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Authors: iancrooks

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Easter City (5 page)

BOOK: Easter City
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  The man from two days ago—the man
whose crew had kicked Joq’s ass. Cranston. I remembered his name,
his handsome face, his slicked back brown hair.

  “Did-did you know?” I asked through my
teeth. Joq shook his head. He was breathing heavy.

  Cranston’s lackey, the man he’d called
Spot, was shaking his head, sniffing, murmuring his condolences and
wiping his nose.  He hadn’t taken off his bulky camel hair
cloak.

  “Truly terrible,
Cranston.” His voice made me cringe. It was choked up and whiny,
and I imagined his throat was full of mucous. “If we ever get our
hands on the pissant
Cochon
who did this, I’ll—I’ll—” his face went red all of
a sudden and he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes tight, balled up
his fists and throttled the air.

  The Wealthy Devils looked away, and a
man with greying sideburns glared at Cranston, tilted his head
sharply toward Spot and looked around, as some people had noticed
Spot jerking around, and were pointing with smiles frozen on their
faces.

  Cranston’s face chameleoned with his
wine glass.

  “
Remy
.” He hissed. “
Remy!
” Spot froze, looked up slowly
and turned to his friends and looked over his shoulder. Then he
gazed at Cranston with puppy dog eyes and sniffed.

  Cranston loosened his
tie with a hand and gritted his teeth. A vein throbbed on his
temple. He glared away from Spot, and his eyes seemed to flick over
me and Joq. I snapped my head away instantly.
He saw me! He saw us! Shit!
But a
moment later I heard him whisper, “Stop that
this instant
, Spot. You look…
epileptic
.”

  I let out a ragged breath and looked
back over Joq’s trembling shoulder. The Wealthy Devils were looking
around uncomfortably, clearing their throats and draining their
wine.

  “Aw Cranston! Don’t
go back to calling me that.
Please
? It makes me sound like… When
you call me that, it’s like you’re telling a dog to—”

  “Anyway,” cut in the man with the
sideburns, “how is my prodigy doing?” He leaned over to talk to
someone I hadn’t seen before, standing next to Cranston. I pushed
Joq over and squinted. When one of the men with his back turned to
me shifted, I saw that the Wealthy Devil group was accompanied by a
pretty girl who looked a couple years older than me.  “Been
practicing, darling?” He chuckled and cupped her chin and pinched
her cheek. “Hm? Not that you need practice.”

 
That’s what a real British accent sounds like, Joq.
I thought. But I kept my mouth shut; I was
captivated by the girl.

  Like I said, she was pretty, but it
looked like she had a little too much makeup on—especially under
her eyes. She wore black lipstick which suited her pale skin and
blonde hair and black earrings but I couldn’t shake the feeling
that it was all meant to cover something up. Few girls could pull
off the look, and have every Wealthy Devil and devout father in the
room sneaking glances. She had brown eyes and brown eyebrows. Her
dress was elegant and—

  “They don’t notice us… We’re clear,
yeah?”

  I blinked. Joq was plucking my vest. I
grunted. “Yeah. Um, yeah but hold on…”

  But Joq was practically bouncing. He
kept swaying from side to side like a cobra. “Come on, Nipple! We
got the keys an’ the car. We need to place the order, Nipple!”

  “Yeah… hold on a sec.”

  The man with the
sideburns was saying something to the girl. He handed his glass to
Remy, rounded his arms, put his fingertips together, so they almost
touched, and put his hands out in front of his hips.
Bras bas
something…
First
position
…It was hard to focus on the man’s
voice with Joq bouncing around.

  “You listenin’, Nipple? We got to go
to that restaurant an’ order all the food for our ‘wealthy patron’
and ‘ave ‘is car—”

  “Yeah, load the food in the car. Got
it. How about you place the order. I’ll keep watch, right
here.”

  Joq looked like he’d been reeled up
from a deep lake. “You—I—we.” He stammered. “This is a joint
venture, yeah?”

  “Right. You order the food. I keep
watch. I’m practically risking my neck a second time for you, Joq!
Go on, move it. The sooner we place the order, the better.”

  Joq grunted and looked at the
restaurant and the bartender, taking orders, and the line of
people. I raised my brows. After a moment of silent fuming, he
stormed across the lobby. When he had gone, I positioned myself
next to a group of top-hatted men and went back to
eavesdropping.

