by Adam Connell
“You can hear that well?”
“I can’t discern the man of the house, but I do hear Briggs. Either the other guy’s soft-spoken or he’s got aught to say.”
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“You don’t want to be here and you shouldn’t be here, that’s what you’re saying.”
“Fucking-A right,” Tamm said.
Kink removed a nail clipper from his pocket. “You should be here, we can agree on that. Let’s don’t play pretend. You did something wrong, which is okay. What’s the bad part is you got caught.”
“This is dangerous being in someone’s house.”
She was shaking or shivering, Kinkaid couldn’t tell which. Shaking from fear, or shivering because she had little on under the coat borrowed from Kitten.
Kinkaid realized the AC was blowing down on them from a vent above. Shivering, he decided.
“Dancing for him alone?” she said.
He crossed his legs, extended a pinky, started clipping. “We’ll be out here. Briggs’ll be right where you’re sitting.”
“And if I yell?”
“We’ll be inside in seconds.”
“If I can’t yell?”
“You won’t need to yell, scream, or holler. Shit, Tamm, I don’t feel bad for you. This’s what punishment is, nobody enjoys it. You dance for a living. We’re not asking you to clean toilets.”
She made fists to keep her hands warm. “You could have done this without me. Whatever it is you’re here for. You didn’t need me.”
“Faraday said specifically. I side with him. Plus I’m in his shoes now.”
“How do they fit?”
“A little small,” he said with a grin he didn’t care if she saw or not. He admired the nail on his pinky, moved on with the clipper to the ring finger.
“That’s disgusting,” Tamm said. “And in someone else’s house. The clicking sound’s making me more nervous. You’re leaving shrapnel on his carpet.”
“You’re also here,” Kinkaid said, clipping away, “cause most men never seen a real redhead naked.”
“Spent all day dyeing it back. It’s not perfect.”
“You didn’t dye your eyebrows, which means you didn’t go brunette all over,” Kinkaid said. “That’s more what he’ll be interested in.”
“I don’t mind performing with Iommi or even Dowd around. They intimidate. You never know what kind of pervert’s underneath those business suits, are they gonna get grabby.” She lit one of her cigarettes. There was no ashtray so she used a saucer on the end table looked like it had been glazed and kilned. It was from Israel. Blue and white with the Star of David in the center.
“But in his home, in his den, in the dark?” she said. “His lust is gonna unfurl, Kink.”
“Kinkaid.”
“Oh fuck off with that. Everyone calls you Kink behind your back. It’s just easier.”
“Behind my back?”
“I’ll apologize to Faraday again. Let’s go. One more apology, really sincere. Get him on your cell for me?”
“The man lost his Dad.” Kinkaid was on his left middle finger, the one with a hard nail that resisted clipping. “Why’d you do it, you’re so sorry?”
“I don’t feel safe here and I don’t feel safe at the club.”
“Iommi and Dowd?”
“It’s fine when they’re around, but there’s gotta be a better place where they’ll take care of me?”
“Who, Iommi and Dowd?”
“Not them, quit fucking with me. Somewhere else I don’t have to worry about some killer with a machette vaulting onstage — ”
“Now it’s a killer, and it was a machette.”
Tamm said, “You get up there naked for a living, see what it’s like.”
“You’re not sorry, I’m not hearing sorry,” Kinkaid said.
“I’m sorry I’m here,” Tamm said, using the logic of, and sounding like, a child.
“You are not sorry. And defecting to another club so close? Deserved to get caught, stupid woman.”
“It was dumb,” Tamm said. She seemed to be deflating into the love seat. The cigarette, which she’d been smoking hard, was nearly down to the filter. “Devils’ Revels was closer to my apartment than Tattletail, it was so convenient.”
“You should be grateful, and I’ll tell you why.” Kinkaid was feeling mellow. He’d finished the difficult middle finger, was on to the index. “Coquette, that’s why,” he said.
“Coquette was two, three years ago.”
“Dealing out lap dances around the city like she was a croupier. Uptown, Downtown. Apartments on both sides of Fifth.”
