Paresthesia Pt. 05

The table seems so large when there isn't the full assortment of rouges clustered around it. Our numbers are down by half and it seems that the better half does indeed fill out all the space. The smoke, though, the smoke does a very good job of pretending to have substance. I cannot see. I cannot breathe. Riot sits next to me in the dim light and Sunday sits at the head of the table. He takes a deep pull from the cigar in his hand before setting it back down. It can't be good for him. It can't be good for me or her. The cigar she has just makes the risk that much higher.

"Sunday," I say, "We can't do this with the three of us. Too many bases to cover. Too many exits. Too many entrances. Too many bodies. We need more people."

"I know, I know, I know," he says, "But I had to try. You sell yourself short a lot, Beat. But if we're looking for files in the system, then we need distractions. My Troubles are good, but if they start fielding actual muscle, they'll fold."

"Even with your help?"

"Even with my help. Serpentor's pets can wreak some havoc. Smell terrible too."

I do not disagree. My hair is down, but the rest is as it should be, minus the bat. Part of the show that doesn't get brought out all the time, and it says something rather sinister to come to a peaceful meaning armed, however medieval said weapon is. I still feel a little naked without it.

"So, we need the others on board," Riot says.

"We need the others on board. Violence can help deal with the muscle. Alizarin's good with tech. And Doppel's got overwatch. You and Beat are going in. You two know the lay out the best."

"We still need a way in."

The cigar smolders a bit. A block of ash falls onto his lap, but a hand brushes it away without a second thought. The suit has seen worse.

"Can you knock a wall down?"

"Not a chance. They're designed for heavier things than me."

"Figured. If Rabbitpunch couldn't do it in the 50's, then I doubt you could do it now. No offense."

She shrugs. There might be offense there, but even she has limits of what she is. She is grand, she is vast, but she is finite and kind of short, all things considered. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

"I think we should table the logistics of it," I say, "Or at least have it running in the background. We need the bodies. No amount of fancy thinking is going to get us in. We need the others at the table first, then we go from there."

"You're right, you're right," Sunday says, "Sure you don't want a cigar? Got a whole heap of 'em. Take some. Otherwise, I'll just end up smoking all of them and that can't be good for the supply."

"You could just quit."

"That's a habit way too deep. Hard enough to quit smoking after a few years. Harder than all hell do so after a few decades. Even harder after a century."

"I'll take some," says Riot, "I had a Colorado, right? I want more of those."

Sunday chuckles and nods. I hide my disgust, but it's fine. Riot looks good with long things in her mouth, playing on her lips. I don't mind that.

"Also got some Claros you might want to try," he says, "I'll have Brenan bag some up for you."

Riot is pleased with her little treat and I cannot blame her. Treats are always nice. I lean back in my chair and hope that I will see clear skies soon. It might help clear my head.

I start the grand process of mulling scenarios over. If thens and what ifs and now whats all tumble and turn. Some things drip and clear and become clarified in the mire of thoughts. It all comes together a little quicker than I thought it would.

"Alizarin still on Station and Juniper," I ask. I get a nod in return.

"I think we start there. We can play the newbie card somewhat with her. Networking, that sort of thing. That might get her on board if we can say we're all friends. She's been off in her corner too much, anyway. She needs to get out more and meet people."

"You sound like my dad," Riot says.

"I am older than you," I say.

"Ok, that's just wrong. I am older than you by like 4 months. That's a fact. Shut up. Don't lie to people."

"You're embarrassing me in front of my friends, Riot."

Sunday is now full on laughing at me and that's terrible. Nobody should laugh at me. I should not be laughed at. But he is and Riot is looking at me with the most adorable smugness I've ever seen. I do not like the smugness, but I do appreciate the adorable.

---

There is a place on the corner of Station and Juniper and it is kind of empty. Not a good sign, but it's well after lunch, so it's not the worst. And there are a few people still milling about at scattered tables, plates all slowly moving down to empty. It does smell amazing, I'll give it that. From the way Hannah keeps her eyes at the tables, I think she's hungry. I am hungry too. Smoke, as thick and oppressive as it is, is not a filling meal.

"Welcome to Torogoz," says the woman behind the kiosk, "Just the two?"

"Just the two," I say.

