Sidekick

by Auralee Wallace

  At the moment, yes, absolutely. All I had heard about, since moving to this city, was Ryder this, Ryder that. But she was not here to save my day. I was on my own.

  Suddenly it felt like the plug had been pulled on my adrenaline. “They took my money…money that I really needed,” I said weakly.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble? Maybe I can help,” he offered. “I’m a reporter…I’m not exactly sure how that helps, but I do know a lot of people.”

  “You’re a reporter?” I asked, feeling pouty. “You kind of look like you should be at the beach in a flexing contest or kicking sand in somebody’s face.”

  “First you punch me in the nose. Then you make fun of the way I look.” He furrowed his brow. “My investigative skills are telling me that either you’re traumatized or just not very nice.”

  “I’m sorry. I really am…I think,” I said, kicking a garbage can before I remembered my open-toed sandals. “I’m not myself. It hasn’t been a very good day…or month really.”

  His face softened as he dropped his hands from his nose. “I guess I can let it slide given what you’ve just been through.”

  “I appreciate that. And I really didn’t mean to hit you…or insult you. Your muscles are…um….distracting.” I felt a new blush creeping up my neck.

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “Don’t take it any way.” I waved my hand in defeat. “I have no idea what I’m saying.”

  He looked at me with big, sincere eyes. “So do you need help?”

  I took a deep breath then managed a smile. “I didn’t think people in this city offered help.”

  “I’m willing to make an exception,” he said returning my smile. “You’re pretty distracting yourself.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or concerned. I could still feel a nose imprint on my fist. Was flirting seconds after a bank robbery normal behavior? But then again, did I really care? The man before me was gorgeous and seemed to be interested. At four o’clock I was going to be fingerless. I might as well enjoy any happy I could get.

  Then just like that, it ended. I heard the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. Not good. The last thing I needed was anyone knowing where Bremy St. James now lived.

  “Listen. It was really nice talking to you, but I have to go.”

  “Wait, you can’t go. The police are going to want to talk to you. I want to talk to you…for a statement,” he said, looking down at me and pushing his glasses up his reddening nose.

  I took a few steps back. “I really can’t.”

  “Wait. You know, you look kind of familiar.” He reached a hand in my direction.

  I spun on my heel.

  “Can I have your phone number?” he shouted quickly. “I’d…I’d love to talk to you about what happened today.”

  I couldn’t do that. I had to save the money left on my phone for Jenny.

  He reached towards me again. Muscles strained against his dress shirt.

  I shouted out my digits at warp speed.

  “And your name! What’s your name?” he shouted to my back.

  “It’s Bre…Brenda!” Right. Brenda. Of course. Because so many girls my age are named Brenda.

  “I hope I get to see you again, Brenda!” I heard him yell as I high-heeled it quickly down the foggy street.

  ***

  “I came, little Bremy. You were not home. Normally this would make a nice guy like me very mad. Mad enough to say snap your collarbones like little twigs.”

  I rubbed my eyes and looked at my clock. Seven. Well at least my landlord was a predictable kind of crazy.

  “I’m so sorry Mr. Pushkin. I—”

  “Please, Mischa. But then I turn on news, and what do I see? My little Bremy, in bank, being robbed by beautiful woman with tattoos.”

  “You saw that on—”

  “She took all your money, no?”

  “She did. I was going to—”

  “Then let me guess, the police keep you hours with their questions and questions.”

  “Yes…the police.”

  “Well, little Bremy, I don’t want you to think I am not nice guy. I am going to loan you this money.”

  “Wow. That is so sweet,” I said straightening up in bed. “I can’t thank—”

  “At a very attractive rate.”

  “Oh.” I flopped back down.

  “Twenty percent. But if you don’t pay me back at end of month, you are out.”

  “Oh thank God,” I said laughing. “I thought you were going to say you would break my kneecaps or something.”

  “I am. I was just joking. It makes conversation easier, no?” His thick laugh echoed around in my brain. “Of course I’m going to break your kneecaps. It is what carpet sharks do, no?”

  “Loan sharks.”

  “Loan sharks? Oh yes, loan sharks. So helpful little Bremy.”

  “Well, thank you, I gu—”

  “Not so with the fastness. I don’t like to make bad investment. You need job, little Bremy.”

  “I know. I just—”

  “There is just again. I talk to The Pink Beaver. You go there and you tell them Mischa sent you.”

  “Oh I don’t kn—”

  “I know. I know. You’re good girl. You don’t want to show beebies. You can serve the little drinks there. Wear little costume.”

  It almost wasn’t a bad idea considering my options. It wasn’t like socialiteing counted as job experience.

  “But little Bremy, you be careful. This man—his name is Mr. Raj—he is not a gentleman like me.”

  ***

  I spent two hours face down on my bed trying to think of a way to make money that didn’t involve beavers. Unfortunately, inspiration didn’t drip out from the sagging panels of my apartment’s ceiling.

  Then my phone chimed.

  I know you’re in trouble.

  Why won’t you talk to me?

  It would be so easy to tell her.

  Regular, non-twin people couldn’t possibly understand how I missed her. In leaving her, I had left myself behind.