Tamm said, “It was her body on her time.”
“Her body’s always on Faraday’s time, long as she’s working for him.”
“On her time,” Tamm repeated. “They say the same thing about the Winged Lady.”
“That’s from her history back before Tattletail,” Kinkaid said. “You don’t work on a farm then go around, after-hours, selling milk. Coquette made some money, she did. And,” he drew the word out, “she got greedy.”
“None of us unionized when she got fired,” Tamm said.
“Coquette didn’t just get fired,” Kinkaid said. “You seen her since?”
“Faraday had her killed?”
“No, but you seen her since then?”
“We weren’t friends, she thought she was the queen bee,” Tamm said.
Kinkaid had made it all the way to his thumb. He was careful with the clipper, his thumb got sore if the nail was too short. He wiped some debris off the love seat.
“Seriously, that isn’t something you do in public,” Tamm said.
“What you do in public, that’s so decent?” Kinkaid said. “Coquette wasn’t only fired, Faraday had her legs broken. Iommi made it so she couldn’t dance anywhere else. Anymore. Fact, Iommi went too far and she can barely walk. Know what she does now?”
“Pardon me but this sounds like a lotta bull.”
“Works for the city at a desk. In some building looks like any other government building. Got herself fitted for a pair of them metal crutches with those bands around your forearms. The ones that clank? Those.”
“I don’t believe a word,” Tamm said. “One word of it.”
“Cause I’m a liar? That’s what they say behind my back, too? Well doesn’t it sound like it could be true?”
“Sounds true — ”
“If it sounds true, why not believe it? Wed this bum, Coquette, hangs around the City Clerk’s Office, Marriage Bureau that, he’ll, the loser charges you fifteen dollars he’ll be a witness.”
“What business do you have with this Council Member?” Tamm said. She was in the middle of her second cigarette; they weren’t relaxing her any.
“Have to ask Faraday,” Kinkaid said.
“You’re wearing his small shoes.”
“You’d have to hear it from him, not me.”
“Well what business do you have in general?” she said.
“Keep your fucking voice low,” Kinkaid said. Gruffly.
“Kind of business,” she said, softer. “I’m talking about Faraday? Lundin? Briggs?”
“No, not Briggs,” Kinkaid said.
“Why doesn’t Briggs fit in?”
“We twist arms,” Kinkaid said, “that’s what we do and that’s all I’ll say.”
“And Briggs, he doesn’t. Twist arms.”
“Not like the rest of us can. Like your Calder can.”
“You do more than twist arms, all of you,” Tamm said.
“If you really knew you’d admit it’s a great metaphor.”
“Won’t tell me what you do,” Tamm said, her voice low, “I’ll tell you what you are.”
“All of us, or me?” Kinkaid said, acting the casualty.
“You. A short, devious torturer. I don’t know how you’re capable of causing it — ”
“But I can, that you know.”
“No friends, no true friends do
n’t fear you. All your relationships are about fear and power. Who has how much over whom. Did I say scrawny?”
“You said short.”
“Scrawny’s what I meant.”
“Keen observations from a woman who’s no more — not one breadth more — than fat and lean in the right places. Any girl with decent skin and oiled hips could do what you are.”
“What I do’s more difficult than that,” Tamm said as she stubbed out her cigarette.
“And what I do most people in the world can’t,” Kinkaid said.
“Twist arms.”
“The way I twist them.” He extended the file on his clipper and began smoothing the tips of his freshly mown nails. “I can keep twisting them till I die, lady. How much longer for you? Put on weight you can’t burn off? How much longer? Don’t tell me what I am. What you are is a nice figure fighting gravity.”
“I got years left,” she said, “and I’ll live longer than you.”
“Possibly, but for me my prime is always and that’s how I’ll die. In my prime. You’ll die long past it. What’s worse?”
Done with each other, they listened to the AC breathing and the nail file scraping. Some of the nail dust was getting on Tamm’s coat, and she could feel the warmth Kinkaid’s body was giving the cushions, but there was no room to slide away.
