James Knapp - State of Decay

Keeping my hands where they could see them, I unzipped halfway and reached in slow, then pulled the ID from between my two pairs of brass knuckles. He watched closely while his buddy stood in back of him like he was his goon.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, holding up the card. He stared at it for a second.

“You’re from Bullrich Heights?”

“Is that a crime?”

“Ms. Flax, what is your business in this area?” he asked.

“Is it against the law for me to be here?”

“What is your business in this area?”

“Just visiting.”

“Isn’t it a little late in the season to be riding a motorcycle?”

“You’re riding one.”

His eyes started moving across the bike, then made their way back to my jacket pocket.

“Step off the bike, please.”

“What, are you kidding me?”

“Step off—”

“Sir?” Luis piped up. They looked over at him.

“Sir, I’m Luis Valle.”

“I got your information,” he said. “Weren’t you in jail not two hours ago?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It was a misunderstanding and I was released. I couldn’t get in touch with my parents, and I didn’t have fare or a rail pass. This woman was nice enough to give me a lift, that’s all. She’s just helping me out.”

The cop stared at me for a little longer, then back at him.

“Really,” he said. “She’s just taking me home, and that’s it.”

He sighed and waved to his goon, who turned and went back to his bike, talking into his radio.

“I’m not going to write you up for the ID violation or the helmet violation for your passenger,” he said. “And I’m going to pretend I didn’t see your trick pocket there, miss. From now on, keep your ID where it can be scanned, and if you’re going to ride two to a bike, then both of you need helmets. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Luis said.

“You take him straight home,” the cop said. “Then you turn around and go back where you came from. Understand?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Move along.”

He and his goon got on their bikes and took off, and I grabbed back my helmet and put it on. They were two blocks off when I fired my engine back up and left a strip on their pretty goddamn road and a cloud of blue smoke in their pretty goddamn air.

“Sorry about—” Luis started to say.

“Shut the hell up,” I shot back. “And keep your mouth shut the rest of the way!”

He had some sense, since that’s what he did. He just tapped and pointed until we got to his street.

“Nice place,” I said when we rolled up.

“Thanks.”

He hopped off and jumped up and down to warm up.

“Can I use your john?”

“Huh?”

“I need to pee.”

“Oh,” he said, looking up at his building. “Um …”

“Jesus, never mind.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I just don’t know if my mom—”

“You live with your parents?”

His face went red and he frowned.

“It’s just for college. The rent—”

“Uh-huh.”

“It doesn’t make me a pussy.”

“Look, can I pee here or not?”

“Fine.”

I followed him up the steps to the front door, where he flashed his ID at the security eye. It blinked and flashed a white light at us.

“Hello, Luis Valle, second class,” it said. “Who is your guest?”

“A friend.”

“ID please.”

I pulled out my ID and showed it.

“Hello, Calliope Flax, third class,” it said. “Mr. Valle, due to multiple violations including assault, illegal possession of a weapon, public drunkenness, and speeding, your guest is considered a medium-high security risk and will require verbal authorization to enter. Do you authorize entry?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” the eye said. “Please proceed.”

He opened the door and we went in.

“Shit.”

The hall was wide, with some kind of flat red carpet and fancy lights down the walls. Big plants in big pots were in between the lights. The place looked like a straight-up palace.

“This way,” he said.

He took us down the hall to an elevator, then up to the one hundred thirtieth floor, where he and his parents lived.

“What are you going to tell your mom?” I asked as he flashed his key at the door and opened it.

“That we’re dating.”

“In your dreams, asshole. Anyone else live here?”

“Just my sister.”

It turned out it wasn’t a problem, since no one was home. He hit the lights and dropped his keys on the counter, but no one showed up or said anything.

“Guys?” he called. The place was quiet. “Guess they’re out,” he said.

“Bathroom?”

“Down there,” he said, pointing. “Go. Go pee.”

My boots clomped on the wood floor as I went down the hall to their head. The door was dark wood and had a brass knob. I pushed it open.

“Shit.”

“Put the seat down when you’re done,” he called.

“Funny.”

His toilet was almost the size of my living room and ten times nicer. When I walked through the door, it smelled better too. There was a big white sink and a huge white tub with jets in it that was big enough to soak in. All the faucets were brass, like the doorknob, and everything was shiny and clean. It looked like a picture in a magazine.

The toilet looked as shiny as the rest of it. It seemed wrong to sit there, but I really had to go.

When I was done, I started to head out when I caught a look in the mirror over the sink, and for some reason it made me stop. The mirror was huge compared to mine, carved around the edges and framed with shiny brass. I saw myself standing there in the middle of it, and compared to everything else, I just looked dirty. Beat-up jacket, big black eye, and busted lip. The bandage over my other eye was the cleanest thing on me. My picture didn’t belong there with the rest of it, and this was just their shitter.

When I looked down, I saw a bar of clear soap in a tray, and next to that were two more that were wrapped in colored paper.

Just like that, I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t belong there. If his folks did come home and saw me, there would be a shit storm.

When I left the toilet, Luis almost plowed into me on his way back from wherever he went. He looked jumpy.

“What’s your problem?” I said.

“Nothing,” he said. He rubbed his face, and when he was done his grin was back, but not all the way.

“Trouble?”

“No.”

“Thanks for the bailout, then. I’m out. Nice can.”

“Wait.”

I was at the front door, one hand on the knob. When he said it, I knew something was up. I knew that before I got out of there, there was going to be a catch. No one gives you shit for free; there’s always a catch.

“What?”

“Actually, something kind of came up.”

“While I was in the john?”

“I made a call.”

“It must have been a quick one.”

“It was,” he said. “I can’t stay here.”

“So don’t.”

“I need another ride.”

“Look.” I sighed. “You’re cute, and thanks for the help, but I’m not a taxi. Got it?”

“Just one more. I promise that will be it.”

“Why can’t you stay here?”

“It’s complicated. Please?”

“Where?”

“Your place?”

There’s always a catch….

“I’m out of here.”

“I’ll pay you—”

“Pay me? For what?”

“Just to give me a place to crash for a few hours,” he said, putting up his hands. “Just so I can make some calls, and then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll even buy dinner. Please, I’m in a bind—”

“Jesus—”

“What if I said I could bump you up to a two?”