Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (11 page)

B
ack in South Beach I parked the car in my spot and was crossing through the lobby when I heard and felt the humming of the bar. I followed the sounds and found myself in a room with tall ceilings, Liberace-style chandeliers, and young people gyrating. I pushed through the crowd to the bar and ordered a tequila from the woman who tended it. As I sipped the liquor, which burned me just right, I looked out into the crowd.

Maybe they all looked so good through gentle, persistent encouragement from friends and family but I didn’t really believe that’s how humans worked. Those carved bodies spoke of hours of hard labor, sweat, heavy breathing, and pure will. If you couldn’t handle it, you left. Or became rich and then it didn’t matter how flabby your ass or abs. Money made you beautiful.

“Another,” I mouthed to the bartender and gently tapped the bar with my pointer finger. She handed over two beers to a customer and then returned to me, tequila bottle in hand. A guy leaned too close to me and Blue growled, causing the man to jump back, hands up to his chest, baseball cap coming askew. “Whoa,” he laughed. “That dog is cute.”

“He bites,” I said, looking up at him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled before stepping back into the crowded push of bodies.

The bartender leaned against the bar, careful not to touch its sticky surface. “You’re not very good at making friends,” she said, her lips close to my ear.

I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re right,” I answered. She held my gaze, her eyes were green and lined with black charcoal that bled into the thin lines beneath her bottom lashes, mingling with sweat from the hard work she did. “Do you want to be my friend?” I asked, feeling bold.

She smiled and shrugged a bare shoulder. “I get off at 4. Let’s see if you’re still around.” Then she returned her attention to the clamoring patrons who pushed against the bar, arms out, dollars fisted, brows red with excitement, alcohol, and dance. I shot the tequila and left the glass sitting on a $100 bill, then slipped back into the crowd, Blue following me like a tail.

On the street, crowds of people smoked and laughed. I turned off the main drag and into a quieter lane. I stepped around a large puddle that looked like a muddy mirror until Blue stepped right in it. “Oh, come on,” I said, looking down at his brown paws. “Every puddle, Blue, every puddle?” He looked up at me, not seeing the problem. I began to walk again but Blue’s growl stopped me. I turned to see three figures coming around the corner. In the lead was a short, curvy girl, a peroxide blonde wearing a bronze spray tan and a hot pink mini dress. It squeezed her under the arms causing small rolls of fat to pop out. Her breasts did a bit of popping, too.

She stopped several yards away from me, her girlfriends fanning out in some kind of tableau of a western movie street scene. They, too, wore club clothes and bare feet. I wondered, for a moment, what they did with their heels until I noticed pinky was holding a knife. Tiny and silly, she held it out in the light, showing it off, as though Blue and I might find her intimidating.

“Are you actually planning on fighting me and my dog?” I asked them, noticing a small slur in my speech. 

“If that dog bites us, he’ll be put down,” she said and then brought her lips together into a little kiss. They were smudged with red lipstick like she’d been making out right before coming out here to kick my ass.

“Did you just threaten my dog?” I asked, adrenaline chasing the slur from my words. Something in my tone and the coldness in my eyes made her falter. “How about you just apologize,” I said, “and we can all continue with our night.”

“No, no,” she said, taking two indignant, heavy steps that sounded big but didn’t close the space between us. “You’ll apologize to me for what your dog did to my man!”

I could not help but laugh. She stared at me and her two friends exchanged glances. “Sorry,” I managed to say. “That is just too funny. I feel like I’m on a reality show. Do you ever watch those? They are always having crazy fights on the street and pulling each other’s hair out.”  My phone rang but I didn’t take my eyes off the girl in front of me. “Are you going to try to rip out my hair now?” She rocked back and forth, switching her weight from one foot to the other. “You’ll have to get closer,” I told her. She chewed on her bottom lip, scraping off the last of the red lipstick clinging there.

