02. The Shadow Dancers (24 page)

They had funny names that sounded like sororities. Beta, Delta, Zeta, Lambda, Rho, and Iota. All but Rho had simple nicknames like Bet, Del, Zee, Lam, and Ta. Letters of the Greek alphabet, like they was some kinda clinical experimental samples. All six really did look similar in size, shape, and build; you could draw 'em in outline, make their hair any color or style you wanted and color their skin any which way and you really couldn't tell which was which. They wasn't no runaways, that's for sure. They was either picked 'cause they had that look, or bred that way. None of 'em had that hard look to 'em, neither; they all looked kinda empty, and lost, like this life and these ways was all they ever knew or could think of, and all they ever imagined the future would be. Shadow people without souls, Harley had said, and that was pretty close to the truth. Only their Brandy was different-larger, with distinct black features and speech, and with natural woolly hair in a mane that was shorter than I used to wear it and better kept but pretty much the same.

It was okay till I literally bumped into her one day. She was with one of the other girls, the black one, Beta, and they come 'round the corner in their fancy-lookin' furs and heels and I was comin' the other way and we collided. Nothin' much, but we stopped for a minute and looked at each other. She just smiled and said, in a real mellow voice, "Hey, sis, don' worry none. It's all cool."

"My fault," I mumbled, tryin' to keep my diction up and my voice and head down. "Sorry."

All the other girls had high, sweet voices that sounded almost alike. "Hey, you know, she look somethin' like you," Beta noted to my distress. "I seen her 'round th' club."

"I clean up there nights," I told them bruskly. "Look, gotta go, nice talkin' and all that." And I hurried off, even though I was only goin' out for cigarettes.

We parted quickly, but I could hear Brandy Two's voice say clearly, "I don't look like no bull dyke."

I breathed hard and tried to think about what to do next. I could run, but then they'd know, and like the shadow dancers I had no place to run to. Here in this district was the only friends I had in this world I could count on. Was it time, maybe, to take on another identity? I went and got the cigarettes and came back to the room and stuck some jazz on the radio. When nothin' happened for a while, I started to relax and followed my normal routine.

It was Sunday night-or, rather, Monday morning. Sundays was busy nights 'cause most bars and clubs was closed all day by law; only in an entertainment district could they stay open, so we got a lot more business from as far away as Philadelphia.

I cleaned up and was gettin' ready to go when one of the shadow dancers came down and looked out at me. "Hey! Sammy girl! The
man
wants t'see ya upstairs. Now."

I frowned. I didn't like this. Fast Eddie still here at three-forty in the mornin'? I could run out the front door but if it was trouble he'd have that covered. Better to bluff it through.

"Okay, okay, tell him to keep his shirt on," I mumbled. "I'll be up as soon as I finish here." And I did take a little time, just to be on the safe side, then went back and up the back stairs to the only part that wasn't reserved for the shadow dancers-the small back office. I knocked, and got a muffled "Come in," and I opened the door and saw Eddie Small there in shirtsleeves workin' on the books. He seemed alone. He kept on with the books a minute, maybe gettin' even with me not runnin' when he called, then closed the ledger, leaned back in his creaky desk chair, and took a pull on his cigar.

"You're one hell of a detective, Horowitz," he said. "Best I ever seen in forty years in this racket."

I had that trapped-rat feelin', but I had to play the part. "What the hell's
that
supposed to mean?"

"It's a compliment. Even with pictures and a description in a town this size, we couldn't find you. Anybody who can disappear into a place that's strange to them in every way
and wind up workin' for their mark day in and day out and havin' the mark pick up most of the tab is impressive, I got to tell you. I am really impressed. Even when Beta mentioned your resemblance to Brandy to everybody, most of us, me included, just dismissed it."

"Look, Mr. Small, I don't know what all this is about, but-"

"Stow it! It's over. The game's done. Call it my paranoid nature, but it's kept me out of prison for forty years, not countin' a few nights in the pokey here and there. We still weren't sure we were right, but we had an easy way to tell. We sent a guy up and he dusted a few parts of your place for fingerprints. Know what? You got the same prints as our dancer, Brandy. Now ain't that an impossibility?"