  The sideburns man was still fiddling
with his hands and, occasionally, he’d touch the girl’s hands and
press her fingers together and stroked the back of her arm—a little
more than friendly, I thought. The girl looked uncomfortable; it
looked like she was just going along with it to be polite. But
Cranston looked a little piqued; his jaw was taut, like he was
hiding a grimace. When the sideburns guy wrapped his arms around
the girl’s waist, ‘guiding her hips to Frank Sinatra’, Cranston
gripped his shoulder.

  “Ballet can wait ‘til after the show.
The designated lessons are more than sufficient.”

  It was as though the man with the
sideburns was in a fevered trance. He was breathing heavy and
spittle was seeping from a corner of his lip. His pupils were black
quarters. He barely glanced up when Cranston grabbed him.

  “Wha—um? Well, this particular… Why, I
say, Sky’s physique is superb…I—she…”

  Cranston knuckles went white. Veins
writhed like maggots on the back of his fist. His grimace twitched
to a smile. “You’re red as a beet, James. Really, that’s enough.
Julia’s act is stunning—I’ve seen it a hundred times. You won’t
want to be exhausted.”

  James’s pupils shrunk and he
straightened up and looked around at his Wealthy Devil comrades—all
of whom were whistling off tune and admiring the lobby. He shook
his head and yipped and nervous laughed. “Ah—ha—yes, well um.” His
voice cracked. “What was I thinking? Certainly the foyer of La
Rouge is an inappropriate place to—er—practice ballet. The floor is
marble! For God’s sake, what was I thinking? Ha! Er, anyway,
Cranston, tell us about your Julia!” James glanced at Sky. She was
staring at her feet. “Being that she’s your friend and all! I just…
Er…”

  Instantly the crew’s attention was on
Cranston. They all looked at him like he was some sort of war
hero.

  Cranston looked down at Sky. “You
don’t have to worry about this one.” He scoffed. “She knows to keep
her mouth shut about my little fling. We’ve come to an
understanding. Isn’t that right, Sky? Hm?” He gave her a soft rap
on the head and laughed. Her forehead creased but she didn’t
respond.

  “How do you do it, Cranston? How do
you hide a woman like Julia from Maria?” asked a portly Devil.

  “My wife would castrate me if she knew
I was on Main Street!” added one with a top hat.

  “Tell us Cranston!” blurted Remy.

  “For the most part I take ‘business
trips’ for extended periods.” Cranston smiled and draped an arm
over Sky’s shoulders. “But this time I have a most trustworthy
alibi: my dear daughter.”

  The Devils looked ready to take
notes.

  “Maria kept nagging me to take Sky on
holiday—thought that a break from those caustic trust fund brats in
the Hills would air Sky’s brain out. Julia calls, around the same
time, to let me know she’d be performing at La Rouge. I decided
there was a ‘mandatory executives meeting’ that week, outside of
Easter City. Of course at that point the wife welds herself to my
rear and trails me around the manor, like a gnat. She kept whining
for me to ‘put family before work’ and take Sky on a retreat.” He
laughed. “I badly wanted to swat her. I almost escaped my family
obligations but this one” he ruffled Sky’s hair. “couldn’t keep her
pretty nostrils clean. The night before the trip Karen found blow
all over Sky’s dresser, snorted it, and screamed me into taking her
on a ‘retreat’. I looked up a spa package at the place housewives
go East of the Hills and Maria approved. Me and Sky had a
discussion about where I was really going and who I was going to
see, and I let my fist relate the importance of sealed lips, so Sky
would understand that gabbing about private matters has
consequences. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child.’ Who am I to
disagree with Solomon?”

  For some reason my heart did this
shallow stuttering thing whenever I looked at Sky and I felt oddly
protective of her. She wasn’t crying but it pissed me off that her
own father and his friends were bullying her.

  “You’re lucky Cranston.” Said James,
chuckling and wiping his eyes. “Marissa wouldn’t shut up about this
show and she’s less than—shall I say— fastidious in the satin.”

  This sent Cranston and the others into
another sniggering fit.

  “I have a grounding in women that you
gents lack.” explained Cranston. “The key to a proper mistress is
that she know her trade. Julia is an ace. She’s a renowned sword
swallower. Not to take any credit for her talent, as I’m sure much
of it comes natural, but I played a role in her honing.” The
Wealthy Devils laughed harder. Sky stared at the ground.

