It was cold. Really cold. My hands were gnarled like I had arthritis. I couldn't even feel them. I couldn't feel most of my body. It felt like it was something I'd gotten on loan, and it didn't fit right. My skin was way too tight. The slightest flex made it feel like it was going to rip all over. I wasn't entirely numb; every single bone I'd broken over the years needled me. I was entirely bent out of shape from lying curled up all night. It took nearly thirty minutes to get my blood flowing at a reasonable pace. I wandered around the streets, grabbing a loose plastic bag, and started picking up soda cans. When I felt I had enough, I cashed them in at a supermarket. I got around a dollar fifty for my troubles. I then wandered to a small convenience store and bought a small cup of black coffee. I needed to think. Up until then, my brain hadn't been even able to spark.

After the coffee I bummed a cigarette off a passer-by, and then headed to Carmen's. My ex.

I had to walk all the way to her neighborhood, and it took most of the day. I hoped to God that no one had found out about her. Still, it had been months, and last time Carmen and I "talked," the cops were called.

We really weren't so fond of each other.

There weren't any hit men hanging around outside Carmen's, so I stepped inside and rang her number.

She spit through the intercom, "Yeah?"

I had to handle this delicately. "Carmen? It's Alex."

She paused. "Get the hell outta here before I call the cops!"

I sighed. "Hey, my T.V still up there?"

"There ain't nothin' of yours up here! Get out! I'm calling the cops! My cousin's on duty right now!"

All right. Screw subtlety. What had it gotten me so far?

"Listen," I barely stopped myself from calling her a cunt, "You really wanna make this legal? I have receipts for anything expensive I bought. That's my goddamn T.V, as well as some other things. You wanna drag this to court? You really think you can afford that, especially with what's-his-fuck's kid you're carrying?"

She didn't say anything, so I kept going, "Make a mess. Go ahead. You didn't get anything out of me, but because I was quiet. I was being nice. I knew you'd have trouble. But I can't be nice anymore, and you can't afford to be a bitch right now. How's it going to look when you shake down your baby's daddy right after you lost to me, and hard?"

More nothing.

"Think about it Carmen. I know you're not good at it, but you know I am. So at least think about that."

After a few minutes, she said, "Come up here and get it, hijo de puta madre."

"Thanks." I smiled. Progress. Hooray. That must have been what all those hours of school, all those times I ate my greens, and all those prayers I said before bed were for: so I could grow up big and strong and verbally slap around women. I felt like I needed a shower. I'd needed one for a while, of course, but now I had an entirely new set of reasons.

The door clicked open, and I slid in.

I stuffed myself in the greasy elevator and sprang out of it on the third floor. I gulped the fresher, or more like "fresher," air, and then knocked on Carmen's door.

She swung it wide open, grinning triumphantly and blocking the way. Looking past her I saw what I wanted guarded by an army of empty soda cans. She stood up on tip-toe to get her grin back in my sight, and then settled back down like a feather. She was five foot nothing, curvy, but a little extra curvy, and had slopped those extra curves around inside a tight shirt and sweat-pants. They were tight enough to keep it all in place. I couldn't tell if she was showing her pregnancy yet. I might have cared to look harder if it was my kid. She still had her hair straight and short, though the black had a very subtle reddish tinge. It was the only subtle thing about her. She was standing with her chest out, her brown eyes somewhat narrowed into what she thought was a calculating look. "You know," she said girlishly, "that T.V's been here a long time. You sure you're allowed to take it?" She smiled strongly again, giving me a chance to study her gums.

"Been doing a bit of quick thinking while waiting, eh?" I gave her a wolfish smile. She didn't seem to think much of it. I carried on, anyway, "Too bad it was in my place and you took it."

The smile faltered, and she got back to spitting. "You don't even watch T.V anyway! The hell good is it to you?!"

"About five hundred dollars. I don't watch T.V, but I do eat."

She growled somewhat, then closed her eyes and looked down. When she snapped her head back up, she had the smile again. "Well, you didn't say anything about it, so I thought you didn't want it. Well, anyone would think that, Alex." She batted her eyelashes. They were so long they almost scratched up my face. I wondered how she could even move them when they were smeared with a ton of mascara.

