The Woman They Kept (4 page)

“
You're asking a lot of
questions,” the one with the beard said. A flash of metal
glinted in his hand and then a shockingly cold knife was pressed
between Gideon's legs. “You want to be careful with that.
Questions have a way of cutting a man down to size.”

The bikers dropped him into a
pile of his own urine, his legs were shaking far too much to stand
on his own. He began to carry a knife in his boot at all times,
just in case.

If it were possible to kiss his
former self, Gideon would have done it. His attacker looked drugged
as he sat on Gideon, crushing him. His eyes were rimmed red and his
breath had the acrid odor of krok. The man could barely keep his
pupils on Gideon, but his hands had found their hold and were
squeezing tightly.

Gideon gathered up his strength
and made a desperation move, thrusting himself in the direction of
his boots. His fingertips brushed the handle and the knife was in
his hand, he thrust upwards with as much strength as he could
muster, feeling the blade jar on bone as hot blood poured out over
Gideon and the man went limp.

As quickly as he could he rolled
the body off him and looked around. Miles down the road there was
the flickering orange light of a campfire, but that was the only
sign of life. It wouldn't be safe to stay there anymore, it was
possible that this rider had simply taken too much krok and wandered
off alone, but there was no guaranteeing that. He packed quickly,
rolling the body out onto the dirt between the rocks. The rider had
a tattoo of the number thirteen on his left hand, Gideon felt a
momentary flush as the blood rushed from his head to his knees. He
would have to leave quickly.

In neutral, Gideon's motorcycle
only made the sound of his tires crunching the dirt under them, he
coasted down the dark side of the hill slowly with no lights.

He knew a little about the clan
that the rider had belonged to. 'The Thirteen Lost Souls,' they
called themselves. They liked to spread a rumor about themselves
that they had offered up their souls to whatever demon would take
them, and in return were given everlasting power. It was all
bullshit, of course, the only difference between these guys and any
other clan was that the thirteen had a penchant for dramatics,
drinking a cup of blood from anyone that they killed.

Gideon pushed his bike far back
on the road, never starting it up, if he were going to make it to
Elsinore he couldn't afford to have any more run-ins with the
Thirteen.

...

It took him longer than he had
hoped to ride into Elsinore. Every time the caravan came into sight
he stopped and waited, but by the time they reached the city the
caravan had disappeared, taking some entrance that Gideon didn't
know.

He parked his bike and changed
his money, debating for a moment about taking his gun but deciding
ultimately that he would have to make do with the knife in his boot
if he had any problems.

Elsinore was a long and thin
city that had settled around a wide river flowing through the middle
of it. Everything in Elsinore was a shade of brown; brown buildings
and brown streets around a brown river that stank of sewage. The
natives didn't seem to notice it, bustling along their daily lives
with the rotting smell of sulfur all around them, but Gideon found
himself gagging. It stung his nostrils and brought tears to his
eyes, but he wouldn't allow himself to cover his mouth with a
handkerchief, it was little things like that which would give him
away as an outsider. He smiled at the teller who changed his money
for him, trying to seem oblivious to the stench all around them.

He was on the north side of the
city and made his way along the river. The buildings all around him
were small and stacked high, there were empty beer cans and other
pieces of trash that Gideon kicked away as he walked. Soon he was
accosted by throngs of dirty little children thrusting their cupped
hands at his face.

“
Spare a coin?” they
asked, skipping along underfoot, almost tripping Gideon. “You
look like you could. We're hungry here, spare a coin. Look at
Sammy there, his legs ain't working right, spare a coin for Sammy.”

The one they referred to as
Sammy was hobbling along on twisted legs, holding himself up with a
pair of old crutches that were almost rusted through in spots.

Gideon took a silver coin from
his pocket and threw it as hard as he could away from them, they
scattered as they raced for it, knocking Sammy onto his backside and
splaying his crutches. Gideon helped him to his feet.

