Chapter 23: The Accidental Pimp
“Leave her alone.” Quentin couldn’t believe he was doing this. Again. It wasn’t that he was opposed to helping out Razia or her friends. That much should’ve been clear by now. It was sticking his neck out and getting himself into trouble that was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Stepping forward against a group of eight or so men was stupid.
The wave of laughter they responded with said they agreed. “Fuck off,” the man holding onto Isa scoffed. “Mind your own business, freak. You’ve got enough whores, this one’s ours.”
Isa’s face twisted to hate and she pulled on her arm, but the man’s grip was like iron. Her top was ripped open with one small breast hanging out, and her lip was puffy and swollen. She made eye contact with Quentin and there was a mix of loathing and fear. She glared daggers at him until she looked away.
At this point they’d attracted an audience. The people at the bar turned around to watch the building conflict. The bartender leaned forward on his knuckles, frowning. He could tell when violence was about to break out and he was expecting it to get ugly. Quentin couldn’t blame him. He cleared his throat and leveled his best confident glare at the others.
“She’s one of my girls too. At the very least, she doesn’t look like she wants to be yours. Let her go and walk away, or be unable to walk at all.” Quentin raised himself up to his full height and scowled.
“Get him.”
The two men closest to Quentin burst into motion. The first one’s fist caught him on the chin and the next got him in the stomach. The impact landed long before the pain, blooming when he was already on the ground. A third joined them and they rained punches down on Quentin’s head and side. It happened so quickly he barely had time to raise his arms to shield himself from the worst of it.
This was about what he expected for sticking his neck out for someone else in this shithole of a city. After the first few seconds of getting pummeled, the pain faded into the background and lightning flowed through his veins. Quentin focused and weathered out the storm until the rain of blows slowed to a stop. It hurt, but these men were drunk as hell and had all the coordination of angry toddlers. He breathed heavily, tasting blood and feeling it running on his face.
“Get the fuck out of here while you can,” the leader of the men said, laughing. The others joined in, reveling in the feeling of power and control. It was enough to make a man mad enough to fight back.
Quentin pushed himself to his feet. Everything hurt, but in a way it was refreshing. The pain meant he was alive and had a reason to let go. They hit him first. The man closest to him hadn’t moved away from him. As Quentin straightened, the man, an average looking schlub around Quentin’s age, raised his fist. Quentin gathered the blood in his mouth and sprayed it in his face. The man recoiled, eyelashes fluttering closed. He didn’t see the foot coming, crashing against his testicles. He dropped.
It had taken maybe two seconds for the man to raise his fist and then get dropped, letting out a breathless scream on the ground as he clutched at his crotch. The rest of them were barely at bay after the initial attack. Now they surged forward, but Quentin was ready for them. He’d no more kicked the first man before he took a step back and scooped up the barstool behind him. He swung it around in one smooth motion, breaking it over the next attacker’s head. The stool shattered on impact, leaving two of the three legs in Quentin’s hands and the rest of the stool in pieces on the floor next to the second fallen fighter.
The tavern erupted with a crescendo of noise. Seconds later, panting and holding up the legs as makeshift weapons, Quentin realized it was cheers. The other patrons dropped what they were doing and were watching now, forming a ring of bodies that pinned Quentin and his opponents in. This corner of the Mirage was now an arena. Quentin grinned, baring bloody teeth. His nearest opponent took a step back.
“What are you waiting for?” The man in the back barked. “There’s more of you than him!” It was telling that he stayed back with an ironclad grip on Isa’s arm while his friends did the fighting.
The remaining five of them came at Quentin, two in the front and three holding back and looking for an opening. He supposed he was lucky they didn’t dogpile him and beat him to an even bloodier pulp while he was helpless. Quentin intended to capitalize on that luck and show them what he was made of. He launched himself forward, swinging the stool legs down on one’s head as the second collided with him.
They went crashing to the ground and Quentin laughed, fierce and carefree. Some people fought because they were scared, or they wanted to hurt others or impose their will. Sometimes though, the best reason for fighting was the sheer fucking delight of it. Now that he was on the floor with the man throwing a punch into his side, Quentin had all but forgotten Isa and Maria and the rest of them in favor of being in the moment. He thrust his elbow into the man’s face two, three times until he heard a crunch.