“Fuck it,” I said, and in two easy steps closed the distance between us. Extending my left arm, turning my body sideways to narrow her target area, I grabbed a clump of the girl’s hair right at the apex of her forehead. Twisting my body hard, I ripped out the hair and brought my right fist around in a cross strike that knocked the girl off her feet. Before she touched the pavement I’d already backed up next to Blue, holding the bloody clump of blonde hair. When she did hit the ground, she stayed there.

Having their leader knocked out cold left the other two girls with a dilemma. “You can take her and go,” I said. They cautiously moved toward the small pink figure. Each grabbed her under an arm and began to lift. She moaned and her head lolled on her neck, blood dripped down her face. As I watched them leave the alley, Blue turned and I heard clapping. I swiveled and dropped low at the same time. Blue took off toward the figure who, when she stepped into the light, I recognized as my old friend, Malina.

“Same old Sydney Rye,” she said in her light Mexican accent.

I stood up and walked to meet her, dropping the clump of hair on the ground. Blue pranced around Malina and she stopped clapping to give him the greeting he expected. Kisses on the face and ruffling of the ears. “Malina,” I said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s great to see you.” Blue pushed between us with a low yowl of protest and we both laughed, breaking apart.

Malina looked dazzling as she almost always did. Long dark hair falling in large waves over her shoulders, glittering almond shaped eyes, flawless skin. She wore a belted rain coat, her legs bare, and low heels that, on her, looked sexy.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Dan,” she said. “You know he tracks you.”

I laughed. “Is that creepy?”

She shrugged. “You ask me, it’s romantic but…” Malina laughed.

I put an arm around her. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Yes, someplace quiet. We need to talk.”

#

“Y
ou remember the first time we met?” Malina asked, looking around the bar.

“Pretty different than this,” I answered, remembering the tourist trap in Puerto Penasco where our beers wept onto the table and Malina was allowed to smoke. Her best friend recently murdered, Malina fought back tears and danced with men for money while I stewed over the injustices of the world and my inability to do anything about them.

Our waitress this evening was almost as scantily clad as the one who’d served us that night. We ordered two cognacs, it seemed appropriate with the late hour and sultry decor of the bar. “How are those girls?” I asked after the waitress, wearing fishnet stockings and black silk short shorts, left us with our drinks. I took a sip, the strong liquor filled my nose and pricked at my eyes.

“Good,” she said. “Lenox took them to a non-profit that specializes in helping victims of sex trade traffic get green cards and rebuild their lives. And he cleaned up your mess. Both guys survived and neither of them is admitting a woman got the best of them.”

“What were they doing with those girls?”

“Making them work in clubs, dance, suck dick, what do you think, Sydney?”

“Guessing those guys weren’t the masterminds behind the operation.”

“I could ask Lenox for a name.”

“Lenox?” I asked. “The man on the phone?”

“Devastatingly handsome and sexy man.” Malina fanned herself. “You’re lucky you didn’t meet him, what with your already tangled romantic life.” I flinched and Malina cleared her throat. “I’ve known him for about two years.”

“He’s in your business?”

She smiled. “Yes, but he specializes in the opposite sex.”

“Men.”

She nodded. “And he believes strongly in human rights on both sides of the marketplace.”

“Very noble.” 

“He is quite a man.”

I laughed. “I’m sure.”

There was a pause during which Malina chewed on her bottom lip. “What?” I asked.

“Dan wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“You too, Malina?”

“You don’t want to join us, Dan says.”

“I don’t know what it is,” I answered honestly, sitting back into the deep booth, feeling safe and hidden behind its high back and curved wall.

“You can’t expect us all to go back to our lives, Sydney. We are hungry. You know?”

Someone laughed a little too loud, as though they were listening, and agreed how ridiculous that sounded.

“Malina, come on,” I said, sitting forward. “You’re a pragmatist. I can’t believe you really agree with Dan. You know it’s called Joyful Justice?”

“Yes,” she leaned back. “I know. I like it.” Her nose wrinkled as though she was looking at something cute.

“What is your plan, though? What are you going to do, take on all the evil in the world?”

Malina shrugged. “We’ll take on what we can.”

“So what you’re talking about is coordinating a vigilante network?”

