Easter City

CHAPTER 2

  “No big deal that they got away… really. Besides, even camel hair doesn’t stave off this cold.” The burly man plucked at his coat, shivering violently. Snot trickled into his mustache and crusted.

          The man who had spotted me hopping out of my grate, the one with greasy brown hair and the red shades shivered, his back pressed to an ATM.

          “I’m with Spot. I’ve been keeping Julia waiting too long. You know how she hates being cheated of her—”

          “You know how I despise that name, Cranston!” Spot protested, dragging the back of his hand across his nose. His voice was high pitched and whiny like a toddler’s and it clashed with his stature.

          “—me time…” finished Cranston, glaring daggers at his cronie.

          “We let the Cochon escape!” wailed a green haired woman. “Julia’s ‘me time’ can wait! Our us time can wait!”

          Cranston lunged. Smack. The escort staggered. Smack. She landed hard on the curb.

          “Shut your mouth, whore! I don’t pay you to gab.”

          The sniveling splotchy man and the other two escorts flinched. Cranston sighed and gestured to Spot and the escorts.

          “Come. This hunt is over. We’ll get our blood pumping another way…”

          He and Spot walked to the cross walk. I was in sight now. I flattened myself to the side of the building. But Cranston and Spot were caught up discussing a certain long awaited magic show at La Rouge and they didn’t notice me.

          The escorts consoled their sobbing comrade whose cheek was swollen and red. When the walking man flashed on the opposite sidewalk they hoisted her and walk-dragged her across the street behind Spot and Cranston.  

  Still pressed to the bricks I looked behind and around the corner of the restaurant, then across the street. Cars skidded down the side street; their drivers wouldn’t notice me unless I crossed the street. There weren’t many people across the street; the casinos and hotels were packed this dismal day. I squinted. Cranston was tipping the doormen at La Rouge. Now.

          I dashed up to the crosswalk and, when the light had turned red, opened the grate, dropped the bag and hopped down.

          Splash. Thunk! “Ow!”

          Pain lanced up my legs as I collided with a hard, fleshy something.

          “Owie!” it echoed dully underneath me.

          I jumped back, splashing. A figure cast in gloomy-outside-light was rising, wobbling. It was a boy around my age, though he was shorter and, impossibly, slimmer than me. In the dim light I could just make out a swollen eye and a swollen lip. His face was grimy and his hair was all matted. Between the rags that draped over his weak frame like flaps of skin and the blonde hair, he bore striking resemblance to me.

          I stared at him and he stared at me and then he proffered the bag. In all the excitement I hadn’t forgotten my gnawing hunger. I snatched the bag from him and took out the Styrofoam box. Inside was half a New York strip and two boiled potatoes with garlic. Thirty seconds, a quarter of a steak and one potato later I found myself considerably content.

          I wiped my mouth and looked down at the stranger who was watching me through familiar, starved eyes. I looked at the piece of steak and potato and the smelly newcomer and back down. I closed my eyes, sighed and shoved the box at him.

          In an instant the box was empty. The beggar kid licked the butter off his fingers and lips, belched and sighed.

          “You ‘ave somefin’ to drink, yeah?”

          Incredulous at the kid’s sense of entitlement I jabbed a thumb at the water that lapped out ankles. The kid looked down, almost as incredulous as me, and regarded the road water. His hair was a dirty mop around his face. Disgust wrinkled his mouth. He looked up at me with such contempt that, for a wild moment, I saw a flash of Wealthy Devil in his shocking blue eyes. Then he grinned.

          I stared. His grin broadened. I stared. He laughed, displaying a set of yellow teeth. I stared.

          “Y-you c-can’t be serious!” he chuckled. “Me! Drink this… piss water?”

          Throat dry, I shook my head, stooped and drunk and splashed my face. When I emerged the disgusted look was back on the beggar kid’s face. He shook his head, and leaned against the cement wall.

          “Anyways, fanks for the diversion, earlier. Would’ve been killed elsewise.”

          I nodded not bothering to mention that he had been my diversion.

          “So, there’s like nun to do in this place, is there?” The beggar kid looked around my gutter. “Do you just stand ‘ere all day?”

          I nodded.

          “Well, that ‘int no way to live. Let’s get out of ‘ere, yeah?”

          I shook my head, dumbfounded.

          “Hold on,” I coughed a laugh. “Just hold on.” I held up my hands. “Who are you?”

