Husk (7 page)

‘All part of my master plan,’ I say. ‘I can’t make my nest egg by spending money on frivolous things.’

Ryoko smirks. ‘Couldn’t help notice the new HG out in your living
room.’

‘That’s a gift from a client.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘Someone sure is happy with you.’

I don’t say anything, not wanting to bring up the topic of clients. Ryoko wants to pry, I can tell by the look on her face, but Solace Strategies’ discouragement is a constant nag. Besides, when it comes to Husks and maintaining intimate relationships, casual or serious, the less said the better.

‘So, your roommate was leaving for work when I arrived,’ Ryoko says, tipping her head toward the living room with a smile. ‘Fancy cuddling up on the couch and watching a flick on that new toy of yours?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Later that night we hit the bar where Craig works. The Rochester is packed: cheap bar rail drinks and craft beer deals. Some of the best prices you can find in the city. There is an undeniable energy in the air, one Ryoko and I feel like static. How we earn
our living puts a perspective, a spin, on the rest of existence. The East Village comes alive after dark, its inhabitants throwing caution to the wind at the end of their depressed days. It’s almost vampiric, the way people rise with the setting sun, leaving their homes to prowl for some form of satisfaction: flesh, fantasy, or pharmaceutical. Celebration comes one night at a time, a reward for
the day-to-day. As the Big Apple rots, it also ferments. Ryoko and I soak it up. We could go uptown, spend more money, but we don’t. After you’ve done your fair share of Husking, you want to stay away from the wealthy as much as you can. It’s a comfort being off the clock; out of sight, out of mind, out of range of the things that can haunt you if you’re not careful. Down here, most of our clients
would call it slumming. We call it living.

Ryoko is more affectionate than usual, though I wonder about her motives. She stands close, sneaking kisses when she thinks no one is looking. Over the din of the clientele I yell another order to Craig behind the bar. Within a
minute he brings us two Brooklyn brews and two shots of Don Julio.

‘To Miller,’ Ryoko says, raising her shot glass. ‘Taken
too soon.’

There was no right time to tell her about Miller, but I broke the news halfway through our afternoon movie. She didn’t seem shocked, didn’t shed a tear. She just sat on the sofa and kept watching the film as I explained how he died covering an unknown client of mine. Maybe there was an underlying desire to smash a thing or two in anger, but the girl kept it together. I expected nothing
less. Ryoko might look soft and lovely on the outside, but inside she’s a rock. You’ll break against her before she even chips. We knock back the tequila and chase it with beer.

‘So what did Tweek say?’ Ryoko asks.

‘About what?’

She taps behind her ear. ‘Y’know …’

‘Nothing,’ I say and frown. ‘The tests he ran say everything is fine.’

‘Are you still having problems?’

Her face gives nothing
away, but I can see it in her eyes, the growing concern over what has me so worried. Ryoko is the person I’m least likely to lie to, but I’ll do it in a heartbeat if it will ease her worries. More beer finds its way down my throat, stalling a reply. The buzz from it further delays things, the hamster wheel slow to spin. My pause is too long. Ryoko knows I’m sparing her the truth as I speak.

‘I’m fine, babe. No need to worry –’

The Rochester suddenly goes dark, every light in the
place failing simultaneously. Hoots and jeers rise from the patrons as Liaison screens glow in the black. Bartenders and bouncers call for calm. The sound of shattering glass comes, drinks hitting the floor as people get shoved. An alarmed cry follows, then a series of angry shouts. Ryoko grabs me in the
dark, pulling me close. I slip a hand around her waist and hold her tight. All kinds of crazy things have happened, and have been rumoured to happen, in these rolling blackouts. When the power comes back on, sometimes theft or assault has occurred. Occasionally there is a corpse.

‘I love you,’ I whisper.

The lights reactivate as if on cue, and I catch Ryoko mouthing the words back to me, trying
them on for size. Immediately she puts a hand over her mouth, eyes shutting shamefully over dropping her guard. She’s trained herself to avoid toying with emotion. I want to tell her it’s all right, that there’s no need to keep me at arm’s length. I try to touch her face, stroke her hair, something. She pulls away before I can, the movement slight, maybe only an inch, but enough to put some cold
between us.

