Easter City

  #

    I’d met an escort once. She’d been the only kind person I’d met. She had brown hair and brown eyes and a decently pretty face—nothing that set her apart from other escorts in looks. She’d fed me one time and called me Nip, so I’d started calling myself that.

    Now she was wavering over me in five places at once. When her outlines coalesced I groaned, shook my head and blinked at her.

  “Hey.” It was a stupid thing to say, but that’s what came to mind—at first. Then I remembered that I’d just bludgeoned four men. There was none of that repressed memory bullshit—no ‘Where am I? What happened?’ I remember beating those guys to death, clear as day.

    I rolled on my side. The escort had moved me near the bathroom but I could see across the lounge. The piggish men were slumped over the leopard skin like bulging money sacks. Their heads looked like bloody eggs—smooshed up on the tops, with brain bits and rivulets of blood trickling down their cheeks. I rolled back over and spewed.

    The escort massaged my shoulder and I looked at her again.

  She smiled. “Hey again,” she said. “How are you, Nip?”

    I couldn’t take it. My stomach was empty but I hurled again. My hands were numb and hot, at the same time, from the blood on my fingertips. I felt drained, yet all I wanted to do was run.

    I brushed aside her hand, stumbled to my feet, and shot off. The door wouldn’t budge when I pulled, and it took me a second to realize I had to push.

    My mind wasn’t in a blur or anything—I knew that I was pelting through the corridor and that I was going down a flight of stairs. The throbbing in my head faded with every step and I started to feel empty, which wasn’t bad.

    When I got back to the staircase that led into the lobby, I stopped, panting, and leaned over the banister, hands clasped, eyes shut, like I was Hindu. I thought about the escort. I’d wanted to get her name for some reason, when I first met her. It felt right that I should know her name. I should have stayed—talked to her. But I’d ran because I was trying to escape the sight of fat death. The thought sent me reeling.

    I should have seen this coming and, in a way, I had. I’d seen a bloody poker in my dream. Still, it could have been a wine-dipped poker or me witnessing a murder.

    In any case I killed them and when the show began, I would have to face Julia and leave Joq to get away in the stolen car on his own. Maybe I didn’t care too much about what happened to Joq—I mean I’d been dreaming this night for the past few days and I chose to come, out of curiosity, despite knowing that I would leave Joq behind. But I’d had my fill of surprises, and a hot meal and another solid night’s rest at the bar was sounding pretty damn good when I thought about the chaos that would inevitably ensue, and being spirited away by the man with the cane, to who-knows-where.

    I still had a chance to change the future. Joq probably had the car loaded. I thought. I’ll just go downstairs and we’ll get out of here before the show. I can probably spot him from here—” I looked up from my hands. I tensed.

    In the lobby of La Rouge wine chuckled in a fountain and its bonhomie taunted my ears. Frank Sinatra serenaded a beggar kid on a lobby landing. I was frozen to the banister. I opened my eyes. La Rouge lobby was an expanse of unoccupied marble.

    I could hear applause, and the resonance of a microphone in a nearby room. It was one of those blank-brain moments where I was too shocked to be scared.

    I almost tripped twice, dashing downstairs. When my feet clapped off the last step, I spun around, trying to locate the source of the sound, knowing it came from the auditorium. I probably looked like one of those Main Street druggies, slip-sliding around the lobby. Past the restaurant—back to the other side to open a locked door. I was loud about it, so it was no wonder that a few minutes later, there were footsteps on the stairs and a man in a uniform hissing at me. “Usher! Where the hell have you been?” He had a throaty accent.

    I didn’t register what he was saying until about the third yank. I whirled to face him. He was shouting that he wasn’t paying me to screw around and how he’d be halving my salary. I guess the guy was supposed to be my boss, but he was wearing an outfit that looked just like mine. Maybe the handlebar mustache gave him superior rank.

    Anyway, when I didn’t respond, he accused me of being a ‘speed demon’—my eyes were probably wild and red and big as bulbs—and grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged me across the hallway to a set of doors under the staircase that I had overlooked.

    He was about to open them but, just then, there was a resounding knock on glass. We looked at the lobby doors. It was dark outside and snowing heavy, but by the streetlights, I saw a pair of squat redheads with their fathers. I thought the kids looked a little battered—the fathers, a little more than pissed.