She's young, definitely, younger than me, although not by that much. Skin all tanned and hair all longed and body all wearing the uniform of the service workered. I am glad there is not a fun slogan on the back of her shirt. It just has a nice flower print and that's all. She also looks nice in jeans, but that would be uncouth of me to comment on. Her hair though, is fair game. Glossy and smooth and tied in a neat tail draping down her back.

"Where'd you get those jeans," Hannah says, "You look great in them."

The hostess smiles a smile that simply means nothing. Something pleasant was said and that's enough to pull a response. I will look straight ahead and not look at anything she has to offer. I have my table and I pull the chair for my companion and now I patiently wait for the conversation to end with a store name while I push her in.

As she writes down our drinks, I can't help but notice the glove she wears on her left arm. My perception was otherwise preoccupied with the rest of the room. Her name is Alessandra and she will be taking care of us today.

"So that's Alizarin," I say.

"Really? What makes you think that?" Hannah says, "I mean, the gloves weird, but so's your hair. Do you think she knows its you're you?"

"There's a chance. I switched about the same age. And she might know you're you, too. But we wait. And we look at the menu. And maybe get some queso."

She likes the idea of queso and it quickly comes to the table. I am proven a man by my ability to eat the spicy thing and not have anything mock me for saying its spicy. Hannah agrees. It is spicy and delicious and she would like more of it, presumably enough to take a bath. That sounds uncomfortable and unhygienic with lots of delicate contact with spicy, spicy peppers.

The room slowly filters out as the plates empty and the world does not see fit to replace the raptured. By the time we put our order in, we are alone. We watch Alessandra bus the tables and slip to the back. I do not watch the fabric bend and stretch over her ass and fill my thoughts with terrible things. I am a committed man who will not be led astray by the temptations of the flesh. Kieran was a fun one off that has not seen it prudent to repeat, much to the disappointment of everyone involved.

"You can pick your jaw up, Evan," says Hannah, "It's going to roll across the floor if you keep dropping it."

"I'm sorry," I say, "That's not fair to you."

"Don't be like that. I've been looking too. Kind of hard not to. She's making me have bad thoughts. But good bad thoughts. Kieran bad thoughts. I know you're thinking the same thing."

"One night stand across the aisle is one thing. Different when we're both on the same side."

"No rules about fraternization here, babe. We can do whatever we want."

"Not wrong, but still not a good move. One bad plan at a time."

"What can I get for you two," says the object of our collective lust. She is smiling and polite and gives no indication that heard us. I hope she didn't. I really, really do. It makes the thankless job of server that much more awkward to have two strangers ogle some ass that, frankly, is amazing.

But I have my order in for tacos and she has hers in for a bowl and we wait and wait and wait some more. A lone man in a suit takes a look like he wants to come in, but he seems to just gloss on by.

"Kind of a big place for one person isn't it," says Hannah, "Even if it's slow. You'd think there'd be at least one other person working here. Like in the back, or the front. Or her back. Or her front."

"I'll take a look around," I say, "I have to pee anyway."

"Have fun. Make good choices."

"Not really my strong suit. I'm dating you, aren't I?"

She sticks out her tongue and I attend to all the things that I have said I would. The return gets a little more interesting as I part the pale time to slip on through.

Even grayed out, the restaurant is alive with design. Flowers and lines, scenic mosaics and appropriated images to appeal to the oblivious consumer. Of which I am one of. I cannot name the scenes, the origins of the art affected, but I do appreciate it, in a way. I think the plastic red chili lights are a step too far for more refined tastes, but this isn't my sense of design.

Despite the sign saying that the following area is for employees only, I decide to disobey. Nothing good comes from obedience, anyway. And I find the kitchen, steel gray and clean. That's good. I'd be worried if it was dirty. I don't like dirty kitchens. And I even see an ass that I love and cherish and want to smack with an open palm. It's even attached to an Alessandra.

Her arm, however, is not attached to an Alessandra.

Instead, it appears behind a stove, gazing into the pots and pans and plates with its myriad eyes, atop a head it seems to have grown. That is a very interesting hand. I like it. It's jagged and spikey and glossy. Almost insect like, with a deep black carapace. Wings like a cape and many jointed limbs. Some of the spindles hold plates, with rice and beans and the things we said we wanted. It's not even a hand anymore. The rightful owner of the hand looks at her phone with the one still attached, a little bored if anything.