"So what's gonna happen now?"

"Well, the original plan was to let you come back home the grieving widow, then switch our Brandy for you, but it proved too hot to do. Then we get word you're comin' in here so it looked like a possibility, but when you got here you had different hair and coloring. We couldn't straighten that hair of hers in a million years. So I said, hey? Why bother? We don't need to switch if we got the real one. Then you take a powder and we can't find you. To be honest, we did think it was you that night in the club, but when you came back and then moved in we just threw the idea out of our mind. And here you are."

"I assume the exits are all covered."

He just smiled and shrugged.

"Well, what now?" I noticed he let me do all that damned work for him downstairs before he nabbed me. At least I wouldn't have gotten no further tryin' to walk or fight my way out.

"Like the old saying goes, one Brandy is a necessity, two are a luxury. We can afford luxury, but we'll take necessity. It's up to you."

Two gunsels I never even seen or heard was now in back of me in the hall. They marched me down it to a small room all the way forward, frontin' on the street, but the lone big window in it had them burglar bars set in. Half the room was filled with a double bed; there was a radiator down at the other end on full and bangin' slightly. Right next to it
was an old, seedy-lookin' and stained bare toilet and above it a rusted, stained, and tiny one-faucet sink. The bed had only a yellow blanket and pillow without pillowcase on it, but it had one of them iron headboards and posts at the feet. The only inside light, barely enough, came from a tiny little bare frosted bulb in a wall fixture and from the streetlights outside. Then they took my glasses and I couldn't even see
them,
let alone most of the room.

It was the start of one of them nightmares a lot of women have. They stripped me, then tied my hands to the headboard and my feet out to the two bedposts. I was braced for a rape, maybe a gang rape, but even that wasn't what they had in mind. Fast Eddie dismissed the gunsels and came in the room.

"Comfy?"

"Go to hell!"

"Almost certainly. That knowledge alone makes it so much easier on me in this line of work. Don't worry. Just a little pressure on your right thigh and then you'll have a really wonderful time. Of course, it almost always fails the first time. Some people need a week or two, and a very few just won't be hooked, but your other self in there only took three days so I expect about the same. We'll take care of Debbie and your things, so don't worry. I'll even have your counterpart come in to see to all your needs while you're here. I'm sure you and she have
lots
to talk about."

"Oh, no! Oh, God, no!" I know they warned me, but I never really believed it would happen, not down deep.

I couldn't do nothin', and then I felt somethin' press on my thigh and felt a small burning sensation. It seemed to sink in and grow, then swallow my whole right side, makin' it a little tingly, and then my head exploded.

I cannot describe it. It's impossible to describe and you get tingly just doin' it. The best I can do is ask you to imagine the ten best orgasms you ever had and combine it with the feelin' and high from the most potent drugs ever invented. Somewhere in your brain you got somethin' like a button, and when you enjoy somethin' or feel real good it gets pressed some. Super drugs can press it more than any natural high, but they go maybe a third of the way. This thing pushed it to the floor. Pure pleasure. Absolute.

Beyond measure, beyond description, and sustained for a long time. The noises outside, the room, the light, the bed and straps, they all don't exist no more. You ain't even aware of 'em. You ain't thinkin' at all. It's impossible. You just relax and it's
everything.

You do come down, of course, but it's real slow and gentle, not like the crash with pure coke or anything like that. There's no crash at all, just a slow ease back to reality. You feel real good.
Real good.
Everything is heightened and pleasant and amusing. Traffic noise, a creaky floorboard, the radiator clang, or the flush of a toilet down the hall are all the music of heaven. You see beautiful patterns in lights and shadows. I wanted to move, 'cause movin' made it all prettier and things rubbin' on my skin felt nice. I couldn't see too good, and it was still dark, but that didn't bother me none, neither.

It was a surprise to find I could move. I wasn't flipped out or nothin', I remembered where I was and what was causin' this-I just didn't care much. But my arms wasn't tied at all, and I had somethin' fixed to my leg. Another chain, like all this started out. Naked and in chains. Just one, though, a leg chain. Somebody was here and did all this while I was havin' a fine time and I never even noticed.