“
Not very sporting of you,
mister, making me fight for it with the others,” Sammy said.
He was young, maybe seven or eight, but his eyes already had a hard
glint in them. He gripped at his crutches like they were a weapon
and though his legs were twisted he held his chin high.

Gideon pulled out another coin,
this one gold. “I've got one just for you if you answer me a
few questions. Do you know where the red light district is?”

Sammy brightened and reached for
the coin. “There's lots of red lights everywhere around here.
Now, gimme the coin.”

Gideon pulled it back. “That's
not what I mean. Do you know a place in town where women stand
around without many clothes on?”

He reached again for the coin.
“I know that one too. Down that way. My mom works down
there, but I can't visit, she says it's not a place for kids.”
He stuck his chin up at Gideon and bit on the coin. “I been
there though. It's a funny place, they just stand around in
windows. How's that work? I don't get it.”

Gideon patted the child on the
back. The rest of the crowd of children were coming again, ready to
swarm him. Some already had their hands cupped. “Hide that
thing, Sammy,” Gideon said and then he walked away.

It didn't take him long to find
where Sammy was talking about. Elsinore was only a few miles north
to south, and soon he saw the red neon lights and windows with women
standing in them. He had to stop in front of one of the windows.
The woman who had asked for more food from the fat driver of the
caravan, Krissen, stood behind it. There was a bruise just starting
to fade around her neck, but she gave him a halfhearted smile and
pulled her panties to one side. He walked away.

As he passed one of the windows
it opened up and a voice called out. “Hey you,” the
girl shouted. Gideon turned to her. “Let me show you what I
have to offer.” Her skin was very tan, she was slender yet
full breasted, her arms thin and spider-webbed with black lines.
Gideon pulled out his photograph.

“
Have you seen this
woman?”

She brushed a string of brown
hair behind her ear and sniffled, her nose red. “She looks
expensive, was she really that good?” The woman had the
irritating habit of grinding and clacking her teeth together.

Gideon snatched the photograph
from her. “She's the woman I love.”

The woman in the window cocked
an eyebrow at him. “I could be the woman you love tonight.”
She brought his hand to her mouth and sucked on his finger, her
mouth was hot and wet. Gideon pulled away.

“
She's nothing like you.”

“
How long have you been
looking for her?”

Gideon hesitated before
answering. It was a question he had been avoiding with himself.
“Months,” he finally said.

The woman smiled
sympathetically, her eyes crinkling in the corners and her face
softening. She guided his hand to her breast. “She may not
have been a woman like me, but before I got seasoned I wasn't a
woman like me either. I was a woman like her. Now I'm like me, and
I'd bet your last dollar that she's like me now too. So let me be
the woman you love tonight, save yourself the time and the
heartbreak.”

Gideon reacted before thinking,
his hand shooting out and slapping her across the face. “Rolanda
is NOT like you,” he said. The woman smiled at him, holding
her bottom lip as a man came out from behind her and she stepped
aside.

“
Paul, this man hurt me.
Break his fingers.”

Paul was a large and extremely
pale man who was built like a transport vehicle. Gideon found
himself being lifted by one arm up to Paul's face, which was
surprisingly devoid of emotion. He almost looked bored. Paul threw
him out into the street and stepped down after him.

“
I swear,” he said,
stomping a mammoth boot down onto Gideon's left hand. “This
bitch gets more men riled up than any I've had.” Paul dragged
up Gideon and punched him in the face, two quick staccato punches,
one to each eye, before kicking the legs out from under him and
sending him to the street again. The ground rose up to meet Gideon
hard, chipping his tooth and sending blood down the back of his
throat. “I think she asks for it. She thinks, 'Good old
Paul, he'll protect me so I can say any old bitchy thing I want.'
Maybe someday I'll let one of you sickos just have her, do whatever
you like to her and as much as she cries out for me I'll just ignore
her. But for now, a manager's got to do what a manager's got to
do.”