          The beggar kid had this proud smile on his face.

          “Who are you ‘e asks.” He spread is arms. “Me? Me!” and commenced in a relation of his past that seemed rehearsed—like he told it to anyone who listened—which was likely, given he was a beggar kid on Main Street and had no more company than his grimy reflection in pothole pools.

          “Name’s Joq. And all this?” Here he gestured around the tiny gutter and the street above. “All this ‘int nothing. You see, me father’s one of ‘em wealthy people. One day, a lot of years back, there was a parade on this very street and lots of people an’ everyfin’. Me an’ me brother was to ‘‘old ‘ands so we won’t get lost’, says me old man—though ‘e in’t really old. Only fing was, I see this magic trick goin’ on. It’s a woman with a beautifiul red dress swallowin a bunch ‘o swords. ‘Well,’ I say to meself, ‘ere’s a fing you’ll never see again, Joq.’  So I let go me brother’s ‘and an’ go off into the crowd. An’ it’s fun ‘cuz I get kisses from pretty women and good food and some Wealthy Devils let me try the slots in that Big Win Casino. Then the parade’s over and it’s no fun no more ‘cuz everyone’s in their hotels or left town. And I figure me old man wun’t in a right state o’ mind to come find me what with me disobeying him an’ all…”

  He would’ve been a good storyteller if it weren’t for the forced accent. I could see the whole thing unfold in my head and it made me think of how I got to living on Main Street and who my parents were, or if I had any.

          “… fing of it was, after I lost me suit, people stopped paying for me food and beat me and treated me like…like your type. So I sort o’ gave up hope ‘til I remembered what me father had told me one time. ‘e set me down, up on ‘is lap and said, ‘Joq, if you is ever lost, I’ll find you, I will.’ And I ‘int given up hope since then.” Joq sighed.

          I rubbed my forehead. “Okay… so you’re a wealthy person’s son, and he’s going to come get you. What does that have to do with me?”

  Joq brushed past me, got on tiptoes and rattled the grate until it fell onto the street.

          “‘cuz, in all me adventures I found an escape from all this.” He gestured around again, then he reached up tousled my tangled hair. I gave him another blank stare.

          “C’mon now. I said we should get out o’ ‘ere. Said this ‘int no way to live. There’s a side street where there’s none of ‘em mean wealthy folk. I’ll show you it! Call it fanks for my diversion and the meal, yeah? C’mon… What’s worse than this?

          Running into Cranston and his crew on the sidewalks. Following you—a crazy beggar kid who thinks he’s the son of a wealthy man—to a made-up side street.

          But those risks seemed worth it when I compared it with standing alone in this freezing g
utter water, so I followed the strange beggar kid up through the grate. I didn’t even pause to check for traffic or pedestrians. I just followed him and ducked when he ducked and dove when he did and all the while my mind was racing.

  I’d seen him every night for the past few night but I couldn’t bring myself to accept that there was some minor paradise that I hadn’t found. So I chased him blindly, chewing on something he had said. ‘If you is ever lost, I’ll find you’

  I had dreamt that I would meet a beggar kid who looked like me. I had dreamt that dream every night for a while. But the dream changed last night. Instead of meeting a beggar kid, I was in a casino and there was chaos and a woman lying in a pool of blood. In the dream I ran outside with a man with a cane and another boy who was blonde, though it wasn’t Joq, and there was a limousine waiting and we hopped in. In the dream the man had said ‘I found you!’, or something like that.

          A gust-born flyer caught me between the eyes. I peeled it off— JULIA’S SWORD. 11 FRIDAY. ONE NIGHT ONLY—and let it slip out of my fingers.

          Like I said I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going so I guess he was good at not getting us caught. We weren’t attacked and when I shook Joq’s words from my mind, we had turned down a dark side street.

          Joq turned with a boastful look and flapped his arms and hooted louder than any beggar kid should dare.  

          “Shut up!” I hissed. “Are you trying to kill us? If you die you’ll never get to see your stupid, precious little…” I trailed off.

          Joq gave me a quizzical look and went on talking at the top of his voice, which made me wonder how such a little kid could have so much air in his lungs, and so much energy.

          “What’re you talkin’ about Nipple? We can’t be ‘eard down this street. Look around! None of ‘em wealthy folk.”