"Do you split tips with that," I say, "Cause it's doing most of the work."

The clock moves down a second and it appears I was wrong. The hand creature is not black. It is red. Ruby red and shining clear. I still like it. I am a fan of it. I would like to be its friend, if it would let me.

I am on the ground with sharp hot pointy things poking me and I feel no affection.

"You're lucky I'm feeling in a charitable mood jackass," Alessandra says, "Because that is some major audacity to come to my place. You should be a stain on the tile."

"A health code violation," I grunt, "I don't think that would help your business."

"You're not taking this from me. Sunday's not getting a cut. Your sidekick isn't getting a cut. You're not getting a cut."

My sidekick, as it were, bursts through the door and rockets towards the chrysalis pinning me down. I don't like the crunch it makes. Too wet and gooey mixed in with the dry.

Alizarin is angry and I do not blame her. Pots are scattered and things are spilled all over the tiles. The insect thing of red light dances and clicks with shattering plates while its owner clutches at the empty space in her shoulder. It's not a stump or a clean cut. It's a hole of ember shadow pouring from her body. I scramble to my feet and let the scene take place.

"You're not getting a tip," says Hannah.

"I still think we should," I say, "Restaurants don't pay that much and tips are actually how people survive."

That pull in my stomach clicks into place. I can go again. But everything is still for now. Hannah has her hands raised, stance loose but controlled. The arm formed body has its presence hovering and clicking. Alessandra has her eyes darting back and forth, back and forth between the both of us. And I wish I had my bat.

"I don't care whose side you're on," Alizarin says, "I know a threat when I see one. Leave my shop and I let you live."

"What do you think this is?" Hannah asks, "I just wanted my bowl. And I assume he wanted his tacos."

"I'm not giving you a cent," she says, "I'm not letting this become a front for anything. I'm not letting any of you come in here."

"We're not here for anything other than lunch," Hannah says, "And I heard a scary noise and saw a scary thing. So, I tackled the scary thing and now I will fight the scary thing."

"And we are here about a job that you might be interested in," I say, "The Hall thing."

"Already said no."

The ceiling above us creaks and shifts and Alessandra breaks the stare down.

"Mija," says the creaky ceiling, "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine, Mama," she shouts back, "I just tripped a bit."

I look to Hannah and she slowly drops her hands.

"We're just here to talk," she says, "Look, if you don't want to, that's fine. We're not threatening anything. We'll go."

Hannah slowly edges past the jag and the edge and comes over to my side. The ceiling keeps creaking and shifting and Alessandra keeps her eyes darting to the creak and back to us. The ruby jags stay perfectly still.

"Mija," says the creak, "I'm coming down. You need help."

And I finally see something other than rage cross her face. I think it might be panic.

---

I have a hot plate set in front of me by a very nice woman with a thick braid and red glasses. She moves slowly but does the job incredibly well. I like her. She's amazing. Her name is Cassandra and she is one of my favorite people in the city, if only for the warm smile she gives and the slight hobble she takes as she slinks away.

I also have an Alessandra sitting across from me and trying to be pleasant as her own plate set in front of her.

"Mama," she says, "you didn't have to make that for me."

"You worked through the lunch rush all by yourself," Mama says, "you need to eat something. And it's so nice your friends came to visit. Take your time. You already switched the sign anyway. I'll get some of the prep done for dinner."

"Ok, Mama," Alessandra says. A nice, sweet smile stretches her lips.

"You two need to leave," Alizarin says, "Now."

I have to admit, it is impressive how fast she can switch back and forth between docile and angry as all hell. I don't even think I could catch it if I tried. Maybe one of the tail ends, but that exact moment where it switches, like trying to catch a fly with toothpick and a blindfold on.

"But I'm hungry," says Hannah.

"Me too," I say, "And this looks amazing."

"Then eat quickly," she hisses, "And leave quicker."

"C'mon. We're friends. We go to the same community college. We met in Professor Sarver's Abnormal Psychology class. We need a cover story if we're going to keep this lie going."

"If I explain it to you, will you leave?"

"We'll still have to eat, but we'll leave then."