Quentin was back on his feet, clutching the one leg of the stool he still had a grip on. It was just in time for the next man to jump on his back and pull the stick against his throat. The audience gasped and began shouting.
“Clrk...Grahk,” Quentin choked out. He tried elbowing this one too, but the man on his back twisted out of the way and wrenched the wooden leg further against Quentin’s windpipe. The world darkened pulse by pulse with each beat of his heart, growing dimmer and dimmer by the second.
He threw himself backwards against the wall. The grip loosened. He slammed backwards one more time and tore away just in time to get punched by the next man. The fist connected with his cheek and the world flickered out for a split second as he stumbled, catching himself on the table. He whirled around, bringing the stool leg across the guy’s face. It snapped, his legs buckled, he dropped.
Standing there, breathing hard and pulsating with pain, Quentin was alive and full of joy. There were only two men left standing and a third who was getting to his knees. Quentin planted his foot on his back and forced him back to the ground. He looked up at the two men and smiled again. He dreaded to think of what he looked like, face swollen and bleeding, blood seeping between his teeth and new bruises already forming all along his chest, shoulders, and arms. It was hard sometimes, to avoid giving in and showing them what they expected of him.
But Quentin didn’t feel any guilt then. That would come later when the adrenaline wore out and he crashed and all the aches and pains became too loud to just ignore. Right now all he could feel was a thrill at another won fight and the look of disbelief and fear on the face of the man holding onto Isa. The disgust on her face was now fear, and a small part of him couldn’t help but enjoy that as well. He’d feel bad about it later.
Quentin pointed the broken hunk of wood in his hand at them. “Let her go.”
“You can’t have much left,” the other one said, taking a step forward. “You’re barely standing.”
Quentin let out a delighted laugh. “Find out.”
“Enough!” The bartender pushed his way past the ring of people, holding a small bolter. He pointed it in their general direction. Bolters that size weren’t usually fatal, but the bolts were often coated with alchemical tranquilizers or poisons. “Just let the whore go, Kevin. You’ve lost and made a fucking mess for me to clean up.”
Kevin gesticulated wildly at Quentin. “Why not shoot him and end it? He came after us. You really going to let some moonkissed monster come in and attack your customers?”
The bartender snorted. “I saw it all. Get your friends and get the fuck out of here. Maybe stay clear for a week and get your head on straight.” He turned the bolter on Kevin.
“This is beetleshit,” Kevin muttered, but he did as he was told. He and his friend roused and helped their friends to their feet. Quentin took a couple steps back, ready to defend himself in case any of them had thoughts of a round two. They poured out of the tavern, past the whispering audience. Quentin saw shards change hands throughout the room and couldn’t help but laugh. He’d nearly forgotten how nice it was to have a good, healthy brawl where everyone walked away when it was over.
The bartender turned the bolter on Quentin. “As for you…” he said, eyes narrowing.
Quentin dropped the hunk of wood and held his hands up. “My apologies,” he said. “I’ll pay for the damages and clean up.”
The bartender’s demeanor changed instantly. He lowered the bolter. “I should throw you out too,” he said without any real conviction. “What kind of moron takes on that many guys at once?”
“The same kind of moron who won.”
The bartender laughed, and it was like the spell had broken. The same people cheering on the fight and watching intently turned back to their drinks and friends. Isa moved out of the corner, holding her top closed, and sat at Quentin’s table. Quentin limped back to his seat and collapsed in it. Maria was up on her feet and fussing over Isa.
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“Are you okay? Let me get a look at you,” Maria cupped Isa’s cheek and turned her to the side, frowning as she inspected her fat lip. Isa wrinkled her nose and pulled away.
“I’m fine, stop,” Isa smacked Maria’s hands away from her face. “Stop. And you,” she turned to Quentin, “I didn’t need your help.”
“Sure,” said Quentin, taking out some shards and handing them to the bartender, who came by with a cup of water and an almost clean towel. He swirled some water in his mouth and spat it out into another cup. “Blame Maria. She asked me to step in.”
Maria puffed up. “I will not apologize for looking after you. Mr. Q here --”
“You really don’t have to call me that.”
“Look at what he went through to protect you,” Maria insisted. She took the towel from him and dipped it in the water. Gingerly wiping away the blood on his face she said, “You don’t have to like him but you owe him a little respect.”
Isa narrowed her eyes. She pointed at Quentin. “I owe you nothing.”