Briggs opened the door, stood in the doorway. “Okay, Tamm. The lights are off, he’s in a chair middle of the room. I got him to keep his belt on.”
“That was debatable?” she said.
“He wants to cum,” Briggs said. “Use whatever part of your body you need to, but make it happen. I’m sorry. Need a cigarette? I brought some, case you forgot.”
She stood up and shook her pack of Marlboros in his face.
Briggs dropped to one knee, crossed himself, then got up and moved aside so she could pass. Before she went in and Briggs closed the door, Kinkaid said, “When you’re done, all is forgiven. In terms of Faraday.”
Briggs sat next to Kinkaid.
Kinkaid spread the fingers on his right hand, armed the left with the nail clipper.
Briggs said, “Are you kidding? In this guy’s house?”
Kinkaid aligned his right pinky, looked at Briggs and gave the clipper a hard squeeze.
“Why wasn’t Lundin here for this?” Briggs said.
“I wanted you to prove yourself useful. We’ll see if you have.”
“Lundin would have been faster,” and Briggs’ comment faded as he realized it countered the promise of his utility.
“Faraday has me in charge,” Kinkaid said. “He also wanted us to take Tamm, have her absolution done here.”
“You spoke with him. Today.”
“This very.”
“At the funeral,” Briggs said.
“Service.”
“About this,” Briggs said.
“Before the service.”
“Where’s he now?” Briggs said.
Kinkaid was engrossed with his right ring finger, he wanted to get it perfect so it wouldn’t require the file. “What?”
“Faraday?” Briggs said.
“He’s walking the city, searching out a respectful place to dump those ashes. That’s what he told me he was gonna do.”
“He said dump. You’re getting nail bits on me.”
“Brush ’em off,” Kinkaid said.
“Jesus, who cuts their ten fingers so short?”
“Jesus? And it’s eight fingers. Thumb’s not a finger.”
“What’s a thumb, then?” Briggs said.
“A thumb. A digit, but not a finger. Only eight fingers. Thumbs need a wider nail.”
“It’s not right that she’s in there,” Briggs said. He shifted to face Kinkaid. “And without us? It’s cruel.”
“She yells, you’ll barge in. This is what she does for a living, Briggs.”
“Not outside Tattletail,” Briggs said. “This is shameful. And does no one see the irony? Dancing outside the club’s what got her into trouble?”
“And Coquette,” Kinkaid said. “You a Galahad, gonna save Faraday’s girls?”
“It’s a terrible profession.”
“Tress, her husband’s a nasty temper. Beats her with sacks of oranges so there’s no bruising. Doesn’t let her make any decisions and she doesn’t ever say to him the word No. Would you like to protect her?”
“Wouldn’t you?” Briggs said.
“Pearly’s promiscuous. Save her, too? Of course not. I don’t have the energy to go round babying them. Even if I did have the energy.”
Tamm’s worth saving, Briggs thought. But after he had that thought, he wasn’t sure it was true any longer.
He used his boots to scatter Kink’s clippings across the carpet so they wouldn’t show in a pile. “I didn’t know about Tress’ husband. He Japanese, too?”
“Portuguese American. Big nice fella. You’d never know.”
“You never do know,” Briggs said.
“Kitten’s still paying off her operation. Few HMOs cover that. Hospital bills, rent, food, clothes. She’s not clearing enough. Her pills get more expensive — ”
“Pills never get cheaper.”
“And she needs more of them now she’s getting older. Shots, upkeep. At the rate she’s not making money she’ll be a man again couple of years. A mutilated man.”
“We could help.”
“No one helped Clover. What’s it been, four weeks? Did you know where they found the needle on her?” Kinkaid said.
“Her arm,” Briggs said. “Had to be the arms, they were pitted.”
“Her feet. Veins on the tops of her feet. Arms, her legs, they were wrecked. Her feet. Ever wonder how she hid those pitted forearms before coming in to work?”
“Makeup. Creams.”
“Boiling water. She’d dip her forearms in a pot of boiling water to make the holes pucker closed.”