  I will explain everything…soon.

  I struggled for something more to say—a way to explain, without explaining. No words came. I needed to get an apartment that we could both live in, and I had to find a way that I could support her. Until then, she still got to live the life I had before that day while I got to sort out the mess of the after.

  Lost in thought, I didn’t hear, at first, the loud off-key singing coming through my apartment wall. But once I did notice it, it was impossible to ignore. What was it this time? I took a moment to focus on the words. Oh. I’ve written a letter to Daddy. How appropriate.

  Queenie was at it again. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I really didn’t want to deal with this today.

  Queenie lived on the other side of my paper-thin wall. I had learned her name and the fact that she was about my age from my other neighbor, Mrs. Reese, because I had never actually seen Queenie. I was, however, well acquainted with the songs she liked to sing from classic movies.

  I almost banged on the wall when an idea occurred to me.

  My problem was that I was all alone in this city. My evil father always said life is about connections. Therefore, I needed to get connected. Maybe Queenie knew about a job somewhere…anywhere. It was worth a shot.

  I hopped out of bed, trying not to slam into the opposite wall. I then flung open my door, took the half-step over, and started rapping.

  The door swung open.

  Queenie.

  She was Asian and maybe five feet tall. At that height, she shouldn’t have been able to scare the crap out of me, but she did. The fact that she was currently dressed as a porcelain doll from the turn of the century and wearing thick black make-up didn’t help.

  “What?”

  It took me a second to kick-start my brain. I finally managed to say, “Hey, I’m, um, your neighbor, Bremy, and I was wondering if you knew of an
y job openings because I heard that—”

  She started to slam the door.

  “Hey!” I shouted sticking my foot in the jam, which wouldn’t have been so bad, had I been wearing shoes. “I have listened to you belt out songs for an entire month without complaining. You owe me…at least a conversation.”

  “You have very long eyelashes.”

  “Huh?”

  “They’re too long. They remind of a baby panda…that I want to kick in the face.” She raised her foot to stomp on mine. “Conversation over.”

  “Why is everybody in this city so mean?” I shouted. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “It’s not what you did. It’s what you are.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You’re a bunny somebody let out of its cage.”

  “Okay. Say that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—why is that so bad exactly?”

  “You’re not going to make it in the jungle, so why should I get attached?” Suddenly Queenie dropped the heavy black boot, which had been hovering over my foot a second ago, down on a slow-moving cockroach.

  “Isn’t there even a small part of you—let’s say, for argument’s sake, a human part—that enjoys helping people out?”

  “Your weakness sickens me.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Well—”

  “Stop,” she said robotically, “it is probably some place where civilization ends and child beauty pageants begin.”

  “Hey! I res—”

  “This is the end of our conversation now. I cannot help you. If you were fighting a marshmallow to the death, I would give odds to the marshmallow.”

  I let her slam the door this time.

  I spun away then rested my back against the wall. I gently banged my skull against the dirty plaster.

  Well, here was hoping the Pink Beaver liked bunnies.

  Chapter Four

  Walking into a strip club is scary. Even in daylight.

  It had taken me almost a week to screw up enough courage to get to this point. I had pounded the pavement looking for a job, but nobody was hiring or seemingly taking me seriously – not even when I remembered to take off my gold necklace with the charm that read Princess. I now stood outside a faded brick building, trying one last time to come up with any other possible solution to my money problem, but even the glowing pink beaver mounted on the wall above my head seemed to think I was out of options.

  I pulled open the door and walked into a black hallway with a rounded cave-like ceiling. Low-budget porn music sounded in the distance.

  I could do this.

  I walked over the threadbare carpet, being careful not to snag my toe on any loose threads.

  On some level, I had expected the club to be closed, but no such luck. Men apparently wanted to see naked women at three in the afternoon just as much as they did at ten o’clock at night.

  In the main room a small number of customers lounged around rickety pedestal tables, but I didn’t waste any time looking at them. My focus stayed on the women.

  These were not pastel-pantied lingerie models. Oh no. These strippers were feral. They wore three colors—red, black and fishnet—and their bodies resembled steel cages with boobs. I am not one to believe in the supernatural, but I suspected that at least one or two of them were vampires.

  And here I had been worried.

  Suddenly one of the strippers leapt down from a tiny stage with an anchored pole and stalked in my direction.

  Oh Lord.

  Then came another.

  There was no doubt in my mind.

  They were going to eat me.

  Out of all the times when I had wondered about how I was going to die, being eaten by strippers had never crossed my mind.

  Colored lights spun frantically about the room. I looked around for help, but the patrons seemed to be enjoying this new development. One with insane eyes actually licked his lips.

  Then, suddenly, a voice stopped the attack.

  “Back, vipers!”

  A man casually walked out from a door shrouded in darkness. I’m not sure if it was the mustache that twirled at the ends, or the general air with which he held himself, but he was so obviously the owner.

  He was short and nearly bald, but he held his chest high—remarkable given the weight of his belly—and he had dark skin, which contrasted nicely with his white dress shirt, unbuttoned at both the collar and the sleeves.