There is a loud yelp as a bouncer wearing sunglasses strong-arms some dude at the other end of the bar, mercifully drawing our attention away from our awkward moment. We watch as the culprit gets hauled out of the place and thrown onto the street. Craig swings by our spot at the bar.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘The guy was trying to steal tips in the blackout,’ Craig says. ‘First thing
we expect to happen around here when
the power fails. Shit, we gotta stay vigilant even with the lights on these days.’

‘How’d they catch him?’ Ryoko asks.

I point at the bouncer. ‘That guy’s not wearing sunglasses at night because he’s some Corey Hart fan.’

Ryoko frowns. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘For crying out loud,’ Craig says, giving me a less than amused look. ‘No one listens to eighties music,
dude.’

‘Everyone should listen to the eighties. It was the peak of civilization.’

‘Oh, don’t start.’

‘Just saying.’

‘Night-vision lenses,’ Craig says, turning back to Ryoko. ‘Things go dark in here, and security gets instant cat-eyes.’

‘Really?’

‘Military-grade gear, very hard to come by.’

‘I want a pair of those.’

‘No you don’t,’ Craig says. ‘They damage optic nerves if you use them too
much, give you retinal cancer. Kinda like those augmented-reality glasses did before they were all pulled off the market.’

Ryoko casts another glance at the bouncers. The sunglasses have been either put away or pushed up on their crowns. I remember back when augmented-reality glasses were all the rage, before it came to light that the eyewear was watching and recording everything for third parties
while slowly blinding you at the same time, everyone donning little toxic invasions of privacy that could be exploited. Walking into any establishment while wearing a pair nowadays will get you beat the fuck up in NYC.

‘Can I get you good-looking kids another round?’ Craig asks.

We both nod and Craig fetches us more tequila. I check the time on my Liaison and see there is a notification about
a person of interest in proximity. The link shows me Phineas is in the area, at a restaurant only a couple blocks away. I message him to come meet us if he’s free. The message I get back says he’s on his way.

Ten minutes later I’m surprised to see Phineas enter the front doors of the Rochester with Nikki, the receptionist, in tow. He spots us instantly and leads her by the hand through the crowd.
Ryoko greets both of them with a hug and kiss. Nikki looks happy to see me, much to my surprise. I embrace her. She tells me I’m looking good. I must admit that she is too. Whatever tension there might have been between us before seems to have evaporated.

I order a round of shots for everyone as Ryoko and Nikki indulge in some chatter. The girls have always gotten along well. The smiles between
them are plentiful and genuine. Phineas saddles up next to me at the bar and leans over, speaking in a lowered voice, answering my question before I even ask.

‘Nikki needed a night out. She’s taking Miller’s death pretty hard.’

‘I think we all are.’

‘I got talking to her after I saw you and Baxter this morning. She was awfully fond of the guy.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘He was always real sweet to her.’

Phineas nods. ‘A real gentleman.’

‘Did they have a thing going on?’

‘More of an unspoken thing … an off and on kind of thing.’

I risk a glance at Ryoko. ‘I know the type.’

Our tequilas arrive and we fire them back in unison. Phineas orders beer chasers, making them Miller Genuine Draft for old times’ sake. I picture Miller leaning against the bar with a bottle of the stuff in hand, bullshitting
all the girls, saying his family owned the brewery and that he was heir to the company fortune. He always got us laughing with that stunt. We gave him shit about it more times than I can remember.

‘I didn’t think you’d be out on the town tonight,’ Phineas says. ‘What with your gig tomorrow.’

‘It’s not a gig I give a shit about.’

‘Who you got a session with?’

‘Does it matter?’

Phineas looks
to the ceiling and says nothing. I watch as Ryoko puts a sure hand on Nikki’s hip, her thumb hooking into the belt loop of the girl’s jeans as they talk and laugh. Nikki responds by twirling a finger in Ryoko’s dark hair, telling her how much she likes the feel of it, asking her what kind of product she uses. Craig delivers the MGD and Phineas raises his bottle high.

‘To a good friend, colleague
and trailblazer,’ toasts Phineas. ‘It’s Miller time!’

We clink bottles and chug. Conversations continue. Lots of laughs, plenty of smiles, the odd touch here and there. As more people enter the bar we find ourselves squashed together, bodies pressed up against the bar. Another round of drinks and things get more affectionate.