I was still high. Colors seemed to make pretty musical sounds and sounds caused pretty light patterns. I was also real turned on; 'bout as turned on as I could get. I was so wet I was drippin', and my nipples were so aroused it was heaven to rub 'em, yet I could think fairly clearly. That was the crazy part-I could think clearly. All of a sudden I knew just how that girl back at the Center, Donna, felt. It was all done with brain chemicals, they said, so she must be like this all the time.

It wasn't as bad as I thought. In fact, it was like seein' the world and everything in it, including yourself, in whole new ways. It was like I felt when I was on high-class pot, only better, with everything sharper and more beautiful. Like pot, though, you might have some pain or discomfort and even notice it but you just didn't mind. It wasn't allowed.

I got up, then down on all fours and followed the chain. It was very solidly attached to the radiator, it seemed, and the radiator was hot. Up close, I could actually see fuzzy
purples and reds comin' off the radiator and flowin' up and over in the room. I made it over to the toilet, then sat down and peed. I also had some gas. I can't describe what that felt like, but it was somehow very, very funny.

It was gettin' to be dawn, and I suddenly felt tired. 1 made my way back to the bed in the little room and flopped back on the bed and just lay there a while. Then I went, very pleasantly, to sleep. It was a pleasant glow, and while I must've dreamed I don't remember what about.

I woke to the sound of the boomin' jazz from the club below, so I knew it was four o'clock. I opened my eyes and instinctively reached for my glasses, but they weren't there of course. The really great feelin' had gone, and I didn't feel real good at all. My stomach was sour, I had bad gas, and I felt real dizzy. I didn't really hear the lock turn and the door open, but I noticed somethin' and watched as a dark blur come into the room.

"I guess you ain't feelin' none too good right now," I heard Brandy Two's voice say over the music. "I knows how it is first times. It git a whole lot bettah the more you have it."

"I guess they told you who I am," I managed. My voice sounded like a frog's to me.

"Yeah. I knowed d'ere was ones like you befo' dey put me on de juice. You jus' the first I ever seed in person. I dunno. I think we look mo' like sistahs den twins."

She had a much heavier dialect than mine all the time, and clearly a lot less learnin' even though I did a lot on my own in spite of school. Just from that, I guessed she was probably at least a functional illiterate. And they was gonna replace
me
with
her
and get away with it? I didn't know much 'bout them hypnoscans, but I had a real feelin' they was much better at makin' you dumber and ignorant than the other way 'round.

"Dis heah's toast and orange juice," she told me. "Best take somethin' in yo' tummy but go real slow."

"I'm nearly blind without my glasses," I told her. "You'll have to help me."

"Huh. I don't see de best in de bus'ness, but de juice it clear up some of it. It do the same fo' you, most like."

She helped me, and I managed some toast, but I was very
thirsty and drank the orange juice right down. She wouldn't get more, but did keep filling the small plastic cup with water from the tap. I wanted to question her in great detail, find out everything about her, but it was slow going. I was dehydrated and really more than a little ill.

"Yo' body and de juice dey have a big fight," she told me. "Dat's what you feel now. Tomorrow it be a lot betta', and betta' and betta' afta' dat. Soon you neva' feel sick no mo'. De juice, it don't let nothin' bad happen t'ya. No colds, no sniffles, nothin'. No VD, neitha."

"But it makes you a slave to it," I noted.

"Well, yeah, but ya gotta figua, honey. I was hooked on smack so long I don't 'member when I wasn't. Dis is
much
betta'-give you somethin' back for it 'cept a high, and de high it give is the best. Ain't hooked on smack, neither, no mo'. No, no. Even de needle marks dey
gone."

And that, of course, was the bottom line for her. She'd been hooked on heroin since she was a teen-probably from that same gang element I came so close to makin' my life-and she was always hustlin' for bucks to feed her habit, always subject to the will of the dealer or pimp. There were a million stories like hers out there; the only difference here was that she was me, another me, who'd made one different choice. She had my brains, such as they were, and all the rest, but she'd wasted them.

Daddy and me we had that fight, and he stalked to his room and me to mine and I packed and was on my way out when I heard him sobbin' in his room. I stopped, turned, and went in . . .