by M. T. Miller
“I…” The Nameless sighed. “I got chased by undead. I fought an armored Asian sorcerer on a hanging bridge. I also slew a dragon. Good enough?”
“I wish I was there,” Rush said, her smile becoming an all-out laugh. “You must have looked absolutely hilarious.”
“In all likelihood,” he said.
“Well…” She crossed her legs and grabbed her knee with both hands. “If you don’t want the good stuff, then what are you after?”
“A gentleman I work with seems to want me poisoned,” the Nameless said. “Tranquilized, as my source says. I want your associate to concoct something that will prevent that. Is it possible?”
“Probably,” she said. “But he’s not my associate anymore.”
“How come? You still buy from him, yes?”
“I do,” she said, and her expression turned into one of irritation. “But he’s not an associate. Try ‘exploiter.’ That asshole’s the reason I’m down here again. After everything I’ve done for him, too.
“Ah, to hell with it,” she continued. “You showed me yours and I’ll show you mine. The two of us, we go back a long while. Outside Babylon, long while. Dragged ourselves in here, and then all the way up. Know how we did it?” She pointed to her locker. “He had an idea, and I was crazy enough to volunteer. Since there are no drug tests, it was like taking candy from a baby.
“Except after we’d reached the third floor,” she said, letting go of her knee and clenching both fists, “he turned into a complete fucking turd. The price of my shit kept going up. Little by little, every month. The asshole didn’t seem to care I had no source of income after retiring from the fights. So here I am.” She rose, and started moving toward her guest. “In order to stay alive, I have to mingle with the masses again. No luxury. No view. No fucking respect.” As she finished her sentence, her face was inches away from his.
“I still need his services,” the Nameless said.
“And I need to be up there,” she said. “Nothing to do here, Bones. Work. Home. Work. Home. Care to lend a hand?”
“In what way?”
“With cash,” she said. “You seem to be doing well for yourself, and I know third floor’s tailoring when I see it.” She looked at his suit, and then back at him. “Buy me a pass, and I’ll set you up.”
“After taking the money that was rightfully mine, you want more?”
“The way I see it, I took it from you fair and square,” she said. “It was a contest. I won. And don’t you dare call it cheating. From where I’m standing, you’re not too fair yourself.”
I do have the money, he thought. But getting robbed by her twice…
“I can try and find him myself,” he said.
“Pff! Good luck with that!” she said. “He doesn’t run an open shop anymore. Not after he started working on the cattle program, anyway. And what you need sounds urgent. You sure you want to risk it?”
“No,” the Nameless said grudgingly.
“Perfect!” said Rush, smiling once more.
Her gums are purplish, he noticed.
“Now, you can wait outside until I get dressed,” she said, pointing at the door. “Close up on your way out.”
“Of course,” the Nameless said as he left the place.
“Be right up!” Rush shouted from the inside.
***
“Khalid Abadi,” Rush said the instant the lift started to descend. She wore torn-up fishnets, covered at places with blue and red fabric.
“I beg your pardon?” said the Nameless.
“Your chemist,” she said. “His name is Khalid Abadi. Room seventy. You’re free to look him up.”
“Ah,” said the Nameless. “And he will be forthcoming?”
“Knowing him, no,” she said as she happily stared at her brand-new pass. “But he likes money. Hope you’ve got some left.”
The Nameless was about to say something, but the sound of the door opening prevented it.
“I’m back!” Rush said, happily stepping outside.
“That was fast,” one of the guards said.
“Let me see that,” said the other one.
“Yeah, knock yourself out!” she said as she gave it up. She turned to the Nameless, who was in the process of exiting the lift. “I’m good. You can go. Unless you feel like hanging.” She smiled.
“Enjoy yourself, Rush,” the Nameless said. He left the place with hurried steps. This Khalid might prove stubborn, and he had arrangements for later.
Locating the room was easy. After looking left and right, the Nameless knocked. No guards in immediate sight.
The resident took his time. Despite movement sounds from the other side, opening the door took him almost a minute.
“What can I do for you?” said a thin-limbed, yet somehow overly wide man. He was of below-average height, and had week-old stubble. What he wore could only be described as a bed-sheet with sleeves. For some reason, a thick fog seeped out from the inside.
“Mr. Khalid Abadi?” the Nameless asked. Once the man nodded, he continued. “I am seeking your services.”
“Don’t bother me,” Khalid said. He tried to close the door, but the Nameless’ foot did not allow it.
“Sir, I am afraid I must insist,” the Nameless said. “I am prepared to pay double. Triple, even.”
Khalid stared at him with a distant expression that could mean anything.
“A little time, a lot of money,” the Nameless said.
“Get in,” said Khalid, leaving the door the way it was and letting the Nameless shut it. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Understood.”
He took a look around. There was barely any way of navigating the place without bumping into something. Shapes appeared and disappeared. A table. A chair. Something unclassifiable. There was no pattern.
“Don’t move,” Khalid said as the fog swallowed him up. “Now, tell me what you want so I can get back to work.”