          “It’s Nip. That’s not the point. What do you mean ‘we can’t be heard’? Main Street’s right there.” I pointed at Main Street, two yards away with its dead lamplights and clean sidewalks and… pedestrians. A young couple around Cranston’s age walked past, heads bent together, murmuring to each other.”

          I flattened myself to the side of the restaurant or hotel or whatever the building was—there were rarely windows on the sides of the buildings that faced side streets—and waved my hand vigorously and jabbed my finger at the space next to me.

          “Come over here! Now! They’ll see—”. Instead of joining me on the shadowed sidewalk Joq, head held high, chest pushed out, sort of like that guy who had bought the airplane awhile back, strutted into the middle of the street and up to the Main Street side of the sidewalk, which ran across the side street from my building to the one across from me, and stopped before the cement, inches away from where the couple was walking.

          He pulled down his lower eyelid with a fingertip and stuck out his tongue. “Eh-eh-eh-nanana-na! Not so bad, are ya?”

          The couple stopped. Turned. Turned away from Joq, still giggling, still cooing, and pointed to a restaurant across the street with flashing, pink doves and a sign that read Love Bird’s Wings and Fries.

          Joq grabbed his shredded jeans and shoved them down. His member flopped in the wind like an overcooked noodle. He then proceeded to “Joq” himself off, sneering “Not big and bad, yeah? Ha! You-two-can-go—” He emphasized each word with exaggerated thrusts and there followed a stream of curses and short, rapid hand motions. Squirt. A white, aqueous something else streamed and splatted the sidewalk.

          The couple waited for a break in the cars and, hair and cashmere scarfs flying, danced across the road, squawking.  

          When my brain cranked up again, I shut my jaw, dropped my hand which had been frozen mid-gesture and blinked a few times.

          Joq hollered curses after the pair, cackling, then hitched up his pants, turned and grinned. He waved his hand and skipped down the street whistling his own, erroneous version of “Luck be a Lady”. I shook my head and dashed after him, slipping a few times.

          “Wait! Hold it! Joq!”

          I made to grab for him. Riiip. Cloth particles exploded as his rags tore in my fist. Joq gasped. He jerked his shoulder and slipped. I went with him. We collapsed in a heap on the slippery asphalt and began to slide down the side street. We scrabbled at the road but the ice stung and we were picking up speed. The street was long and winding and culminated in a square. We swept past the white bricks of the sides of buildings and down a final hill and collided with the curb.

          I wobbled to my feet, unscathed, though shaken. Joq wasn’t hurt too bad, though his lip was busted again. I gave him my sock as compensation for grabbing him and he accepted it.

          “‘hat ‘as all that a’out?” He demanded.

          I shook my head and regarded the buildings in the square. The square itself was wide, the road asphalt and, like Main Street establishments, the buildings surrounding the square were crafted of white brick, though they were less flashy; they lacked lights and were a good deal smaller. Most of the wood signs were blackened and a number of the restaurants and boutiques were burnt out.

          I shook my head again and looked back up the street at the space between the buildings, at the sidewalk where Joq had taunted the wealthy couple, and at the passing cars.

          “Say Joq, you weren’t lying were you? About them not being able to come down here, or see down the side street or hear us down here. It’s… real, isn’t it?”

          Joq blinked back tears and nodded. Red blossomed the rough fibers in my sock fibers as he pressed his lip. “‘hats what I ‘een tryin’ to say, da’n it!”

          “Sorry.”

  The square had a certain magic. And not the type of magic where everything’s going to be alright. Not two beggar kids find the Elysian Fields in a peaceful square after a shit life; we weren’t dead yet. The Square was damn cold, like anywhere else, brutally so, and my belly was still empty as ever, gapingly empty. But I felt a kind of nostalgia, as though I’d been here before; that kind of magic.

          “Do you know why it’s like this?” I nodded up at Main Street, far up the road, where another group walked by the side street.

          Joq shook his head and tossed the sock back to me. I didn’t bother catching it. Joq stooped and chipped ice off the curb and pressed it to his lip. He held up a hand, as if to sooth me, and pointed with his chin to a building—a bar—that appeared to be one of the few in the square that was completely intact. He inched toward it and kept pointing with his chin.

          I licked my lips and followed. “Okay, okay I said I was sorry. Stop that.” He was backing away from me with exaggerated steps, as though I had a gun.

          He cracked a smile, cried out as his lip split, blew steam from his nostrils and stamped to the door. I took another look around the square before stepping inside. Though my stomach grumbled, a sense of quiet settled my chest.