“I knew you’d get it.”

I laughed. “Malina, I do not get it.”

She sat forward quickly, reaching out and grabbing onto my hand. “Yes, you do, Sydney. You know what I’m talking about. There is grave injustice in this world and together, we can change that.”

“You and me?”

“There are many of us.”

I thought about Santiago, the sultry voice of Lenox on the phone, and all the other people on the Joyful Justice website. Could all of them agree with Malina? “You are no different,” Malina said. “Look at what you did this afternoon.”

“That’s different, Malina, it happened right in front of me.”

“So it’s fine as long as you don’t see it?”

“No,” I answered. “It’s not.”

“Then what is stopping you? Why won’t you join us?”

I sat back again, taking my drink with me and stared down into the translucent caramel liquid. “How do you know it will be better?”

“Of course it will be better,” Malina said with absolute conviction. “How could it be worse?”

“But how will you do it, Malina? How will you accomplish such a lofty goal?” I looked up from the cognac feeling deeply tired, the jet lag hitting me like a freight train. “How many people will have to die?”

Malina leaned forward, the candlelight playing across her exquisite features. “It’s a means to a just end, Sydney.”

I winced.

“What?”

“You just sound a little bit too much like someone else right now.” I stood up. “I’m exhausted. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

Malina stood as well. “You’re right. It’s late. We can talk more later.” I started to turn toward the exit but she stopped me, reaching out and holding my wrist. Her fingers were smooth and cool. “We’re not leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dan, me, your friends. Members of Joyful Justice. We are not giving up on you. We will stay here and help.”

“I don’t know what you can do.”

She smiled and put an arm around my shoulder, directing us through the door. “We will see.”

#

I
took off my jeans and T-shirt leaving them bunched on the floor. I showered, washing away the small spatter of blood on my wrist from yanking out that girl’s hair. Jesus, that was stupid, I thought. Was Robert right about me? Was I some power hungry psycho?

I tried not to think about it, turning my mind instead to Malina’s appearance, her insistence that the world could be a better place if only someone did something. If
we
did something. Those thoughts also hurt my brain so I pushed them aside. I dried off quickly and ran the blow dryer over my hair enough so that I hoped not to wake up in the morning looking like a complete freak.

Climbing into bed I turned off the lights. Blue jumped up and after circling three times settled at my feet, his chin resting across one of my ankles. I looked down at him and admired his ability to just fall asleep. Blue wasn’t worried about justice, evil, anything. But then again maybe he had me to do all that for him. Maybe I needed a me and that brought my brain back around to Bobby Maxim and I sat up and turned on the light. Finding the TV controller I clicked it on and then climbed out of bed and found the copy of THE PRINCE that Maxim had given to me.

Back in bed I cracked the cover.
For my Princess.
Ugh, did he actually write that? Gross. I started reading but as my eyes tried to focus on the words I slipped into a deep sleep with the light and TV on.

I
woke to a strange sound. Something like humming, singing, and vibrating all combined. Blinking my eyes, I saw light streaming through the slit between the curtains. The vibrating stopped but the humming/singing continued. I looked up at the TV where a group of men sat around a camp fire. “Throat Singing,” the announcer said, “was popular in Genghis’ camp and is still heard across the Mongolian steppes to this day.”

Blue, still curled at the end of the bed, watched me. The vibrating started again and I fished around in the bedding until I found my phone, Mulberry’s name on the screen. “Hey,” I said, my voice still rough from sleep.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. I found the controller and muted the TV. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes, but it’s fine.”

“How did it go last night?”

I sat up and watched the mute television. Large men on small horses galloped across an open field, bearing down on several yurts where women and children in traditional Mongolian dress waited, huddled together and frightened.

“I’ll meet you where we jogged the other day.” I looked over at the clock. It was three in the afternoon. Jet lag, old buddy, old pal. “Give me forty-five minutes,” I said.

“Fine, don’t forget we have another strategy meeting this evening.”

“Okay,” I said, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Blue jumped down and stretched, waving his tail in the air and letting out a yowl with his yawn.