Quentin grunted. “I agree. Thank you for being reasonable.” He held still as Maria cleaned him up. He briefly thought it odd, but as the energy from the fight left him unable to worry or stress about the little things. Quentin never had someone else clean him up after a public brawl. It was actually pretty nice.
“Fuck you,” Isa said.
It was hard to be offended when she was as upset as she was. It ended up being more amusing than anything. Quentin smiled at Isa, and that smile only grew when she pointedly looked away from them both. Maria stood back, satisfied with her work.
“You’re going to have some bruises and cuts, but I think the worst of the bleeding’s stopped. Quicker than I’d expect, honestly.
Quentin shrugged. “I heal pretty fast. Thanks,” he said, grabbing the remnants of his drink and finishing it. It stung like a bitch, but that wasn’t about to stop Quentin from enjoying a good beer.
After that, things were a lot smoother. It wasn’t quite like Maggie’s Den, when people came by to talk with him afterwards for hours. Of course, he hadn’t beaten the piss out of half a dozen men at Maggie’s. Quentin could hardly blame people for staying away after seeing that. Or when they saw his bruised up, still bloodied face. Quentin didn’t expect anyone to want to come to his table after that, but he was wrong.
“Can I join you?” A young woman with straight black hair and hauntingly blue eyes asked. It wasn’t the first thing she’d said, which was a greeting to Maria, but it was the first thing she said to Quentin. He looked around and then felt silly for it. There was no one but them in that corner.
“Uh. Sure?” Quentin pulled his empty cups closer, and frowned when he realized they were empty. “What’s your name? What’re you drinking?”
The woman visibly relaxed. “I’m Lucy, and I like wine.” She sat next to Isa, who had spent the last few minutes rearranging the layered silk wraps she wore until she was no longer giving a free show. Without being asked, Maria stood up and gathered their mugs and went to the bar for them.
“Well, welcome,” said Quentin, who realized he had no idea what to say to someone new. He could’ve asked her why she was there, but that was a little confrontational and he didn’t want to scare her off by being...Well, him. Instead, he watched Lucy in silence for a few seconds. She looked nervous. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you...Working tonight too?” He nodded towards Maria and Isa.
“I’m trying to,” Lucy said. She let out a nervous laugh, looking around. “This is my first time working here though.”
“You’d do better to sit elsewhere,” Isa sniffed. “The moonkissed is going to drive customers away. I guarantee it.”
Before Quentin had a chance to even think about getting angry, Lucy turned to her and said, “Didn’t he just save you?”
Isa seethed. Silently, she stood up and with one lingering glare at Quentin, she left the tavern. Lucy followed Isa with her eyes, wincing as she practically snarled at a couple trying to enter at the same time she was leaving. “You let her talk to you like that?” Lucy asked, sounding bewildered.
“I don’t know if let is the right word. I don’t really know her,” said Quentin. Maria returned with an armful of drinks. He stood and helped her put them down, then continued, “She’s upset, embarrassed, and seems rude. No point in getting mad over someone who decided they’re going to be a shit, no matter what.”
Maria made a sound of understanding as she took her seat again. “She left, huh? Don’t worry about her. She’ll come around. The real question is, how’ve you been, Lucy? You getting enough to eat?”
Lucy was the first but not the last person to come by their table. Then came Amy and Jenna, as a pair. They introduced themselves and then the girls began talking amongst themselves so quickly Quentin had trouble following. He sat back with his drink and listened. Being a part of a group, accepted and welcome, without having anything expected of him was a rare treat.
Before too long, Samantha came back, giggly and tired looking. Her makeup was askew and her curly hair plastered to her head. She collapsed into the seat next to Quentin and took his drink. “Miss me?” she asked before downing it in one long guzzle. Quentin couldn’t help but shake his head and give her shoulder an affectionate pat. Her return must’ve been Lucy’s cue, because she got up shortly after and roamed the tavern for clients. Maria joined her, letting her fingers brush Quentin’s shoulder on her way out.
When Razia came back down, she moved with a lazy grace, smiling until she saw Quentin’s face. “What the hell happened to you?” She asked, reaching for his face and gently turning his head to look him over. Quentin was just buzzed enough at this point to think nothing of it, other than finding it vaguely pleasant.