"Ok. Ok. I'm not in the game."

"But you were at the meeting," says Hannah over a mouth of rice, "I was there too. It was a weird meeting."

"I was, because word got out that Alizarin was in town. So, I had to go. But I'm not on your side. I'm not on their side either. I just showed and kind of tried to brush you all off. I'm not going to the Solarium. So long as none of you mess with this place, then I won't mess with you. I just want to fly under the radar. Ok? I figured the cars would be a nice gift to just make everyone happy."

"Why didn't we get any of those," I ask, "I'm not mad. I don't even have a license."

"Because I didn't steal them. Taita did, and Mama didn't want them hanging around. Look, just eat and leave. Please. I don't want a part of any of this. I just want to get my degree and run the restaurant and be left alone. Ok?"

I finally have my bite and it is glorious. A little heavy on cumin, but it falls under the veil of personal taste at that point. I enjoy this place, and I think that I will have to break the implicit promise to never come back. I will just have to make sure that it is only when the elder 'Sandra is in the back.

"Ok," I say, "Ok. Really, we only came here to try to pitch the Hall job again, but if you're not interested, then it's all good. I'll spread word to Sunday and the others to leave this place alone. Although, honestly, we might come as civilians, cause this is amazing."

There is a puff of pride at the complement and Hannah's laser focus on the food and seeming inability to break into something conversive. I don't blame her. It is hard, incredibly so, to focus on talking and exchanging ideas when I have this wonderful plate in front of me.

"If you have to," she says, "And I'm not giving you any discounts. And I expect a full 20% tip every single time."

"Hell, for this, you get 25%," I say.

"How'd you figure out it was us," Hannah says, "I kind of guessed cause of the one glove thing."

"That's not a lot to go off of," she says.

"Fine. That and your ass. You don't forget something like that walking by."

"And that's kind of how I figured. You two were ogling Violence and me so much during the meeting. And who are the two most punkish oglers I am aware of?"

"I told you, Evan," Hannah says, "I told you. Your bullshit hair is a dead giveaway."

"My bullshit hair is amazing."

"It does look good when it's all the way up," Alessandra says. I now have a new favorite and nothing, nothing in the world can shift my opinion.

"Thank you. I am glad that someone I know has good taste in style. And I appreciate your mask. I thought of doing something a little more intricate, but at the end of the day, it would have been too much."

Another puff of pride from our new friend.

"It was Taita's. He had good flair for the whole thing. Better than me at least. And the black domino mask is classic. It goes with everything."

I shrug with another bite in my mouth. I fight the pain down. There was a pepper in that one, with the seeds and everything still clinging to the flesh. It chokes my throat and I can only taste fire. I know I am red and sweaty now, but I will not falter. I will remain strong and stoic through the rest of the meal. I have a sip that turns to a gulp and it doesn't really help.

"I thought you guys were against the Hall job," she says, "What changed?"

I say nothing. It's not my bit to share. Hannah looks to me and I have nothing to say. Her motive, I just think that she's right, like always.

"We think there might be some dirt on Captain Solar in the Hall serves," she says, "And he did some stuff to me and some other women from what I know. So, we try and find that and leak it. Plus smash up the place and steal cool things because that's kind of what we do."

"Oh. Well, now I feel bad for not saying anything."

"You didn't know. And I don't blame you. He's already been shipped out to Vegas. This is just more salt in the wound because fuck him. This is for me."

"I didn't know either," I say, "For what it's worth. I have a history with the guy as well, but if this isn't your fight, then this isn't your fight. We all have our things going on and it sounds like you're fighting yours, in your own way."

"What he said. We'd like you on our lineup, but I can respect you staying out of it. Feel free to stop by our place if you ever want to just hang out or something. It's way too much space."

"It's the abandoned warehouse with 'Punk's Not Dead' spray painted on the side, dead center of Riverside. More or less across the water from Sunday's place. And it's not too much space. It's just right. However, I will admit it gets echoey. But seriously, no hard feelings, and I'm sorry about causing a fuss. Didn't mean to bring your mom into all this. We'll be cool."

Alessandra still has a stern look on her face as we finish, but it softens a bit as I pull bills from my wallet. Most of them are even mine. The symbol of the gesture, she may not know. But I know and that's the most important thing.