“I need something to help me resist the effects of a tranquilizing poison,” the Nameless said. “Are… are these fumes toxic in any way?”
“Not to me, they aren’t.” Khalid’s voice came from out of the fog. “I don’t suppose you know what particular brand of tranquilizer we’re talking about, huh?”
“Not at all,” the Nameless said.
“Figures. Your price just went up. Can you take the antidote after exposure, or do you need to be able to take it beforehand?”
“Beforehand, I think,” the Nameless said. Better not take any chances.
“Too bad,” Khalid said.
“Why?”
“This is the last one I have of those,” Khalid said as he appeared out of the fog.
“Let me guess,” the Nameless said. “It will cost more.”
“A regular Sherlock we got here,” Khalid said. “You want it to work the way you said, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do I need to reply to that, or do you know what I’m gonna say?”
“How much?” the Nameless asked. “In total?”
“A blue one,” Khalid said. “And I give it to you immediately.”
“That is ridiculous,” the Nameless said.
“So is downing a bucket of elephant tranq-juice and walking it off,” Khalid said.
Do I try and pressure him? The Nameless measured the little imp head to toe. It seemed easy. However, if he was as stubborn as Rush said, he might take his anger out on her or someone else. Paying him seems like the easiest way, my pride be damned.
“What’s it gonna be?” Khalid asked.
“Sold.” The Nameless grabbed his pouch, opened it, and gave him the chip.
“Splendid,” Khalid said as he took it. A moment later, he produced a vial of a bubbling, transparent liquid, seemingly out of nowhere. “Pleasure doing business. In case you’ve forgotten, the door’s behind you.”
“Right,” the Nameless said as he took it. He left the place within seconds.
I wonder what that vapor was, he thou
ght as the lock clicked behind him. He looked left and right once more. No hallucinations. Good.
He put the pouch back in his pocket, made sure it was safely tucked in, and proceeded toward the tailor.
My new coat should be about ready.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Look at you!” Lydia said the second she noticed the Nameless coming up through the hallway. She stood in front of door 251, wearing what looked like a red dress made out of buckles and straps. The paper bag she held did not fit into the look at all. “I love me a sharply dressed man!”
“Thank you,” the Nameless said, his new coat fluttering behind him as he walked. Just like everything else on him, it was black. “You look incredible as always, albeit I question the point of those.”
“Their point is to impress,” she said, smiling and pointing to one of the many pieces of her dress. “I see they do it perfectly.”
“Quite,” the Nameless said. He took her gloved hand, kissed it, and looked her in the eyes.
“I’ll need you to release me so we can go in,” she said.
“I will enjoy the view either way,” he said.
“Didn’t know you could be so charming,” she said.
“It takes the right woman,” the Nameless said, releasing her hand.
“Lucky me, then! I could stare at you for a good while as well, Horace. But I’m hungry.” She pointed to the door. “Please?”
“Of course,” the Nameless said as he approached the door. He turned the knob, opened it, and let her in first.
“Why, thank you!” She stepped inside, the straps around her body dancing rhythmically.
“A pleasure,” the Nameless said and proceeded inside, shutting the entrance behind him.
This apartment was the most heavily modified one he had seen by that point. The multi-colored illumination was very mild. The tables were laid out so patrons could gaze out the gigantic wall-window that seemed to have been the main attraction. To the left there was a bar, and a dark-skinned man was already leaving it to greet them. A faint but pleasant music played in the background.
“Welcome to the View,” he said, smiling. He was not any darker than Emile, but the Nameless still got unnerved at the sight of his white teeth.
Just a man. Like any other.
“Hey,” Lydia said. “We have a reservation. Last name: Watson. We’ve brought dinner.” She smiled. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is,” the waiter said. “Please, follow me to your table.” He turned around, and Lydia grabbed the Nameless by the hand.
“You’re tense,” she said, turning to face him. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything is perfect,” the Nameless said. “Please. Let us proceed.”
“If you say so,” she said.
They were seated opposite each other at table 4, an exquisite spot that let them get a good look at the moonlit desert outside. The waiter gave them both a leather-bound menu, and stood by.
“I’m feeling adventurous,” Lydia said as she ran her finger down the liquor list.
The Nameless said nothing as he tried making sense of what was in front of him. I have no idea what most of these are… He let his gaze slip to the side, catching a glimpse of the waiter before focusing his attention back on the menu.
“I will have a White Russian,” he said as he put the leather-bound thing down.
“Of course, sir,” the waiter said.
“I’ll be having a Coquetier myself,” Lydia said, picking up both menus and letting the waiter take them. “You can bring them right away, I think.”
“Coming right up,” the waiter said as he turned and went for the counter.
“Well, no need to wait for him,” Lydia said as she put her bag on the table. “Let’s dig in!”
“Will you not be bothered by my choice of food?” the Nameless asked, remembering the Cleanup Crew.
“Don’t be silly! That stuff has no smell.”
“True enough,” the Nameless said as he started unpacking his own dinner.
“So…” Lydia opened her own meal and stuck a piece of vegetable with her fork. “So what’s the deal with the way you speak?”