“A friend of yours got into trouble and I got her out,” Quentin said simply. “Have fun?”
A dreamy look passed over Razia’s face. “I did. It’s always special when it’s with a woman.” She gave his face a ghost of a pat and took her seat again. “Hello ladies,” she said, nodding to Amy and Janice. “How’s tricks?”
Quentin snorted as they both began speaking at the same time, trying to drown the other out. Razia’s eyes flitted between them rapidly trying to keep up.
“That’s pretty much what it’s been like,” said Quentin. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Aww, missed me?” Razia elbowed him.
Quentin grinned. “Yes. But also I have to piss really badly, and I wasn’t about to leave a box full of shards alone.”
Razia laughed and shoved at him. “Go then.”
Swaying on unsteady feet and just drunk enough to not feel the array of bumps, bruises, and cuts, Quentin disappeared into the relative quiet of the toilet. Or what passed for a toilet in the tavern. It was little more than a hole in the ground, but that’s all he needed. As Quentin relieved himself, he reflected on how the night had gone.
It was odd, having the Colosseum be nothing but miserable. There were always good and bad days, but they rarely got as bad as being threatened by his boss and pissed on by a prisoner. Part of him still thought he should’ve stuck around and got some exercise and weapon practice in, just to stay sharp. Then again, coming here got him a fun brawl and people who didn’t wince when they looked at him. Well, once Isa left, that was.
He shook out the last drops and returned to...His friends, he realized with wonder. At least two of them he could call a friend. That put a smile on his face as he pushed past the guy coming in to piss after him. When he got back to his table, there were even more people there. Lucy and Maria had found men and brought them to the table. Upon seeing Quentin’s return, Lucy stood, clearing her throat.
“Hey, Mr. Q?” she asked, voice small.
Quentin bit back a sigh at what was apparently his new nickname. He took his seat and said, “Yes?”
The man beside her also stood up. He was youngish, and looked nervous. He was practically hiding behind Lucy, looking at Quentin without making eye contact. That was a lot more familiar. Lucy cleared her throat and took his hand. “Orin here would like to take me upstairs. Is that okay?”
He blinked. Why the hell were they asking him? Quentin barely knew Lucy. She seemed like a nice enough young woman, but...Quentin coughed and looked over at Orin, sizing him up. “If she tells you no at any time, what does that mean?”
“Um...It means no?”
Quentin grunted and turned back to Lucy. “Do you want to go with him?”
Lucy nodded.
Quentin shrugged and motioned for them to do whatever they wanted. Lucy beamed at him and held out her hand. When she opened it, it was full of qala pieces. Quentin stared at her hand, wondering what she was doing. Razia took over, grabbing the lockbox and setting it down on the table. She opened a secondary chamber and took the shards from Lucy, locking them up safely.
“Thanks Mr. Q,” Lucy said, dragging Orin away with her towards the stairs.
Maria coughed and stood as well. “Are you asking me the same thing?” Quentin asked.
“Yeah. If that’s alright.” Maria gave him a sheepish smile that made her look at least five years younger.
Quentin shrugged, still not entirely clear on why they were asking him for permission. “Go for it. Be safe. Have fun. Hurt the woman at your own peril.”
Just like Lucy, she held out some shards. Just like before, Razia opened up the lockbox and deposited the shards inside. Maria left with her client, and Quentin turned to Razia. “What the hell is going on? What’s that about?”
Razia had a thoughtful look on her face. She was deep in thought for several seconds before she just shrugged and smiled at him. “Just showing you some proper respect. Isn’t it nice?”
“I guess,” said Quentin doubtfully. Things were getting fuzzy now, and it was hard to focus on it for too long.
“Have you been having fun?” Razia asked.
Quentin nodded after thinking about it. “Yeah. It’s been...Different. Weird, but good. I think. Better than sitting at home. I don’t get why everyone’s being so friendly to me. It’s not like I’m paying them or doing anything for them.”
“That’s the thing, Quentin,” Razia’s tone turned serious. “Us working girls know what it’s like to have other people look down on us and treat us like shit. We know what it’s like to be considered unclean. You’ve been a decent man to them, so they’ll be decent to you.”
Quentin wasn’t entirely convinced, but maybe it was true. If Razia and Samantha liked him, maybe others could too. He snorted at the very idea of it. It was good enough for now. The night was still young, and there was still plenty more to do.