"You thought, huh? Thought about it while I was at work that day? Are you even sure you thought about it today, or did your cousin do the thinking for you?" Her smile drooped a bit as I nodded at her phone on a coffee table. I laughed, "What a nice guy. Maybe you could get him to clean your place for ya, too." I toed a crumpled up receipt that was just inside the door way. "That way I'd know my taxes were doing something."

She spit Spanish at me for a minute, too quickly for me to grasp. I wouldn't want to anyway. It didn't matter what language it was, old tired insults were just that, old and tired. I rubbed my eyes, and then gave her a look. She wasn't looking to be helpful. All she looked like was one-hundred and one angry curses just waiting to launch at the next passer-by. She smiled at me, and said, "Oh dear, you haven't been keeping up on your Spanish now, have you?"

I ground my teeth, "You know my parents weren't around to teach me. I'm lucky enough to be able to speak English."

She giggled, glad she was able to hit a sore spot. I didn't want to think about it, I never really did think about it, and she knew that. There was some sadness in her eyes though. It still didn't stop her from going any deeper. When Carmen got mad... well, she really didn't get mad. She got wicked. "Such a pity, a man like you unable to even speak his own language. You didn't even get to keep your last name. But your mother never even told them your last name, did she?"

I thought up some pretty nasty things, but kept them in check. I still had her, at least for a bit. I tried to figure out exactly how long that was, "So, is Rafael stretchin' his legs today, or did they give him a car like a big boy?"

"You leave Rafi out of this! Why do you keep bringing him up, anyway? Got a thing for him?" Another batting of eyes that I had to dodge to protect my face.

"You know someone's out of ammo when they get to the nastier, coarser things. I wish you wouldn't do that. It's quite unbecoming of a lady, as well as quite offensive."

"Why's it offensive to you, Alex? Is it hurting some 'little' part of you that you'd like to keep hidden?" She dropped her eyes down to my waist when she said "little," and then brought them back up, trying to be coquettish. She was as enchanting as a broken neon sign over a pawn shop.

I stepped up to her, emphasizing the fact that I had to look down on her. "Go ahead, waste my time. I got plenty," I said through my teeth. "We can stand here all day, a comedy act for the whole building. I don't care."

"Neither do I, mi corazón."

"No work today, then? Salon ain't doing so well, I guess." My eyes glanced up at the clock. 4:25 pm. She usually started at five.

That one riled her. The smile was there, but her eyes weren't backing it up anymore. I went for the kill, "Lemme give you a piece of advice: you oughta shut that mouth of yours more often, otherwise you'll run out of all that hot air you seem so fond of."

She cursed me out in Spanish again. I held up a hand, "Carmen, I said don't bother. And I know Rafi ain't coming by, either. You know it, too. I'd make it so he'd have to file a report, and then you'd have to stay, too, and then you'd be late for work. Again." I smiled. "So how 'bout you let me do what I gotta do so you can do what you gotta do?"

She whirled on her heel and stomped inside, leaving the door open. I sullenly followed, closing the door softly behind me.

===+++===

I ended up fighting with the pawn-broker for over an hour. He was only willing to give me three-fifty for the T.V, because I had forgotten the power chord among the mess of wires. I managed to get it up another hundred, but that was it. I left feeling tired, used, and wrung out, like a towel after someone was sick. I then tried to find a room in a cheap place, but none were cheap enough to look past the fact that I didn't have a credit card anymore. It was plenty dark by then, so I ambled over to the park, looking for a bench that was warm enough. I actually managed to fall asleep, but an hour later, flashlights hit my eyes, and I ended up running from a couple of patrolmen. I managed to ditch them, so I wandered into an all-night diner and grabbed a quick bite. I asked the waitress where the nearest subway station was. I headed there next, buying a new Metro card. I got on, and rode it until morning. I slept all the while. No one bugged me, even though I looked homeless.