“I beg your pardon?” the Nameless asked a moment before he dug into his chicken.
“It’s strange. Not accent-strange,” she said after taking another bite. “Your choice of words, and the way you rarely clip them… I’ve never heard anyone talk like that.”
“I speak the way I speak,” the Nameless said. “The way the words flow. Is that bad?”
“No, not at all!” Lydia smiled a bit. “If anything, it sets you apart from everyone else. I find it intriguing myself. Then again, I find all sorts of things intriguing.”
“Such as?”
“The human condition,” she said. “The way we do things. The reasons we do things. People are complex, you know? Something you and I find strange, someone else will find vital.” She stopped eating, and looked out the window. “I find beauty in that.”
“I am afraid that I must disagree,” the Nameless said. “People can afford to be complex up here. Down in the slums, or better yet, on the outside, everything becomes much simpler. Survival. No other goal. Everything else fades away.” He leaned in. “I have experienced something similar on the second floor too, albeit to a lesser extent. The self fades to make way for survival. There is neither room nor time for complexity.”
Lydia seemed quite surprised. Just as she was about to deliver a retort, the waiter came with their drinks. He set them on the table. The White Russian was white and frothy, and came in a large glass. Whatever it was that Lydia ordered seemed to have been served in an eggshell.
“Thank you!” she said.
“Need anything else?” the waiter asked.
“A bit later.”
“Of course,” he said as he left.
“An interesting, but thoroughly flawed point of view,” she said as she turned back to the Nameless. “A person reduced to their survival instinct will still seek to grow after their base needs are taken care of. And if not…” She lowered her gaze, staring into her eggshell. “If not, then what’s the difference between life and death?”
The courage to jump, the Nameless thought.
“Besides,” she said, “I did some time down on the second floor, and you don’t see me beating myself up about it. If anything, I think it makes me a better person.”
“And how many people did you have to kill for it?” the Nameless asked.
Instead of replying, Lydia merely stared back at him.
“How many lives did you have to end so yours could continue?” the Nameless elaborated.
Lydia drained her egg. “Hey!” she shouted at the waiter. “Changed my mind! Can I have one more?”
As the barkeep gave her a thumbs up, she turned back toward the Nameless. “Not one,” she said. “But I have met killers, and every single one was a beautiful human being beneath all those… scars. You just need to leave it all behind. Let go, as I’ve told you before. Your life awaits.”
“There is no letting go for me,” the Nameless said. He took his drink and sipped it. “The bodies will keep piling up for as long as I live.”
“How come?” Lydia asked.
“My stay up here depends on my job,” the Nameless said. “My job is death.”
“So I was right,” Lydia said. “So, are you a mobster or—”
“I cannot say,” the Nameless said. “The men I work for insist on keeping it secret.”
“A cop it is,” she said, smiling just a little bit.
The Nameless took another sip.
“Your order,” the waiter said as he delivered her second drink.
“Thanks!” she said. Once he was gone, she looked the Nameless straight in the eye. “Then, Horace, I’m afraid you might need some help dealing with your issues. Luckily, I’m here, so you know you’re in good hands!”
“I am not troubled,” the Nameless said. “If anything, I am getting to
o serene about it.”
“And that—” she took her eggshell, and drank it whole again “—is an issue! Trust me on this! I know my stuff.”
As before, the Nameless smiled against his will.
“See?” Lydia grinned, her red lips bending the multicolored lights around them. “It’s working already.”
“I would hope so,” the Nameless said. “Perhaps if you told me more of yourself, it would become even more effective.”
“Nah-uh!” Lydia said as she signaled for yet another drink. “A woman has to keep her mystique.”
“And a man has to spill everything, yes?” The Nameless chuckled.
“Right on!” she said as she let her back rest against her chair. The Nameless inspected her discreetly. The buckles and straps undulated in accordance with her breathing, and the miniscule traces of sweat on her skin made his heart beat quicken.
“You are a stunningly beautiful woman,” he said.
“That’s...” Lydia’s cheeks took on a shade of red, complimenting her lips. “A little bit random, but thank you, Horace! You’re one fine-looking man yourself.” She leaned in, touching his chin with her gloved hand and letting his stare rest on her cleavage. “I see you’ve shaved, too. Looks real good on you.”
“It is only civil,” he said.
“It’s more than civil,” Lydia said, leaning in closer. “I think it’s—“
Significantly quicker than the last time around, the waiter came with her cocktail.
“Thank you!” she outright shouted before he had the chance to say anything.
“A… a pleasure,” he said, already on his way back.
“Is he doing this on purpose?” the Nameless asked, following the man’s steps with his gaze.
“I don’t know, but he’s starting to tick me off!” She laid back once again. “So… want to move somewhere else? Escape from that guy?”
“For instance?”
“My place,” she said as she gave him a predatory grin.
“Lydia,” the Nameless said as he finished his Russian, “are you certain?”
“If you don’t like it,” she said, downing her drink within seconds, “you can pretend I’ve brought you to see where I work.”