  “I put Julia through
rigorous paces when we get together—when her pig brother isn’t
jumping down her throat about staying away from me. Our regiment is
pertinent to her success.” Cranston patted the portly man on the
belly. “You should put us in the pictures, Cal. A documentary of
the rise and rituals of the Mystical Julia, and her muse. Call
it:
The Tumescent
Acclimation
. Eh?
The Art of Polishing and Swallowing Swords
. Hm? Or—”

  “What is it they say about boastful
men? Remind me, Mr. Borden.” Another man had joined Cranston’s
crew, only I hadn’t seen him because the elephantine man—the one
they called Cal—was blocking my view. I shifted over.

  When I got a proper look at him my
throat constricted and I teared up. My heart stuttered in a
different way.

  The blonde man with the cane clacked
to Cranston’s side. The Wealthy Devils were intimidated—it was all
over their faces. They stopped laughing when they saw him, and
started squawking.

  “Mr. Denmark!”

  “How do you do, this night, sir?”

  Sky beamed at the
man, which was enough to send me tilting over, clutching my chest.
Cranston on the other hand, didn’t bother turning around. “Danny
boy” he said, “you
loath
Main Street. It reminds you of unfaithfulness and
promiscuity, no?”   

  Mr. Denmark chuckled, shoved between
Cranston and Sky and placed a hand on Sky’s head. “Stunning as
always darling.” he smiled. Then he looked at Cranston. “Main
Street reminds me that money can rot a man’s heart quicker than any
degenerative illness, and that devils live in people’s hearts and
are birthed in Easter City.”

  Cranston crowed, “I mistook you for an
English professor just then, I must say, Danny boy! I was under the
impression that I’d have to set you up to one of those Hawking
machines before I got the gist of your prattle!”

  The Wealthy Devils were watching
intently. Remy, foremost of them all, was bug-eyed and snot-nosed.
He was glancing excitedly between Cranston and Mr. Denmark.

  Mr. Denmark smiled and scratched his
stubble. “I’m looking for someone in this cesspool…”

  Cranston looked at
his crew, derision all over his face. “Looking for someone, he
says! What does a man such as
yourself
expect to find in Main
Street? Your manhood? Eh?” He guffawed. “Certainly, you’re not
looking for that whore you called a—”

  “I” boomed Mr. Denmark, “am certainly
not looking for my wife. You, on the other hand should take care to
look after yourself. Maria wouldn’t appreciate your—how did you put
it—‘sword swallowing lessons’ with Julia. Walls have eyes as well
as ears Mr. Borden.”

  At this, Cranston shot Julia a look
that made her go back to staring at her feet. Mr. Denmark squeezed
the cane handle, rubbed Sky’s shoulder and glared at Cranston. “A
man doesn’t get any much stronger by boxing a feather pillow.”
Sparks jumped between their eyes. “Challenge yourself.”

  Cranston barked a laugh. “Pick on
someone my own size, eh? A washed up gimp professor is a challenge,
then?” He swigged his glass dry.

  It looked like Cranston was about to
say something else but at that moment another ghost from my dream
materialized at Mr. Denmark’s side. The Devil kid. He looked like a
clean cut, handsome, older version of Joq. His hair was gelled back
and he had on a black bow tie and black suspenders. His jaw was
strong, his frame slender.

  The kid stood there for a moment with
the sly grin on his face and said, “Am I interrupting? “Sincere
apologies.” His voice was raspy and deep. He gave a slight bow that
looked mocking.

  “Skylar.” He kissed her hand. She
didn’t blush or anything but she was grinning and there was light
in her eyes. The Wealthy Devils—ballet teacher in particular—were
glaring so hard at him I thought their eyes would pop out. I’d have
shit myself if a group of Wealthy Devils were spitting that type of
venom at me from their eyes, but the kid’s chest did this twitching
thing, like he was stifling laughter.

  “May we, father?” the Devil kid
gestured at the restaurant with Sky’s hand, and pulled her close to
his chest.

  Mr. Denmark, horns
still locked with Cranston didn’t break his gaze. “Of course, son.”
Cranston held Mr. Denmark’s gaze, his jaw rigid. “You’ll do no such
thing, Skylar darling.” He said in a sweet voice.

Daddy
makes the
decisions, remember? Eh? Hey!” Cranston cried out in furry when he
looked around to see the backs of the Devil kid and Sky. They
melded with the crowd.  

BOOK: Easter City
7.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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