When I climbed out of the subway, I decided that I couldn't keep doing this forever. I could either try to get out of town on so little money, and wander around small towns until I found I job desperate enough to take me, or I could try to find out what the hell was going on. I weighed both options as I stood in line for a new pack of cigarettes. When I walked out of the convenience store, I jumped on a bus headed towards the bar where I met Liz.

At first, it was no luck. I barely even managed to get in the door. I had to "accidentally" drop my wallet and then hold it open enough to show the guys at the door that yes, I actually did have money. And even then, it took forever to find someone that knew who I was talking about. One of the waiters knew her as "Miss Kinkaid," and said that she dropped by every once in a while. Everyone knew her, he said, but he was the only one who knew her by name. I asked why no one knew who I was talking about when I did my first round. He just smiled wryly and said, "Because it sounded like you were describing an ordinary woman. That one... well, she pretty much defies description, don't you agree?"

"More than you'll ever know," I said.

He took my comment the wrong way, and looked a little sad. "Yeah, that's right, you were lucky enough for her to spot you the other day, weren't you?"

"I guess you can say I have plenty of luck." Just not good luck.

He sighed, and looked wistful. "She never comes back with the same guy. I wonder why that is?" He looked at me and laughed a little derisively. "Maybe she doesn't have your same luck with pick-ups."

"Oh, I'm sure we're both about on par with each other now."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh well. I don't know much about her, apart from her name." He then looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "But I do know that if she dumped you, she wouldn't like it if you found her."

I snorted, and then a cook shouted through an open door, "I don't know what you're droolin' over her for, Chris. I'm pretty sure that one's a whore."

Chris spun around and yelled at the cook, "What?! How could you say that?!"

The cook shrugged, not amused at all. "Come on, Chris. She hangs out at Chucky's. You know what kind of place that is. If she really was all that, she wouldn't hang out at that dive. She prolly comes here to pick up people she knows can pay, and well."

Chris was seething with rage. I gently pushed him out of the way and asked the cook, "Chucky's? Where's that?"

The cook snorted, "She got her teeth into you too, eh?"

"Uh-huh." Puns! Oh my! Ain't I a classy guy?

He just shrugged and gave me the address. I thanked him, and gave him a twenty dollar tip for my omelet and coffee.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

I headed to Chucky's next, and it was every bit as bad as the cook had led on. It didn't get me much. I described her as best I could, but got ten different accounts, and was pretty sure they were all about different people. In the lot, a few of them sounded like my girl, but not by much. She wasn't there, either. That was probably a good thing. I didn't have any sort of plan. I got the addresses for more bars she supposedly frequented, and hit them as well. It was more of the same crap. Some of it was promising, but it still sounded like I had leads on twenty different people.

I was getting angry, but it was closer to the embers in a dying fire. I stopped for an early dinner: three cigarettes and a cup of coffee. I was too burnt-out to even nibble on toast. I then wandered around for a while, trying to collect my thoughts. I ended up walking past a bunch of electronic stores, just switching on their neon lights as the sun went down. They were all dolled up, putting on their best and most eye-catching wear, all for a long night of begging for your last dollar. Every once in a while there would be a cut-out of some young woman, and some of them were drawn women. We were living in a new era, the "future," and such things weren't so strange anymore. Only the people who couldn't live with the times didn't understand. Loneliness wasn't the worst thing. It was perfectly normal. Certain people were able to understand, and they were more than happy to help you out. It's all because we live in a far more understanding and compassionate society. I stood in front of a shop window, letting my eyes sweep across some of the displayed wares. Every lonely fantasy was played out, ready to make you feel more at ease. You could be a bookworm, misunderstood, an orphan, the poor kid, whatever. You could fall in love with whoever. Maybe that poor kid was in love with the rich girl. Maybe she was a fairy-tale princess. Maybe she was the daughter of the king of demons. Maybe you were stuck inside all day, and didn't see many girls. You didn't know what they were like. No matter. You could fall in love with your neighbor. The young, sprightly girl next door, possibly your childhood friend that you're still attached to, even though she's long left for college and is getting ready for her first kid. Maybe even closer than that. Gotta roll with the times. You could have your cousin, step-sister, your real sister. You could even have your own mother. Any hair style, any damn color you wanted, even blue. The action figures come out next month. Eighteen or older for the blow-up doll. The bastards had figured out how to commercialize loneliness. I wondered for a moment how many years of school they had, and what kind of degrees they earned. I wondered who was footing the bill, the students, or their parents. Maybe it was a government loan. I wondered if anyone was proud anymore.