“She wouldn’t,” Briggs said. “That’s too painful, boiling water.”
“She coulda used a knight like you to detox her. Sit her down, give her a warm sermon about her hobby.”
“Nothing will get her off that pesticide,” Briggs said. “She won the lottery, she’d buy gold works — ”
“Works?” Kinkaid said.
“Syringes. Gold spoon, gold Zippo, gold, the whole kit. Fancy swabs, leather belt, Egyptian-grade cotton balls and enough Mountain Dew she’d be a stockholder.”
“You know a lot about this,” Kinkaid said.
“I’m a priest.”
Kinkaid was on his last finger — thumb, rather. If it’s even true. I never learned that, thumbs and fingers. Far as I’m concerned, I have ten fingers. So do you, Fish.
“Tamm’s more important than Clover?” Kinkaid said.
“Her I can help,” Briggs said, though again, he wasn’t as sure as he’d once been.
“How and why?”
“How are you helping Emmie?” Briggs said.
Kinkaid, without filing the nails on his right hand, put the clipper away. “She doesn’t need my help,” he said.
“Your pity, then?” Briggs said. “That the attraction?”
“Are you still a deacon? We all see you wearing the collar, but are you? I want an honest fucking answer.”
“I am. In the eyes of God and The Church,” Briggs said proudly.
“You’re a priest like I’m a prince.”
“Of bloody darkness,” Briggs said, smiling.
“Lead Mass anywhere?”
“Sure.”
“Take confession, right? I know you did that, you said so. Should take our confessions at the club.”
“The club is not a church.”
“I’m a sinner,” Kinkaid said.
“Thought you were a swan. I’ll absolve you.”
“As if I want you privy to my transgressions. They stay inside, they don’t get spoken. I’d need to buy a ream of indulgences from your Church to get into Heaven.”
“Don’t air them,” Briggs said, “th
ey eat at a soul. Like battery acid. I seen it when I was more involved with congregations.”
“Then I’ll rot.”
“I seen it, Kinkaid.”
“While you were stealing checks with Lundin in Chinatown? You care about my soul? Of a sudden?”
They both knew he didn’t, so Briggs said, “The AC’s strong. I can feel it on my hair.”
“Who takes your confession? Go back to being a lackluster reverend.”
“But a real one.”
“With a flock,” Kinkaid said. “I don’t like you.”
Briggs looked upwards so the cool air hit his face. “Lundin likes me. He likes me a lot.”
“You’re a better pastor than this,” Kinkaid said.
“How could you know how good a priest I am? Than this what?”
“This what Lundin and I do.”
“Plus your nine friends, what they do. I been with Faraday since you were Sotto’s boy. I get things done, accomplished. My track record’s higher than yours.”
“I don’t run track.”
“Lundin loves me, and I like working for Lundin,” Briggs said.
“Lundin is a weed,” Kinkaid said.
Tamm opened the door and buttoned her coat as she walked out. Hearty sighs were soughing from the room, overpowering the noise from the AC.
She said, “He came in his pants. Can I please leave?”
back to top
FIFTY-SIX
Saturday, Matins: 1st Nocturne
Kinkaid went off in the direction of Faraday’s brownstone. As I knew he would.
Tamm went north towards home. Briggs followed, and this surprised me.
“Let me be your bodyguard,” he said. “For the night. For this one walk.”
Tamm was rubbery with fatigue and disgusted with herself. She mumbled, “Faraday said to keep away from my apartment.”
“Tamm, I’ll be anxious all night. Did she get home? It’s dark out, Tamm. I’ll walk five paces behind, you want. I abhor the idea of you alone. Living alone, too, but we discussed that and if a horse is dead I’m too smart to beat it.”
“Are you? Cause I’m feeling like that dead horse,” she said but said it softly. She was too enervated to fight him; she wasn’t wearing much under the coat; what she was wearing had helped a stranger ejaculate recently; even with the coat she felt exposed, a target for leering. She couldn’t endure more leering tonight, but, enervated, said, “Walk next to me, but you cannot come up.”