Stacia Kane - Wrong Ways Down

He’d wonder how it happened Bump were able to get all them dames iffen he ain’t knew from his own experience. Were easy to find a dame willing to fuck him if he ain’t cared who they were or why they wanted him. He had money, he was with Bump, everybody in Downside knew who he were. For some dames that were enough, and all they wanted was a couple orgasms, a chance to say they’d been with him, and maybe to be bought shit.

Coursen, the fact that he made certain they got those orgasms were a help. He’d learned real early that a dude looked like he did had to offer something iffen he wanted to get laid, and dames talked to each other.

When he were younger he’d taken advantage of it, too, and he ain’t looked quite as bad then as he did now—still ain’t ever been much, with he big jaw and brow and mean eyes, but not so many scars and shit—so it’d been even easier. And he guessed he still took advantage of it, iffen he were honest. He ain’t had too much trouble, leastaways, finding dames who’d let him in their beds for the night.

Only seemed like lately it were … not so much fun as it used to be. Or, still fun—coursen it were fun, what the fuck could be not fun about it?—but it were different. What he wanted were different.

He ain’t knew for certain how old he was; he figured somewhere roundabout twenty-seven, or more likely twenty-eight, but for all he knew he could be as old as thirty. Seeing as how he could only guess from remembering Haunted Week and a couple vague things before, like the red-suited men waving bells in the snow, he had no way of being certain. But he were at least twenty-seven, and he’d stopped being a virgin for real about sixteen years past and he’d had himself a lot of women in between. He guessed that meant he were old enough and been around enough to start thinking on being with just one woman. On having one he could call his, for good.

Bump thought he were crazy. But Bump had he a wife somewhere he ain’t seen in twenty years, and Bump had he some fucked-up thoughts on dames heself.

Voices from Bump’s room, now; they was either waking up or finishing up. He ain’t wanted to know which, so he tuned it out, sat there smoking, planning what he needed to say and writing it down in his notebook. Bump’d ask a lot of questions, and Terrible oughta have answers fast. That meant thinking ahead on what he’d say, causen it seemed like he got the answers in he head but they ain’t seemed to make it out right. Like he had some disconnect there, between he mind and he mouth. Guessed iffen he were smarter he wouldn’t, but since he weren’t smart he had to think of how to say everything ahead so he ain’t would get stuck.

The bedroom door opened, and Bump came out, knotting the belt of his purple silk robe. Under it he wore silk pajama bottoms the same color. His hair stood up in tufts off he head. “When you fuckin getting here?”

“Couple minutes past.”

Bump nodded and sat on the edge of his desk. His black box sat on it, the one he kept he stash in; he pulled it up to his side, opened it, and started chopping heself a line while he talked. “What knowledge you fuckin got? Gots me some, yay, sure fuckin do, but you telling me on the first.”

Terrible flipped open he notebook, squinted at it for a second. Bump’s ex-woman Lisa taught him to read, aye—among other things—but she ain’t cared too much on what he writing looked like; sometimes even he had a hard time figuring it out, least when he wrote fast he did. “Talked to Sharp-eye Ben, you know he? Gots he some connections, Ben do. Gave me that he knows a dude knows a dude got paid to be a lookout when Sue got attacked.”

He glanced up, expecting Bump to comment, but he were busy sucking up he lines so Terrible kept talking. “Say be a dude name of Gav, squats at Forty-eighth an Grant. Works a duff game up Northside, so won’t be there now, aye? I give it a look-in later.”

Now Bump did respond. More like he spat , he voice a furious cat-hiss, he face pinkish, but whether that was from the speed or from being so pissed Terrible didn’t know. “Bring that fucker here, yay? Ain’t you even—nay, nay, not fuckin here. Take he the warehouse. You taking he the fuckin warehouse, yay, you strap he down an gimme a fuckin ring-up so’s I getting my fuckin look-see.”

“Aye.” He checked the notebook again. “Hearing from Edsel—sells magic in the Market, aye? There regular, every day—says people saying be a ghost. Amy say me the same on the last night, too, that she got told be a ghost killed Slick. Gave em the tell it ain’t, asked Ed spread that on, only—”

“Fuck. Last fuckin thing we needin, yay? That ghost shit.”

“Edsel got the hearing somebody say were a ghost around the night Slick killed.”

Bump tilted his head and drummed he fingers on his desk; the lamp-light hit he diamond rings and sent sparks jumping all over the red walls. “Thinking got truth in it?”

“Ain’t can say. Were told the dude dumped Slick’s body were talkin, dig, an ghosts don’t talk, but maybe we oughta—”

“Ain’t callin the fuckin ladybird on the yet.” Bump waved his hand. “Just causen one fuckin crazyass saying see them fuckin selfs a ghost. Half them inna fuckin pipe-rooms say them seein dead ones, yay, you fuckin knowing that shit. Ain’t can fuckin give the belief on one fuckin rumor.”

Shit. Bump were right up there; they ain’t wanted a scare happening, and iffen they brung Chess in so early on people would believe it were a ghost after all. Best to leave it til they had to.

He moved on. “Talking to people near where Sue found. One said Slobag’s men there on the other day, tryin unload bags, dig? Just showing up, sneaking off again just as fast.”

Bump leaned back and put his feet up. He big toe were smeared with lipstick. Terrible ain’t wanted to think on that one. “Wait til you fuckin hearing on what I got. Lenny Green, yay, fuckin gave me on the last night. Slobag planning he more moves, yay? More creeping in on them borders, starting he fuckin fights up. Lenny fuckin gave me some on distractions, too, sayin some distractions fuckin on the happening.”

That ain’t sounded good at all. Not at all. “Distractions” could cover a fuckload of troubles.

His cigarette was smoked down; he stubbed it out, hard. Fucking Slobag. All the other else happening and now this shit to handle too.

“Maybe Slobag finally gonna stand he fuckin up, make a real move, yay,” Bump said. “Stead of the fuckin sneaky-side bullshit he been playin.”

Aye. Somebody were probably gonna stand up, but Terrible guessed it weren’t Slobag. Or whatany they was doing ain’t come from Slobag’s mind, leastaways. He were still giving the orders, but he asshole son Lex were the one suggesting them. “Thinking them meaning Slick? Be a distraction tryin catch who done him.”

Bump shrugged. Seemed like it took a long time. “Could fuckin be. Could fuckin be Sue what they meaning. Ain’t would fuckin put past them scumfuck shitlickers. Ain’t can get them cocks fuckin wet no other way, yay?”

Terrible shook his head. He ain’t wanted a disagreement, but … Damn. Slobag was scum and Lex was worse, but rape just didn’t feel like a game they’d play. Murder, aye; they’d killed Bump’s men before. But that was men, and it wasn’t rape , and Terrible just couldn’t see what fucking point rape would have as far as gaining territory or hurting Bump or whatany. Even as a distraction. Were lotsa other shit could be a distraction that ain’t meant raping whores.

So he said it. “Ain’t see Slobag ordering Sue, true thing. Slick, aye, but—”

Bump waved his hand. “Yay, were thinkin be fuckin wrongways, too, but who fuckin knowing fuckin plans they doin? What else they fuckin tryna get a takeover on, yay?”