‘It’s starting to get crowded in here,’ Ryoko says.

‘We could move
on to somewhere else,’ Phineas says, checking the time on his Liaison. ‘What are you guys in the mood for?’

Nikki throws back another shot. ‘I’m in the mood for some loving.’

Phineas scans the room for prospects. ‘See anything you like?’

‘Yeah, you guys,’ Nikki says, giggling and pointing at the three of us.

Ryoko doesn’t hesitate. ‘I’m game.’

She downs her shot, then leans over and plants
one on Nikki, fingers sliding up the girl’s neck and grabbing a handful of her hair. Phineas and I watch as their tongues dart in and out of each other’s mouth. Some jackass behind us hollers at the sight like a frat-boy. We both turn and tell him to grow the fuck up. He is quick to quiet down.

‘I don’t even think they need us,’ I chuckle.

Phineas turns to me with a broad grin. ‘You interested
a little group hug, mate?’

‘Let me settle up.’

I throw back my shot and catch Craig’s attention with a wave, signalling for the bill. He sends the tab to my Liaison and I try to pay it from my account. Craig is quick to come over with an apologetic look on his face.

‘It’s not going through,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘It says the transaction failed.’

‘How the hell is that possible?’

All at once
the panic comes. I can feel it welling up in my chest, the anxiety over just the possibility of somehow being broke. Childhood memories flood my head. The bounced cheques, maxed credit, even the counterfeit money that came into play at one point. I’m struck by a memory of my mother standing at a supermarket checkout lane and arguing with the cashier, ashamed that she’s being forced to leave groceries
behind yet again because the debit card wouldn’t go through.

‘The blackouts screw up all kinds of stuff,’ Craig says. ‘I’ve had a couple problems already tonight with customers trying to pay.’

‘Shit, just put it on my credit card then.’

I pass him my card. Craig rings it through on a terminal and frowns. He tries it two more times without any luck.

‘Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,’ I say, patting
my pockets. ‘Jesus, I don’t have any cash on me, Craig.’

I look over my shoulder at my companions, Ryoko and Nikki still kissing, Phineas watching, as entertained by it as they are. The thought of asking any of them to cover the bill, especially Ryoko, is disheartening. I check my accounts and credit via my Liaison and find both have a temporary suspension notice on them. After firing off an
angry message to my bank, I consider asking my roommate for a favour. Craig is intuitive, beats me to the punch.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I got you covered tonight. You can pay me back later.’

‘Really? Are you sure?’

Craig laughs and waves me away. ‘Like you’re not good for it, buddy.’

I thank him and turn back to my friends, only to find a stranger standing before me, the unexpected sight
making me jump. The brunette is about my age, skinny, wearing too much make-up. She stares at me with nothing less than hatred, lips pressed together so hard they whiten. Before I can speak, she throws her martini in my face and shoves me hard against the bar.

‘What the hell, lady?’

‘You
bastard
!’ she screeches.

I watch as she winds up. Before I can duck the punch, Phineas’s hand shoots out
and grabs the woman’s forearm, stopping her in mid-strike.

‘Easy now, honey,’ he says, looking at me with increasing worry. ‘What’s the problem here?’

‘What’s the problem?’ she spits back. ‘What’s the
problem
?’

The question is rhetorical. Clearly, I’m somehow the problem. The woman wriggles out of Phineas’s grip and pushes him away, giving herself another opportunity to attack. She comes at
me with both hands, fingers curled into claws like she’s ready to rip my eyes out. I raise my palms, bracing for her this time, but Ryoko slips between us. With cat-like reflexes she deflects the woman’s assault, ensnaring one of her arms in a kimura before spinning her into the bar with a bang. The woman writhes next to me, her eyes ablaze as Ryoko twists the arm up her back and pins her against
the countertop until security arrives.

‘Call the police,’ the woman shrieks. ‘Arrest this man!’

A bouncer takes over Ryoko’s armlock and glances at Craig, who gives him a quick shake of the head that says there is no need to involve the police.

‘Get her out of here,’ Craig orders.

The woman struggles ferociously in the bouncer’s grip, making him work to keep her subdued. Ryoko and Phineas
step forward to offer assistance, but are waved off.