  “I said back, vipers!”

  His voice had a British accent. It sounded educated and almost warm. “Can you not see that this is a beautiful young girl who is in obvious need of our help?”

  He clapped his hands and suddenly a chair hit the back of my knees. I sank into it slowly and peered over my shoulder. Right at my ear a glossy, mouth appeared. The lips peeled back and a hiss escaped through the pearly teeth.

  A stripper just hissed at me. It took a moment to process that information.

  “I am certain that life has been most cruel to you. You need a place to call home. You need people who care,” he said with a very sympathetic face. “You need food. Something to drink. Maybe cocaine? I don’t judge. Well, you have found it all here. I am Mr. Raj. Now show me your kitties.”

  “My what?”

  “Your kitties,” he said cupping his hands under the place where his pectoral muscles should have been. Then he snapped his fingers and another girl appeared in front of me with a camera. The flash burst. I blinked my eyes.

  “Wait? What was that for?”

  “The catalogue…I mean…nothing.” He held up his hands in innocence. “Now, the kitties?”

  “Oh, no, I mean, yes, I do need a job, but I was hoping to keep my kitties to myself.”

  Mr. Raj gave an order to the she-beast behind me with his eyes and suddenly I felt her yank the chair from underneath me. “I am most certain that there is a greasy pizza establishment down the street. Good day to you, miss.”

  “Wait! I was recommended.”

  “Recommended! By whom?”

  “Mr. Pushkin.”

  “Oh, you’re Pushkin’s girl.”

  So much was wrong with that statement.

  “Yes, he said you might have work that doesn’t involve me, uh, getting naked.”

  “You want to serve drinks,” he said distastefully. “The girls always start wanting to serve drinks, but that is not where the money is. See that baby viper over there in the uniform.” He pointed to a young girl chewing on a cigarette. “My cousin’s daughter, she already serves the drinks.”

  Her uniform was a bunny costume—an actual satin ears, black jumpsuit, fishnet stockings bunny costume. How appropriate.

  “Isn’t that copyright infringement?”

  “Baby viper! Turn around!”

  The girl swivelled on her heel. Oh God. Thong. Insy weensy thong. And a thick flap of something. A beaver tail.

  “See? It’s different.”

  I was glad the position was taken. There was no way I could do that. Aside from the obvious modesty issues, my backside was already starting to itch in sympathy.

  “Do you have anything else I could do?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head from side to side. Then suddenly a look came over his face. “Wait. Perhaps I do,” he said slowly. “Do you clean? Can you fetch? Do odd jobs?”

  Technically, I had never done any of those things, but how hard could it be?

  “The vipers don’t want to clean the men’s washrooms or the champagne rooms. As you know, it is not the champagne that is popping, it is—”

  I held up my hands. “Whoa, I understand.”

  “You can be The Beaver’s gopher,” he said laughing. “It’s funny. The Beaver’s gopher. Because it has two little animals in the name. Ah…sometimes. Anyway! What do you think?”

  I sighed. It really had come to this.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Wonderful! You start tonight. Be back at
ten.”

  I nodded then said, “Mr. Raj, there’s one other thing.”

  “One other thing? You already sound like a viper. What is it?”

  “I was wondering if I could maybe get an advance on my pay.” I resisted the urge to cower and cover my head.

  “Of course,” he said casually. “How much do you require?”

  “A…a thousand?” It felt a little like I was jumping from the frying pan into the fire, but maybe if I got the money to Mr. Pushkin today, he wouldn’t charge me the two hundred bucks in interest. My father always said I had a head for business. I just needed to apply myself.

  The thought popped into my head before I could even stop it. My father again. Every time I thought about him, it felt like a kick in the gut.

  I snapped back to the issue at hand. Yes, this definitely was the route to go. Despite what Mr. Pushkin had said about Mr. Raj not being a gentleman, I really didn’t believe he was a sociopath like some landlords I knew. Sleazy, sure. But not exactly crazy. I would rather owe money to him any day.

  “Here.” Mr. Raj whipped out a thick wad of cash strained against a silver money clip shaped in the silhouette of a very busty woman. He licked his thumb and began counting off hundreds.

  I held my hand out tentatively. “You’re being very nice about all this.”

  He chuckled, first softly, but then it built into something stronger, louder, and a little more frightening.

  “Am I missing something?”

  “Oh my, I was wrong,” he said still laughing, his round belly heaving up and down. “You have a long way to go before you are a viper.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said taking the money from his outstretched hand.

  “He owns you now, sweetheart!” one of the girls with lacquered red lips called out. “You’ll never pay him back.”

  “Yes I will! I mean I’ll work it off.” I yelled loud enough for all the women to hear. The one who had shouted waved a dismissive hand in my direction.

  Mr. Raj started laughing even harder at this. “I am quite certain you will,” he said wiping tears from his eyes.

  “What does that even mean?” I asked, looking around to the other ladies.

  “Don’t worry. You just keep showing up to work and everything will be fine.”

  “Just out of curiosity,” I said, no longer able to ignore the bad feeling in my stomach, “say I didn’t pay you back, and I didn’t show up for work, what would happen?”