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."
