L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

“Where are you living now?”

“Over at the corner of Fifth and Elm.”

He drew back. “But that’s—”

Eyes narrowing, Gaby said, “Yes?”

With new insight, Mort took in her hair, the length of her exposed thigh, and he blanched. “No way.”

She punched his shoulder hard enough to nearly topple him off the curb. “Of course not.”

“It’s a disguise?”

“It’s me, a freak of nature, fitting in the best I can.” The only real disguise was her pretending to be a normal human.

“Oh, Gaby.” He started to hug her again, and she warned him off with a single look. He settled back and smiled. “You’re special, but you’re not a freak.”

“Says the dork.” She gave him a fond look. “I’m not sure you’re in a position to know a freak if you see one.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, accepting that he wasn’t a popular figure himself. “What I don’t get is, if you’ve been so close, how come Luther didn’t find you sooner? He’s sure been looking.”

“I know.”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Mort a little about what she did, how she’d secured new quarters and a modicum of anonymity. Before they’d parted ways, Mort had witnessed some of what she did. He didn’t understand it all. He couldn’t. But he knew that she killed only when ordered to.

In whatever way necessary.

“You remember when I asked you about sex?”

Mort stiffened, looked around, scooted a few inches away. “Yeah, uh . . .”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Stop squirming. I already know what I need to know now, no thanks to you.”

His gulp could be heard above the normal night sounds.

Rolling her eyes, Gaby cut to the chase. “I was looking for a place to hole up when I heard a hooker fighting some guy. He’d tried to take the goods without paying, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Oh God.”

“I made him pay, that’s all.” Given her mood at the time, she’d reveled in the punishment more than she should have. The show had impressed the woman and later her friends, left them awed and feeling empowered. They saw her as their own superhero—and Gaby, in need of cover, hadn’t dissuaded them of that absurd notion.

To simplify all that, she said, “The woman appreciated my help.”

Mort’s incredulity hit her in waves. “I’ll just bet she did.”

“I don’t think anyone had defended her, in anything, for a very long time.”

“Which is probably why she’s making a living off the streets.” He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “Good for you, Gaby.”

Gaby well remembered the hooker’s esteem that prompted the offer of a place to rest up, and later an introduction to the rest of the girls who frequented that particular flophouse for prurient transactions.

Other offerings followed the initial gratefulness; fleshy proposals were proffered, some meant to show appreciation, some, oddly, from sincere interest. Most were in the way of a bartering tool for future services rendered.

Pity for the women, distracting concerns of her own, and a healthy interest in Luther, kept Gaby disinterested in anything physical with the women. They ribbed her, but respected her decision. Instead of sexual exchange, they’d worked out a deal that suited them all: Gaby got her meager rent paid on the upstairs room, and she protected the girls whenever need be.

“Anyway,” she said, getting back on track, “I stick around and when they need me to, I protect them, or collect for them.”

“And in the process, learn a few things?”

“You could say that.” Giving unnecessary attention to her nails, Gaby asked, “So how’s your business been?” Mort’s apartment building abutted a comic store that sold underground graphic novels, some, like her work, in high demand. Mort had no idea that his business kept her in business, and supplied her meager livelihood.

He accepted the change of topic with a great show of relief. “Slower than usual. I’m waiting for a new Servant novel to bring in the customers. It’ll be here soon, I hope.”

New to the whole friendship, sharing, chatting business, Gaby searched for more conversation, but came up empty. “Anything else going on?”

His shoulder touched hers with fond camaraderie. “I have a girlfriend now. I’d love for you to meet her.”

Gaby’s jaw went slack. No words came to her. Mort and girlfriend were two concepts she’d never envisioned aligned together.

Her lack of response didn’t slow down Mort. “You might have met her,” he enthused. “She’s a detective who works with Luther, and she’s beautiful.”

Still blank brained, Gaby waited.

He filled the silence. “Her name is Ann Kennedy. I really care about her.”

“Ann Kennedy.” Oh yeah, she knew that name. She’d seen the woman with Luther, and she’d felt . . . jealousy. It sucked big-time, mostly because an emotion like that had no place in her brain, or in her life. She wasn’t a woman fashioned for consociation of any kind, but a romantic alliance was out of the question.

Being a paladin meant being alone.

Having Mort as a friend was risky enough.

Being more than a friend to Luther could risk it all.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Denying it didn’t remove the yearning.

“Yeah,” Mort said, “Luther knows her.”

“You said that.” Luther had claimed they were only friends. If the woman had an interest in Mort, then obviously an earthbound seraph like Luther wasn’t her speed.

Some things in this fucked-up world never made sense.

“She’s blonde,” Mort continued, “slim, big dark eyes . . .”

Fashioning a gun with her fingers, Gaby shot herself in the head.

Mort laughed. “Come on, Gaby. Is it really so odd for me to have a significant other?”

“Damn straight, it is. But, hey, I’m happy for you anyway.” Unfortunately, she’d have even more reason to avoid Mort if he had a damn female cop hanging around him. But looking at Mort, at the soft yellow aura drifting around him, assured her of his optimism for this new relationship. He was content, if still a little shy, and Gaby couldn’t bring herself to quell his happiness in any way.

When she kept her visits few and far between, he’d figure out the situation on his own.

Obtuse to the inner workings of her mind, Mort put his hands to his knees and turned to her with buoyant exuberance. “Maybe we can double date sometime.”

Gaby’s wide eyes zeroed in on him and she nearly choked. He had to be joking.

“You know,” Mort prompted, taking her expression for confusion. “You and Luther, and me and Ann . . .”

“Ain’t happening, Mort. Not ever.” Shoving to her feet, anxious to get away, Gaby said, “Look, I gotta go.” She needed to be by herself so she could digest all the frivolous changes pervading her structured and severe existence.

“Already?” He hovered close, as if by his mere proximity he could keep her there.

She stepped away from him—away from temptation. “Yeah. I just wanted to drop by to—”

His solemn gaze caught hers. “To tell me you thought I was dead?”

“Well . . . yeah.” Her brows beetled. “Usually word on the street is reliable, but I haven’t heard shit about you, so I had no reason to believe that you’d survived.”

He kicked at a small rock by his feet. “I’ve been busy with Ann, but we mostly stay in. I figured it was best to lie low for a while.”

“Lie low?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if anyone was looking for you or not. Other than Luther, I mean. He’s been going nuts looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Not that it mattered, but still . . .

“He’s grilled me a dozen times. That was bad enough—I didn’t need anyone else questioning me. I didn’t want to take a chance on screwing up our story or anything.”