I rubbed my face, sparked a smoke, and headed over to the park, hoping to cheer up. This bullshit was getting me nowhere, and if I didn't do anything fast, I'd probably end up lying down in the road. I cracked my neck. I didn't have much, but I did have something. A lot of it had been taken, but I didn't have to stand for it. I had nothing to lose, except the pride I had for what little I had. I wouldn't let them take that. Not now, not ever. I forced a smile that probably seemed a little scary, but it was still a smile. Come on now, Alex. One foot in front of the other. You're still up. Knock them down, don't knock yourself down. Don't be a whiny little bitch. Yeah, it's bad. It's the big, bad city. Annoying neon lights that morons and even more moronic advertising executives find beautiful, screaming noise, smog, and constant terrorist threats. But there was some good in there. Even Carmen had her moments. Don't let it spoil you, kid. You know what happens when you let it. You've come this far, and there's more to go. I just had to keep slogging through the muck for the next great thing. It'd make it that much sweeter when I got there.

I reached the park when the sun still had a few minutes left before clocking out, and people-watched as I walked. There weren't that many out due to the cold and fast approaching twilight, so I ended up spying on some artist. He was one of those guys that would draw cartoony versions of you and your girl. He looked a bit hard up for cash, probably because there weren't that many people out with their girl who wanted a drawing. I then smiled and snapped my fingers. I strode over to the guy as he was packing up his stuff, and asked him to hold on. He didn't look all that pleased, but he humored me. I pulled out fifty and asked for a drawing. He gave me a weird look, but then shrugged. "So what's it to me if you want a solo one? All right, just stand still," he said as he pulled out some pencils. I held up a hand, "It's not of me."

"What?"

"I wanna describe someone and have you draw them."

"What?" He started to put the pencils away.

I held up the money and smiled.

He pulled the pencils back out.

Twenty minutes later, I had picture of Liz.

But it was a bit cartoony.

Three cheers for progress.

I headed back to Chucky's, and showed off the picture. I got more the second time around. Half the bars I had visited earlier were scratched right off the list. The guy had somehow managed to capture that special look Liz had. I then went over to the more promising bars, showing it off again. By eight o' clock, I had a pretty good idea of where she spent her time, and even better, who with. It turned out that Miss Kinkaid was a bit of a crook, and she had crook friends. Not a whore like the cook had guessed, but a house-breaker, small time, and so were her friends. None of her friends matched up with Bundles-of-Muscles, so I let him ride for right then. As I soldiered on, the places got dingier. I made sure to keep my money in my front pocket, and to check it when no one was looking. I knew I was getting closer, and I was getting excited. I managed to get some food and keep it down this time.

Around nine-thirty, I was in front of a dive called the Down 'n Out. It used to be called Mickey's Hard Times Bar, but Mickey had been found floating in the river two years ago. Hard times, indeed. Apparently, one of Liz's friends haunted the place, some weasel named Morris. Word had it that the crew dumped him, and that was where the trail vanished. People would see Liz and some of the others from time to time, but only for fleeting seconds. They would chat up others, and sometimes, those others would end up just as scarce as the crew. But not Morris. He always was around, and always needed to get a hard drink on. Apparently, he and Liz used to play around a bit more closely, but from what I could glean, she mostly kept him as a pet, and dumped him when she vanished.

I pushed into the Down 'n Out and racked my coat. No one would bother with it—as long as I kept my smokes in my pants pocket. The ever-present stink of dried and spilled beer that always seemed to be in places like that kicked me right in the nose. That pretty much was the place in a nutshell: it was that old familiar dive, you know the one, the one where the same chipped tables, chairs, glasses and teeth all settled down to hang out and look shitty together. The name was always different, but the inside never was.

