, this is Stefany.” Rika winked at me. I assumed she was used to the reaction people had to her friend. “Stefany is a writer for the Zinya City Gazette. Melissa is a friend of Ace’s. You know Ace, right?”
“Of course I know Ace.” Stefany struggled with her bags until Rika jumped up and helped her with them. “Thank you, hon.” She threw herself down at the table, whipping open her picnic basket. “How does everyone feel about spinach barley dip? And I made zucchini bread. And some truffles.” Her face fell. “Oh no! I didn’t make enough.” She reached across and snatched up my hand so quickly I nearly ripped it away from her. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Oh, don’t worry. I-I can split up a sandwich or something—”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“What happened to your arm?” She pointed to my cast in horror. “Are you all right?”
“Uh…fine…”
“Poor thing.” She pouted at me.
Rika pulled on Stefany’s sleeve. “Stef, let the girl breathe for a second.”
There was a good five minutes of discussion revolving around what Stefany brought for lunch. When she laid it all out, I was amazed by how sophisticated it all looked. Stefany must have been quite the chef. I continued to insist that I’d just eaten and wasn’t hungry, but those truffles looked like heaven.
While Rika and Stefany argued amiably over the zucchini bread, Floyd leaned closer to me.
“Who’s your friend over there?” He pointed to Victor.
“No one.” I sniffed. “I don’t know him.”
Floyd lifted his eyebrows. “I know I’m a cripple, but I’m not dumb. Ever since military school, I’ve been taught how to pick out these things. He’s watching us. So he’s either with you, or he’s a spy.”
I sighed. It figured that, as the head of an organization created to bring the Yentis down, Floyd would know his stuff. “He’s my bodyguard.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
Floyd sipped on his glass of fresh pineapple smoothie, something else Stefany had provided. “And who is he protecting you from?”
“Anyone, really.”
“A Metro woman dressed to the teeth, complete with bodyguard.” He smiled at me. “How mysterious.”
I bit my lip.
“I can take one guess—Ezekiel.”
I looked at him, prepared to deny it. Floyd’s eyes were blue, but not sharp or icy like Ezekiel’s. His gaze was much kinder.
I nodded.
“Hmm. Well then. Since Ezekiel is not the sort to employ women for jobs that can just as easily be done by men, I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s supplied you a more…intimate position than most of his people, correct?”
I stared at the fountain, afraid to answer. Floyd nodded and adjusted his tie.
“Don’t feel ashamed of it, Melissa.” He raised his eyebrows. “People have to make a living. And dressed as you are, it seems you’ve been making far more than a living off it. That’s business smart, in my book.”
“I wasn’t given much of an option.”
“Of course not. Ezekiel offers employment, not options.” He smirked. “I know all about him. Almost as much as he knows about me. Well, I did not know about you. But I guessed he had someone. Most drug lords find a companion somewhere down the line.”
“Why do you know so much…?”
“We’ve made it our jobs to know as much about each other as we can without actually acquainting ourselves in person. We have mutual respect for each other, because we both know we could make each other’s lives hell if necessary. Ezekiel is very good at not treading on the toes of others who may threaten his operation. It’s why he’s so good at what he does. So many lords before him murdered and raped and ran around doing whatever they wanted, which is why they were so easily pulled from power. Ezekiel is far more complicated than that.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Rika asked through a mouthful of zucchini bread.
“Ezekiel,” Floyd answered seamlessly.
Rika snorted. “Such a nice lunch conversation topic.”
“I’m interested,” I retorted. “He runs my neighborhood. And no one knows anything about him, past how rich he is.” I turned back to Floyd. “Do you know about the days before he was ‘Ezekiel the drug lord’? No one knows anything. It’s like he just came out of thin air one day. People say he killed everyone who knew anything about his past.” My throat closed momentarily. “But you’re rich. You’re powerful. You could figure it out if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”
Floyd cleaned his mouth with a napkin for a moment. “I already have figured it out. Most of it. It’s a huge puzzle to put together and comes from sources that aren’t always reliable or eager.” He looked at me. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yeah.”
Floyd nodded. “Very well then.”
Rika shook her head, crunching on a chip loaded with dip. “Here we go again.”
Chapter 39
Floyd showed no fear or trembling in his voice as he began. It had to be nice, to be so rich and powerful that Ezekiel didn’t strike you as scary.
“My sources started with the origin of Ezekiel’s birth, of course. This was probably one of the hardest bits of information to find, because Ezekiel made damn sure the records of his younger life were purged, save the very few essential things. His birth certificate lists no father, so I suppose that is one fact that’s lost to history. His mother’s name was Victoria Peters, and he was born to the name of Jameson Peters. Obviously, I had to go snooping to find out who this Victoria Peters woman was. She spent a majority of her life unemployed—at least according to the government, which I didn’t believe for an instant. I asked around, but no one had heard of a Victoria Peters. Luckily, I managed to find one old man who, upon hearing her more formal title, told me he didn’t know her, but then later asked if perhaps I was talking about Vicky P. At this point, I had no other leads, so I asked if he could talk about Vicky P. Apparently, she was a prostitute living in Metro.”
It was at this point that my heart nearly stopped beating.
“A few more people recognized the name Vicky P. I had the luck of finding an old friend of hers from years ago, who, while not exactly mentally sound, was able to give me a few great tidbits of information. Victoria had been a heavy drug abuser, a drunk, everything in the books. She was a beautiful woman, I was told—at least before she really started to degenerate as drug addicts usually do.
“This friend didn’t seem to know she’d had a son, so she probably kept him away from the public. This led me to a few questions. Was there something wrong with him? Was she ashamed of him? Why keep him holed away in an apartment?”
“That’s a story we’ll never know,” Rika supplied, sipping her drink.
F
loyd nodded. “Unfortunately, his life is a mystery until he started attending elementary school. That’s five years of his life only he knows about. But it’s probably safe to say he resented her. According to those I spoke to, she was not the greatest mother figure. She had constant money problems, and her old landlord told me he shut off her electricity and water on several occasions when she refused to pay the bills. Not the greatest situation to bring a child into.”
“Which begs the question—why did she have and keep him in the first place?” Stefany asked, her face flushed in the excitement of the story. I supposed a journalist would love details like these.
“Maybe she wanted someone to love her,” I provided. I probably understood the Metro mindset more than they did. “She must have led a pretty thankless life. Perhaps she just wanted a smiling child to come home to.”
“Entirely possible. Though it must have all gone wrong, because there’s evidence pointing to Ezekiel—Jameson—having difficulty with compassion and love from very early beginnings.”
“He caused trouble at school?” I asked.
Floyd shook his head. “Oh, no. Jameson was a marvelous student. His grades were exemplary all the way through high school. I managed to find a teacher who taught him when he was about twelve. She told me that while he’d been an incredibly bright and attentive child, he unnerved her. He was not a favorite student of hers, and he knew it. She felt that sometimes he exploited her.”
“Exploited her how?”
“A range of things. Something simple like pointing out a mistake she made in class. Asking her rather disturbing questions she didn’t feel comfortable answering—questions about death, torture. When I asked her what she thought happened to him, she said she didn’t know. She was probably afraid of the answer.”
The King and the Courtesan Page 32