James Baldwin - Stained Glass

“Ohh.” Jenner’s eyes lit up. “Ohhhh. Well, yeah. Consider my doubt given.”

“What’s your story?” Mason crossed his arms, chewing something on the inside of his lip.

Selling the benefit was hard when you didn’t have any benefits to offer. I hadn’t told them about losing my magic… but then, if I got hold of my tools and a first aid kit, I wouldn’t need to. “I was… this July, there was a murder in our territory, a murder which could have led to a war between us and the Manelli and Laguetta familia . I had to look into the death and also find another missing person. I found out what was going on, but I decided to put the health and safety of the people endangered by these events over my boss’ plans for conquest. He decided I needed a forcible retirement about three, four weeks ago.”

“Right. So was it four or three weeks ago?” Mason asked.

I shot him a dark look. “I’ve been hiding out on the street since I escaped my boss’s torture dungeon. Timekeeping hasn’t been my number one priority.”

“Huh.” Mason looked unconvinced, but he was tuned in to Jenner, and she was unperturbed. Zane was watching me watch them.

“I cruised my apartment last week. It was occupied,” I continued. “They might have someone camped there, waiting for me. But I don’t imagine there are many people by this point. My familiar may be dead, but if nothing else, I can reclaim the tools that will help me do this job for your people.”

Jenner’s nose wrinkled. “You can’t tell if your familiar’s alive or not? No spooky action at a distance?”

I shook my head. “No. And I’m sorry, but if she’s dead… I’m going to kill every man in that apartment, and none of you will be able to stop me.”

“You’d kill people over a cat?” Zane seemed genuinely surprised.

I stared back at him. “That cat is worth five of those ava’ram assholes.”

“Hell yeah,” Jenner said. “Suits me. I can’t stand to leave a fellow pussy in danger.”

Mason actually smiled. “I get it, Rex. Believe me. You had her a long time?”

I wasn’t sure if they were trying to make me justify my price for helping them, but it sure felt like it. “Not that long. I picked her up during one of my last high-profile jobs. A traitor to the organization… he sold out my best friend and had about five other guys killed. The Italian Mafia, the FBI… he didn’t care. Binah was his cat. I felt responsible for her.”

“Yeah.” Jenner sighed, “I know that feeling. Well, we got flak vests, machetes, and shotguns, so let’s get moving. Duke! Go get the shotguns!”

“Ay-ay, captain.” Duke drew his feet together and saluted, then turned to march out the door.

“Wait. No.” I held up a hand. “Shotguns are out. Guns are out. This is an apartment. And I’m not able to do this tonight. I need to sleep in a bed for a change, I need to get my things… and I want to review the case file. Once I’ve seen the photos and read the Vigiles file, I’ll know if this is something I can handle.”

“What? You been sleeping rough?” Jenner frowned.

Unable to reply, I nodded. Once.

“Guy like you, I figure you’d just whack someone with money.”

“I prefer the street to prison,” I replied. “The food is better.”

“Fair enough. Well, you can crash here.” Jenner shrugged her thin shoulders. “It’s no skin off my ass. Zane’ll put you to bed. Get you some hot chocolate and your woobie, tuck you in.”

“Maybe a little cuddle.” Duke wrapped his arms around his own chest and did a little pirouette.

“My foot could give your face a little cuddle,” Zane growled.

The four of them laughed and I smiled, but there was a bittersweet sting to the scene and the moment of pleasure passed. Shit-talk had been one of the things that characterized the old life, and all gangs had in-jokes and things that got everyone laughing. It had taken me a long time to get used to it, to know when I was really being disrespected and when it was an invitation. It was part of the Thieves’ World, and I was no longer included.

Jenner grinned toothily. “Seriously though, Zane can show you around. He’s camping out here, too. House rules are pretty simple. First rule is—”

“Don’t talk about bike club,” Duke said.

Jenner shoved him. “Don’t kill anyone on the carpet, don’t drink all the beer, don’t stink up the place with crack, and don’t give anyone an STD. Easy.”

“I assure you that there’s no chance of that,” I replied. “I’m practically a monk.”

Duke grinned. “You get down on your knees for old guys every night?”

“Hey now, don’t be judging a man’s fetish,” Jenner said.

I arched an eyebrow. “If you need to confess, I can fix you up with a Hail Mary and a high speed nine-millimeter indulgence.”

That earned a laugh. Mason smiled, and it reached his steely gray eyes. “Looks like you’ll fit right in here, Rex. Think you can do the apartment job tomorrow?”

Something hardened in me. It was a curling sensation in the mouth, a predatory pressure in the teeth. It was the feeling of impending revenge, served cold and bloody. “I’ll be ready by tomorrow night… you can count on it.”

That night, I had my first shower in close to a month.

The showerhead was old, sputtering out the sides, but I stood under the streaming hot water and shook until my bones rattled. I had been washing in the rain, in the sinks of corner store bathrooms and public toilets, but it had not been enough. I scrubbed the built-up calluses from the backs of my heels until they turned pink, and gave my head a fresh shave. The water turned gray with dead skin and the detritus of the street, and I was wracked with spasms of relief so intense that they bought sounds from my throat. Short, huffing moans, tics and shivers… not only of pleasure, but of painful release.

The mirror over the sink revealed the damage done. I had always been short, burly and pale, but now my eyes were sunken, my cheeks hollow. My skin was bad: dry on the brow and chin, oily everywhere else. I looked hard and feral and disused. The comfortable polish of suburbia had been worn away, layer by layer, until only the animal remained.

When I was ready, I decided to finally try to get a proper look at my stomach. This was the first time I’d really dared to look at or think about the seal that Sergei had placed on me. I hadn’t been willing to try to operate in the conditions I’d been surviving in – an open wound and no antibiotics was not my idea of a good time.

The blood used to draw the sigil was long gone, as were the stitches. What remained was a strange symbol that looked like a fanged mouth with a connected crown. It was slightly raised, a shape formed by black-violet ropy cords of something that was eerily visible under the fluorescent tube light. They were only just under the skin.

It had to come out. I was no stranger to self-surgery: everything from digging out splinters to setting bones and removing bullets. There was sterile equipment here, but for a shallow incision like this, I could make do with the straight razor, tweezers, and soap.

I washed the tools in the sink and then sat on the edge of the bathtub, pressing around the lines to feel the contour and depth. As if sensing my intent, they creeped and wriggled against my fingers.

“Shut up.” With steady hands, I brought the edge of the razor to my belly, got the tweezers ready, and pressed in to make the first cut.

The lines jerked, and my abdomen spasmed. I doubled over with the sudden flash of cold stinging pain. The urge to claw at my stomach was nearly overwhelming, but the more I pawed at it, the more it hurt. I gulped for air and forced myself to stretch it out the way you would any other muscle cramp. When I took the blade away, the pain stopped.