I went to the bartender, who showed me a million dollar smile that he'd bought second-hand with three dollar bills. I ignored it, keeping it strictly business between him and I; I handed him some money, and he handed me back a buzz. George Thorogood and his Destroyers bitched about not having the rent then segued into what they were drinking. The bartender shuffled back over when my glass was empty, and I showed him the picture and dropped the words that went with it. He just looked at me until I ordered another. He then pointed out Morris. I raised the glass in thanks, and then floated over to Morris.

He was staring down at a few bills that were spread across the table, more than likely his last ones. He had more than a bit of a glow on. I sat down across from him, and we looked at each other. He stared at my glass, and asked, "Whatcha drinkin'?"

"Johnny Walker, against my better judgment."

He squinted hard at me. "You don't like Johnny Walker?"

I shrugged, "I like him plenty enough, I guess. I just got to be careful with him."

He cocked his head, "Why's that?"

"Sometimes the man likes to have too much fun."

Morris spat on the floor. "A guy likes me needs fun. Hows 'bout you gimme it if you don't want it?" His eyes were greedily fixed on the glass.

"I'll do one better. I'll get the next one."

He looked up, suspicious, but his eyes kept going down to the glass. I smirked, and drank it slow, savoring it. He savored it with me. When I was done, I put the glass down, not saying a thing, but smiling plenty. Morris gulped. I then called over someone and ordered two more. Morris didn't bother eyeing me this time; he kept his eyes on the drinks as they came over. Right before his was put down, I put the picture of Liz underneath it. He didn't notice until he had drained the glass and put it back down. He grabbed the picture with both hands, slowly raising it to his face. His hands shook it more and more as the seconds crawled by.

"Pretty nice, eh?"

He looked around it at me, smirking, and then tore it to shreds. "Sure," he said, "if you go for that kind of thing."

"You don't?"

He nodded, still smiling his empty smile. I just leaned back, and ordered two more. We both drank in silence. I didn't bother to get up, and he wouldn't be able to without help. So, we sat there, me sipping, carefully, and him greedily gulping. The poor bastard couldn't even taste it anymore. Johnny Walker was just a name to him at that point, nothing more; I could have fed him paint-thinner mixed with vanilla extract and he would have been just as happy.

The silence didn't bother me, but it was getting to him. He eventually cocked his head, and then dropped it on the table. Looking up at me, he asked, "So, who's the dream?"

I popped up an eyebrow. "Oh, you don't know her?"

He sat up, and waved his arm around, miraculously not hitting anyone. "Am I supposed to know every gurrl," said just like that, "who walks in here?"

"I heard she was a friend of yours." He didn't bother answering, so I stuck my finger further into the wound, "Kinkaid? Liz Kinkaid?"

He huffed and crossed his arms, and I barely caught, "...ain't no friend of mine...," through his mumbles.

"You sure, Morris?" I spread a smile across my face. "I heard you two used to shack-up together."

He banged his fist on the table, and shouted something garbled that meant more to him than to anyone else. I ordered two more. The waiter didn't look all that happy, so I slipped him fifty. Even after that, he kept locking eyes with his boss in the corner. I'd have to handle Morris like glass. The bouncers that were watching us wouldn't.

"Morris," I said slowly, "Do you know anything about Liz?"

"No!"

"Easy, Morris. It's a cold night, tonight. Let's try to stay warm as long as we can."

He gurgled a laugh. "We's gots us enough scotch to stay warm for a while." He hiccuped, coughed, and then hiccuped again.

I smiled, "Morris, I've been outdoors when the scotch dies in you. It takes it's damn time, and you feel every second of it. And then you feel cold. So very, very cold."

"I gotta place! I'm not a stray dog!"

"What cabby is gonna deal with you? You even got enough for a cab?"

Dark realization dripped down his face. I let him stew in it for a minute. It'd take that long for him to fully grasp what was going on, anyway. When I was done letting him have it, I went right back at him, "Humor me for a minute or two, Morris. I'll get you home."

He looked up, his eyes like a child's that refuses to accept that Santa isn't real. "You will?"

I kept up being amiable. "Who's been paying for the drinks without a fuss?"

He belched up another laugh. "You... Y-you ain't buying drinks. You're trying to buy dirt on my Lizzie."