The girl stepped back into the
room and Paul rolled Gideon over onto his side. “I don't hold
it against you,” Paul said, patting Gideon lightly on the
shoulder. “Women,” he said with a shrug. Paul went
back through the window to the back room and the woman came out to
spit on Gideon before closing the window. The spit dribbled down
his face and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

...

Rolanda was standing above
Gideon, looking down on him, wearing a neon bra and panties. Her
face was painted garishly, her lips too red and blue eyeshadow
coloring above her eyes. He called out her name and she bent over
to kiss him, the smell of her, like lilacs, filling him with
longing. Her body was full against his and he wanted nothing more
than to crawl inside her heart and remain there forever. Like a
child, she cradled him against her breast, he nuzzled into her, but
then she pushed his head away with her other hand.

“
You have to pay for that,
Gideon,” she said. She kissed him hard on the lips but
something gave away, her mouth caved, rotting, her teeth falling
out, her skin peeling and flaking away at the slightest touch. He
pulled back and her whole face fell apart, her eyes ran like cracked
eggs down her skeletal cheeks, leaving gaping black holes of
nothingness behind.

Gideon woke to Sammy poking him
with his crutches, and an older, nearly naked woman standing over
him with a hand on his shoulder.

The woman let him lean on her as
she guided him to a small apartment, introducing herself as Ilsa,
Sammy's mother. She said it exactly like that, Ilsa, Sammy's
mother. It was as though being Sammy's mother was her rank or title
in the world. The apartment building was a cookie cutter of all the
ones down the street, but soon he was inside a small room lying on a
couch as his entire body throbbed. The room he was in was decorated
with pictures of Sammy and Ilsa, not another person in any of them.

Ilsa untied Gideon's shoes as
though he were a child. She was older than Gideon, maybe forty or
so, and every time Gideon tried to sit up she pushed him back down
to the couch with a hush and an offer to get whatever he was looking
for. She still wore her work outfit, the same skimpy underthings
that all the rest wore, but she had a bathrobe thrown over herself.
Sammy was sitting opposite them in a large and well worn recliner.

“
Someone worked you over,
dear,” Ilsa said. “What did you do?”

Gideon's speech was distorted
coming through the fat lip he had. “I hit a woman. She said
some terrible things and it just happened. Her manager beat the
hell out of me for it.”

Ilsa placed an icepack on
Gideon's face, he gasped with the pleasant shock of it and then
sighed as the throbbing slowly receded. “I want you to know
that if you hit me you'll be leaving with a knife in the belly.
Sammy said you were nice to him, and I believe him, but don't you
try that shit with me.”

He pulled the photograph out of
his pocket and handed it to Ilsa. “There's a woman I'm trying
to find, I was asking around in the red light district. The woman
told me some very unpleasant possibilities. It just hit too close
to home.” Gideon frowned as a thought crossed his mind.
“Ilsa, do you know what 'seasoning' is?”

A string of Ilsa's hair dangled
in front of her face and she brushed it behind her ear, pulling a
cigarette out and offering Gideon one. “You mean like spices?
I'm not much on cooking.”

A groan escaped Gideon's lips as
he shifted. “I don't think so. The woman,” Gideon gave
a tentative glance toward Sammy, “worked in your profession.
She mentioned that she had been 'seasoned,' and that most likely the
girl I'm looking for had been as well.”

Ilsa's eyes dropped to the floor
and she began to play with her lighter. “Sammy, why don't you
take some money out of my purse and go get dinner for the three of
us, yeah?”

As soon as the door clicked and
Sammy's crutch clanking receded down the hall her eyes shifted back
to Gideon. “I work for myself. What I do is legal here in
Elsinore, but that's not true everywhere. The legality of it has
perks, I can go to the peace officers if I need to, but the legality
doesn't stop the dogs from using Elsinore as part of the track.”