    My boss looked outside, squinted, frowned and pushed me toward the auditorium door. “Allé! Go!” he shouted, and sped off to let them in. I watched him before sealing my fate in the auditorium. His pants were really tight and his butt looked like an ‘escort’s’ and the way he was fast walking made it look like a curtain pole was stuck up his ass. I chuckled softly, suppressed the overwhelming urge to scream and drop to my knees and sob, and opened the door.

    The auditorium was just how I dreamt it: brocade curtains drawn back—Julia in her blood dress, her assistant twirling her around the stage. The room was dark and Julia had the audience’s attention so I slipped in, unnoticed.

    Someone flashed a dim light at me at the back of the theater and I followed it blindly, picking up my pace when I saw that it was Joq. He was seated off to a corner of the room against the back wall. I waded through rows of Wealthy Devils—most of whom pushed me and cursed at me to get out of the way. When I broke through the aisles I hurried toward Joq.

    He stood but sat down again when I took the seat next to him, and flash his light in my face.

    “‘ere ‘e ‘is! The axis o’ the world, this one! Where’ve you been, Nipple? I loaded the car by meself, an’ I’ve been stuck usherin’. Not that I mind helpin’ these generous wealthy folk to their seats, but that frog-lookin’ manager was all over me delicate ass when you didn’t show!” He patted his bulging watch pocket. “A lot of tips, these people give. Show’s not ‘alf bad either! Cranston’s been trainin’ this one well, ‘e ‘as.” He pointed the flashlight handle at Julia, who was getting into a curtained rolling cart. “We might can stay to watch the rest, yeah? Who knows when we’ll get to see the Mystical Julia again—”

    The light swept my hands. I saw Joq’s pale lids for a moment, then he looked at me. He sounded choked up. “‘ere, Nipple… What’s—er—what’s that? It’s not blood, is it? I felt a tear slide down my cheek which was enough to make Joq click off his light and sigh and rub a hand across his face. “You er—that is—where ‘ave you been! What ‘ave…I mean! You know what this means, Nip! You can’t kill a Wealthy Devil! It’s—”

    “Joq.” My voice was hoarse and my hands were trembling like leaves in autumn. “Joq we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Go Joq shook his head and said, “You’re right. We have to leave.” There was no trace of accent in his quavering voice. “But we can’t make a scene, yeah? Okay, Nip? Everything’ll be alright, yeah? We’ll just leave and go to the bar and...”

    I shook my head. “It’s not, Joq… Nothing’s going to be alright!”

    Julia was unsheathing her sword and licking it doing this weird dance that earned her deafening applause.

    Joq’s eyes focused and his mouth was a hard line. “We’ll go now, Nip. We’ll walk out, and dodge the manager. We’re friends. I’ll get you out of this.”

    And then the double doors banged open and lobby light pierced the auditorium. The man with the handlebar mustache and the bruised kids and their fathers were silhouetted in the frame.                                                               
r />     The music scratched off and there was an uproar.

    Joq gasped. “It’s them. Nip, it’s the snot nosed kids I wasted!”

    I stood—hesitated—tensed, ready to run—but Joq was glued to the seat.

    Our boss beckoned to Julia and she walked off stage. He whispered something and rubbed her shoulder. She put her hand to her mouth and dropped to her knees and started weeping. Our boss flicked a bunch of switches. Light flooded the room.

    The handlebar boss gestured to the bruised kids to follow, and accepted the microphone from Julia’s assistant.

    “Your attention, if you please! It has come to my attention that there is a pair of wolves sitting in wait amongst our flock. They will pounce, giving the chance!” The audience gasped. “These two slimy, deceiving Cochon brutalized these fine young men—” He wrapped an arm around the redheads. “—both of whom are employed here at La Rouge—stole their uniforms and murdered Miss Julia’s only brother and his friends.”

    Amidst the outcries I thought I heard someone laugh.

    The handlebar mustache guy leaned over to the kids. “Gentlemen, point out the facsimiles, if you please.”

    I didn’t bother shielding my face. After a bit of squinting the boys pointed at us and everyone in the auditorium turned like a tide. A bunch of people got up and came at us and boxed us into the corner. Joq raised his puny fists to ward off the blows of a man five times his size. Pain blossomed when shoe made contact with my ear. I tried to get to my feet but people kept pummeling me.

    Then there was a predatory shriek, and the onslaught ceased. “Move, all of you! I want them! I’ll kill them!