"Ah, so you do know her. And not dirt, Morris. I just want to know where she is."

He shook his head, looking down sadly at the table, "As far from me as she can be. Just tossed me. Said she didn't want me around, anymore." He then whipped his head up so fast it cracked. Loudly. "Shit, she dissin't even, like, say it to me. She... she jus' likes," another belch, and it left him looking green, "stops comin' 'round. Stops comin' here." He leaned backwards in his chair, his head flopping over the back of it so he was staring at the ceiling. I pondered the contradiction he just gave me, and wondered if it was worth pressing. I decided against it; I don't really remember why. He wasn't the only drunk one.

He then sighed, "I tried for so long to find her, and when I did... she was... different." He licked some crust off his lips.

I leaned in. "Different?"

"She was, even, even, more beautiful. She didn't even look human." He smiled. "She became an angel. Everyone loved her, and they would flock to her. And then she'd take them away." He started to cry. I leaned back, eyeing the bartender while holding up a cigarette. He gave me a curt nod, so I lit up, and waited for Morris. It took two cigarettes.

He then leaned back forwards, but kept himself off the table this time. "I kept following her, trying to talk to her. And then one day, she grabs me and drags me into an alley." He looked up, serious. "She says if I don't wanna end up dead, or worse, that I should leave her alone. For good."

"She really mean to kill you?"

He looked to the side. "I don't know. Lizzie never got mixed up in killin'. None of us did. It's too much trouble, and the sign of an amateur. There's no need to kill anyone, ever. So at first, I didn't believe. But then, I looked into her eyes, and saw that she was serious. She was actually going to kill me if I kept it up. She said it was the rules. No one could know about her, or else they were dead. Period. Nobody could walk from it. Not even me."

I puffed thoughtfully, and looked him over. We let another silence pass. I asked, "Any idea what kind of business she's in if killing's involved?"

He shook his head. "Buy another round." He smirked. "I only talk to friends of Johnny Walker."

I licked my lips, and relented. He downed it in one gulp again, and then eyed me until I did the same. It hit me so hard I had to count the teeth left in my head.

He smiled, full of energy from that brief moment you get when you gun down the next glass. "She's in some deep shit. I found that out. I never stopped. I just got careful. I figured she was in trouble, but then learned better. Her and the guys went up the ladder a bit, and they must've figured I wouldn't make the cut. Now she's out making crazy money, and I'm here."

I shook my head, clicking my tongue at the scotch to calm it down. "How far up the ladder? Come on, you gotta know more than that. Something useful."

"Calm down," he said while waving at me. "I managed to overhear them, sometimes. I'd stalk 'em to their meetin' places. Jesus, they act like spies, gettin' together in the dead of night and talkin' for only a few minutes." Another sickly laugh. "I even know where she is right now. At least, I think."

"Where?" I pretty much growled it. Going after them might be a suicide mission, but they had all the cards, at least until I stole some back. Besides, they probably wouldn't expect me to go after them.

Morris stood up, swaying. "In the cab."

I groaned, and we went out and flagged one. Morris gave the address, I gave Morris some money to let me stay the night, and I paid the cab when we got there. During the ride, he told me about a conversation he had heard in between two of his old crew earlier. Liz had gone up north to do a solo job, but hadn't returned yet. She was supposed to steal some kind of gem, or orb, that could fit in your palm and was colored a deep blue. They were getting anxious, worried that she was being held there. I asked why Liz would be held there and not in jail, and Morris said he didn't know. The two guys seemed convinced that she was still there, that whoever owned the manor that Liz had broken into had her still. I got confused, and asked how Liz could break into a friggin' mansion by herself. Morris smirked and said that Liz sometimes would dress up like the help, and rob the place blind before running to a waiting car with driver and speeding off. I asked why Liz was still up there alone without a car. This puzzled Morris, too. I then asked him if he knew what the address of the manor was. He did, and he gave it. By that time we had arrived at his hole in the wall. He ended up passing out on the floor, so I showered and took his bed. I made sure to get up before he did, so he wouldn't notice. He probably wouldn't remember what happened, anyway.